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powderblueblood · 1 year ago

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you.

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor.

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent.

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t.

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t.

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora.

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips.

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be.

Especially now.

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal.

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?”

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little.

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.”

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand.

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height.

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.”

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene.

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.”

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight.

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup.

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom.

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains?

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds.

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen.

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school.

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card.

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?”

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.”

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.”

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else.

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror.

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family.

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets.

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you.

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends.

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina.

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore.

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause.

Eddie had to take a beat.

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on.

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure.

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head.

Ink stains mixing with precum.

Moaning into your mouth.

Giving you something to write to dear diary about.

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket.

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria.

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you.

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you.

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says.

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally).

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually.

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t.

Fuck.

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you.

—

“Anybody got bleach?”

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag.

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately.

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track.

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition.

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.”

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight.

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning.

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen.

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing.

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing.

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #e. munson by powder

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megxplryxb · 1 year ago

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Let Me Show You…

King!Steve x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fingering (F receiving)

Minors DNI - 18+

The school bell had gone a little over ten minutes ago, the seat beside yours still currently empty but you knew it wouldn’t be for much longer. Steve “The Hair” Harrington was always late to class, no apologies, no excuses, he’d just waltz in when he felt like it, taking his seat with a shit eating grin on his face. You’d been placed beside the “King” of Hawkins High at the back of the class, being forced to switch with Tommy Hagan two weeks ago when Mrs Click decided the two trouble makers were distracting each other and the rest of the students from their work and although you hated to admit it, sitting beside “King Steve” wasn’t so bad, he was extremely easy on the eyes after all.

Steve had always been flirty with you, especially since you had joined the cheer squad, cheering him and his teammates on while they played Basketball but he’d stepped up his game since being seated beside you in Click’s class. You’d done well to spurn his advances so far, knowing he’d been hanging out with Nancy Wheeler recently but that hadn’t stopped him from sweet talking you every chance he got.

The class had just started watching Romeo and Juliet when Tommy and Steve finally barged through the door, laughing loudly, earning a scowl from Mrs Click as they walked toward their seats in the darkness. “Mr Harrington, Mr Hagan, so nice of you to finally join us.” She said sarcastically as Tommy muttered something crude under his breath while Steve had already locked eyes with you, ignoring everyone else around him. “Hey princess, did you miss me?” He smirked, taking his seat as you tried to hide the smile that was forming on your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself Harrington.” You replied, flicking your hair as he slouched into the chair, placing his backpack on the floor. You could smell the cigarettes on his breath while he tried to mask it with mint chewing gum but somehow the scent was still intoxicating because it was coming from him. Fuck, how was that possible?

As the rest of the class continued to watch the movie in silence, you could feel Steve’s eyes on you, admiring your new dress, ogling your sun kissed legs, moving up your body until they reached your cleavage. He wasn’t even trying to hide his lust for you.

“Wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.” You tease, turning your head towards him confidently. Steve locks eye with you then, smirking as he leans closer to you.

“I think I’d rather the real thing, princess.” He admits as you clench your thighs, hoping he didn’t notice the effect he had on you.

You shake your head, trying to focus on the movie but you’ve got Steve’s full attention now and he knows he’s got you flustered already.

“C’mon sweetheart, I’m serious. When are you gonna let me take you out, huh?” He whispers.

“I can’t imagine Nancy would be too happy with you taking me out.” You reply, keeping your eyes on the screen at the top of the class.

“Who says she has to know? S’not like we’re exclusive anyway.” Steve shrugs carelessly.

“Oh really?” Your eyes widen with interest as he leans closer to you

“Yeah, really.”

“Hmm, even so, I think I’m busy.” You respond, faking a frown at the boy beside you as he presses his tongue to his cheek.

Steve can’t help but grin at your stubbornness, it’s a complete turn on for him and he can already feel his jeans tighten. He knows he can have any girl he wants at any time, but right now, he only wants you.

“That’s really too bad princess.” He sighs, pushing your pen off of the table and onto the floor with his elbow.

“And why is that?” You question raising a brow as he begins to lower his hand to the ground to pick up your pen but instead, you feel his fingers on your ankle, lightly running up the back of your leg before they move to the front of your knee and stop at the top of your thigh.

“Cause I think we both know I could give you the time of your life, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear as your breath hitches, cheeks immediately heating up.

You knew Steve was cocky, he’d proved it on more than one occasion but feeling you up in the middle of class? Shit, even you didn’t think he had the balls to do that.

“Steve, what if someone…”

“No one’s gonna see me do anything, honey. No one’s even paying attention to us, so why don’t you just sit back, relax and open those pretty legs for me yeah?” He squeezes your thigh as you nod a yes before giving him the access he so badly desired.

You do your best to hold back a small moan as Steve casually sneaks his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your white lace panties as he looks straight to the top of the class, pretending to be focused on the movie. He closes his eyes for a split second, licking his lips as he feels the heat radiating from your core.

“Shit princess, can already feel how wet you are. S’that all from me, huh?” He questions but you’re unable to answer, unable to think. He hooks one finger into your underwear, pulling the soaked piece of fabric to the side before teasing your folds.

“Steve….” You groan, trying to remember to breathe as he smiles at you, almost teasingly.

“S’ok honey, m’gonna give you what you want.” He mutters, resting his chin on your shoulder as he slides his middle finger between your folds, gathering your slick before putting the slightest bit of pressure on your clit.

“Ohmygod..” You whimper, shutting your eyes as he circles your little bundle of nerves.

“So fuckin’ wet for me.” He whispers, revelling in the way you’re trying not to make a sound.

“Did you think about this, honey? About me touching you? You did, didn’t you? Dirty girl, my dirty fuckin’ girl” Steve groans proudly, finally pushing a finger inside your cunt and then another.

You bite your lip trying to hide a desperate moan as he moves his fingers achingly slow inside you. His dick throbs with how tight you feel and his brain almost turns to mush when he thinks about how his cock would feel buried deep in you.

“Steve please…”

“Please what, honey? What do you need, tell me?” He requests, his nose and chin moving up the side of your neck and jaw, pepping quick, teasing kisses along the way. You shut your eyes again in utter bliss once you’ve confirmed that no one has caught on to your little escapade at the back of the room.

“Fuck, I need….Need you to go faster.” You beg, your mouth making an “o” shape as he starts to quicken the pace inside you, immediately giving you what you want. “That feel better, huh? This what you needed?” He smirks, pumping his fingers harder and faster.

“Mhmm.” You reply, looking down at the tent in Steve’s jeans, mouth watering at the sight when you see him palming at himself, trying to get a hint of relief.

“Steve you’re ha..”

“I know honey, this is what you do to me. Fuck I get hard just looking at you. Get so distracted by you in your little cheerleading outfit, just wanna take you into the locker room and fuck you senseless after every game.” He admits as your thighs clench around his hand, feeling a familiar knot in your stomach. Steve wasn’t lying, he’d jerked himself off on more than one occasion after a game in the locker room shower, unable to wait until he got home, needing to release himself after watching you cheer. Hearing you yell his name sent lightening bolts straight to his cock and he could just imagine how you’d sound saying his name in the throws of passion.

“Oh god…I’m close.”

“Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking you honey? Like the idea of my cock filling you up? Could have you screaming my name.” Steve teases as your eyes begin to water. He knows your close, knows you’re barely hanging on to your senses, it isn’t his first rodeo after all. He can feel you tightening around him, his fingers completely soaked and you’re both thankful for the noise coming from the tv to cover the squelching sounds coming from your pussy.

“Steve, I’m gonna cum.” You whine, grabbing at his wrist while he rubs a thumb over your clit.

“That’s my good girl, you gonna cum all over my fingers? Gonna make a fucking mess, yeah? Come on princess, let go for me, I’ve got you, s’ok.” He says, grabbing your face lightly, begging you to look at him as you reach your climax, gushing all over his fingers.

“Holy shit, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve says, placing his forehead on yours, letting out a heavy breath as he slips his fingers out of your panties, placing the fabric back over your overly sensitive core as you try to fix yourself.

“That was amazing.” You sigh, trying to catch your breath, still comprehending what just happened when the bell rings, signalling the end of the class and you both jump apart before Mrs Click turns the lights back on.

Steve is the first of you to stand up, trying to hide his erection with a math book as pull your dress back down over your thighs. He doesn’t move until you give him the go ahead, letting him know you’re good.

“Guess I’ll see you around, princess.” He says, smiling at you as he begins to walk away, not expecting you to pull him back, guiding him towards the nearest restrooms. Steve just follows you in awe, mesmerised by the cheeky grin on your face.

“Wait, what are you…..”

“Can’t a girl repay the favour?” You smile sweetly as Steve nods in approval, swallowing hard. “Fuck yeah, she can.”

“Harrington! You coming man?” Tommy shouts over to where you were both standing, shaking his head when he sees the two of you giggling, hands all over each other as you lead him to the bathroom.

“Oh he’s coming alright.” You grin, dragging Steve into nearest cubicle, locking the door behind you before unzipping his pants.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #king steve #steve the hair harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #joe keery #steve harrington fandom #steve x reader #steve harrington one shot #kinktober #stranger things 4

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sadhours · 2 years ago

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simmer down

billy hargrove x f!reader

masterlist • requests are open! • read on ao3

summary: being tommy hagan’s sister had it’s perks, but when the new kid from California catches your attention, it seems like more of a curse than a good thing

warnings: 18+ minors dni, Steve x Reader, underage drinking, partying, smut, p in v, angst, Billy is a mystery, Steve/Nancy, slow burn, forbidden romance

Being Tommy Hagan’s sister had its advantages. Your freshman year of high school, you had a guaranteed spot with the cool kids and an invite to every party. Tommy wasn’t protective by any means. You two were buddies, you and Carol were buddies and of course, you and Steve Harrington were buddies. Freshman year was a blur, until Nancy ripped Steve away from the group. Still, the three of you were determined to keep the good times rolling. Sure, you spent every single Saturday, Sunday and Monday hungover but it was worth it. You think.

Maybe you didn’t remember the parties very well but hell, you knew you’d had fun. Plus, you were lucky enough to lose your virginity to the King on your fifteenth birthday and even if he pretended you didn’t exist once he started dating Nancy, it was worth it. Okay, so you weren’t totally over Steve but you were coping just fine. Carol didn’t let you mope for long. There were too many parties to go to.

Then one day, Steve Harrington is pushed to the very back door of your mind. Perched on your brother’s car, sharing a cigarette with him and his girlfriend, a pretty blue Camaro whips through the parking lot and slides into the parking spot across from you. A small, angry redhead bolts out, slamming the door and zips up to the middle school on a skateboard. Every head in the parking lot is turned to the muscle car and the gorgeous, denim-clad, mulleted blonde motherfucker. He takes your breath away. Takes Tommy and Carol’s breath away. The guys dripping in cool. Not another person like him has stepped foot in this midwestern hell hole. The three of you can’t wait to sink your claws in him. He flicks his cigarette away, a small hint of a smirk curling his lips and your eyes follow the Marlboro as it tumbles to the ground. The fucking guy didn’t even smoke half of it. The nicotine fiend in you is tempted to snatch it up, but that’s like, super uncool.

