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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months ago

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hold me like water

foreword: followup to my unofficial eddie x shy!reader series. not necessary to read in order but here’s one and two if u want. this takes place after the events of s4 but everyone (including the trailer sorry i’m too attached) is mostly fine and so is the town. except for all that pesky PTSD… lol. written epilogue-style but I just wanted to give them something soft… not done w them yet!!

cw: PTSD, nightmares, trauma bonding, medical stuff, scarring/wounds, light smut post-traumatic event, R has breasts+a vagina, R wears a bikini

wc: 3k

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For the first month, you don’t leave the trailer.

More specifically, you don’t leave Eddie.

While he’s recovering from the attacks, you confine yourself to his room; Wayne had pulled in a comfy armchair for you when he realized you’d been sleeping on Eddie’s floor for three nights in a row, just to be closer to him than the guest bed down the hall.

Now, with the chair, you’re actually getting some sleep at night- enough to tend to Eddie’s wounds every morning and evening without yawning comically loud.

After the first few weeks of healing, while Eddie is still tender but learning to walk shakily with the use of a cane, you still stick to the boundaries of the trailer. Neither of you really want to go anywhere, anyways: Hop’s instructions to keep a low profile while the dust settles on the murder investigation have to be taken seriously.

Plus, Eddie and you are very well taken care of by your friends-turned-family. Anything you could ever want for shows up on your doorstep and kitchen counters by a rotating crew of familiar faces; Mrs. Byers brings groceries and finds excuses to stay longer, busying herself by making tea, doing the dishes; Mrs. Wheeler brings casseroles and her son, who steals Eddie away for intense D&D discussions (Eddie made Mike interim DM, and the power’s really gone to his head).

The trailer is almost always filled during the day, bikes in a heap on the front strip of grass, Beemer parked at an angle to avoid a popped tire. Steve picks up Eddie’s medication every Friday, brings it over along with a bunch of VHS’s and Robin. Sometimes Jonathan and Argyle join in on movie nights, too, and Nancy when she’s not busy with work.

It’s easy and peaceful, spending time with people who understand and share the same traumas. People who don’t stare at the bandages or Eddie’s cane or ask why you won’t leave the trailer any more.

The government officials from the now-defunct Hawkin’s lab call every few days, wall-mounted landline ringing like a toll bell at 3pm sharp. You tell them the same thing, every time, curt and firm- if they want to interrogate you and Eddie, they’ll damn well have to come here. Or drag you, kicking and screaming.

Steve asks about it one afternoon, naive and confused with the force of your phone slamming- “Y’know, they probably just want you to sign one of those Don’t-Talk-About-This papers and give you a bunch of money. I heard they’re setting up college funds for all the kids-”

“Good for them.” Your dry remark cuts in smoothly from the couch, hand on Eddie’s knee as a lifeline. In a voice wobbly with anger, eyes glittering with unshed tears, your chin tilts up, defiant- “It’s the least they can do. I want them to look me in the eyes when they try to grovel for my silence. For Eddie’s. After all they fucking did to us, to the town-”

Eddie’s hand slips over yours, squeezes. Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture, surrendering with haste, then retreats to the kitchen for movie night snacks.

“Never heard you so bossy before,” Eddie murmurs, at the shell of your ear. Goosebumps cascade across your neck when he rests his heavy palm there, cold rings warming to the temperature of your skin. “Goin’ to bat for me. It’s hot.”

You’re a couple of steps removed from the quiet, shy thing Eddie’s known for years. Seeing the love of your life almost bleed out in an alternate dimension will do that to a person.

Owens shows up at the trailer one morning, at the end of summer after all the phone calls provide no results. Him and two of his muscliest-looking lab guys are met by you in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and somehow looking fierce despite the fuzzy blue bathrobe you’re swathed in.

“The goons stay outside.” Your word is final. Even the doctor knows it.

The two men in coats settle on either side of the porch, while Owens is allowed to sit at the kitchen table indoors, accepting a mug of coffee Eddie generously supplies (you certainly aren’t in a hospitable mood, glaring daggers at him from the opposing chair).

Predictably, the doctor explains he’s here with some NDA’s for both you and Eddie to sign, the shiny promise of a government-allotted chunk of change waiting on the other side.

Hidden from view under the table, your fingertips skate over Eddie’s palm, lying open and pliant for you. Calmly, like you’re stating the weather, you tell Owens to double his offer.

By the time he’s done using your phone, Owens is wiping sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. Once the papers are signed, him and the lab goons load back into the shiny black car like silent sentries.

They leave, and Eddie laughs, a full, rich noise that makes your heart ache. His fist slams the table in excess of humor, mugs jumping with a clink. “Goddamn. You just made the richest guy in Hawkins run off with his tail between his legs.”

“Pretty sure Harrington Senior has him beat,” you mutter around the rim of your coffee, unable to repress the satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips.

The payoff is a sickening amount, more money than you or Eddie have ever seen- enough to send you both to college, twice, with a hefty nest egg for the future leftover. You put the bulk of yours in a savings account, just so you don’t get dizzy looking at the numbers.

Eddie does the same, with the exception of a down payment on the vacant trailer at the end of the park. Along with the new place, Wayne gets a fresh mattress, a couch that doesn’t have holes, and a proper, working stereo to play all his “old man country” tapes (in Eddie’s words). The quiet and deep thankfulness Wayne gives you both makes you feel like you’d do it all over again, like the fight was all worth it for the Laz-E-Boy in the corner and the new mug collection shelf.

Eddie floats the idea of college again, now that you’ve got the funds to make it possible. You’ve certainly got the time, too- neither of you have any need to work long shifts at the diner or garage anymore.

Unfortunately, this makes it all the more easy to form reclusive habits. By autumn, the solidness of your refusal to leave the trailer has less to do with helping Eddie than it does with your own fear of what lies beyond the comfort of your home.

Most days, you work on healing. Eddie’s still your lifeline, gentle encouragement turning stern when you need it the most- he talks you into visiting Max by yourself, a veritable feat; the short walk between the two trailers feels like death, your knock shaky with nerves. It feels horrifying, to walk the thin line of being both braver and more scared than you’ve ever been.

You stay for an hour. The next day, for two- Max has a new kitten that passes the time easily, the girl giggling behind her new thick-rimmed glasses while pulling string across the floor for the tiny thing to pounce on. One night, you bring dinner for both the Mayfields and stay well past supper; it’s nearly 11 by the time you return to Eddie’s open arms, triumphant in your success with a tupperware of Mrs. Mayfield’s cookies to boot.

Your bravery builds in increments. Eddie cleans the rust from his van that’s been sitting untouched since spring, and takes you on drives that go a bit farther each time. The Byers’ place for lunch, Dustin’s to pick up an extra radio, then all the way to north Hawkins for more of Mrs. Wheeler’s plastic-wrapped dishes she asks you to relieve her of.

When winter rolls around, Steve takes advantage of his now-permanently empty home to throw a holiday party. It’s loud with chatter and overwhelming with noise but it feels so good to be surrounded by it, by everyone, Eddie’s hand a steady comfort on your waist or lower back as you eat and drink and make merry with your friends.

Hop pulls it off, a Christmas miracle- all the murders get pinned on Jason, buried six feet under with parents who skipped town ages ago. You’re out for groceries one cold morning and realize that not a single shopper has even given Eddie a second glance, conspicuous as he is in black leather and flashy silver jewelry.

The strings loosen with a sigh, fluttering in release, allowing some space for you both to breathe.

Sex has been… different, lately. There’s been lots of readjusting, both physically and mentally- accounting for unforeseen muscle spasms, bone-deep bruises hidden beneath rippled skin, tissue and scarring pulled taut, testing the limits of new pains.

The first time, just a few weeks after the attacks, Eddie had begged to go down on you. He wanted the comfort of your thighs, your taste and scent, all-consuming, to think about anything else other than his wounds.

You’d been more than hesitant, terrified of hurting him, of letting your focus shift inwards. More in your head than ever, it took Eddie over an hour to coax an orgasm from the walls that’d been built back up around your pleasure; even with his lithe tongue and long, seeking fingers, it took forever and an age to get you anywhere close to the edge.

Eddie didn’t complain once- in fact, he kind of got off on the amount of time you let him spend between your legs. The muscles in his right arm were trembling by the time you clamped down on his fingers, jaw burning but keeping the suction at your clit even while your hips rolled strong as a tidal wave against his face.

And before you could open your mouth to apologize, or say something equally silly, panting and wrung-out and heartbreakingly beautiful against the pillows, Eddie’s teeth flashed at the inside of your thigh.

You’d jolted, breathless and giggly, endorphins soaring as he’d tenderly crawled up the length of your body to slip his tongue between your lips, sharing the earthy tang of your release.

“One more,” he’d said, uninjured arm taking the bulk of his weight while he dipped down to mouth at your breast. “And this time, put your hands in my hair. I’m getting jealous of the sheets.”

As Eddie’s physical limitations lessen with time, your mental barriers ease, as well. There’s still some stilted moments of relearning, of working together in bodies that don’t always respond the way you want them to.

There are raw, stripped-open emotions that have you clawing at Eddie’s back, his nails leaving indents on the flesh of your hips. To keep pressure off the worst of his side wounds, you find new positions, usually some form of your thighs draped over his or the welcome weight of you in his lap.

He’s endlessly patient. The kind of patient that makes you want to run, far and fast, and he knows it; when your pleasure recedes, frustration in the form of tears and hands pressed to your face, Eddie’s there to soothe. To try a new angle, to slow down or speed up, offering a break or an extra pillow to keep you comfortable and feeling good.

If you were comforted by each other’s presence during the night before the Spring Break from hell, it’s tenfold now. Neither of you will sleep a wink if Eddie’s not wrapped around you like a koala, snoring gently, overheated and tacky with sweat by morning but neither willing to compromise the closeness.

Nightmares are easier to handle, too- you’re there to soothe the sweat-coated bangs from Eddie’s forehead when he wakes up whimpering in fear, coaxing his panic and adrenaline back down. He’s so fine-tuned to the rhythms of your body that even though your own nightmares rarely end in noise, Eddie often wakes anyways from the disturbance in your breaths.

Just as you do for him, sometimes all it takes to get you back to sleep is a tender voice, a stroke of the arm, a reassurance in the dark that he’s with you.

A year after it all happened, Eddie hears you singing in the shower.

If he wasn’t craning to hear the gentle splashing noises as confirmation of your presence, he would’ve missed it. Eddie leans with his good shoulder on the wood frame, door partially cracked to let the melody of your voice float through.

Stevie Nicks is crooning sweetly from the handheld radio on the bathroom counter, and you, just as sweet and twice as pretty singing along.

Eddie closes his eyes, puts a hand to his chest; through the fabric of his shirt he feels the raised, bumpy edges of scar tissue, but there’s something beyond it. Curling around his heart, making it ache- it feels like healing. Like getting better, at least well enough to sing.

He’s dumbstruck with it.

That summer, he takes you to Lover’s Lake.

It’s just the two of you, which makes it easy for Eddie to go shirtless; currently, he’s enjoying the way you’re watching him from the back of the van, bare feet swinging and paired with a killer black bikini that he begged you into.

He’s not so sure the scars that criss cross his front and sides are as “metal” as you claim they are, but he’s trying. He’d drag himself over hot coals just to get half a smile; going shirtless is nothing.

You reach for him, and he walks into the V of your legs willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, head pressed to the middle of his sternum. Eddie plants his hands on either side of your hips, drops his chin to fit you under it.

“Come swim with me.”

In response, you sigh- a longsuffering, worried sort of noise that leaves your lungs and enters his. He’s been trying to talk you into it for weeks- it’s a miracle he’s gotten you both this far, dressed and ready to take the plunge.