You watch as Tina and her girls eyes linger on the stranger, practically salivating at the way his ass looks in his jeans. It must take at least ten minutes for the fucker to pull his pants up.

“Who the hell is that?” Carol wonders aloud for the group.

“One bitchin’ dude,” Tommy scoffs, an impressed tilt to his voice.

;;;

Tommy moves fast. You know this. He had an easy way about him, friendly even though he was the biggest asshole you knew. That blue Camaro is parked on the curb in front of your house. Your parents are outside, doing the yard work necessary to prepare for the cold front sweeping in. Your whole life was spent in Hawkins so you know nothing else but god, do you yearn for year long summers.

You were eager to listen to the new record you’d just bought. A quick wave to your parents and you’re opening the front door, flooded with the sound of Metallica’s The Four Horsemen. Tommy’s pulled out his only metal album to impress the new kid. The feeling in your gut isn’t new. You used to get the same excited feeling whenever Steve was over. However, this was different because Steve knew you. He watched you grow up. You’d known him since you were little. This new guy hasn’t played Barbie’s with you from the age eight to twelve.

You take a deep breath before heading towards Tommy’s room, leaning against the doorframe. Tommy’s head banging obnoxiously, Carol is checking her nails looking bored and the blonde boy is nodding his head along to the bass line. He’s got a cigarette pinched to between his fingers and as he’s bringing the filter to his lips, he sees you.

He takes a drag, smirks and says, “Hey.”

You’ve never loved your brothers ability to make friends more.

“Hi,” you try to say in the coolest way you can.

Tommy pauses his thrashing and motions to you, “Oh, Billy! This is my sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy’s sister,” he drawls.

You tell him your name, awkwardly lingering in the doorway before Carol’s tugging you inside.

“Whatcha got in the bag?” Billy asks, fingers pressing to the brown paper.

You swallow, “Uh, just a record.”

“Which one?”

You pull out the cellophane wrapped vinyl, displaying the copy of Out of the Cellar by Ratt you’d just excitedly purchased with your allowance.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Atta girl,” he cheers as he snatches it out of your hand.

The praise causes a flutter downstairs. Five minutes into meeting this fucking guy and you’re already a puddle. The excitement at impressing him is unmatched.

Billy shimmies around you, places a strong hand on your hip as he passes to stop the Metallica record and replace it with your new one. You plop down on the floor next to Carol, eyes drawing back up to Billy as he turns the volume up, cigarette hanging between his lips. He bobs his head, his earring dangling against his wispy curls and you don’t like feeling this arousal while in the same room as your brother and his girlfriend.

“Did you see Steve with the princess today? Ugh, gag me with a spoon,” Carol nudges your knee while mimics gagging herself.

Billy snorts, “What’s the deal with that guy? People kept telling me I was gonna be the new King, whatever the fuck that means.”

Tommy chimes in, “He used to be the King. We were good buddies until he started sticking his dick in the priss.”

“Steve’s nice,” you shrug. Only Carol knows what happened between the two of you and you’d sworn her to secrecy, too embarrassed to let your brother know you’d fallen for his best friend. She gives you a pointed look before rolling her eyes.

“He used to be cool, now he’s nice,” Tommy deflects, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He pulls a beer of the sixer and tosses it to you, which you fumble to catch.

You tap your nail on the tap, trying your best to rid the memories of Steve kissing you late at night from your head. You know if you glance over to Billy, they’ll dissipate but then you’ll be imagining kissing him and you don’t want that either.

“So where’d you move from?” you ask, not looking up from the beer.

Billy sits next to you with the thud, his knee knocking yours which absolutely does not shoot heat to between your legs. He lifts his can to you, indicating he’d like to cheers you. Sometimes Tommy’s friends did things like this with you and while he wasn’t protective of you, he made you promise that friends were out of the question. You could not hook up with any of them. Acquaintances were fine and while Billy was only that right now, you know Tommy wanted to be good buddies with him so you were awaiting the conversation. You were getting ahead of yourself. A cheers does not mean Billy’s attracted to you.

“California,” he replies as you clink aluminum cans. “Much better than this shithole.”

“You’re telling me,” Carol whines, “I fucking hate this place.”

Billy drops his cigarette in the empty beer can sitting in the middle of the floor, apparently the designated ashtray. He leans his head back to look at you, “What’s there to do here?”

You feel shy under his gaze, almost choking on your swig of beer once your eyes meet his. You clear your throat and swallow hard, “Uh, parties, mostly. Hang out in the woods. Go to convenience stores.”

“Ah. I expected more hick shit. Ya know, tipping cows, shooting guns, kissing cousins,” Billy chuckles, biting his lip as his eyes dart between your brother and his girlfriend.

“Carol knows about kissing cousins,” Tommy sneers, throwing his girlfriend under the bus.

“Do you have to tell everyone?” she hurls a rolled up sock at him. She turns to Billy, “He’s exaggerating. We’re not even blood related.”

Billy laughs, a cackle that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can’t help but giggle. You’d heard the story a million times. Carol was at a family reunion and didn’t even realize the guy was a distant cousin. However, shit, it’s a family reunion. Who’s trying to get their rocks off at a family reunion?

“You guys smoke grass?” Billy changes the subject and the three of you nod in unison. “Know where I can get some?”

“Eddie “The Freak” Munson,” Tommy tells him, “I think I have some, though. Hold you over in the meantime.” He gets up and sifts through his sock drawer, returning with a tied off ziploc bag to hand to Billy.

“And now,” Billy takes it and shoves it in his pocket, “We’re best buds.”

Tommy beams at the declaration. And with those words, Billy Hargrove has just become verboten. Damn it.

Tommy tells you as much when Billy leaves, rattling off about his dad being an asshole and he’s got to get home before he does.

“I saw those eyes,” Tommy raises a scolding finger at you, “Don’t even try it. He’s too cool.”

“Aw, Tommy,” Carol pouts, “Let her have some fun.”

“No,” you raise your hands defensively, “You didn’t see any eyes. I don’t even think he’s cute.”

Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, right. Even I think the guy is hot.”

Carol raises an eyebrow, “You going queer on me, big boy?”

“Me? Queer?” Tommy laughs, “Let me show you how untrue that is.”

“Okay, ew, I’m leaving,” you push yourself off the ground and run out of the room, closing the door behind you.

;;;

“Does Tina throw bitchin’ parties?” Billy asks you, taking a drag off his cigarette before passing it.

You take it and try to ignore the tingling feeling on your lips as you take a hit. You’re leaning against the trunk of his Camaro, Carol and Tommy are nearby but too busy making out to listen to the conversation.

“I guess?” you reply, “All the parties here kind of bleed together. They’re fun and all, just… the same thing.”

Billy looks over to your brother with his tongue down Carol’s throat, “They do that all the time, huh?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it,” you shrug.

“What about you?” he turns slightly towards you, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

You can feel the way your cheeks redden, “I don’t know. No one’s really caught my attention, I guess.”

“Is he protective?”

You shake your head, “No, the opposite. Tommy doesn’t give a shit what I do. I just haven’t met anyone I like in that way.”

“Yeah,” Billy muses, “I know the feeling.”

That catches your attention. Every girl at Hawkin’s High is throwing themselves at him but not a single one special enough to tickle his fancy. You included.

“I’m young, anyways,” you deflect, “I have plenty of time to find the man of my dreams.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy digs his canine into his lower lip, “What’s the motherfucker you’ve dreamed up like?”

You, you don’t say. “Oh, I don’t know!”

“You’ve thought about it. Is he nice, like King Steve?” Billy raises his eyebrows, “Is he a freak like Munson?”

No, he’s blonde with a mullet and pretty eyelashes.

“He hasn’t made himself known yet,” you urge, “Maybe he’s a millionaire, maybe he’s a rockstar.”

“You want Vince Neil?” he knocks he elbow into yours.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you shrug.

Billy cackles, “All you chicks are the same.”

You scoff, “Oh and guys aren’t? Like you’re not pining over Lita Ford.”

“Nah,” he laughs, “Not my thing.”

“What is your thing then?” you ask, eyes meeting briefly before you can’t handle the heat of them. Billy’s eyes are too pretty. The bluest you’ve ever seen.

“Someone real,” he says, sincerely and it tugs your heartstrings.

“Billy, the romantic,” you tease, shoving your hands in your pocket.

“Far from it, sweetheart,” he pats your shoulder before pushing himself off the bumper and heading into the building as the bell rings.

Sweetheart drips down your throat and curls around your heart.

;;;

It’s not much of a costume. It’s a short skirt, fishnets and a too tight top. You can say you’re Madonna but how many girls are going as Madonna. You just want to look hot. Want Billy to look at you like you’re more than Tommy’s little sister. Like you’re some video vixen and he just cannot keep his hands to himself. It’s a flourishing thought that you push deep down. Tommy can’t control you but you think of the conversation you’d hand the day before. Billy isn’t into you. He had the opportunity to say something and he didn’t. And one thing you’ve learned about boys your age is if they want it, they’ll make it known.

“Are you ready yet?” Carol’s asking as she peers into your bedroom. You scan her outfit up and down, you think maybe she’s channeling Madonna as well but you can’t pin exactly what she’s dressed as.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, fixing the smeared lipstick.

“Yeah, just about,” you mumble, reapplying your mascara.

“Billy’s meeting us there,” she sings, grinning wide at you in the mirror.

You roll your eyes, “Carol, he’s off limits and even if he wasn’t, I don’t like Billy like that.”

“Sure,” she purrs, slapping the doorframe, “Vamoose, pretty girl. I wanna get wasted.”

Tommy’s a bad driver. He was also drinking before he left so he’s even worse, by the time you get to the party you feel like you’ve already got the spins. You hold onto Carol’s wrist to ground yourself and Billy’s rushing up behind the two of you.

“Boo!” he shouts, pressing a hand to your lower back.

Carol shrieks but you’d seen him coming. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling the two of you two his chest. He reeks of whiskey and Marlboro Reds. Seems like Billy had a bit of pregaming himself.

“Hi, Billy,” the two of you sing in unison.

Tommy barrels around the car, running up from behind to jump onto Billy’s back which causes all of you to tumble to the ground. Carol screams, scolding Tommy about ruining her hair but you’re distracted by the laugh erupting from Billy, his lips so close to your ear you can feel his breath fanning against it. It makes you tingle all over and you desperately want to grab him and pull him closer, want to press your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Then it’s gone, he’s up from the ground with Tommy pulling him towards the keg and Carol’s reaching her hand down to you.

You stumble along with her and when you’re reaching the keg, Billy’s pumping it and filling cups for you and Carol.

“You’ve got to beat Steve’s record, Billy! Come on,” Tommy urges his friend, hands clasped tight around his shoulders.

You stand over by Carol and Tina, watching the way the brunette fucks Billy with her eyes. A pang of jealousy surges through your stomach but you chug from the red Solo cup to drown it out. You sway along with the Motley Crüe song, unable to stop your eyes from scanning the crowd for familiar chestnut hair and brown eyes. Carol must notice because she grabs your face and turns it to look at Billy. She wants you to get over Steve just as badly as you do. You notice Billy’s costume, you think he’s going for terminator but it’s laid back. An homage rather than a costume. His abs look nice, you imagine what they must feel like. Carol’s a good friend.

They lift Billy up, he bites around the tap and makes eye contact you for a brief second before beer is flooding into your mouth. He easily beats Steve’s record. Seems like he could’ve gone longer but the second he beats it, they’re pulling him down. He spits the foam out, beer dripping down his chin to his chest and it’s… a sight. They funnel inside but you stick by Carol.

“God, he’s so yummy,” Tina gushes, turning to you and Carol.

Carol agrees excitedly, winks at you and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Tina.

“What? Did you call dibs already?”

“God, no,” you say, a little too defensively. “I just have eyes and Carol wants to live vicariously through me. It’s not happening.”

“Well, I’m definitely not holding back,” Tina quips.

You imagine the two of you as cats, tails high and backs arched, ready to pounce.

“Go for it,” you shrug, holding your beer close to your chest.

You retreat first, heading inside in search of a better time. A spiked punch is in your future. It’s only slightly dampened when you see Nancy downing cup after cup in the kitchen, Steve upset and asking her to cool it. He doesn’t even notice your presence and that’s totally fine. You’re a fly on the wall like you usually are around him. Steve reaches for her cup again and they struggle for power until the force of their hands pulls the cup back and spills the sticky red punch all over her white sweater. Everyone reacts in shock and you have to still your mouth from the smile threatening against your lips as you quickly avert your attention.

When they flutter away, you copy Nancy. Downing as many cups as you can before you start to feel numb. Seeing Steve was a shock to your system. All prior feelings rush to the forefront of your brain and you want to find him, pull him into a empty bedroom and kiss him from head to toe. It’s a shame when you see him and Nancy lock themselves away in a bathroom. You linger, clutching your drink to your chest as you watch drunk teenagers dance the night away. Nancy doesn’t deserve Steve. He shouldn’t have to change to be with her. You liked Steve the way he was.

Steve opens the door and slams it behind him, he pushes passed out, shoulders colliding and when he turns to look at you, you notice tears in his eyes. The brunette is quick to swivel back around, stomping outside and you wonder what in the hell just happened in there. Half of you is tempted to follow him outside, offer comfort in whatever way you can but then you feel large, strong hands wrap around your waist. You tilt your head back to see Billy standing behind you with a drunk smile plastered on his face, his eyes are tinted red like he’s been smoking more than cigarettes.

He leans down, lips close to your ear so he can whisper, “Why are you hiding from us?”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding,” you argue, lifting your cup to explain further, “Where is everyone?”

“Backyard,” he smirks, releasing his grip and stumbling towards the sliding glass door.

He turns his head briefly to make sure you’re following him.

Tina’s backyard is trashed. You can’t imagine what the cleanup is going to be like tomorrow. As soon as you step out the door, Billy grabs your hips again and urges you to the left. You look down and see what looks like five smashed beer bottles, right outside the door. You mumble a thank you before wiggling out of his grip. The last thing you need is for Tommy to see it. The blonde guides you over to the group and you collapse down next to your brother and Carol.

“Steve and Nancy just got in a fight,” you tell them before bringing your cup to your lips.

Carol raises her eyebrows and leans closer, giving you a look you know all too well. You quickly shake your head, slouching your shoulders and trying to sink away from her gaze. Tommy lets out a cackle, leaning his body back with it.

“We heard, he threw punch on her?”

“Well, no, he didn’t throw it on her, it just spilled,” you explain, watching in your peripheral how Tina leans her body against Billy’s and whispers in his ear. Immediately, your stomach turns but you ignore it. There’s no way you could be jealous, you don’t even know the guy yet and you’re going to make sure you don’t stew on how attractive he is. You know how mad Tommy will be and besides, your brother isn’t exactly loyal to you. You imagine if you did make a move on Billy and he rejected you, Tommy wouldn’t stop hanging out with him. Or god forbid, he doesn’t reject you but instead breaks your heart and Tommy would still pick Billy’s side. You know this about your brother.

“But they went into the bathroom and I guess argued, because Steve came storming out and he looked like he was crying,” you continue, picking at a loose thread on your skirt.

Tommy snorts, “I knew they wouldn’t last long.”

Carol nods along with him, “She’s too prissy for Steve. I bet the argument was something stupid too.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, allowing yourself to turn slightly and just in time to catch Tina shoving her tongue down Billy’s throat. You’re quick to turn back to your brother and Carol.

“You guys wanna leave soon?” Carol asks, you know she’s trying to be casual but only asking to save you the displeasure of watching Billy and Tina make out for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, I’m pretty over it,” you admit, stretching your arms up.

Tommy scoffs, “You guys are so boring. It’s still early.”

It is, you don’t even feel drunk yet but you are bored and too many unpleasant feelings are swirling around you. If you get any more alcohol in you, you’re libel to throw yourself at Steve, or worse, Billy.

“This party kind of blows, though,” Carol argues and wraps her arms around Tommy, whispering something in his ear. Whatever she said has him grinning and jumping to his feet. You’d rather not know.

;;;

You’re sitting in study hall, trying to stay awake when a note lands on your desk. You turn and see Steve failing at trying to look innocent, he fake coughs in his hand while stretching his opposite arm up and then back down. His eyes meet yours briefly and he quickly looks away, a hint of smile on his lips. You unfold the note and see Steve’s messy handwriting scrawled lopsided on the top of the page.

Wanna listen to my Abba record?

You stare at it a little dumbfounded, because it was an inside joke between the two of you. It was his lame way of trying to get you alone at one of his parties. It was only the second time you guys had ever messed around and as your relationship continued, it became something Steve would say just to make you blush or laugh. Worse, though, it turned into a code for sneaking away to hook up. His fight with Nancy must’ve been more serious than you thought. This was Steve’s olive branch, and it was sleazy but it was also romantic, unfortunately.

You write back in neat, straight handwriting, Right here in study hall?

You carefully slide the paper onto his desk and turn back to your textbook. From the corner of your eye, you see Steve grinning wide as he reads what you’ve wrote before furiously writing and handing it back.

Is that a yes?

It’s a maybe. I don’t think Mr. Delfin would appreciate it.

Fair enough. The albums at my house anyway. After school then?

You chew on your bottom lip. It would be very easy to fall back into this but you have plans with your brother, Carol and Billy. However, the prospect of being alone with Steve seems way more appealing. And you can’t help yourself, you think about Steve more than you think about anything else. You absolutely miss touching him and you’ve been rather frustrated since he started going out with Nancy.

Meet me in the library after school.

;;;

You made some dumb excuse to Carol about having to work on a class project in the library. She bought it but tried to insist on you ditching it entirely to get to know Billy better. Which you knew Carol was aware you wouldn’t go for.

When Steve walks up to you, you’re standing at the window. He leans against the wall and looks at you quizzically.

“Whatcha doing?”

You watch as Tommy and Carol pile into his car and drive off, the blue Camaro following after them and you say to Steve, “Just making sure it’s… safe. Okay, let’s go.”

Steve let’s out a scoff, “Don’t want them to see you with me?”

You crane your head sideways as you look up at him, “I’m ditching them for you. They’d be mad.”

Steve nods his head, pursing his lips like he can taste your words. You keep your hands to yourself on the walk to his BMW, you’d learned to do as much when you guys were fooling around. Steve talks a lot on the drive to Loch Nora. None of it really makes much sense, or is important but you like listening to his voice. It’s adorable, he stutters every so often and rambles on, losing his thought and then rushing into a completely new thought. The reason you like it so much is you’ve seen Steve hit on girls throughout the years and weirdly enough, this is how he does it so you feel special when it’s directed at you.

His house is empty, it usually is but what always shocked you was how clean it was. A teenage boy lived there alone for eight months of the year, you expected it to be messy but then again, you’re sure they have a cleaning lady coming often. Steve leads you up the stairs and to his bedroom. It smells clean, like laundry detergent and his cologne. Your stomach is doing flips at the familiarity of it all, you’ve been in this exact position many times before and you’re anticipating his next moves. As you sit on his bed, Steve wraps his hand around your hip and lays you on your back. You shyly smile up at him, the weight of his body makes you tingle all over and his big, brown eyes look into yours. There hasn’t been a night in months that you haven’t pictured this exact moment happening, ushering you to sleep and hopefully dream of Steve.

He pushes tucks your hair behind your ear as he cracks a smile, teeth bright and white while his cheeks flush just a smidge. You want to tell him how much you’ve missed him but him and Nancy have only been broken up a couple of days, you know what this is. That’s your downfall, though, you’ll bend over backwards to have Steve. When his lips caress yours, a small moan rises up your throat involuntarily. It’s a soft, sweet kiss and he gently holds your cheek as he does it. Your fingers snake into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss. Steve takes things slow, he always did and you’ve always been bursting at the seams, eager for more. You drag your tongue against his lower lip, begging for entrance and he allows you easily. Your body lights up, feels like you’re on fire when he grinds just barely on top of you. His thigh between your legs presses against your center and it makes your head feel heavy, falling apart beneath him. Steve’s like a drug and you’ve been sober for far too long. Your desperation makes you feel antsy, you want things to progress much faster than they are but Steve is stubborn, he sets the pace. He’s different than any other man you’ve been with, he’ll kiss you until your jaw hurts and you’re trembling. That seems to be his intent now because when you try to pull away from it, he grabs your jaw and kisses you harder. You whimper against his lips, wriggling your hips to demonstrate how badly you need him.

Steve pulls back and smiles down at you, stroking his thumb along the apple of your cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

You flush, grinning from ear to ear as you avert your eyes, unable to hold eye contact. With a giggle you tell him, “So are you.”

He lets out a small, breathless laugh, “Thank you.”

Steve places kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he licks against your skin but he’s always been careful not to leave any marks. Back when you two were fooling around regularly, you weren’t so careful with him and you’d litter his neck and chest with love bites. Steve could always explain them away much easier than you could.

He continues kissing against your collarbone as he starts unbuttoning your shirt. You inhale sharply, goosebumps rising all over your skin when his fingers brush against your now exposed stomach. Steve’s lips descend once he gets your blouse completely undone, brushing them against the curve of your breast. This is the area he doesn’t hold back, sucking and biting gently at the tender skin until it’s raw and sore. You know you’ll have a bruise there by the end of the night but you don’t mind. It’ll be proof this isn’t a dream. In sync, you prop up on your elbows as Steve leans back and reaches around to unclasp your bra. You dispose of the blouse and bra before reaching for the hem of Steve’s polo and pull it over his head. You smooth your hands over his head before he leans down and licks at your perked nipple, his Bambi eyes looking up at you curiously. You whine, arching into the touch as your eyes flutter shut. For a moment, you picture blonde curls and blue eyes but quickly push the thought away as shame begins spreading through your stomach. You try not to think about it too much, not willing to admit even to yourself that you want Billy in that way.

“Steve,” you pant out, for good measure.