Eddie’s not really sure why this swim is so important to him. It might have something to do with the fissure at the bottom of the lake, all scabbed over and sewn back together; or maybe it’s the surface, skimmed by a light breeze and rippling gently, nothing of monsters or alternate dimensions leftover to disturb the placidity.

Eddie wants to prove that it’s safe, for you and for himself. That the nightmares and the sticky feelings and the tears, they all mean something, of course they do- but the only way to is through.

So he takes you by both hands and you only drag your feet a little until he’s walking backwards on the shore, water lapping up to his ankles, and you freeze. Heels digging into the wet earth, tense under Eddie’s grasp, eyes wide and darting around like something might come crashing through the treeline.

“Hey. Look at me.” In a voice that’s reserved for you and you alone, Eddie speaks softly, calmly, letting out all the tension of his pull to just hold, instead. “You’re safe. There’s nothing out here that’s gonna hurt us, okay? Steve went all the way back down to the bottom to make sure. No more gate. No nothin’. It’s just a lake.”

��Just a lake,” you repeat, like a mantra as you take another step. The water rolls over your feet; Eddie murmurs his encouragement while leading.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s just a lake. Our lake.”

The water rises, up the back of Eddie’s calves, swishing around your shins; the pebble-rock floor shifts with each step. You and Eddie used to spend long summer days here, swimming and picnicking and fucking in the back of the van, syrupy-slow and stretched with time.

“Our lake.” You’re shivering, teeth chattering, even though the air is hot and the water is just-cool.

Eddie rubs at your upper arms, allaying the goosebumps; waterline up to your waists, now. The rock you’re balanced on beneath the surface jolts, and you stumble forward into Eddie’s arms; in a smooth maneuver, he catches you while sinking into a crouch, pulling you both from the safety of the shallows.

Then, your kicking feet meet nothing but the vastness of the lake, nails biting into Eddie’s arms, fear rattling through your spine until Eddie- treading water while valiantly supporting you, too- tosses his black hair back and whoops.

The sound is loud, joyful, ricochets across the lake and bounces back from the other shore. He crows at the sun, startles a laugh out of you as he clings harder, kicking to keep you both afloat- “Holy SHIT! We’re swimming in Lover’s Lake!”

“Holy shit,” you agree, giddy and breathless, nerves turning over into disbelief, excitement. “We’re swimming in our lake.”

Eddie kisses you. It’s sloppy and he misses the middle of your mouth as you both try to keep the other from slipping under, teeth clashing, giggles escaping around the sides. He puts a hand dripping with lake water to your cheek, holding you in place, thumb pressing gentle just under your eye.

“I love you.”

“Love you.” Your reply is swift and just as eager, hand coming to rest at the puckered line of scarring at Eddie’s chest.

Somewhere at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, a twin crack, a Something that was never supposed to be but now just Is.

You feel extraordinarily grateful, awash with we made it, as you and Eddie swim out further, shores in the shape of a heart holding you both from all sides.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x shy!reader #shy!reader

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whosscruffylooking · 9 days ago

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Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things~1984~ This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

Chapter Two

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Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not.

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself.

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

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At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

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At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

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You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

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*Flashback*

2 years ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

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At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it.

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.”

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt.

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.”

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom.

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?”

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from.

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it?

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to.

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.”

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze.

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.”

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

#strange things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #slow burn #angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #Open Arms AU

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snowvies · 7 months ago

Text

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝

jonathan byers x fem!reader

summary: things get heated while developing pictures with jonathan

cw: smut, p in v, whiny jonathan.

"now we just wait for them to..um..develop" jonathan whispers, placing the picture in the pool of chemicals

you nod even though you're standing behind him, out of sight. the blood red bulb dangling above your head buzzes as jonathan stands from his hunched position and sighs.

"it'll take 10-15 minutes. give or take" he gives a crooked smile before turning around and dipping more photos in

"so...how long have you been into photography?" you purse your lips slowly

"uh, a while...I've always liked to observe people" he answers before shaking his head and turning to you, embarrassment engulfing his frame

"sorry that sounds really weird" he rubs his hair to keep his hands busy as you smile softly up at him

"no, I completely get it...you're good ya'know" you grin, nodding to his developed work clipped on the wall

he stares at his feet while his face breaks up into a smile, maybe its because this rooms literally bright red but you could have sworn you saw blush creep up from his neck. he mutters a quick 'thank you' before moving back to his work

you and jonathan have been going out for a few weeks. shy girl meets shy boy when she had to bring his little brother home after he got a flat tire on his bike when having a playdate with her little brother. you saw him at school before but you were way too nervous to go say hi ever...turns out he felt the same way.

"I didn't know our school even had this" you mumbled, looking around the little closet, he shrugged and absentmindedly waved his hand over his shoulder

"no one really uses it..."

you nodded, fingers traced the drawers before jonathan called you over to show you a few of the photos that were ready

"so this is some random pond near my house..." he spoke while clipping the dripping photo onto the string

"aaaand...this is you" he mumbled sheepishly while clipping a photo of you smiling, he insisted on taking one on your first date.

you quickly turned jonathan toward you as you kissed him softly

"thank you...they're amazing!" you grinned, his pupils filling out his iris as he traced his sight over your features. you felt hot once you realized how close you really were with him

"jonathan?" you whispered

"mhm"

"you said no one really comes in here...right?" you spoke carefully and he nodded, understanding your undertones and you both softly swayed into one and other

his lips caught yours and he backed you to the wall, you gasped at his sudden eagerness as a loose hand locked the door

"you sure? like really sure?" he slurred between kisses and you just said yes yes yes

you tore your top off as his was already missing, tugging his belt off while you unclasped your bra

now just left in both your underwear you panted into each others mouths, his hands traced down your back and hooked your panties before ripping them down. you felt exposed but so safe with him as his dick slapped against his stomach and rubbed on your pussy

he sank into you, kissing you slowly with each inch before being fully connected. you felt the burn of the stretch, but once he started moving, it was just pleasure.

his hips slapped against yours as he dug his face into your shoulder, whining softly while peppering kissing on your neck

your hands wrapped around his back as you clung to him with each whimper that came from him the wetter you felt, squeezing around him tighter as he sped his motions up

he moved up to grab your cheeks and smush a kiss while his thrusts fastened. you shook as you came around him, squeezing him incredibly tight as he cried out before coming in you.

you both stood there, shaky. panting slowly as you both came down from your highs when he looked over to the bowls and equipment

"...they're developed...now"

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers smut #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers fanfic #jonathan byers fanart #jonathan byers x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #jonathon byers #jonathan stranger things

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

The Deep End - Billy Hargrove X Female Reader

Title: The Deep End

Billy Hargrove X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's mother (Mentioned), Billy's dad (Mentioned), Billy's mom (Briefly Mentioned), Will (Mentioned) Jonathan (Mentioned), the people of Hawkins (Mentioned), and Heather

WC: 4,670

Warnings: Pretending the Mind Flayer didn't possess Billy, Reader can't swim, Reader has anxiety, Reader is terrible at interacting with others mentioned, gossipping, sort of enemies to lovers mentioned, a bit of suggestion, a lot of italics, mention of abuse, mention of injuries, Reader is mentioned wearing a bathing suit (not specifically a bikini or one-piece, etc.), cursing, teasing, flirting, yelling, drowning, mention of panic attacks, Billy's feeling a bit guilty, slight angst, and fluff

It was hot. The summer sun was beating down on Hawkins, Indiana with no mercy. Sweltering rays of heat warmed every surface, from the sidewalk, the road, to the metal slides on playgrounds. There was no escaping this heat, nor the sun. Even with air conditioners on full force, sweat seemed to trickle down the nape of your neck, staining your thin shirt.

Fanning yourself with a homemade paper fan, you slouched on the couch, hardly being able to pay attention to the TV that was playing some reruns of I Love Lucy.

It was hot. And you were absolutely done with it.

There was only one place, in all of Hawkins, that you could go to that would and could help with the summer heat. One place that you hated going to. The mere thought of it filled you with dread.

Hawkins pool. A mile or two from your house. Near the middle and high school. It was usually full of people during the summer, either sunbathing in lounging chairs or splashing in the chlorine pool. To anyone else, it was paradise in the very - crappy - small town.

To you, it was hell. Screaming children, the chance of being splashed with cold water, older women ogling at young lifeguards, and just… A lot of people in general.

You had only been there a handful of times, either with family or friends. In reality, if you had the chance, you wouldn't have gone in the first place. Every time you went, it felt like all of Hawkins was there. Too many people. You hated it.

You weren't the most… Social of people. Which was kind of odd for the town of Hawkins. For example, some people thought you were weird. Like they thought Will and Jonathan Byers were weird. And people talked, they all hung out, they gossipped, partied, had potlucks, or barbecues in their backyards.

You tried to get out of those situations, if you were ever invited to them, which wasn't very often thankfully. You weren't very good at communicating or having conversations that didn't just end with you subconsciously ending it for yourself and the other person.

Even in school, you were pretty shy and introverted. You had hardly any friends, you only went to the book club - since it was quiet and you could read in peace - and you sat by yourself at lunch. And you enjoyed it. But now and then you would feel a little bit jealous. Seeing people chatting along with their friends, laughing and having fun. But it came to a point that you would rather focus on your studying or homework rather than pushing past your boundaries and trying to make friends. Too much of a hassle, you thought.

So when Billy, the new kid in town, came to Hawkins, you never, in your wildest dreams, thought that he would ever notice you, or talk to you, or anything.

He was a popular guy, talkative, a ladies man, and a bad boy. He had friends, he had all the girls fawning over him, and he loved it. The attention, having such a reputation. He was so… Different from you.

So when he walked up to you at lunch, sat down in front of you, you could hardly believe what was happening. Why? Was the one word that circled in your mind. Why?

It couldn't have been for any good reason, could it? Like with everyone else, he wanted something or needed something out of this interaction. You even let the thought of him just wanting to get in your pants pop up, but you brushed it off.

He did want something. And of course… He wanted you to help him with his homework. But not help him, he just wanted you to do it for him. Yay. For some reason, he thought since you were always reading all the time, that you would be smart enough to just do his work, but dumb enough to fall for his charm.

Let's just say… That didn't work.

You were smart - intelligent - Intuitive. You always had good grades and always made sure to keep them that way. You studied hard and enjoyed reading; whether from a book given to you for a lesson or from your shelf at home. You enjoyed school, since it busied your mind and gave you something to do.

But that didn't mean that you were going to go so low as to just do his homework for him. It was his work to do, he could do it himself.

And when telling him that, you expected him to roll his eyes, scoff maybe, and find some other smart and defenseless person to trick, and to never bother you again… Good riddance. But he didn't. He grinned.

Oh, he kept coming back. Again, and again, and again. He just wouldn't let up. The first couple of times, he tried to convince you to do his work for him; he said that he just didn't have the time, or that he was going out for that night. As if he thought that was going to help him in this situation.

And after a while, of either ignoring or telling him you'd be late for class and walking away, he switched on you.

Instead of asking for help, he went as far as to ask you out.

Really?

You turned him down, every time. No, you didn't want to go to the diner after school for a milkshake. No, you didn't want to go see that new movie at the drive thru. No, you did not want to go to a party with him. Who did this guy think he was?

It was irritating, everyday you would become paranoid from just the idea of Billy walking over to you at lunch, popping up beside you at your locker, or trying to talk to you during the two classes you shared with him. You had already gotten in trouble once.

At the four month mark, though, Billy stopped trying to get you to go out with him, and started trying to get to know you? Or that was just what it seemed to be what he was doing. It was hard to tell, he was just so confusing, and irritating, and cute… God…

You hated him. So it became sort of a surprise to you when you and Billy started dating.