He sucks your nipple between his lips as he hand moves to squeeze and knead at your other breast. Another moan falls out of your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and knit your fingers into his hair. He grazes his fingertips across your neglected nipple and laps against the other. It’s intoxicating, you focus on his soft his hair feels between your fingers. Your thighs tingle as heat surges through your stomach and straight to your core. It’s quiet in the house, in the room, the only sound is Steve’s mouth on your and your paired labored breathing.

When he moves back up to crash his lips into yours and press his body close, you feel his cock hard in his jeans against your navel. He grunts softly against your lips moving both his hands to grip your jaw as he licks into your mouth eagerly. This is unlike Steve, he usually doesn’t express desperation until he’s already inside of you. It gets your hopes up, like maybe he’s been missing you just as badly as you’ve been missing him. And maybe that’s wishful thinking but in this moment, you’ll take it. You grab onto his waist and writhe up against him, letting him know you’re just as needy.

Steve pulls back from the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as his hands lower and he’s making quick work getting your jeans and panties down to your ankles. They hang awkwardly there, your tennis shoes are still on but you're really liking the frenzy of it all. Steve props himself on his knees and does the same with his jeans and briefs, pushing them down to his knees as his long cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. God, you’ve missed the sight of it, your mouth waters as you breathe heavy. Memories of the way it felt in your mouth flood your mind, causing your hips to jerk up in arousal and Steve smiles down at you, clearing taking the movement as a compliment. He circles his hand around himself, pumping a few times before dragging his head through your folds.

“Steve…” you moan out slowly, another surge of wetness flowing out of you.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes look glassy. It’s such a pretty view, you wiggle against him.

“Need you,” you admit, shyly.

He licks against his bottom lip before rubbing his tip against your fluttering hole, “You been with anyone else since me?”

You shake your head, knowing the reason behind his question, “I’m clean.”

Steve nods, his hair bouncing with the movement before he sinks his cock inside of you. You gasp out, grabbing onto his bedspread while you melt at the sensation. It’s been way too long. You’re tight, haven’t had anything stretch you out since the last time you had Steve like this. He grunts softly, eyes squeezing shut as he slowly sheathes himself completely inside you.

“Oh,” you moan out, feeling him fill you out in the most delicious way. You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to watch the way Steve’s face contorts in pleasure as he stills his movements. He grazes his fingers up your sides as he lowers himself, his chest flush against yours while his lips find yours again. The kiss is languid, matching the stroke of him between your legs. It’s sensual which is typical from Steve but a stark contrast to the short foreplay. It takes your breath away, regardless. He pulls back an inch, panting against your lips as he rolls his hips deeper, running his hand down to hold onto your hip.

You try to spread your legs further, but the clothing around your ankles makes it difficult. Your hands scratch down his back and you arch your back, moving your hips to chase your high. Steve grunts out and then bites his bottom lip hard, moving his hips faster and more wildly than before. It’s exactly what you need as the pressure building inside you is pulled taut, you’re so close you can almost see it.

“Fuck me, Steve,” you whine out and he makes a pretty, needy sound that has you reeling. It was the type of sound that was the reason you’d always loved going down on Steve.

He rocks his hips into you harder and faster, pulling out little breathy moans from you as you cling onto his back.

“You like that?” he pants out, his hair bouncing with every thrust and you nod up at him, eyebrows furrowing as your orgasm looms closer and closer.

You press your palm against his cheek and he kisses you deeply, smoothing his hands up and down your sides as he moves against you. The kiss pushes you over the edge, a sharp cry flooding out of you as you climax around him, your walls fluttering around his dick and Steve starts making the familiar sounds, desperate and whiny little noises. He pulls out of you quickly, spilling his load over your stomach with a strangled groan. You hum happily, eyes dancing across his gorgeous face. He stuffs himself back in his pants and walks over to his hamper, grabbing a shirt and walking back over to wipe his mess from your navel. He pants as he does it and when he moves away again to dispose of the shirt, you pull your clothes back on.

“You want me to just drop you at home or back at school?” he asks, his eyes everyone but on you.

“Home is fine,” you say, trying to hide the way your heart is splitting yet again from Steve Harrington.

The car ride there is awkward and when you’re a block away, you notice Tommy and Billy’s cars parked on the street.

“Just drop me here,” you say softly and Steve pulls over. As you get out, he leans over and grabs your wrist. You kneel down and lean back in the car. He kisses you gently and then smiles awkwardly at you.

“I’ll see you later,” you say before shutting the door and slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

You walk up to the front door, noticing as Steve makes a u-turn and heads back in the direction of Loch Nora. Tears are threatening to break free but you will them back down, stepping inside the house and waving at Tommy, Billy and Carol as they’re lounged on the couch, watching music videos. You close yourself in the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hair down and fixing your makeup. Once you feel you’ve calmed down enough, you make your way back out to the living room and very nicely ask Billy if you could bum a smoke.

“I’ll join ya,” he says, standing from the couch.

Tommy moves to follow but Carol grabs his wrist and pulls him back down, leaning close to whisper something and he looks like he’s about to protest until she starts kissing his neck. You make a face and lead Billy out the back door. You sit down on the plastic furniture and graciously accept the cigarette he hands over. Billy pulls out his zippo and lights it for you. Seeing him, unfortunately, eases the way your heart aches. Deep down, you know Billy would do the same thing Steve just did to you but you try not to focus on that. You feel ridiculous that you thought things might be different this time. It’s obvious that you’ve always been an easy lay to Steve and it hurts that you’re still that.

“How was the library?” he asks as he lights his own cigarette.

You shrug, “Really exciting at first, until it sucked.”

“So what’s his name?” Billy asks, smirking up at you as he exhales the thick smoke.

You blush, dropping your head before replying, “That obvious, is it?”

Billy lets out a big, belly laugh. It’s a nice sound, you want to make him laugh over and over.

“I can always tell when a woman’s had an orgasm,” he quips, sliding his tongue out almost obscenely along his lower lip. It’s insane how quickly he’s making you feel better, no matter how blunt he is.

“Yeah, well, his name isn’t important because the whole thing,” you gesture your hands in big circles, “wasn’t important to him.”

Billy inhales sharply, gritting his teeth, “Well… speaking from experience… ‘cause I am one so.. yeah, all guys want the same thing.”

You curl your lips down in a frown as you chew over his words, deciding you’re not much better than Steve because you went along with it for the same reasons. You wanted to fuck him and shit, you got that.

“Sometimes,” you giggle softly, bringing the cigarette up to your lips, “Girls are after the same thing.”

The blonde laughs again and you wanna breathe it in, wanna taste his laughs and his lips and his whole body. He’s different than Steve, physically rougher around the edges which makes him that much more interesting. Exotic maybe. His hair doesn’t look nearly as soft as Steve’s, not nearly as cared for. You’d seen the Farrah Fawcett spray in Steve’s bathroom and you can guarantee Billy doesn’t use the same thing.

“I’ve seen my fair share of that,” he agrees, “but I think a big difference is once guys have it once, they don’t want it again but girls do.”

“Or they want it again when it’s easy,” you point out, reaching over to snatch the beer from his hand and taking a big gulp from it.

“Beware of those assholes,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking at you seriously.

You groan softly, “I was trying to stay away from him.”

“Who is it?” Billy asks, curiously. “I won’t tell.”

“But you so will,” you gush, bringing your hand to your face, “It’s premium gossip.”

“You think I’m that type?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow up.

You turn to him, “This is juicy. It’s be hard not to tell people.”

“What? Harrington?”

Willing your face to remain still, “No.”

Billy scoffs, “King Steve. No way. That is something.”

“It’s not Steve,” you seethe, though you know your face is giving it away.

He chuckles softly and grabs the beer back, “Your secret is safe with me but uh… you could do better.”

Billy gets up from the chair, tossing his cigarette before walking back inside.

#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy x steve x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x hagan!reader #simmer down

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hippiegoth97 · 1 month ago

Text

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 29

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 28

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @userchai @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, nightmares, crying, sexual assault/coercion, domestic violence, drug use, suicidal thoughts, vomit, angst/anxiety, swearing, smut, fluff, crying, angst, light arguing, co-dependence, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, mentions of sex toys, dirty talk, praise/degradation, squirting

Word Count: 14.1k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Part 29.1: Nights in White Satin

Wednesday, July 26th, 1989

"Where the hell is he?" You ask in annoyance, pacing back and forth across the living room carpet. You're biting the cuticle on your thumb, anxiously waiting for Murray Bauman to show up to your house. It's a few days after Eddie's birthday, and you've been on edge about this meeting all week. It's been distracting you at work, and you've been getting very little sleep the last couple days. Mass amounts of coffee and sugary snacks have been getting you through the day, stress eating definitely runs in the family.

You've got everyone in your corner gathered inside the house today. Mom, Dustin, Eddie, Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jamie and Mr. Biggs from the theater. Harriet and the others are holding down the fort at work, allowing you the time to prepare for the trial. They're really only here in regards to the trial involving Tommy, they don't know anything about the situation between Jason and Chrissy and how you and Eddie got tangled up within it. But Murray mentioned on the phone that you needed to gather the witnesses who would be in your favor, who know of your character and what you may have told them about Tommy and his father harassing you.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon, sugarpuff. Why don't you sit down?" Mom pipes up, as everyone has been watching you pace for a good forty-five minutes.

"No. I'm good." You reply mindlessly, biting down harder on your thumb. You pull a piece of skin off of it with your teeth, causing the layer beneath to sting and bleed. "Fuck." You mutter, sucking on the fresh wound to relieve it.

"Sweetheart, you've gotta relax a little. The trials don't start for a month or two, it's not like you're going on the stand tomorrow." Eddie says, standing up from his seat to go to you. He puts himself in your way, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. You sigh loudly at him stopping you, dropping your hand away from your mouth.

"I know that, Eddie. But I can't help feeling like once it all starts, it's going to be an absolute shitshow." Eddie's about to dissuade your concerns, but you shake your head to stop him. "Both Jason and the Hagans can afford good lawyers. They're gonna tear us and Chrissy to pieces. They'll make it seem like we're lying, or we were 'asking for it'. And I'm terrified of having to deal with that in a room full of people. I'm terrified that I'll say one wrong thing and blow it." You sigh again, bringing your other thumb between your teeth now.

"Baby, you can't assume that it's all gonna go wrong, because then it definitely will. I'm sure this Bauman guy will show us all how to answer the questions and not screw it up. 'Kay?" Eddie speaks calmly to you, but his words provide little comfort. You're still catastrophizing inside your head, picturing the absolute worst case scenario. He's about to open his mouth to speak again, when the doorbell rings.

You leave his hold and go for the door. You open it to reveal a tall man with dark curly hair balding at the top, and a thick beard covering the lower half of his face. He's got silver aviator frames with brown-tinted lenses perched on his nose, and he's dressed in a tweed suit that fits a tad too large on his frame. He's holding a weather-beaten briefcase, and your nose crinkles at the bath of old cologne and strong aftershave he's drenched himself in.

"Ah, you must be Ms. Henderson! Sorry I'm late, I was looking for offensive graffiti!" Murray says with a light chuckle, pointing his thumb at the exterior of the house.

"Oh, they washed that off weeks ago." You reply awkwardly. This man is proving to be very strange right off the bat. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Of course. Can I come in? Or would you prefer to get legal advice in your doorway?" He replies, smiling with all his teeth.

"Uh, yeah, sure." You say quickly, moving out of his way to let the man inside. He steps through the entryway, taking in the look of your home. He takes notice of the gathering of people in your living room, all of whom give him a curious once-over.

"My, my. You've certainly got a big family, Y/N." He jokes, laughing to himself again.

"Oh, no. They're一" You try to explain as you close the door, but he cuts you off.

"The witnesses. I know." He says, turning his head back to look at you. "They sure are quiet, though. That might prove to be a problem in court." He laughs yet again. What is this guy's deal? He's so serious, and yet not, all at the same time.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Bauman?" Mom asks, getting up from her seat.

"Sure thing. You must be Y/N's....older sister." He says in a somewhat flirtatious tone.

"Oh, no. I'm her mother, Claudia." Mom replies with a bashful giggle. A light blush colors her cheeks, and you immediately feel nauseated.

"Well, I can certainly see the resemblance. And I'll take milk and sugar in that coffee, if you don't mind." Murray replies with a grin, and Mom toddles off to the kitchen to fix the man his drink. He turns to you and Eddie now, giving him an unsubtle look up and down. "I take it you're the boyfriend?" He asks.

"Yeah. Uh, Eddie. Nice to meet you." Eddie answers, sticking out his hand to shake Murray's. But Murray doesn't extend his own forward, so he quickly drops it back to his side. He awkwardly slides his hand into his pocket, attempting to mask the hurt at the rejection.

"Right. Well, I think we'd better get started. We're already cutting it pretty close for the day, and we've got a shitload of work to do. Pardon my french." Murray says, looking around for a spot to sit. The couch is taken, as are the armchairs and recliner. He notices the dining room, going there for a moment to retrieve a chair from the table. He sets it across from your friends and coworkers, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. He sets his briefcase on his lap, clicking the locks open to prepare himself.

"Where do we start?" You ask, taking a seat in Eddie's lap once he returns to his spot on the end of the couch. Murray pulls out some papers from his case, shuffling them around messily before looking up to answer your question. His eyes narrow at your choice of seating, but you aren't really sure why. It seems Eddie hasn't made a very good impression on the man, but he hasn't done anything to put him off. You hope not, anyway, since he's representing both of you.

"We start...at the beginning. And I mean the very beginning. I'm going to need every nasty little detail of your past relationship with..." He consults his papers for the name of the defendant. "...Mr. Tommy Hagan." Just hearing Tommy's name from Murray's mouth makes you shudder. This is gonna be a nightmare, you think to yourself while contemplating where to begin.

"Oh. Well, um..." You pause, wondering if it's a good idea for everyone sitting quietly in the room to hear you recount your regrettable bout of 'Tommy Fever'. The whole thing was a steaming hot pile of shit, and you'd love nothing more than to completely forget about it.

"Today, Ms. Henderson." Murray pushes, reaching inside his briefcase again for a notepad and a pen.

"Can you relax a little, man?" Eddie retorts, going on the defensive on your behalf. Murray's eyes meet his for a moment, as if to challenge your boyfriend. But Eddie doesn't back down, he'll defend your dignity to the ends of the earth against anyone that dares to disrespect you.

"Okay!" Murray says loudly after a solid minute of the two men staring one another down. "Look, I get it. You're the bad boy with a heart of gold, right? Defending your lady's honor...the whole protective teddy bear thing? It's real cute, I'm sure Y/N digs the hell outta that." He speaks snidely, which makes Eddie scoff. "But...I am here to provide legal counsel. Highly discounted legal counsel, at that, as a favor to Chief Powell. So, I have no time for chest-puffing, or anxious apprehension. M'Kay? The defense lawyers for the little shits you've managed to piss off are fierce. And they will do everything in their power to pick apart every single claim you have against them." The man gestures wildly as he speaks, hoping to God you'll understand how dire this situation really is. "Now, I suggest we stop stalling and get some goddamn work done! Sound good?" He finishes, looking between you and Eddie to draw some gesture of agreement from you.

"Yes, sir." You reply sheepishly, allowing the man to do his job.

"Great! Now, tell me all about Tommy." He says, clicking his pen. Mom returns with his coffee, handing off the mug to him. He takes a long sip, making a satisfied 'ah' sound after he swallows. He puts the mug onto the coffee table in front of him, still waiting for you to begin.

You proceed to tell Mr. Bauman everything about your ex. How you started dating, the behavior he exhibited towards you, how it all ended so terribly. Your voice shakes often as you speak. Talking about any of this makes every moment, past and present, swirl together like a sickly stew inside your mind. Eddie rubs subtle circles on your thigh with his hand to soothe you through this ordeal. Murray's eyes flick to Eddie's fingers on you every so often, he finds your glaring co-dependence rather annoying. Not only that, it could pose a few potential challenges in court.

Everyone else in the room is very quiet, respecting your time to tell these uncomfortable stories. Murray writes down every relevant detail, and he surprisingly leads you through the questions in a relatively gentle manner. Despite his initially abrasive attitude, he does take genuine care and interest in helping you out. You eventually finish with recounting the events of the Hagans vandalizing your home, which unfortunately lets everyone in on what you were up to before Tommy threw the brick through your window.

"Jesus, Y/N. I'm so sorry." Robin says, breaking the silence once you've stopped talking. A couple of tears have fallen from your eyes during this, though you hadn't noticed them until now. The others murmur sympathetic affirmation of Robin's words. They truly feel for you, nobody should have to be subjected to what you've been through.

"As are we all. Now, unfortunately, all of this is definitely going to be twisted against you. We'll prepare for all that later on, I just need details of what everyone knows for the time being." Murray sighs, realizing just how much work he has cut out for himself. He takes another long drink of coffee, making that same satisfied noise once he swallows. "So, who's next?"

One by one, your gathered witnesses give Murray every possible detail to help your case. It takes a few hours, with Murray's coffee cup being refilled multiple times throughout the process. Nobody else bothers to ask for anything, they'd hate to have your mother running herself ragged. You snuggle further into Eddie as time passes, and by the end of it, everyone is tired and starving. You order some pizzas to thank everyone for being so helpful, and you all take a small mental rest to talk amongst yourselves and relax. The energy up until this point has been tense, mixed emotions clogging up the airflow in the room. But thankfully, you're finally able to breathe again.

"Well, I'd say we've had a very productive day." Murray says once all your friends leave. It's just the five of you now, and Bauman is putting his notes away in his briefcase.

"Yeah. I guess." You shrug, about ready to pass out in Eddie's arms. This afternoon has taken so much out of you, and this is only the beginning of a long, awful process.

"I know it's a lot, Y/N. But we've got to do the work if we're going to win this thing. We also have to do your witness work for the Carver case, but I'll leave that for another day. Right now, though, I've got a motel room and a bottle of Russian vodka waiting for me." He replies as he stands, brushing pizza crumbs off of his lap.

"I appreciate the help, Mr. Bauman." You say, getting up to walk him out. Eddie joins you on your feet, but stays by the couch.

"Please, call me Murray. Mr. Bauman is my mother!" He laughs at his own odd joke.

"Sure, Murray. We'll see you tomorrow." You reply, opening the door for him to leave. He nods, and steps out into the muggy night and walks toward his car. It's a small step above a total piece of junk, corroded paint, rusted rims and all. You close the door again, leaning against it while letting out a deep sigh.

"Well, he's...something." Eddie says with an awkward chuckle.

"I think he was very nice. I'm sure he'll be a great help." Mom chimes in, seemingly a little bit smitten with the man. Jesus, Mom. Not my fucking lawyer, you think to yourself.

"He didn’t seem to like me very much." Eddie adds, almost mumbling. He usually doesn't give a shit what others think of him, but it felt wrong to make a bad impression this time.

"He just doesn't know you like I do, love. Don't worry about him, he'll come around." You say, going to Eddie to reassure him. He nods silently, and you give him a light peck. "Ugh, I really don't wanna do this all over again tomorrow. And who knows how many more days after that. And then the trial...it all feels like too much." You try your best not to pout as you speak, but the mere thought of having Murray drill you with questions and prep you for the cross-examination makes you want to give up entirely. You know that you can't do that, but your lives would be far less difficult if you just dropped the charges.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to think about all that right now. You've done enough worrying for one day, you need to get some sleep." Eddie says softly, pulling you closer to wrap his arms around you. You lay your head on his chest, your eyes slipping closed as you enjoy his warmth.

"It'll be alright, Y/N. You've got us, and the club, and all our friends standing behind you. You're far from alone in this." Dustin says.

"We've got your back, sugarpuff." Claudia adds.

"I'm so lucky to have the best family ever." You extend one of your arms out for Mom and Dustin to join your hug, needing to feel them close to you. They don't hesitate to do so, fully covering you in a kind embrace of love and support. A few more tears escape your eyes, ones of relief as opposed to pain and fear this time. "I love you all so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." You sniffle.

"We love you too, princess. And we're always gonna be here for you. No matter what happens." Eddie coos, gently stroking your hair.

You all separate from your group hug a couple minutes later, retiring to your respective rooms for the night. You and Eddie cuddle Arwen for a little while, and he pulls out the book he's been reading to you for the last few days. Another Stephen King classic, The Dead Zone. You do your best to stay conscious for at least a chapter or two, but it's a struggle to hear a single word he says at a certain point. Eddie takes notice of this, closing the book and carefully getting out of bed to flick off the light. He returns to you, gingerly moving your body so he can spoon you. You let out a couple sleepy sounds, moments away from falling into the deep pit of sleep that's been waiting for you. He plants a tender kiss to your neck, and closes his own eyes as you drift away. As one can easily predict, nightmares plague your mind as you sleep. A constant barrage of all your fears and anxieties playing out in your subconscious.

"Mornin', sweet thing." You hear a voice rasp in your ear. You stir from your sleep, feeling a warm body snuggling up to you beneath the covers. Silk sheets slip around under you, and your bed feels far too large. You roll over, wondering where you are. You blink your eyes open, and find that you're in bed with Tommy. He's dressed only in some boxers, and you are completely naked. "There you are, babygirl. I was wondering how long I'd have to wait." He smirks, putting himself above you.

What is this? Where's Eddie?, you think to yourself. You don't say anything, too afraid of what might happen if you start asking questions. The look on Tommy's face is odd, like he's far too happy to see you awake. He slips a hand below the covers, and he starts touching various parts of your body. You flinch at his hands on your flesh, it feels so wrong. Your hands meet his chest, and you're about to push him off. That is, until you notice the massive diamond ring sitting on your left hand.

"No..." You murmur, examining the glistening jewel in the low morning light coming through the massive window to the right of you. This can't be happening.

"I'm afraid you don't get to use that word with me, Y/N. You're mine, and I can touch you whenever, and however, I want." Tommy says viciously, squeezing your breast harshly in his grip. He's so rough, but it doesn't feel good at all. It feels...violent, like he's taking ownership over you. You want to kick and scream and run away, but his weight is far too heavy on you. It's like you're glued to the bed, helpless to do anything to stop this. You close your eyes, trying to get yourself to wake up. You count to ten, ignoring the feeling of Tommy's fingers traveling between your legs. You're dryer than the Sahara desert, which makes him angry. "Not in the mood, babygirl? That's too bad." He says through clenched teeth. He reaches over to the ornate bedside table, pulling a bottle of lube from the drawer. "No problem, I can make you as wet as I need. I'd hate to tear you up too much." His words make you want to puke, but alas, no bile comes forth to help you this time.