And it wasn't just because Billy wanted to get in your pants or just check you off on his list as another person he's dated. To Billy, you weren't some prize to be won. You weren't someone to trick and fool with charming grins and flirtatious remarks.

You had your doubts in the beginning, but Billy proved himself and showed you that behind the facade of aggression and bad boy reputation, he was just highly misunderstood. His past and current trauma that he was suffering from at the hands of his father made him the hating and reckless person he was. But, deep down, he was hurting.

~~~

You never thought that, while watching a movie at your house, that Billy would rip off the bandaid and just tell you. And that was long before you had asked him where he had gotten the black eye from an hour before.

"It was my dad," His words rang out, seemingly echoing throughout your room; lingering.

The air was thick, as you swallowed, looking up at Billy who sat beside you, he stared at the TV screen. Your eyes flickered, noticing how soft and sad his blue eyes were, in such contrast to his hardened expression.

"Billy…" You muttered, your heart breaking for him, your hand reaching out to curl around his arm.

Billy's jaw clenched, as did his fists, his knuckles turning white. "He has been since I was a kid." His voice was thick with emotion, though he tried to control it; still staring at the screen. You felt your eyes sting, biting your bottom lip so as to not let it tremble. "He's the reason my-" He couldn't finish, snapping his gaze from the TV and standing.

Abruptly, he moved off the bed, clenched fists at his side as he faced away from you. You slid off the bed as well, but you did nothing more, in fear that if you got too close that Billy would close back up and or leave.

"Billy, you don't have to continue." You spoke softly, watching as Billy only shook his head.

"I hate him." He muttered, his voice matching your own. You took your chance to walk closer, going around his side to stand in front of him.

His expression broke you. That charming smile, mischievous glint in his eyes, it was all gone. In its place, was a broken young man, who just wanted to love and to be loved.

Reaching out, you cupped his cheek, Billy's eyes closing before you dropped your hand to instead circle your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Billy slowly did the same, his arms wrapping tightly around you, his hands resting on your back; fingers gripping your sweater with a death grip.

He dug his face into your neck, letting out a shaky breath. It didn't take long until you felt his tears seeping into the soft fabric of your sweater, which only made you hold him tighter.

The world was so cruel to him.

~~~

People still didn't believe that you and Billy were an item, more so at school. It annoyed you, but you ignored it, like you did with most things at school. Billy seemed to pay it no mind whatsoever.

He'd go about his day like nothing happened. His arm looped over your shoulders as he walked you to class, lunch, to his car. He'd still do everything like he had before, minus flirting with others. He ignored every flutter of eyelashes and moved away from every suggestive arm caress. To some people, it seemed Billy was slowly changing to be a one gal guy. And people would look, stare, gossip. And that was the worst part, the gossip.

"Oh, they won't last more than a month."

"A week tops! I heard that she's paying him to pretend to be her boyfriend."

"I don't know why Billy is wasting his time. He should be with me."

But all that didn't matter. What mattered was you and Billy.

And you missed him. While you were stuck at home, dying of heat stroke, and Billy was at the pool, dying of heat stroke… Really, you could've been dying together.

But no, he had to work. In the one place that you hated going to. The one place that you swore you'd never walk into voluntarily. Until today, right now.

Letting out a groan, you stood up, your skin sticking a bit to the couch as you did so. Trudging through the house, you continued to fan yourself as you climbed up the stairs and headed up to your room.

Digging through your closet, you pulled out a small cardboard box. Rifling through it, you pulled out your old bathing suit. Lifting it up, you tilted your head before nodding; it should still fit.

Grabbing your canvas tote bag, you stuffed your suit, and whatever else you needed into it before you left.

The drive was nothing more than relaxing. You turned the cold air all the way up, but you wished that the drive was longer.

Your nerves had begun to overwhelm you once you parked. Looking out your driver's side window, you could already hear the screaming of children. It was going to be a nightmare… But less so since Billy was there.

Letting out a breath, you pushed the door open, instantly hissing at the hot rays of the sun that were hitting you. Blinking your eyes, you begrudgingly shut your car door and walked over to the open gate.

Immediately, you felt tense. Feeling people's eyes upon you, even when they weren't even looking. The prickling on the back of your neck sent a chill down your spine. Swallowing thickly, you stepped in further, your eyes quickly finding Billy sitting on the lifeguard tower.

You felt a breath leave you as you walked over, stopping to stand beside the tower. And though your nerves had died down somewhat from just being near Billy, the pool in front of you did not help.

Looking up, you observed Billy. How he sort of slouched in his chair, legs spread, eyes surveying the pool goers, absentmindedly biting on the tip of his pool whistle. The sun beating down on him, a stern look on his face. It made you smile lightly, almost forgetting that you were even in Hawkins pool. Who gave him permission to be so God damn stunning?

"Hey… B." You spoke up, quickly gaining the attention of the dirty blonde.

He whipped his head around and down, his serious expression slipping away into a grin once he saw you. "Hey there, gorgeous." He greeted you before climbing down the lifeguard tower ladder. "What are you doing here? I thought you hated the pool." He continued once he was standing before you, giving you a slow once-over, chewing on some gum.

You shrugged, "I missed you." Glancing around, you pivoted your weight from one foot to the other before looking back over at him. "... Aren't you supposed to be up in the tower, watching people?" You asked as you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile slowly crawling on your face.

Billy only shook his head, his grin widening as he glanced around the pool, "I can watch them all perfectly fine from right here." He spoke, looking back at you before gesturing to your bag. "You swimming?"

Smile faltered slightly, you shook your head. "I won't swim, but I'll definitely stand in it. It's so hot out." You glanced at the sky briefly, squinting, "Too hot."

Billy hummed, and again, you didn't miss the way his eyes raked over you. "Well, I'll watch out for you. Give you mouth to mouth if something bad happens."

Letting out a small laugh, you shook your head, "Yeah, sure, okay."

"Seriously," Billy answered, pointing a finger at you, a hardly stern look on his face, "Be safe."

You wanted to say that you'd be fine, it was just a pool after all, but you knew better. You'd make sure that you weren't close to the deep end, you knew that there was a steep decline into the deep water… And well, not knowing how to swim would probably be a problem at that point.

But you only nodded, your smile softening, "I promise. I'll be fine."

Turning around, you headed off to the changing rooms, but right before you could take your first step, you felt Billy take your hand; tugging you back around to face him.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Billy didn't give you a chance. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, physically melting as you let out a sigh.

You felt dazed when he pulled back, a teasing grin on his face as he looked down at you. "See you in a minute, sunshine." He spoke, and you nodded; almost floating as you walked off to the changing rooms, hardly noticing some of the neighborhood mother's glares.

You were on cloud nine, your mind completely glossing over you putting on your bathing suit until you stepped back out. You fell right down at the overwhelming sight of all the people.

Did they multiply when you were in there?

Letting out a breath, you walked over to the steps of the pool, carefully stepping in, you were immediately greeted with the sweet chill of the water. Pushing away from the railing, you swerved past a couple of kids, mothers with their younger children and toddlers before finding yourself in the section of the pool where you felt the safest - the water hitting just below your chest.

Looking up, your eyes met Billy's stare. At you spotting him on his perch, he let a small smirk find its way on his face; winking. You didn't even realize that you were smiling, shyly looking away and just chilling near the edge of the pool, back pressed to the concrete.

It hadn't even been more than ten minutes when a few kids were splashing around near you, pushing each other by the shoulders into the water, only to pop up; their laughter merging with the already loud atmosphere.

To get away from them, you slid to the side a few steps, wiping away the bits of water that managed to land on your face from their havoc. Though refreshing, it was a tad bit annoying.

A sharp whistle rang out through the air, grabbing your attention and everyone else’s, “Hey, gasbags!” Billy yelled out at the kids that were rough-housing near you; they looked up at him in what seemed to be fear, “Don’t make me ban you from the pool!”

After that, you had grown less anxious by a considerable amount. You would feel your heart rate accelerate when someone got too close or when you accidentally made eye contact with someone as you were surveying the pool - awkward. But, for the most part, you were enjoying yourself, to the extent that you were in the perfect spot to casually look up and see Billy only feet away.

You only snapped your gaze away from your boyfriend when you felt something bump into you. You stumbled slightly to the side before fumbling backward. Your eyes widened as you felt yourself falling backwards, arms flailing, your feet dropping past the cliff in the pool.

You crashed to the water, slowly sinking to the bottom. Your mind had frozen, totally out of control as everything muffled around you. Your eyes were screwed shut, your mouth closed with the little bit of air you were able to gulp down in the process of falling.

At the tightening of your chest, your eyes flew open, panic settling in. You tried to look around, the chlorine burning your eyes as you watched peoples' legs kick around in the water; like from a scene in Jaws.

Trying to propel yourself up with your arms, you finally reached the bottom. Thrashing your arms, you pushed off the bottom of the pool with your legs, trying to reach up to break the surface, but it seemed so far away. When really, if you only had a bit more time, one last push would've made you break the surface.

You felt tired, your chest burning as were your lungs and throat. Your eyes drooped, and suddenly, you inhaled. You felt like you were drowning. You were drowning. As the water filled your lungs, you watched with blurry vision as bubbles floated up to the dimming surface above.

Your ringing ears slowly faded, your vision with it. And for some odd reason… You felt at peace.

With the little bit of consciousness that you had left, you felt something grab you and pull you up. What felt like hours, had only been a minute.

Suddenly, your eyes opened, and you turned on your side as pool water expelled from your mouth with force. You coughed, chest heaving as you choked on the remaining water in your mouth; the taste was foul.

You felt a hand on your back - rubbing soothing circles - a voice speaking to you, or trying to. It was hard to make out what they were saying. Slowly, you were moved back to your back, your droopy eyes blinked heavily as you stared up at the person over you.

Slowly but surely, your vision got better, allowing you to see a very distressed Billy. His mouth was moving, talking to you, no… Yelling. But your mind couldn't process it. What was he saying?

He lightly tapped your cheek with his palm, just as your hearing began to return, you suddenly felt really tired and your throat burned. Little droplets fell from his wet curls, landing on your neck and cheeks.

"Y/N, can you hear me now?" He asked, and you nodded slowly. You watched as he let out a big sigh, taking you in his arms and helping you sit up. His warm hands, wet with the same pool water brushed over your face, pushing back your wet hair. His blue eyes, hurriedly and worriedly, checked over you swiftly for any sign of cuts, bruises before checking you for a concussion; which you did not have thankfully. "You scared me for a minute." He muttered, "Do you think you can stand up?"

You opened your mouth to speak, "B…" Your throat burned, screaming out to you to stop, and so you did, just nodding instead.

"I know, I know…" Sowly, Billy helped you stand up, your hands holding onto his arms tightly. His hands gripped your waist and lower back, just in case he would have to catch you. That's when you noticed everyone staring. Everyone was watching you, everything was deathly quiet. You ducked your head down, as if that would help, closing your eyes tight, you felt your chest tighten once more. Billy, being the super attentive boyfriend he was, immediately noticed your oncoming panic attack, quickly and carefully leading you to the first aid room near the pool office and changing rooms. "Take my shift, Heather." He grumbled, passing the other lifeguard.

Looking up from the office window, she watched as Billy passed with you beside him. Huffing, she stood, "You owe me." She muttered before leaving the office to take his place as the lifeguard.

Billy quickly opened the first aid room. It was bigger than a typical Janitor's closet, but small enough that it couldn't fit more than probably twenty people; if they all squished together shoulder to shoulder.