"Please...no." You whimper, though he pretends he doesn't hear it. You feel the lube spill over your lower half, and he shoves his digits inside to spread it all around. You cry out in pain, wishing he'd just leave you alone. You try to will yourself somewhere else. You'll go to the goddamn moon without a spacesuit, or the middle of a swamp full of hungry alligators, anywhere but here. It appears to work when the pain of Tommy forcing himself inside you stops. You breathe a sigh of relief, realizing you're sitting upright now.

You open your eyes again, but it's far from a pretty picture. You're still in this unfamiliar house, one that Jack bought for you and Tommy. You can feel it, the room where you were before is just up a flight of lush-carpeted stairs. The place is rather lavish, the highest quality furniture and appliances throughout the place. You're sitting on the couch, with a full spread of drugs sitting before you on the coffee table. Weed, coke, heroine, even. Waiting for you like an all-you-can-eat buffet. You slump down to the floor, though it's hard to move your legs. You gaze down at your body, finding that you're squeezed into a skin-tight, golden dress that shows off as much of your body as possible. Tommy's pick, no doubt. Your arms and legs are covered in bruises, and you reach up to check your makeup-streaked face to find one on your cheek as well. It stings at your touch, and you see a flash of how you got the bruise in the first place. You refused to blow Tommy when he asked, so he punched you directly in the face. That was just a few hours ago, and then he left for work.

You pick up the little straw from the table, leaning your head down to the pre-cut lines of coke on the glass tabletop. You snort them all as quickly as you can, numbing the immense emotional turmoil you feel. The maid, Helga, comes in a little while later. She finds you half-conscious on the floor, the metal straw still in your hand. She helps you back onto the couch, but offers you no sympathy or conversation. She's been hired to keep you here, as well as take care of your home. You aren't allowed outside without Tommy's company, and you sure as shit aren't allowed to talk to your friends or family anymore. You wonder if they still care about you, or even think about you at all. But there's no way to know for sure. There's no phone to call them with, and you don't dare try to run away when you have no real idea where the house is located. You could be states away from Hawkins for all you know.

Later, Tommy comes home from work. There's a large, hulking man with him. Your dealer...you wish so badly that he was Eddie instead. Maybe then you could get out of here. But of course, Tommy can't risk a single person you come into contact with wanting to help you leave. You're his, and you're not going anywhere. Except maybe in a body bag. "It's your lucky day, Y/N. Fitz here has a special deal for you tonight." Tommy says gleefully, the two men approaching you.

"What is it?" You ask weakly, already knowing what's to come. This little 'deal' comes at least once a month.

"Same as always, little lady. Double the product...in exchange for that pretty little mouth of yours." Fitz says, licking his lips as he smiles. He's got a gold tooth, the surrounding ones yellowed from tobacco use and lack of care. He stinks of sweat, and something else you can't quite place. But it's horrible, and you know it's only going to get worse when he takes his pants off.

"O-okay..." You answer, nodding your head sluggishly. Fitz takes his usual place in the armchair beside you, and Tommy goes off to eat the dinner that Helga has prepared for him. You'll only get a Slimfast shake later on, the same thing you have for every meal.

"C'mere, sweetie. Gotta earn your treats." Fitz chuckles lowly, spreading his legs apart as he opens his belt. He pulls the zipper of his jeans down, and quickly exposes his half-hard cock. The stench hits you before you even dare to move. It's absolutely foul, like sour milk and onions. You apprehensively make your way over, crawling on your hands and knees. You repress a gag, tears stinging your eyes at the effort. You sit yourself before him, watching as he peers down at you while stroking himself. "Open wide, honey." He orders, his breath catching at the anticipation of your 'payment'.

"Alright." You reply blankly, reluctantly taking him in your hand. You choke back another gag, trying so very hard not to throw up all over the place. You got a beating from Tommy that almost put you in the hospital last time. You do everything in your power to ignore the smell, bringing your face closer to him. It only grows stronger, but you soldier on anyway. You have to, there's no backing out now. Fitz isn't one to shy away from hitting another man's woman. You force your mouth open, and take his meager three inches past your lips in entirety. The taste is even worse than the smell, the worst possible thing you've ever put inside your mouth. It's what you imagine the flavor of death is.

"That's the stuff." Fitz sighs in satisfaction, settling further into the chair as you work. Tears of anguish stream down your face, but they only seem to add to the wretched man's thrill. You wish you weren't doing this. You wish you hadn't stayed with Tommy and married him. You wish you could get out of this house, have the life you truly want. But most of all, you wish you could just die. Have Tommy beat you too hard, or take all the drugs on that table at the same time. Hell, even a kitchen knife across your wrists would be good enough. You want this to end, this is no way to live. This existence is absolute hell.

You wake up just before 'Fitz' finishes, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. You sit up in bed, looking around your room to realize none of it was real. You're safe in your bed, in your house, with Eddie snoring beside you. "Oh, thank fuck." You whisper, sighing in relief. You wipe your hands down your face, trying to shove that awful fake life away. Flashes of Tommy hitting you, you snorting a line of coke off the coffee table, and servicing the large drug dealer blink rapidly through your mind. It felt so real, like you were truly trapped in a life you never wanted. You can still see, feel, hear, smell, taste everything as you experienced it in your dream. And it makes you completely sick to your stomach.

You dash out of bed, going to the bathroom to throw up. You don't mean to make a lot of noise, but both doors you need to get through slam against their respective walls in your race against your own stomach. You fall to your knees on the tiles in front of the toilet, regurgitating your pizza into the bowl. You grip the sides of the seat until you finish, hoping that you'll feel a little better afterwards. "Y/N?" You hear Eddie say groggily in the doorway of the bathroom. You're still not quite done yet, and he flicks the light switch to see what's going on. He groans at the sudden brightness, rubbing his eyes. He blinks to adjust to the light, and he finds you crouching on the floor while you vomit. "Oh, sweetheart." He tuts, kneeling next to you.

He rubs your back gently until you're done. He hopes you're not sick, you've got to work tomorrow. But not only that, you've been through enough as it is. Your stomach mercifully empties, and you slump against the wall. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." You say softly, wiping your mouth. You still don't feel very well, but it could just be from the nightmare. Being up in the middle of the night like this usually makes you feel a bit sickly, too, for some strange reason.

"It's alright, princess. How are you feeling? Did something happen?" He asks, fully sitting across from you on the floor now. He's only dressed in his boxers, but he doesn't really care if Mom or Dustin see him like this. All he cares about is making sure you're okay.

"Yeah, I had a nightmare. But, what else is new?" You let out a dry laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

"What was it about?" He questions.

"Tommy. We were still together...and we got married." You start, which makes Eddie's eyes widen. "Believe me, it definitely wasn't a happy relationship. He was...abusive. And I started doing drugs, I essentially lived the way Chrissy was." You say softly, a couple hot tears escaping your eyes at the thought. "But you weren't there. It was a different dealer...and not a nice one, either." You let out a small sob, trying to hold it back. You're so goddamn tired of crying all the time. Just once, you'd like to be strong and keep it together. But your eyes have other plans.

"I'm so sorry, angel. C'mere." He puts his arms out for you, and you clumsily shove yourself against his chest. You bury your head in his neck, staining his flesh with salty tears and saliva as you cry into him. He holds you close, your legs tangling haphazardly with his. It's far from a comfortable position for either of you, but that doesn't really matter at the moment. Your arms cling to him, your hands spreading wide across his back to feel as much of him as possible. "It's okay, love. I'm right here, you're gonna be okay." He coos to you, rocking you back and forth in a soothing manner. You stay like this for a while, gradually feeling less sick as time passes. You still feel pretty scared, and dread getting through the day. "Let's get you back to bed, baby." Eddie says, signaling for you to get up.

"Okay." You whimper, not wanting to go back to sleep. You're so tired, and you know you need the rest. But the possibility of going back to the awful place you found yourself in, you can't risk that. You stand up, going to the sink to rinse out your mouth. You turn on the faucet, scooping the tasteless liquid to your lips. You swish it around thoroughly, and spit it out. Much better. You take Eddie's hand, letting him lead you back into bed. He lays you down as nicely as he can, his touch so loving and light. It's a stark contrast from how Tommy was touching you, and you can't help crying some more at the reminder.

"Is there anything I can do, princess?" Eddie asks sadly, wishing he could ease your troubled mind. He doesn't know what to do, it's not like he can reach inside your head and take all the bad things away.

"Just hold me, Eds. Please." You sniffle. He does as you ask, bringing you closer to lay your head on his chest. His arm keeps you close, his hand whispering up and down your back. Arwen picks up on your sadness, wriggling her way into your cuddling to put herself beside you. She purrs loudly, the sound vibrating through your torso to calm you. You stroke her fur, her eyes falling closed in kitty bliss.

"I love you, sweetheart. And I'll stay up with you all night if I need to, 'kay?" Eddie whispers, his throat stinging as he holds back his own tears. It's not fair, she shouldn't have to go through this. I feel so helpless, because I can't make it all go away. She deserves to be happy, we deserve to be happy. I know she can't take much more of this, even though she'd never say it. I only hope this stupid trial won't break her. I can't bear to see my sweet girl disappear.

"I love you too, Eddie. I just wish we could be happy, without some bullshit coming along and messing it all up every few weeks. It's like we're fuckin' cursed or something." You groan in frustration, still crying a little as sadness morphs into anger.

"I know, angel. I wish so, too." He replies, a deep sigh escaping his lungs.

"Are you okay, love?" You ask, noticing he's stiffened up a little underneath you.

"No. It breaks my heart to see you in so much pain, Y/N. And I hate that I can't really do anything about it." He answers honestly, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're doing what you can, Eds. And it means everything to me that you care so much." You reply, leaving Arwen for a moment to caress Eddie's chest.

"I know, baby. I just一...wish I could do more." He sniffs, and you look up at his face in the pale moonlight. He's biting his lip to keep it from trembling, almost drawing blood. His eyes are glassy and sad, brows drawn downwards as he fights back against his tears.

You lift yourself up slightly, putting your head above his own. "You're doing more than enough, I promise. I couldn't ask for a better man to stand with through all of this." You press your lips to his, showing him genuine appreciation for always loving and supporting you every single day. Your mouths move tenderly against one another, shuddering sighs spilling through the gaps as you cry silently together. Arwen squirms away, tired of being squished now. She curls up on the end of the bed, settling back into her slumber.

You continue to kiss for a while, just gently moving your mouths together. There's no teeth or tongues coming into play, now isn't the time to heat things up. You both only want the closeness and intimacy that comes with being so deeply in love. You eventually pull away when your lips get tired, and you return your head to his chest. You listen to his heart beating in your ear, a little faster than its usual rhythm. But as you both lie here, you hear it slowly return to its normal pace. You drift off again at some point, lulled into a dreamless sleep by the steady beat, and the radiating warmth you share with Eddie in your bed.