Sitting you down on a chair, you leaned back against the back of it, your head tilting to the side, your ear pressed to your shoulder. You watched as Billy pulled a large towel from a shelf, turned towards you and wrapped you in it. Rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms, Billy's eyes flickered over your face, the same distressed expression on his face. "Y/N, talk to me."

You blinked, lifting your head slightly, "I- I am never going into that pool again." You muttered, your voice still a bit rough, but getting better.

And from your response, Billy cracked a small smile, a real, fond one. "You don't ever have to. You can sunbathe. Or, hell, bring a book with you if you want."

You nodded slowly, allowing yourself to smile, "That's a good idea."

Sighing, Billy pressed his hand into your cheek before grabbing the edge of the towel and gently drying your face and then hair. "When I said that I'd love to give you mouth to mouth… I didn't mean when you were drowning." He tried to joke, but inside he was still panicking.

You did your best to do the same. You knew that if you started freaking out, then Billy would too. "I'm okay. I'm just tired." You blinked your burning eyes. "I think I want to go home." You murmured, and Billy nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, let's get you home." Helping you stand, he then helped get your things, and grabbed his, before punching out and leaving for your car.

Buckling you in, you took his hand, "What about your car?" You had asked, but Billy shook his head.

"It'll be fine for tonight." He shut the passenger side door before hopping into the front seat. "You're more important." He muttered, and you almost didn't hear it once he turned the engine on.

The entire drive home was silent. A tense fog in the air, breathable, but anxiety-filled. You wondered if he was angry at you, which you knew was ridiculous, but the thought popped into your head anyway. But the grip he had on your thigh, tight but comfortable, brought you out of that negative headspace. Your hand carefully laid over his, your thumb brushing along his knuckles. Pressing the side of your cheek into the passenger side window, you let yourself shut your eyes.

~~~

When you next awoke, you were in your bed. Billy nowhere in sight. Blinking, you stared up at your creme ceiling, your fingers gently brushing up on your warm, blue comforter. And suddenly, you felt hot.

Kicking off the blankets, you at least kept part of the sheet near your feet, observing your yellow sleep shorts and one of Billy's shirts on you. Thank God you weren't still in that bathing suit. At this point, you wanted to burn it. Pushing your hands against your bed, you propped yourself up, scooting backward and leaning back on the headboard. Swallowing, you coughed lightly, taking a glance and noticing a small glass of water on your bedside table.

Taking it, you took small sips, allowing your mind to process what had happened. You almost drowned. Billy saved you. You are alive. You are home. You replayed those words over and over in your head, trying to tell yourself that everything was okay. You were safe.

At the light knock at your door, you looked up as it opened, Billy pausing briefly, meeting your eyes before walking in. He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at you, less worried, but with that same look in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and you nodded. "Your mom said you were, her being a nurse and all."

You bit your lip briefly at the thought of Billy bringing you home and making sure you were alright with the help of your mom. "Yeah," You took his hand into yours, "I'm okay. Thanks to you."

Billy pursed his lips, eyes hardening ever so slightly as he turned his head to stare down onto his lap. He said nothing for a moment, his grip tightening in your hold slightly. "Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't swim?" He then asked, and you sighed, biting your bottom lip.

"It's embarrassing." You muttered, feeling your eyeballs sting with salty tears. "And I only went to get out of the heat. I didn't plan on going out that far, honest. I just tripped." You spoke, rushed, making Billy turn to look up at you.

"I'm not angry at you, if that's what you're thinking." He remarked, and you stopped, looking up at him. "I'm angry at myself. I should've kept my eyes on you like I said I would."

Shaking your head, you gave him a smile, "You didn't know that I can't swim. None of this is your fault." You shrugged a shoulder, “Plus, if you were watching me the entire time, you wouldn’t be protecting everyone else.”

After a few moments of silence, of gazing into each other's eyes, he spoke, "I'm giving you lessons." He gestured to the door, "Your mom, she was pissed when I told her what happened. She asked me to teach you."

Huffing, you rolled your eyes. "I never want to swim or even go near that pool again." You groaned, and Billy nodded.

"You never have to, but I'll gladly teach you only when you want to learn." He answered, earning a hesitant nod from you.

Another moment passed, "Thank you, Billy." You whispered, sniffling lightly as you looked at him.

His smile, small but genuine, sent shivers down your spine, "Don't mention it." He muttered, leaning forward to press his lips to the center of your forehead. Tracing his fingers along your cheek, you pressed your hand to his, keeping it on your cheek.

"Are you staying the night?" You alee softly, and Billy smirked, his half-lidded eyes bored into yours.

"I was planning on it." He leaned back down to brush his lips against yours. "Any movie suggestions?"

Shutting your eyes, you answered, "Anything but Jaws."

#cute #fluff #slight angst #x reader #x female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x you #x y/n #stranger things #stranger things season three #stranger things s3 #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #st season 3

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spider-stark · 2 years ago

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RITE OF PASSAGE

JONATHAN BYERS X READER

Summary - Your best friend, Jonathan, likes you. You like Steve.

Warnings - mentions of sex

JONATHAN HAD never been a fan of Steve Harrington. He had a lot of reasons for his distaste, given that the infamous King Steve was a royal dick. Steve had called Jonathan almost every name in the book, labeling him a pervert and a creep. On top of this, he was never shy about attacking the Byers name as a whole, regularly taking hits at Jonathan’s family.

Truthfully, his list of reasons to hate Steve was quite literally never-ending. There was only one reason, however, that had the power to make his blood boil; serving as both a reason to hate Steve and a reason to envy him.

You.

He wasn’t surprised by your fascination with Steve, especially given the fact that every girl in Hawkins would die for a chance to so much as touch his hair. He just didn’t find it to be very fair, though.

Steve Harrington already had everything he wanted; money, popularity, a swarm of girls all dying to get on their knees for him, and all Jonathan wanted was you. But, all you could seem to think about was Steve, and that little fact was almost enough to drive him insane.

“They say it’s like a rite of passage, ya know.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicked over to you, perched atop his bed while mindlessly tossing an old issue of Teen Beat to the floor. The two of you always spent your weekends like this, cooped up in his bedroom listening to whatever record held his attention at the moment, just passing time together.

“What is?” He asked, sitting cross-legged towards the end of the mattress. Your legs were laid across his lap as you leaned against the wall behind his bed, your gaze glued to the ceiling while his remained fixed on you, watching as you chewed at a piece of loose skin on your lip.

You hesitated, ceasing your assault on your chapped lips as they pulled into a coy grin. The sight made his heart flutter in his chest, unintentionally mimicking your expression. “Having sex with Steve.”

A strangled sort of sound escaped Jonathan’s throat as he threw his head back, the fluttering in his chest now replaced with a familiar sinking feeling. You mistook his frustration as teasing, never having considered that Jonathan thought of you as anything but.

“I’m being serious!” You squealed at him, cheeks now flushed as laughter spilled out alongside the words. “I heard Tammy talking to some other girls at lunch, and they all agreed that you just can’t go off to college without the King Steve experience.”

Jonathan straightened himself back out in time to see you playfully wiggling your eyebrows, clearly more into this conversation than he was.

He was used to hearing you talk about Steve, and most of the time he did his best to play along so you wouldn’t get suspicious of his feelings towards you. He always listened to you drone on and on about Steve’s car, Steve’s hair, Steve’s clothes, and, once, even Steve’s ass. But conversations like these were the ones he struggled with the most, the ones where he couldn’t quite force himself to play along anymore.

It made him sick to think about it, the idea of you being just another girl for Steve Harrington to stick his dick in.

You deserved better than that.

You deserved him.

When he didn’t reply, you continued. “And I was thinkinggg-” you drug the word out, scooting down the mattress to get closer to him, “that maybe you and I should go to his party tonight!”

Jonathan’s face dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“C’mon!” You immediately whined, placing your hand against his knee as you prepared to beg him, looking at him through your lashes. Jonathan was always a sucker for your puppy-dog eyes, but right now he couldn’t focus on anything other than the knot forming in his stomach. “I know it’s not really your thing, but I don’t wanna go alone. You know that going to one of his parties is my best chance to get his attention, plus Tammy already said she’d introduce us and everything! And you don’t even have to stay the whole time! You can leave as soon as Tammy brings Steve over—”

“No!”

You jumped a bit at the sudden shout, stunned as Jonathan shoved your legs from his lap before rising to his feet. Jonathan rarely ever yelled, especially not at you.

A frown settled on your lips. “Look, I get you don’t like parties, but you don’t have to freak out-”

“It’s not about the party, y/n!” Jonathan interjected again, his hands running through his hair as he began to pace across his room, his mind moving at a hundred miles a minute. “Like, seriously, do you even hear what you’re asking me?” He didn’t give you enough time to respond, already continuing his frantic rant. “You’re literally wanting me to drive you to Steve’s house just so I can keep you company until he decides he wants to fuck you!”

“Okay,” you raised your hands like a white flag, keeping your voice steady as you followed him with your eyes, still moving from one end of the room to another, “if it’s gonna piss you off this much then you don’t have to take me, alright? I think Nancy’s gonna go, so I can just see if I can hitch a ride with her or something-”

Jonathan’s fingers tightened around his sandy hair, pulling it roughly as another groan escaped him. “I’m not pissed cause you want me to take you!” Your brows furrowed together at his words. “I’m pissed because all you care about is getting with Steve!” He paused his movement, feet coming to a halt as he pointed an accusing finger in your direction, “You’re better than that! You’re better than a fucking easy lay for Steve Harrington!”

“You’re acting dramatic.” You told him plainly, arms moving to cross over your chest.

“And you’re acting stupid.” He quickly countered.

Your eyes only narrowed at him, still trying to keep your cool, not wanting the whole Byer’s household to hear the two of you fighting. “It’s not a big deal, Jonathan! Everyone has flings in high school. And if you had someone you were interested in I would happily help you get with them! So why are you acting like such an ass about this?”

Jonathan shook his head at your statement, huffing as he spoke. “It’s different.”

“No, it’s not!” You retorted. “You're just being a dick about this because you don’t like Steve!”

“It’s not about Steve! I mean, yeah, sure, I don’t fucking like him—but that’s not the point!” Warmth crept up his neck, frustration reaching a boiling point as he struggled with picking his words. “It’s different because you don’t like me!”

He spoke with such a harshness, his words carrying an unfamiliar edge. It took you by surprise, and left you sinking further into the mattress as you watched his hands fall from his hair to his face, covering his reddened cheeks. The atmosphere had changed now, anger having morphed into discomfort.

“What are you talking about?” Your voice was low, just a few notches above a whisper. “Of course I like you, Jonathan.”

His head shook again, rubbing his face as he let his hands fall back to his side. “No.” He told you as if it were a fact. “You don’t. Not the same way, at least. Not how I like you.” He hesitated, looking somewhere over your shoulder, too embarrassed to meet your gaze. “Not how you like Steve.”

Something cracked in your chest as he spoke, the words lingering in the air between the two of you. Instantly you found yourself filled with a sickening sense of guilt, thinking of all the times you had gushed over Steve to Jonathan, having been so oblivious to his feelings the whole time. Beneath that guilt, though, was something else; perhaps best described as a streak of curiosity as you considered the idea of being with your best friend.

It was uncharted territory in your mind, a forbidden topic that you had never dared to consider previously, and now that thoughts of it bloomed in your mind, you were a bit shocked to find that you weren’t put-off by it.

Jonathan, on the other hand, had gone into a full blown panic as he realized what he had admitted. He had bitten his tongue for years now, too afraid to ruin what he did have with you, and now in a single moment he had risked blowing all of it. He took a deep breath and readied himself to find some excuse to leave, maybe lie about needing to pick Will up from Mike’s house, but you spoke before he had a chance.

“I don’t not like you how I like Steve.” You clarified, sounding vaguely unsure of yourself and awkward. “I just—I don’t know—never knew that you were…” you paused, sighing as you tried to find a way to phrase your thought, “an option.”

Neither of you had ever done this before, never thought to cross the simple boundary of friendship and venture into something else. Because of this, Jonathan matched you in awkwardness as he replied, “I am.” He cleared his throat, still diligently avoiding eye contact with you. “I mean—if you want me to be, then I am.”

For a moment you both stayed quiet. You remained planted on the bed, Jonathan still standing across from you, nervously fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans.

“Okay.” You spoke, breaking through the fairly new silence, sliding yourself back up to the top of his bed. You reached for the floor, your fingers grabbing hold of the Teen Beat you had tossed aside earlier.

Jonathan finally looked at you, staring as you began to flip through the pages again. “Are you not gonna call Nancy?”

Your shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug, stopping you incessant flipping as you landed on an article about Molly Ringwald. “The album isn’t over.” You told him, referencing The Clash record he had put on before the two of you had gotten into it. “Besides,” you added on, glancing over the thin pages of the magazine with a playful glint in your eye, “I’m better than an easy lay, right?”

All he could manage to do was look at you, even after you shifted your attention back to the magazine. Without another word, you patted the comforter beside you with your palm, silently urging him to rejoin you on his bed.

Maybe he didn’t have to be jealous of Steve after all.

a/n - decided i wanted to start writing for stranger things, so ofc i had to start with my boy jonathan<3 obviously very new to writing for stranger things so bear with me i'll improve ok i promise

steve totally wouldve fallen in love w/ the reader if she went to the party but whatever we will let jonathan have this win ok

#jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #jonathan byers headcanons #jonathan byers fic #jonathan byers blurb #jonathan byers drabble #jonathan byers fluff #jonathan byers smut #stranger things imagines #stranger things blurb #stranger things headcanons #stranger things fic #stranger things fan fic #steve harrington imagine #charlie heaton #charlie heaton imagine #stranger things

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metalmonki · 6 months ago

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The Dating Odyssey: Jonathan

Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Jim Hopper/Jonathan Byers x fem!reader

1.6k word count

fluff, idiot reader, reader who can't say no, choose your own adventure-ish

Part 1 / Steves Ending / Eddies Ending / Jims Ending / Billy's Ending

Authors note: And so we reach the final part. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you waited for Jonathan. He called you a few days after your date his shyness amplified over the phone. "Would you like to go on another date? I'd love to, uh, capture you, I mean, take your picture, in different settings."

It was endearingly awkward, and you couldn't help but agree. Here he was, looking even more nervous than on your first date, clutching an old camera with a worn leather strap. "Hi," he mumbled, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"Hey, Jonathan," You smiled. "Ready to unleash your inner paparazzo?"

He chuckled, a dry, self-deprecating sound. "Something like that. But more... artistic, I hope."

You started at a nearby park. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, dappling the path with golden light. Jonathan fumbled a bit, muttering under his breath about focus and aperture, but when he finally looked up, his eyes held a quiet intensity. "There," he said, a shy smile gracing his lips. "You look... radiant."

There was something magical about seeing yourself through his lens. In the photos, the park wasn't just a park anymore; it was a scene from a dream, and you, the unexpected protagonist.

Next, you wandered through a quirky antique store. Jonathan captured you amidst dusty gramophones and chipped porcelain dolls, a playful glint in your eyes. He even snapped a candid shot of you trying on a feather boa, the laughter lines around your eyes crinkling joyously.

His shyness seemed to melt away with each click of the shutter. He talked about his passion for photography, the way light and shadow could tell a story, the fleeting beauty he found in the everyday. With the last of the photos taken Jonathan had spoken off heading home to his home-made photo processing lab to develop the photos. It didn’t take much pressing on your end to convince him to take you with him to see the photos develop. The drive out to his house was extremely quiet. Jonathan spared a few awkward glances to you during the drive, it was evident by the look on his face that he was nervous about having someone watch him develop his photographs.