Part 29.2: Chains of Love

Thursday, July 27th, 1989

You wake up again to the smell of pancakes, and you hear Mom coming down the hallway to your room. She knocks on the door. "Sugarpuff?" She asks as you rub your eyes.

"Come in." You reply, and she opens the door while holding the fold-up bed trays she keeps for special occasions. Stacks of pancakes with sides of hash browns and crispy bacon sit upon them, with a glass of orange juice beside each plate. "Wake up, Eds." You nudge Eddie with your elbow, needing him to sit up so Mom can put the food down. You're unsure how she even got the door open with her hands full.

"Hmm?" He asks, squinting his eyes as he sits up.

"I heard you crying last night. So I figured I'd make you some breakfast in bed to cheer you up." Mom says, carefully setting the trays over your laps.

"Thanks, Mom." You smile weakly, though you'll happily accept this delicious food. You're absolutely starving.

"Thank you, Claudia." Eddie adds, still waking up.

"Of course. Is there anything else I can do?" She asks, clasping her hands together expectantly. You'd woken her up last night in your rush to the toilet, and she was going to check on you until she heard Eddie speak. She laid awake in bed, hearing you tell him about your nightmare. You didn't give a lot of details, but you didn't really need to. What little information you gave made her heart ache terribly. To know that you dream of such awful things all the time, she wishes you didn't have to suffer so much. You're her sweet little girl, deserving of all the happiness in the world and more.

"No, we'll be okay." You kindly insist, wanting some time to wake up and eat before you and Eddie have to get ready for work.

"Okay. Just call if you need me." She says, closing the door when she leaves.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Eddie asks as he cuts into his pancakes. The cutlery squeaks against the plate, and he loads up his fork with the syrup-soaked stack of slices.

"A lot better. I don't know how today's gonna go, though." You reply, and he gives you a look.

"You don't have to go in today if you're not up for it. I'm sure Biggs would understand." He offers, putting a hand on your thigh over the blanket.

"No, no. I've got too much work to do. And you know me, I need the distraction." You sigh, digging into the hot meal Mom's made for you.

"Do you? I feel like 'distraction' is usually code for 'ignore the issue entirely'." Eddie says seriously, still glancing at you repeatedly as you both eat.

"I'm not ignoring anything, Eddie. I can't if we're going to win this thing." You say in annoyance. He's not wrong to assume, but you really aren't trying to hide away this time. "I'm just saying that I need a break every so often, instead of fixating on Tommy and the trial 24/7." You explain, taking a large bite of hashbrowns into your mouth.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I'm not meaning to get on your case." He says apologetically, drawing your eyes to him.

"It's fine, I get it. I don't usually cope very well. But I swear, I'm not gonna put up the walls this time." You reply as you chew.

"Okay. Good." Eddie smiles, loading up his fork again. The two of you finish eating your breakfast, talking casually about anything else you can think of. You're going to be doing more than enough discussion on the tender subject with Murray later on. There's no reason to keep dwelling on it now. You return your dirty dishes to the kitchen, setting them in the sink. And then you proceed to get ready for the day. First, a nice hot shower, with Eddie tenderly licking between your legs as you claw at the steam-frosted tile. Then, the two of you dress, playfully tickling and pinching one another while you fasten your shirt buttons and tuck the tails into your slacks. And lastly, a short cuddle with Arwen for good measure. By the time you leave the house, you're both in an extraordinarily great mood.

Your shift at the theater goes swimmingly, every showing going on without a hitch. No customer complaints, no employee disagreements or call-ins. It's a perfect day, which under most circumstances means there's something waiting to come along and fuck it all up. You refuse to focus on such a thought. You've got far too much lovey-dovey bliss rushing through your veins to pay any mind to the notion.

Lunch rolls around, and you gleefully pull Eddie into the supply closet for some fun. You repay him for the glorious head he bestowed upon you in the shower, which quickly turns into him yanking your pants down and taking you from behind as you bend over a stack of heavy boxes containing imitation butter. He spends the entire time he's inside you speaking seductively in your ear. Showering you with praises, telling you how much he loves you, how you're totally perfect in every possible way. Every single syllable warms your heart, as well as makes you completely drenched for him. It doesn't take long for you both to cum, loudly and messily, four sweaty hands digging into the thick cardboard you're pressed against.

"Fuck, baby...that was so good." You pant, with Eddie still covering your body with his until you come down from your highs. You swallow thickly, letting out a tired sigh afterwards.

"Sure was, sweetheart." Eddie replies, pressing a searing kiss of admiration to your exposed neck. He got a little overeager opening up your shirt, the top button has come a little loose. Nothing a little sewing can't fix.

You check your watch, noticing you only have a couple minutes left of your break. You tap Eddie's arm, needing him to pull out. "We gotta get back, Eds." You say, though you don't necessarily want to leave this spot.

"Whatever you say, boss." He quips, lifting himself off of you. He gently puts his hands on your waist, and slowly slides his dick out of your spent cunt. You whine quietly at the loss, your mixed release running down your thigh. "Lemme clean you up, princess." He says, going over to the open case of napkins. He takes a couple from the box, quickly coming back to you to wipe the cum away before it drips onto your pants that are gathered around your ankles.

"Thank you, love." You say in appreciation. You stand upright, pulling your slacks and panties back over your lower half. Eddie puts himself away, adjusting awkwardly as he hasn't gone soft just yet. He puts his arms around your middle, giving you a few more kisses on your throat. You sigh, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. You can't resist his sweet charms whenever they come out to play. They're so addictive, sending your heart aflutter like a hummingbird. But as much as you'd like the inevitable round two that will surely come from this heated moment, you really need to get back to work. "Baby, c'mon. We gotta go." You protest breathlessly, which tells him that you don't really mean it.

"You really want me to stop, angel?" He asks, his breath fanning against your skin. He bites down on you a second later, worrying your flesh to leave a deep purple hickey in his wake. You moan at the sensation, seriously weighing your options for a second. It would be so easy to keep the good times rolling, to squeeze as much delightful pleasure out of today as you possibly can. But you have a decent amount of work to do before the day is over, and you'd hate to get caught in here after being gone so long.

"You know damn well that I don't, Eddie. But we can't stay here all day, as much as I'd love to." You say in a frustrated tone. The idea of returning to schedules and inventory sheets when you have this gorgeous man worshiping you makes you want to scream. "Pick this up later?" You offer as he stops marking your neck.

"I guess." He whines, pulling away from you. He pouts at you to hide his smile, crossing his arms.

"Ugh, you're such a brat sometimes." You laugh, rolling your eyes at his goofiness.

"Only for you, babydoll." He smirks when you turn to face him.

"You're lucky I think it's cute." You button up your blouse again, and give Eddie a brief kiss before you both leave the closet. He playfully smacks your ass when you walk past him, drawing a small yelp from you. "Don't push your luck, Eds." You warn, continuing your journey to the back office to fill out some papers.

"Sorry, princess. I'll behave." Eddie answers, fear of losing his chance to play with you later staining his voice.

"Good boy." You say with a grin, effectively dismissing him to return to concessions for the rest of the shift. Only four hours left, and then you can take him home and have your way with him. You're definitely gonna need it if you're going to sit through Murray grilling you about Tommy all night.

"Alright, that was great. Let's take a little break, and then we'll go over it again." Murray says as you finish practicing the defense cross-examination for the third time. You've been at this for a couple hours, with Bauman grilling you with semi-invasive questions. He sure knows how to lay on the sleaze, getting you to understand what you're really up against. Tommy's legal team won't pull any punches, they're gonna go right for the jugular to make you emotional, or get you to misspeak. There is no room for error, as it's unfortunately their job to get the jury to believe that you deserve everything Tommy has done to you.

"Okay." You say with a soft sigh. You feel a couple tears trickling down your face, though you've managed to keep them in until you were finished answering the practice questions.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, taking hold of your hand as he sits beside you on the couch. You would be seated in his lap, but Murray insisted that you need to focus. You suppose he's right, Eddie's touches can be a bit...distracting.

"Yeah." You nod, exhaling shakily. You wipe your eyes, and take a deep breath.

"Alright. Lemme get you some water, 'kay?" He offers, getting to his feet.

"Thanks, Eds." You give him a weak smile, trying to ignore the pounding pain inside your head. The loss of sleep is definitely catching up to you, despite Eddie's best efforts to make you feel better today. Things were really going well, storage closet sex and all. But the second Murray walked through your doorway for the second time, the mood quickly shifted. It's heavy, suffocating. It's like a dense fog has settled inside your chest.

"Here ya go, baby." He coos when he returns with an ice cold glass. You happily take it, and he extends his other hand. He opens his palm, revealing two Tylenol inside it. "These, too." He smiles kindly at you, he can tell your head is starting to hurt. He always knows exactly what your needs are, even when you try to hide them.

"Thanks." You take the pills from his hand, popping them into your mouth. You gulp half the glass to wash them down.

"You need anything else, Y/N?" He asks sweetly, sitting back down. He scoots himself a little closer, putting his arm around your shoulders.

"No, love. I appreciate it. You're always so sweet." You reply, setting your cup down on the coffee table and leaning closer to him.

"Only for you, princess." He says lowly, resisting the urge to kiss your neck. He's already in the doghouse with Murray from his poor impression yesterday. And he's gleaned that the man is not one for PDA from that interaction.

You can hear the subtle need in his voice, the light rasp in his tone. It's not a selfish need, either. You can definitely tell the difference between him wanting pleasure for himself, and when he just wants to please you. He's already been so giving today, you'd hate to get greedy. But the way his words brush warmth against your flesh like slick oil paint, you find yourself having a hard time protesting his want. "How long until we go through it all again, Murray?" You ask subtly, holding off on biting your lip and bobbing your knee.

"Uh, just a few minutes. Not nearly enough time for what loverboy over there is asking for." Murray answers, smashing your pretense away like a frail mirror.

"Whatever, man. I need a smoke." Eddie scoffs at the man's lack of discretion. He doesn't like being read so easily, especially by a stranger. It's honestly freaking him out, as well as pissing him off. He gets off the couch, storming off for the door and leaving you behind. He opens it, stepping out into the humid afternoon, and shuts it just a bit too hard.

"Was that really necessary, Murray?" You ask, leaning back against the couch while crossing your arms.

"Pardon me if I don't want to hear you two...canoodling while I'm within the confines of your home, Y/N. Besides, I can tell you've gotten plenty of action today already. Could see it the second I walked in the door." He answers, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to say to you.

"You're a pig." You spit back. This man may be your lawyer, but he has no right to talk to you like this.

"Oh, spare me! I've been called far worse, sweet-cheeks!" He exclaims. "Look, I get that you two love each other. It's sweet, really. To have someone always be there for you is a precious thing. But you're clinging to him, as he is to you." Murray continues in a sarcastic-sweet tone, reading your relationship like an open book. "Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't necessarily be a problem. But because you two have gone through so much, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future, you haven't had a chance to level out yet. I take it you two barely spend a decent amount of time apart, right?" He asks, but his expression tells you he already knows what your answer is.

"I mean, I guess." You answer shyly, shrugging your shoulders. You pick at your nail beds, avoiding the man's gaze.