The silence in the dimly lit photo lab was broken only by the sound of music playing in the background. Jonathan, his brow furrowed in concentration, meticulously hung the film canisters from a rack, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he caught you watching.

"You sure about this?" he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the music.

"Positive," You grinned, leaning against the counter. "I can't wait to see how they turned out."

He offered a shy smile back. "Me neither, to be honest. It's one thing taking the pictures, another entirely seeing them come to life."

The photo lab was a far cry from the bustling coffee shops and sun-drenched parks where your dates usually unfolded. But here, with the pungent smell of chemicals hanging in the air, a different kind of intimacy blossomed. You were sharing a secret, a peek into the process behind the magic of capturing a moment.

Jonathan, usually so reserved, transformed into a focused maestro. He explained the steps in hushed tones, a gentle pride radiating from him as he spoke about the dance of light and dark on the film. He described the anticipation of waiting for the image to appear in the developer bath, a baptism into reality for the fleeting moments he'd captured.

As the minutes ticked by, you watched in fascination. The nervous fumbling you'd witnessed the first time he held his camera had vanished, replaced by a quiet confidence. He moved with an almost ritualistic grace, his movements practiced yet imbued with a reverence for the process.

Finally, the first print emerged from the fixer bath, dripping with a clear, pearlescent sheen. Jonathan held it up to the dim light, his breath catching in his throat.

"There you are," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

It was the picture from the park, the one bathed in golden sunlight. But seeing it here, fresh from the developer, held a different kind of magic. The light seemed to glow from within, your smile radiating a newfound serenity.

He met your eyes, a shy smile gracing his lips. "Not bad, huh?"

"It's incredible," You breathed, reaching out to touch the wet paper. "It's like seeing myself through your eyes."

The next few minutes became a blur of anticipation and awe. Each photograph emerged from the chemical bath, a story revealed in silver and light. The playful chaos of the antique store, the quiet intimacy of the bookstore, the city skyline transformed into a canvas of dreams under the starlit night – each image brought back a flood of memories, enhanced by Jonathan's unique perspective.

When the last print emerged, shimmering wet in the dim light, a comfortable silence settled between you. You stood there for a moment, surrounded by the hum of music and the faint scent of chemicals, a connection forged in the shared experience of giving birth to these memories.

Finally, Jonathan turned to you, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "So," he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What do you think?"

You smiled, your heart brimming with a warmth that had nothing to do with the chemical baths. "I think," You said, stepping closer, "we have a lot more stories to tell together."

Stepping out of the photo lab, the crisp night air felt like a welcome slap after the chemical haze inside. The streetlights cast a warm glow on Jonathan's face, his smile brighter than any neon sign. "Ready?" he asked, holding out the manila envelope filled with your memories.

You nodded, taking the envelope from him. Its weight felt significant now, a tangible record of the day. A day you didn’t want to end. You walked in comfortable silence to his car, a quiet understanding hanging between you. The drive to your apartment was filled with stolen glances. Each time your glances met, a shy smile would bloom on his face, mirrored by yours.

The radio played a slow ballad, the melody weaving itself into the comfortable silence. Jonathan seemed lost in his thoughts, a contemplative smile playing on his lips. You couldn't help but take a closer look at him in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. He looked different somehow – more confident, perhaps, with a spark of pride in his eyes.

Suddenly, he caught you staring. A blush crept up his neck as he quickly looked away, muttering something about taking a wrong turn. You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tense silence.

"It's okay," You teased, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "I like this detour."

He chuckled, then finally stopped at a red light, turning to face you. "Me too," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

His eyes held a depth you hadn't seen before, an unspoken question lurking beneath the surface. You felt your cheeks burning, a delicious mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in your stomach. Leaning forward, you brushed a stray strand of hair off his forehead.

"You're amazing," You whispered, surprising even yourself with the boldness.

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze so intense it stole your breath away. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that spoke volumes more than any words could.

The light turned green, and Jonathan pulled back into traffic. But the quiet magic of the moment lingered. You talked in snippets, about the pictures, about your shared dreams, about anything and everything that came to mind. Yet, the silences felt comfortable, filled with a new understanding that transcended words.

Finally, you pulled up in front of your apartment building. The engine hummed softly, neither of you wanting the night to end. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a question he didn't dare voice.

You reached over, your fingers brushing against his as you turned off the radio. "Would you like to see the pictures again?" you asked, offering the envelope.

A grin spread across his face, chasing away the nervousness. "I thought you'd never ask."

We walked up to your apartment, hand in hand, the weight of the envelope feeling lighter now, replaced by the warmth of connection. Stepping inside, you flicked on the lights, casting the room in a soft glow. He pulled out the pictures, and you spent the next hour reliving your adventure through Jonathan's lens. The pictures weren't just photographs anymore; they were keys that unlocked a treasure trove of shared memories, each one etched not just on film, but on your hearts.

As you sat staring at the photographs in the comfort of your apartment, he confessed, "You inspire me, you know? You make me see the world differently."

"Your greatest muse, huh?" You teased, remembering the phone call.

His blush deepened. "Well," he stammered, "maybe it's a bit too soon to say that, but..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath. "There's something about you. You light up a room, even with just a smile."

Walking him back to his car, the weight of his camera a comforting reminder of the afternoon, you realized it wasn't just him who'd been inspired. Jonathan, with his quiet passion and shy observations, had opened your eyes to the beauty in the ordinary.

As you reached his car, he handed me a small, worn print – one from our first date of you trying to take a photo of a lone flower. "For your inspiration," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took the picture, the warmth of a blush echoing in your cheeks. "Thank you, Jonathan," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You're my muse too." It felt true. In his own unique way, Jonathan had shown you the beauty of being seen, truly seen, and you couldn't wait to see where this shy photographer and his camera would take you next.

#jim hopper #eddie munson x reader #jim hopper x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things

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louloulemons-posts · 1 year ago

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Oil At The Coffee Shop II

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Reader finishes up the shop with the help of Steve and meets friends new and old.

Word Count : 1.4k

Warnings : Ramble-y, Not proofread, talks of alcohol and being drunk, grumpy/shy eddie, bestie steve, not much reader x eddie happens in this part.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It’d been a busy week, full of painting and decorating. The shop needed brightening up, now a beautiful sage colour, with deep green tiles behind the counter.

It was lovely and snug, mismatching couches, tables and chairs. Plants everywhere, bookcases lining one of the back walls, and a chalk board showing your menu.

Your aunts cafe had been the heart of Hawkins at one point, you wanted it to become that again. Somewhere cosy and relaxing when friends, old and new, could meet and laugh.

“So, how are you feeling about opening day tomorrow?” Steve asked you. You’d been almost inseparable since you came to Hawkins, catching up throughly. “Nervous, but so excited.”

“Did you get more staff sorted?” he dropped himself on a plush couch, sighing in comfort. “Well honestly I don’t think we’ll be that busy for a while, so I’ve only hired one.”

“Max?”

“Mhm, that’s for recommending this place to her, she seems like a lovely kid.”

“She is, she went through a lot of rough stuff, but she bounced back big time.”

“I’m glad, she seemed eager to get to work honestly. When she had her training day, well I’ve never seen someone pick up on how to do stuff so quickly.”

“She’s a great kid I’m telling you, and if Max is here then all of her friends will be too,” he smiled. “That including you, Mr babysitter?”

“You’re horrible to me you know that, I’ve helped you clean this place up and decorate and you’re just horrible.”

“Oh shush, thank you again for all the help.”

“Of course, can’t let my oldest friend suffer can I? Now let’s go!”

Steve had said celebratory drinks were in order when you finished the shop, so he was taking you to meet/reunite with some friends. Locking up the shop you climbed into his car and were on your way.

“So where is it we’re going?” you asked him.

“It’s called Hideout, used to be kinda dark and dingy, but now it’s been rebuilt it’s quite the up and coming place.”

You hummed, sighing in relief. The shop was ready, you could relax, have some fun. It was Saturday night and you were opening Monday morning, so a whole day of relaxation - and getting over a hang over probably.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Pulling up to the hideout it was what you expected, it looked like a club on a quiet night. Steve had mentioned that a lot of people didn’t come here because most of those in hawkins were old or thought the town was a huge satanic village.

There was a bar, booths, a smokey stage, tables and chairs cluttered around. It was dark, but not gloomy, it was autumnal in a way - a feeling of comfort.

“There they are,” Steve spoke, leading you through the small crowd to a corner booth. You saw two girls, one you faintly recognised and the another who was new to you. Then 3 men, the one being Jonathan Byers.

He pushed himself up from the booth, walking over to you. “It’s been too long,” he smiled, coming and wrapping his arms around you. “How are you Johnny?”

“I’m good, how’s everything.”

“Great,” you smiled.

“Okay, introductions,” Steve spoke, introducing you first. “This is Robin, Nancy, Argyle, and you know Eddie,” he motioned to the group.

You smiled and raised your hand in greeting, “Come sit!” one of the girls said, holding her hand out to you. You took it and sat down next to her - Nancy.

“Steve told us a lot about you, I think we actually used to play when we were younger?”

“I remember! You have a younger brother right?”

“Yeah Mike, got a sister too, Holly.”

“How’s Scott doing?” Jonathan asked.

“He’s great! How’s Will and, um it’s El right?”

“They’re good.”

“Right I’m going to get us some drinks!” Steve said, taking peoples orders.

“I’ll come help,” Eddie mumbled, standing from the booth. You chatted between the four remaining people at the table, learning more about Robin and Argyle and catching up on Nancy and Jonathan’s life. Even finding out that they were a couple.

“So how come you moved here Argyle?” You asked the long haired man, he seemed to pause before preparing an answer. “I met Jonathan a while back, and after the earthquakes I decided to help rebuild my buddies town. I now own the pizza place in town.”

“No way! I own the new coffee house a few streets along,” you smiled.

“Yeah Johnny boy said you were Callies niece,” Robin spoke from beside you.

“Yeah. Hoping to do her justice,” you sighed.

“You will,” Jonathan said, reassurance lacing his voice.

Glasses clunked on the table, they were slid around to find their owner. Thank yous spoken here and there, “Here you go,” Eddie grunted, placing the glass down in front of you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, taking a sip.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The night was full of drinks, laughter, music and getting to know everyone - well most people. Eddie barely looked your way, seeming to mainly speak to Steve.

Robin was real sweet, talking to you about her partner, Vickie. It was adorable to see how in love she was. You’d also found out that she was a music teacher at Hawkins Elementary.

“What did you do before you got left the shop?” she asked.

“Oh painting and decorating, my brother and I did it together.”

“Sweet,” she smiled, “Family businesses always seem like the best, like the Munsons,” she nodded to the curly haired man across the table.

He noticed this motion and looked over and you, dark eyes meeting yours. Your heart thumped, they were like melted chocolate, but tired - exhausted even.

He made a noise of confusion at Robin, “Just talking about family businesses, you and Wayne and whatnot.”

“Hm right, what about it?” He asked, mainly to you, almost as if he was scared you were badmouthing it. “Well my family has businesses too, just saying how they’re the best.”

He nodded simply and went back to chatting with Steve, who almost seemed to be quietly scolding him.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“It was really nice meeting you!” Nancy smiled, Jonathan’s arm around her waist. “You too,” you smiled waving goodbye to the pair and Argyle.

You could hear giggles from behind, Vickie and Steve were currently trying to get Robin in the car. Her limbs like jelly, most likely due to the amount of shots she’d consumed.

You couldn’t help chuckle at your new friend who was telling her partner and Steve how much she loved them. “Told her to lay off the shots,” A voice spoke from beside you.

“I see why, the minute someone says shots you know it won’t end well.” He hummed at that, but not much was said after. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just a bit strange.

You were normally someone who didn’t struggle with talking to people, but Eddie you couldn’t figure out what to say. “Just so you know your car should be good as new,” he spoke up.

“Oh that’s great! When can I come and get it?” you asked, turning to face him. You hadn’t realised how much taller he was than you. “Well we’re not open Sundays, and I heard you talking about opening up your shop Monday.”

“When do you close?”

“I actually thought I could drive it over for you,” he said.

“Would you mind? I’ll pay you happily,” you spoke, so thankful for his generosity.

“Just a coffee, Steve said you make great Cherry turnovers too.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. “Okay, one coffee and a cherry turnover.”

He began to talk again, but Steve jogged over to you. “Hey, sorry about that. Robins just … yeah Robin. Let’s get you home.”

“You good to drive?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah had the one and then swapped to lemonade, I’ll be good.” He nodded and spoke again, “Okay then night, it was nice to see you again.”

“You too,” you said softly.

“Let’s go,” Steve said and you walked to his maroon vehicle as Eddie walked to his own van. It wasn’t the pick up he was driving the other day, no an older looking van.

Without looking your way again, he drove away. “You alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Was nice meeting everyone.”

“Told you they’d love you. Eddie’ll warm up to you eventually, he’s just shy. You actually got more out of him than most so, maybe you’re lucky.”

You hummed, leaning your head on the window, looking out at the stars and moon above.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

Taglist :

@corrodedseraphine

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 🤍

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luveline · 2 years ago

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omg ANOTHER Jonathan request for you (once more with no pressure included) but what about a baby blurb where you’re figuring out what pet names you both like :’) ty miss jade I adore you endlessly and I hope you have the best day ever

I ADORE you <3 ty for your request miss mei! jonathan and shy!fem!reader talk pet names one lazy afternoon

You stare at the ceiling. If you look at Jonathan right now, you're not sure you'll ever recover from the embarrassment that comes with such heavy vulnerability. He hoists your joined hands onto his chest. He's looking at you, you know, the weight of his gaze impossible to ignore as it tracks up and down your face.

"Baby," you say quietly. "Definitely baby. And… I like it when you call me honey, like we're an old married couple."

"You like a name that makes you feel old?"

"More the married part," you say, turning into the pillow to smother your laugh.

His head inches toward yours, his soft hair kissing your forehead. You peek up from your hiding and find him very, very close, his eyes closed gently, brown lashes skimming the soft skin beneath.

"I like baby, too, 'n' honey, but…"

You flare your fingers where they've been pulled up to his collar. "But what?"

"Sweetheart," he says, and your heart skips. "I think sweetheart is my favourite. The way you say it."

You let out a tight breath. "I don't think you've ever called me sweetheart."

"Sweetheart," he says again, ducking his head to rub his lips against your knuckles.

"What about lover?" you tease lightly.

Jonathan wrinkles his nose, eyes opening in displeasure. "I'm not sure about that one."

"Love?"

"Not sure."

"Dove? Love dove?"

He drops your hand in favour of your face, deft fingers fanning open against your cool cheek.

"Dove," he says softly. "That suits you."

"Yeah?"

He plants a deliberate, sweet kiss just under and to the left of your chin, hand tightening its grip on you ever so slightly. He pulls back, rubbing it away with the tip of his thumb. "Dove," he says decisively. "Do you like that one?"

He could call you just about anything and you'd feel it like a spark.

"Yeah," you whisper, letting your hand climb the curve of his neck.

He leans in for a quick kiss. "Honeybuns?" he asks, pet name warming your lips.

"Sugar pea?" you shoot back.

"Sex kitten?"

You cringe, but there's something so sweet about being with him talking about stuff that has no consequences. You wrap your arms around his neck in a burst of confidence, lips pressing to the top of his head. "No," you say into his temple fondly. "Definitely not."

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers drabble #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers fanfic #jonathan byers fanfiction #jonathan byers fic #jonathan byers x shy!reader #jonathan byers x y/n #jonathan byers x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #shy friday

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eiightysixbaby · 10 months ago

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when the van’s a-rockin’…

jonathan byers x fem!reader

1.9k

when jonathan’s car is in the shop, argyle lets him borrow his van for a date night with you. fun ensues ;)

18+ only! unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), cum eating, hickeys, jonathan spanks you one singular time

Jonathan’s car being in the shop for a week wasn’t all bad.

Sure, you felt a little silly when he picked you up for your date night in Argyle’s bright yellow Surfer Boy Pizza van, but it was better than not having a date night at all. And sure, you felt wildly out of place pulling up to the nice restaurant of choice in that, but who really cares what anyone else thinks, anyways? And yes, okay, there was something on the back of it that wouldn’t stop rattling as you drove down the California streets, but… Jonathan’s car had been far worse before he took it in to get looked at.

So really, what could you complain about?

Right now, you’re seriously reconsidering ever even being apprehensive, because really you should be grateful. Grateful that Argyle was kind enough to bless you with means of transport. With a large vehicle like this one comes a vast empty space behind the two seats up front. And what a shame it would be to let all that space go to waste. You certainly weren’t going to allow that to happen.

Parked off of some dirt road, Jonathan lays on the pile of blankets covering the floor of the van, naked from the waist down. His white t-shirt rides up on his tummy, exposing the trail of hair that extends beneath his belly button. His button-up is undone, the patterned fabric splayed out at his sides as his hands take a firm hold on your hips.

The tail end of what had been a perfectly-rolled joint sits neglected in the cup holder, the windows just a little bit foggy from the smoking sesh he’d partaken in shortly before.

Fully seated on his glorious seven inches, you let your hips roll slowly. You can feel him pressing deep within you, hitting different spots as the angle changes with your movements. Fed up with your pace, he lifts your weight as he starts to bounce you on him, encouraging you to move faster. You take the hint, take it gladly, letting yourself rise and fall on his cock more quickly.

The sound of your skin colliding with his creates a rhythmic slapping, loud enough to make you shy away if only he didn’t feel so damn good.

“Fuck, baby—” Jonathan curses, lifting his head just slightly to shake his bangs out of his eyes.

You simply hum a noise of approval in response, continuing your quick bouncing movements. One of his hands reaches around to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass, only to let go and deliver a swift smack to the area right after. You moan, a short and staccato’d sound, always loving when he gets a little rough with you.

The contours of Jonathan’s face are highlighted with the glow from the setting west coast sun, and you can’t see it but wow; the light is making you look divine, too, where you’re perched on top of him. Pleased noises crawl their way out of your throat as he bucks his hips harder up into your wet heat, and he thinks he’d like to record those sounds and play them back on a cassette tape over and over. The soundtrack to his fucking life.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks you sweetly, with just a hint of cockiness shining through. It’s not often he isn’t bashful and humble, but he’s not ignorant to when he’s making you feel phenomenal.

“Yeah,” you sigh, squeaking slightly when the pad of his right thumb circles over your clit. “So good, Jon. Always so good.”

You can feel the slide of his cock, warm and heavy as it pushes in and pulls back out. It almost feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, your senses heightened, feeling every bit of him. You’re lost in the bliss, your bouncing slowing to a halt in your hazy headspace, leaving him to do all of the work.

A particularly harsh thrust from him sends you plummeting back to earth, a hot exhale leaving your lips as his cock shoves the air from your lungs. He might as well be in your guts, making a home for himself there. You’d let him stay forever, that’s for certain.

He doesn’t mind doing the work for you, his left hand gripping you tight while he continues to tease your clit with the other. The van teeters with the force of his movements; any potential onlooker would definitely piece together what’s happening inside in approximately 2 seconds. The windows only get foggier, the humidity in the vehicle rising from your shared body heat and huffed breaths.

He pants, grunts leaving his mouth as he fucks into you faster, faster, faster. You hold desperately onto his sides, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt as he jostles you with each buck of his hips.

“Shit—” he whimpers, pinching his eyes shut for a brief moment as his head tips further back, chin raised to the ceiling. “You’re so fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” he says, voice strangled as it leaves him.

It’s truly taking everything in him not to blow his load this second, wanting you to finish first, always.

You’re absolutely soaked; if you couldn’t feel it you can certainly hear it. The slippery, sloppy sounds that create a symphony as they bounce off of the metal walls. It’s making his movements so easy, so smooth, your cream completely coating his cock. You watch in awe as his brows wrinkle together, cursing loudly, his eyes filled with sheer desire as he keeps them steady on you.

You can’t help yourself; leaning down to let your mouth latch onto his neck. Kissing the soft spot that you know drives him crazy before the kiss turns into more of a bitey thing, sucking a red bruise into his skin.

He whines, breathing heavy. “Fuuuuuck,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier.

Fingers hooking under the collar of his shirt, you tug it down to expose more of his skin to you, using it as your canvas. You leave more marks, purple and red and passionate, littered in various places.

“Baby, shit, I’m not gonna fucking last,” he rasps urgently; a final warning.

Lucky for him, he brings you to your peak with perfect timing, his finger on your clit working a steady pace until the coil in your stomach snaps.

“Jonathan!” you moan, louder than you’d intended, nearly a scream for him as you come completely undone on his cock. You feel him hold out for a few more quick thrusts before he’s spilling all he has for you; filling you with warm, thick spurts of his cum.

Your chest heaves as you take steadying breaths, coming down from your high in unison with him. His hair sticks slightly to his forehead with a thin layer of sweat, and you can feel moisture on your own skin beneath your shirt. His hand cups your face, encouraging you to lean down, into his eager mouth that kisses you with fervor. He pulls away, brushing hair out of your face before pressing his lips to your forehead.

Pulling off of him, you wince, feeling the sticky wet mixture of your arousal and his drip down your inner thighs. You glance down, looking at the mess you’d made of Jonathan’s now softening cock.

“Fuck…” he mutters, eyes glazed over as he watches his cum drip from you. “Come here, I need to taste you,” he nearly whines, grabbing hold of your waist and encouraging you upwards.

Desperate hands grip your thighs that straddle his head, his pupils dilated as he gets an up-close view of your wrecked cunt. Before you can say a word, he’s diving in to get a taste, mouth eagerly lapping up the mess you’d both contributed to.

“Jon— oh,” you breathe, gripping onto the seat in front of you to keep yourself stable.

You can feel his tongue swiping up into your wet walls, filthy noises coming from the way he absolutely devours you. His nose brushes against your clit, nudging it with just enough friction to drive you up the wall. His usually gentle fingers press so hard into the meat of your thighs you wouldn’t be surprised if they bruised, keeping you locked in place right where he needs you.

The way his tongue roams eagerly resembles a man consuming his first meal in days. Eating you out like a man completely starved, licking at your folds like he’d never get a taste again. His eyes are closed, focused solely on the flavor between your thighs — the saltiness of him and the sweetness of you combining into one.

He comes up briefly for air, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I’m gonna cum inside you more often,” he declares — promises, really. “Cause I like cleaning up my messes,” he says, honey eyes looking all-too-innocently up into your own as he resumes his meal.

“Christ, Jonathan, you can’t just say things like that,” you insist, but your voice comes out breathy and holds no hint of a scolding tone. You hope he holds true to his statement, because you’d let him do this any time he wanted.

Your eyes squeeze shut, legs trembling as you keep yourself propped up on them. His soft lips suck on your clit, the lewd noises of the action sending you closer and closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

“Don’t — don’t fucking stop,” you choke out as his tongue flits rapidly over the sensitive bud. He shakes his head back and forth, nearly rabid the way he pleases you.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he mumbles into your core, resuming the work of his tongue as soon as the words are out.

You’ve gotta be absolutely drenching his face; surely he must be covered in the slippery wet mess that leaks from you, and the thought of it makes your skin flush hot. You’re teetering right on the edge of release, beginning to grind your hips down against his mouth in complete and shameless greed.

He can hear the way your moans get breathier, higher in pitch, and he knows you’re about to finish.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urges, muffled by your pussy, sucking on your clit once more before you’re tipping over your edge.

Your whole body shakes above him; taking loud, gasping breaths as his tongue works you through the pleasure. He’s groaning into your core, kissing and licking and sucking everywhere his mouth can reach. It’s downright filthy, nasty, scandalous the way he can’t get enough.

Before long it becomes overwhelming, your body too sensitive, and you start to squirm in his grip before he lets you go. His eyes watch you, entranced with you as he quickly hikes his boxers back up his legs, concealing his cock that’s hard once again. You move to sit beside him, letting him pull you down for a messy kiss that’s all tongue and lips mouthing at one another. Tasting yourself on him makes your head spin, your tongue exploring his mouth to get more of it.

Finally pulling away, his hand cradles the back of your head as your foreheads rest against each other.

“Hey, Jon?” you say, pulling back enough to fully look at him.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling softly at you as he wipes his face clean.

“Make sure to really thank Argyle for letting us borrow his van.”

He laughs, breathy and boyish before he starts to lean in for another kiss. “I will.”

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers smut #jonathan byers blurb #jonathan byers fanfic #jonathan byers fanfiction #divider by cafekitsune

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saikokirakira · 1 year ago

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Part 1 of 2: Pagtingin (Feelings) [Steve Harrington x Reader]

a/n: let's pretend this hasn't been sitting in my completed list since ferbruary. it was initially a 3-parter, but i decided the 3rd one to be part of the sequel. guess who's the dumdum who doesn't have a title for it? i'm using the Ben&Ben song I listened to while writing this chapter. it was either this or "baka sakali (Maybe, just in case)". it also annoyed me because "pagtingin" means "look; gaze" but in its context it means "(hidden) feelings," so it's neither wrong or right. language, ammarite?

summary: based on this blurb on a hanahaki au/flayed!reader

word count: 2.1k (brace yourself because the next chapter is almost 5 times long. yep. you heard me.)

warning: steve is an oblivious himbo; unrequited feelings / pining; minor violence; implied underage drinking (it's season 2, ykyk?); stranger things season 2 canon

You had a crush on Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Then again, who didn’t have a crush on King Steve?

Growing up with Steve, albeit shy of two years from the senior, had you following him around like a puppy. You watched him jump from one girl to the next before he surprisingly settled with Nancy Wheeler last year. “She’s different,” he had said before asking you for help on how to woo her.

Stop flirting with other girls around her. Actually listen to her and try to be interested in what she says. Get to know her instead of treating her like another girl. Surprisingly, he listened to your advice – everything you wished he would do for you – and got the girl.

Steve always got the girl.

However, something strange happened when Nancy’s best friend, Barbara, went missing, not much later since Will Byers as well. With your overprotective parents dropping a curfew on you, you barely hung out with Steve anymore. You knew nothing good will happen when you left him too long with Tommy and Carol, and you were right.

Much to your surprise again, Steve and Nancy lasted until his senior year. You couldn’t argue that being with her made Steve want to better himself. You even got to know Nancy for a bit, and for someone quite reserved, you actually liked her.

“Haven’t you ever considered dating?” she had asked you once.

You hummed for a bit, pondering on your answer. “Steve knows most of the nitty gritty on the guys on Hawkins High,” you explained. “He scares the bad ones away, and the ones that are decent are too intimidated with him being my friend since forever.”

“You never thought of dating Steve?”

You laughed lightly. You had a crush on Steve, but you didn’t like him enough to act out on it. “What an odd question from his own girlfriend,” you pointed out, and interestingly enough, it made her uncomfortable. You guessed a lot of Steve’s exes were also pretty intimidated by your friendship with Steve.

“Nope,” you lied smoothly. “Steve never asked me, and we never had the conversation on crossing that line in our friendship.” Still, the pinched look on Nancy’s face remained, and you began to wonder if it was more than just jealousy… or if she was hiding something else.

That inkling you had took form in Jonathan Byers half-carrying a wasted Nancy during a Halloween party. You asked around for Steve only to find out that he also ditched you. You aggressively poured yourself a glass of spiked punch before catching yourself, pouring the contents back in the bowl.

“Smart move.”

You didn’t need Steve to tell you that Billy Hargrove was bad news.

“Harrington ditched you, pretty girl?”

“What do you think?” you shot back. You walked out of the kitchen to find a house phone, only to find a couple making out right against it. “Seriously?”

Billy snickered right next to you.

“You’re still here,” you sighed in exasperation to show your annoyance. “Why?” You narrowed your eyes at the blonde.

“Oh, please, no need to be short with me, pretty girl,” Billy said, flashing you what he probably thought was his charming smile. “Harrington isn’t here for you to be his loyal lapdog.”

“What are you talking about?”

Billy stepped closer to you, and you were overwhelmed by the smell of beer and cigarettes from his person. “From what I saw earlier, Wheeler and Harrington seem to be over,” he whispered in your ear, “so you might actually have a chance this time.”

Rage quickly filled your veins, and you shoved his bare chest, pushing him away from you. Your reaction only amused Billy further. “You don’t know anything about me,” you spat out.

“As a matter of fact, I know everything just by looking at you,” Billy retorted, giving you a once-over. “I don’t often help out girls like you, but you’re just pitiful. Pathetic even.” He continued, “Guys like Steve don’t stay single for long. Takes one to know one, pretty girl. Best make your move soon.”

You hated how you knew Billy was right. Nancy clearly had feelings for Jonathan, and it wouldn’t be long before Steve would be looking for a rebound. Maybe if… maybe if he could see how you and him worked so well over the years, Steve might also see you as someone worth long-term. Even longer than Nancy.

For the next two days, you muddled over how you would tell Steve how you really feel. You settled for simplicity. Just give it to him honest and straightforward. With a motivated resolution, you drove to his house and caught Steve just in time as he was leaving his house.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Steve smiled, pulling his keys out. “Come with me. I need your help picking out something. I’m driving.”

Ten minutes later, you and the florist locked eyes, seeming to have an understanding with each other, while Steve fawned over the bouquet that you chose for Nancy.

There’s just something fucked up over choosing a bouquet you want for your crush to give as a reconciliation gift for his ex.

Mysteriously enough, Nancy wasn’t at her house, but Dustin Henderson, a friend of her younger brother’s, was. You observed how the boy dragged Steve over to the car, where you were waiting, and talked about “a baseball bat with nails.” Steve succumbed to Dustin’s demands and opened the trunk of his car.

“Why the hell do you have a baseball bat mace, Harrington?”

Dustin directed his attention to you. “Are you good with pets?” he asked randomly.

“I used to have a cat and a dog?”

“Perfect. You can come with us.”

For the next three hours, you and Steve followed the boy in his storm cellar, finding a tunnel dug by an animal too big to be a dog. Dustin explained to you about a monster he cared for as a baby, until it ate his cat. Now, he made plans that you and Steve would come back the next day to find it before it was fully grown.

By that point, you simply indulged Dustin and his games. It was all just bad unskippable side quests on your way to confess to Steve. … right?

When morning came, Steve picked you up, telling you that Dustin called him to buy meat to bait his rogue monster pet. Again, you indulged them and came along. If Steve was losing his sanity over his breakup, so were you by still trying to confess in these conditions.

“Why are you still friends with me?” Steve asked all of a sudden, his eyes were focused on the road to the way to Dustin’s house. “I’m no longer popular. My girlfriend broke up with me. I’m currently hanging out with my ex’s brother’s friend finding a cat-eating monster.”

Tell him. It’s the right time. But what if it’s not? Of course, it is. What if he’ll think I’m only taking advantage of his situation? What if he’ll think I’m only friends with him for that reason?

“Don’t be full of yourself, Steve,” you snorted, picking at your chipped nail polish. “I’ve known you since you were a loser. It isn’t so different now.”

“You’re such an ass.”

Your heart mellowed at the sight of Steve’s soft smile. Maybe I don’t have to tell him. These quiet genuine moments didn’t have to change. You loved it as it was.

“You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who... who you just met?”

“You have to admit, Steve, that’s pretty metal,” you commented, bumping Steve’s shoulder.

“What does that even mean?” Steve asked while still tossing pieces of chopped meat along the abandoned train tracks.

“It means it’s an awesome gesture,” you said, patting Dustin on the back. The boy smiled at you, preening from your support. From the past hour, you held a soft spot for Dustin who lacked in confidence but still put himself out there for a crush.

He’s younger but definitely had more guts than you.

“I just feel like you’re trying too hard,” Steve admitted.

“Hey,” you elbowed your friend in the side in warning.

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?” Dustin said quite glumly.

“The key with girls is just…” Steve trailed off, while you cut in, “Oh, I’d love to hear this.” He continued, “… just acting like you don’t care.”

And you burst laughing. You laughed for a good minute with tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” you said, “stop giving the boy bad relationship advice, Steven.”

“Are you telling me you never chased after a boy who didn’t show that much interest?” Steve asked, but just as he shot the question, he immediately followed with, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“I wanna know,” Dustin piped in.

“Just one boy,” you whispered in the boy’s ear but still loud enough for Steve to hear. “It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me that way.” Before anyone could catch your hidden meaning, you added, “Besides, I only go for guys who genuinely adore me.”

“As they should!” Steve exclaimed, pointing a finger at you. “Remember what I told you: Never take less than what you deserve.”

“As I was saying,” you emphasized, pointedly looking at Steve for interrupting, then crouching to meet Dustin’s eyes, “just be true with your feelings and yourself, and the right girl will come around for you.”

“I mean, that works too,” Steve mumbled. “Some girls are just special.”

“Like Nancy?”

… and that was your cue to walk ahead of them. You should’ve known that a wholesome moment wouldn’t last. Unfortunately, it would only go downhill from there.

In the next few hours, you were being chased by reptilian dogs, rendezvoused with Chief Hopper and the Byers, and met a punk kid who had mind powers. If you weren’t constantly fighting to stay alive, you would’ve demanded context from Steve. And now, you were in a tunnel under a pumpkin patch farm that led to an evil alternate dimension.

Some side quest for romance.

Steve led the group while with you last in case something snuck from behind. You were all careful not to breathe too hard, and you made sure to avoid touching anything on the walls, keeping eye on the kids as well. Doing so proved more difficult the further you went down the tunnel looking for what Mike called “the hub.” The vines and plant bulbs for some reason looked aware of your presence in the tunnels. In fact…

“Dustin, watch out!”

You shoved him to the side only to be sprayed with spores from the flower bulbs. Coughs and wheezes broke uncontrollably from your mouth as you tried to expel what seeped through your kerchief mask. You just hoped that you managed to get most out when you did.

After the little mishap with the flower, your group – much more carefully this time – finally succeeded in setting fire to the tunnels. You ignored the burning in your lungs when it did, especially when you ran back for Mike who got caught by one of the vines as its last resort. Running on instinct, you snatched Steve’s bat and rushed over to the boy.

“Grab him!” you barked at anyone. You stomped the offending vine with the heel of your boot and swung over and over. You screamed and cried out, not knowing whether it was out of aggression or from the burning in your lungs, until Mike was freed and the rest of the vines retreated back to God knows where.

Steve stared at you in awe and slowly approached you, retrieving back his bat but keeping his other hand locked with yours. “That was awesome,” he chuckled, squeezing your entwined fingers.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last because a pack of demodogs came barrelling down the tunnels in pursuit of us. Interestingly enough, one of them still managed to listen to Dustin – D’Art. So, he was real... Their reunion and goodbye were enough time to escape to the opening of the tunnel.

Steve climbed out into the farm first, and you began hoisting them up, saving yourself last. You barely managed to get Dustin out, who was putting up a fight to see D’Art until his last moments. Then the strangest thing happened…

The demodogs just stared at you.

It remained that way until they dropped dead, signalling the gate finally being shut.

You were frozen and was only pulled out of your stupor when Steve hoisted you out himself.

The way those monsters clicked and growled at you felt familiar. As if they knew you. Yet you didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

It was over.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfic #hanahaki au #flayed au #flayed!reader #hanahaki!reader #stranger things angst #steve harrington fanfic

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mattiehenderson · 1 year ago

Text

Elf-Witch

Synopsis: my first Stranger Things fic, don't be hard on me please. I'm so happy to see an 80s metalhead represented in a positive light for ONCE! I couldn't help but fall in love with him just like everyone else with taste. So I prefer writing male x male romances, and can I just say we need way more bottom princess male reader and dom daddy Eddie fics. This is my attempt to try and help with that. So this story focuses on my OC, Matthew "Mattie" Henderson, he's Dustin's older brother who's a senior. Heavily bullied for being so effeminate and goth. He has always had a crush on Eddie Munson since freshman year, but unfortunately Eddie is straight...or is he?

Warnings : Sexual language and imaginations. Minors do not interact, 18+.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson!OC

☆☆☆☆☆▪︎☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Look at me, please turn around and just look at me.

I stared intensely at the boy who sat in front of me in English, wavy chestnut curtains of hair poured past shoulders too broad for a normal senior, and onto my desk.

I could smell his v05 shampoo, the aloe one, and the Irish spring that almost hid his signature Marlboro and kush cologne. Slowly, quietly, I inhaled the scent that was all things Eddie Munson, the eternal prisoner of Hawkins High School.

In my marble notebook that was graffiti'd with cutouts of my favorite bands and scented stickers, I sketched an imprisoned Eddie in a medieval, hooded cloak behind bars, and coming to rescue him was a soft looking male witch. It went along with the story I was secretly writing for my own pleasure, the poor dungeon master who has been trapped in the dungeons of Hawkeye Castle for 400 years, under an evil queen's spell. Perhaps I named her Queen Cristiana of Hawkeye, after a certain stupid cheerleader that I always see hanging around a certain metal head after hours.

I don't know why I do this to myself, in what universe do I have a chance? Maybe in my own universe in my own land of make believe, but nymphs and orcs and furies also exist there so there's that.

In the real world, Chrissy Cunningham is the most beautiful girl in Hawkins, she's the head cheerleader and smells like Anais Anaïs, she has perfect hair and she's a she.

I, Mattie Henderson, am a boy. Not only am I a boy, but I'm a boy who wears more makeup than any girl in school. I wear my bleached curls too long and listen to darkwave. Eddie Munson would never!

I gently huffed before I finished sketching the scene where Matthias the Enchanter, in his red violet cloak and gossamer garments, shared a kiss with Sir Edward the Banished.

It was hilarious really. I have known him since I was a freshman, secretly pining, and knowing we have many interests in common, especially D&D, but I've always been too shy to approach him. Too shy to approach anyone, only having one friend my whole time living in Hawkins, Robin Buckley. I'm not as good with people as my little brother, growing up in the Midwest with being what I am and how I am, I figured it's smarter to keep away. Robin always understood me, since we met in seventh grade and I moved here from Connecticut.

After everything last summer with Starcourt, and finding out about what my brother and his friends have been apart of, I shockingly acquired new friends, the very unexpected Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and my art class acquaintances Jonathan Byers.

It's been a lot, it's been a fucking lot, and with it being my senior year the stress has been added. Mom keeps asking about my college options, telling me Indiana University has a pretty good art program. But I don't have the grades, I do enough to get by, school makes me miserable, I could care less about mundane things like classes and grades and teachers, and artificial societies. And sure I like art, but I love doing hair and makeup and nails too, something my mother definitely reaps the benefits of. And I don't exactly love Hawkins the Cursed Lands, but after everything and not sure about this place ever being safe again, I'd never leave my brother here without me. And as pathetic as it sounds, the thought of leaving the man who doesn't know I exist makes my stomach hurt.

I felt guilty for my thoughts, for my fantasies about him, for wishing the reason why I put my black velvet choker on this morning was to cover a bruise from his huge, ring wrapped fingers. Oh how I would cut off all twenty inches of my hair to just have his towering 5'11 frame over my 5'5 one, staring down into my black lined Hazel eyes, with his dark, teddy bear gaze.

The teacher must have sent paper down, because with the melodic swish of his chocolate butter ringlets, I was looking up at him and slamming my marble notebook shut faster than you can say Kissimmee. Dark, button eyes glanced at me before doing a double take. Now fixated on me feeling like a goldfish, with his plush, pillowy, bubblegum pink lips parted.

How the hell could anyone ostracize and hate such a gorgeous human being? Then the angel spoke and I felt like he was oozing the gospel.

Here we go again.

All because of one damn class I'm sitting in Johnson's English for the third fucking time.

I was the last one to plop my ass down, toward the back, the desk with the D&D scribbles and the classic "Ozzy rules" that violated government property. I got a snide remark from Johnson, and snickers and insults from Carver and his ball buddies.

This was exactly why I preferred to escape to my own world, where there are dragons and halflings, or when I close my eyes and finger my sweetheart. Just close my eyes and listen to The Number of the Beast, forgetting that reality is being the town's leper in a town where they decide Jason Carver is a good person because he knows his way around a ball.

Johnson was droning on about fucking writing prompts where he cares more about where a comma goes than if the story is good or not.

And then, as I'm passing back the picture prompt for the first day of hell, I did a double take at a new face. A face prettier than even the likes of Chrissy Cunningham. Looking up shyly at me, drawing out a protective feeling I didn't know I possessed, are bedroom, dreamy lidded eyes painted a lavender gray,with thick broom-like sweeping lashes that flutter before bright Hazel eyes, that reminded me of summer turning into fall, green fading into browning leaves and golden maples. Kohl-rimmed, making them more pronounced and more awe-inspiring.

Her nose is cute and broad with a puggish finish that rests prettily between roundish cheeks painted a deep blush. My eyes traveled down to a pair of the ideal cock sucking lips, I'm so sorry but I don't really know what else to call them. They're so full and big, so cushiony and I'm a pretty imaginary guy, so what I'm thinking of doing to that mouth…fucking that gorgeous face, making those Hazel eyes water and her gothic makeup run down those pretty chipmunk cheeks, making a big mess of her blood red lipstick smudging it on my cock.

I shifted in my seat feeling my dick stir, and this was not the time. Cascading around her face was voluminous white blonde curls, so wild and untamable like an elf-witch, very surreal and otherworldly and contrasts beautifully with her dark eyebrows.

And as if my she-elf couldn't have been more perfect, not only did she have herself collared by a black velvet choker, but a cut off Shout at the Devil Mötley Crüe shirt encased her. My mouth watered and when she lifted a fishnet, arm fingerless glove adorned wrist to take the prompt from me, I inhaled the sweet smell of apricots and roses and sweet, expensive perfume. I couldn't get enough of it.

"Munson, are you drooling? Is that drool, freak?" Carver happily and loudly like a fucking foghorn called me out in front of everyone. Nothing new, usually I'm very unphased by embarrassment, I mean I'm a 20 year old senior. But, for once that jockstrap got to me, knowing this enchantress witnessed it witnessed him calling me out for something she caused. I snapped my head away fast and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket before inspecting the porosity. Damn, I was fuckin drooling.

Saved by the Johnson, the droning authority started a roll call. Imagine my surprise when Johnson called out Matthew Henderson and it happened to be my little elf-witch…or elf-warlock should I say.

#eddie munson x male reader #mattie henderson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #stranger things oc #stranger things

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