"Right. You go to each other for constant comfort. You both depend on the other being there one-hundred percent of the time. And I'm telling you right now, two things will happen if you keep up like this. One, you're going to royally fuck up this trial. And two, your relationship is going to fizzle out when it doesn't need to." He finishes, dipping his head down to give you a serious look. "You're a smart girl, Y/N. You know I'm not wrong." Your pupils flick to his, and you hate to admit it, but he's right. You honestly cannot think of a night in the last couple weeks where you slept in your separate beds. And you certainly can't recall a single day in your entire relationship where you went without seeing one another at all.

"I guess you could be right." You reply, which makes him smirk. But you keep talking. Regardless of how right he is, there needs to be some boundaries here. "But you don't have to be so rude to Eddie, either. He hasn't done anything to you, and he is also your client. He's sweet, and kind, and he takes care of me. I appreciate your help and everything, but I'd like it if you wouldn't make so many remarks towards him." You sit up straight, showing him that you're also quite serious.

"Fair enough. I'll quit disparaging your little Casanova, and you two are gonna learn to live separated from the hip. Deal?"

"Deal. I'll go talk to him." You say, giving him an agreeable nod. You go outside to find Eddie leaned against the house with a smoke between his lips. "You okay, Eds?" You ask, going over to him. He fishes out a cig for you, and you gratefully accept it.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He sighs, flicking the lighter for you. You lean into the flame to start the burn, inhaling a large dose of nicotine. "He just...bugs the hell outta me. Ya know?" He says in annoyance, scrunching his face slightly.

"I know, baby. But we had a little talk, and we've come to an agreement. He said he'll stop being so rude, if we...distance ourselves a little bit." You end slowly, knowing Eddie's going to have a hard time accepting this idea.

"What?" He asks accusingly. He's ready to fight that bald fucker at this point. Who does he think he is, putting that kind of idea in your head?

"He said that we cling to each other too much. Mostly because we've been through so much together. And I think he's right." You speak cautiously, trying not to start a fight.

"So, what does that mean?" He questions in a bratty tone. He doesn't like this one bit. He loves you, he needs you. Does this mean you don't feel the same?

"It just means that we need to breathe. Like, sleep in our own beds half the time. And be comfortable being apart for a day, or more." His eyes widen at your words, it feels like his entire world is ending. You take his free hand with your own, gazing into his eyes. "Eddie, I love you more than anything in the world, okay? But Murray is right. We're holding on to each other so tight, we'll eventually suffocate ourselves. This doesn't mean we're over, far from it. We need to do this to keep us together, and in order to win the trial." You put yourself directly in front of him, bringing your lips to his to give him a loving kiss.

He resists at first, wanting to reject this idea, to tell Murray he's full of shit. But hearing the way you've put it, he knows you're right. He doesn't want to lose you, or jeopardize a victory in court. So, he'll do everything he can to keep those things from happening. Even if he hates it. He melts into you, moving his mouth languidly against yours. You slip your tongue into his mouth, and he quickly picks up the pace. He lets go of your hand to cradle your head, keeping you close. "Mmm." He hums against you.

"Are we all set to go?" Murray says as he comes outside to retrieve you. He realizes what you two are doing, loudly clearing his throat. You freeze up for a moment, before pulling away.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry." You blush, backing further away from Eddie to distance yourself.

"It's alright. I didn't expect an immediate change." Murray replies kindly, heading back into the house. You follow behind him, with Eddie trailing along as well after tossing your cigs away. You take your seats on the couch again, and Murray sits in his chair and picks up his papers. "Okay. Let's start again."

"Alright." You sigh, not really wanting to do this again. But you aren't ready yet, far from it. You need to run these questions like drills, repeating them over and over until you know them all by heart. It's like studying for a test, and Murray is your flashcards. You know you can do this, and it'll all be worth it in the end. Eventually, you'll be able to answer these questions succinctly, and without feeling like you want to cry every five seconds. You've got this.

You cycle through the questions, not missing a beat when you answer them. One after another, you knock them down like pins at the end of a bowling lane. There's no more tears this time, during this round or afterwards. You're getting the hang of it, though the questions themselves still infuriate you on the inside. But that's to be expected. "That was great. I think we've made a lot of progress today. We should have it nailed down tomorrow, and then we can start on you, Eddie." Murray says, packing up for the night.

"Cool." Eddie replies flatly, still somewhat sulking from your little talk earlier.

"I hope you'll have a better attitude than that, kid. Acting like a jackass will get you nowhere in a courtroom." Murray warns while looking down at his papers.

You can see Eddie's about to blow up at him, so you put a hand on his arm to calm him down. His gaze snaps to you, anger flashing in his eyes. "Eddie, please. You can't be so quick to get mad like this. How do you expect to get on the stand and answer Tommy's lawyer's questions, if you're already so bothered by our own lawyer trying to help you?" You find yourself conflicted in your feelings. You understand why Eddie's so resistant to all of this. But he's going to fuck it up for both of you if he doesn't cool off. You take his hands in yours now, scooting closer to him. "Baby, I love you. But I need you to try to calm down, and think rationally about this." You give him the kindest look imaginable, hoping your gentleness will put out the flames of rage he's stoking.

"I'll try." He says with a sigh, unable to defy you. He’s aware how important this is, especially to you. You need him on his best behavior. Better than his best behavior, if one's being honest. It's going to be a challenge for him, he's always been a bit of a hot-head. But he'll put in the work, for you.

"I appreciate it, love." You give him a small smile, and he attempts to return it. But it falls away as quickly as it came.

"Well, I'm gonna head out for the night. I'll see you both tomorrow." Murray says, promptly getting up to leave. He lets himself out the front door, taking some of the negative energy with him. Things are still a bit tense, though. And you're not really sure how to diffuse it, as it's mainly radiating out of your boyfriend now.

"So, what should we do now?" You ask. There's still a couple hours left of the night before you should get to bed. You could watch a movie, or go for a short drive...or just simmer in silence.

"I think I'm gonna go home." Eddie answers, standing up from the couch. The loss of his weight on the cushion beside you sends an anxious pang through your chest. You somehow feel like you've done something wrong. Or that he's mad at you. You can't tell, you can't exactly read him as he walks down the hall to your room. Probably to retrieve his things. You apprehensively get up to follow him, walking on eggshells until you reach your bedroom.

"I'm sorry." You say weakly as you lean in the doorway. Eddie's packing his things in his bag, ignoring Arwen as she weaves between his legs. She meows at him for love and attention, but none comes.

"For what?" He asks flatly, tossing his pajamas into his duffle bag. He doesn't look at you, zipping the bag closed after his question.

"I...I don't know. I feel like you're mad at me." You answer honestly.

"I'm not." He says, putting his bag over his shoulder. He finally looks at you, and he forces his expression to soften. He sighs when he sees you nervously biting your lip, coming over to you. "Sweetheart, I promise I'm not mad at you, alright? I just...this is all a pretty big adjustment. I don't want to sleep in my bed without you. I don't want to answer Murray's stupid questions over and over. I honestly don't want to do any of this shit. I will still do all of these things anyway, because I love you. But it isn't exactly easy for me." He doesn't hold back, telling you precisely how he feels about all of this. You appreciate the honesty, but you hate to see him so upset about it. Maybe you're asking too much.

"Okay." You nod, heat building behind your eyes. Your mouth twitches to the side, the little thing you do to stop yourself from crying. Eddie notices it immediately, and drops his bag down for a second.

"Angel, c'mere." He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You nuzzle into his neck while grabbing onto him, and the tears come flooding down.

"I don't want you to go." You weep, though it's a bit muffled.

"I don't want to either, Y/N. But you're right, we have to be able to do this. We're not kids anymore, we haven't been for a while. It's just one night. But it's gonna be fine, we'll see each other tomorrow." He replies, giving you a warm squeeze. He clamps his eyes shut, not wanting to let you go. This is too hard. How is he supposed to sleep without you by his side?

"It just sucks." You say through a hiccuping breath.

"I know it does, princess." He keeps holding you close, delaying the inevitable. At some point here you're going to have to say goodbye. It seems so silly, this shouldn't be so hard for you. When you're so used to seeing one another almost every second of every day, it's difficult to change habits. It's hard to let go a little, to spend time away. But it's what's needed, and probably has been needed for a long time. Because now you're so dependent on being together all the time, that it's painful to do such a normal, adult thing. It'll be quite a challenge for you, but you know your love will be even stronger for it. "It's time for me to go, babydoll." He says after a long period of silence.

"I know." You reply, still trying to tame your tears. You slowly pull away, and your arms cross over yourself as an odd way to still feel like you're being held. Eddie picks up his bag, and you quietly walk him to the door. Your throat and chest ache, and more trickles of salty water flow down your cheeks. He opens the door, and you both stand between it and the outside for a second.

"I love you, Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He says softly, his eyes glassy and red.

"I love you too, Eddie." You stutter out the words, fighting with yourself to keep from breaking down again. Why is this so hard? It's not like he's going away forever. He leans in to give you a kiss goodnight, and you hungrily take it. He even slips his tongue in your mouth, in an attempt to leave a piece of himself with you. He backs away far too soon, and you can feel the hesitation in him removing his lips from yours.

"It'll be okay." He cups your cheek, planting another quick kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fall closed at his warmth, forcing more tears out. "Goodnight, sweetheart." He whispers, turning to head out to his van.

"'Night." You say as a lump forms in your throat, closing the door quickly before he can hear you lose control. You lean against the barrier between you, sobbing as you hear the driver's side door open and shut, and the engine turning over. You listen to him pull out of the driveway, and roll down the road. You slide downward to the floor, curling up into yourself. You hate this, you can feel him getting further and further away by the second. Your body is acting like the entire world is crumbling, falling into the abyss and taking you with it.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" Mom asks when she comes out to the living room. She finds you on the floor, crying loud and hard as you hold your knees into your chest. You don't say anything, she'll just think you're being childish. Hell, you know that's how you're acting right now. But you can't help it. Eddie is your everything, the first real man in your life that makes you not so lost in this big crazy world. "Sugarpuff? What is it? Is it Eddie?" She asks in concern, coming over to sit on the floor with you. You nod against your knees, still unable to speak. "Did you have a fight? Or break up?" She continues. You shake your head no, but you don't want to have to explain your immature feelings to her. "Then what's wrong? You can tell me, sweetie. You know I'm here for you." She puts a hand on your back, stroking you gently over your shirt.

"It's stupid." You mumble, shaking your head again. You just want to be left alone until you pry yourself off the floor and crawl into your cold bed.

"Y/N, I'm sure it's not. You're no dummy. So, come on. Tell mama what's wrong." She carefully pulls your cocooned body open, bringing your upper half towards her. She leans you against her chest, allowing you to tell her everything without meeting her eyes.

"It's just...Murray said me and Eddie cling to each other too much. He said it could mess up the trial, and hurt our relationship. And I know he's right. So we're going to try sleeping in our own beds alone for a while, and not spend every single day together." You pause to gather yourself. "And I know it shouldn't be so hard. But I hate being without him, Mom. I just love him so much, it hurts to be apart." You explain tearfully, hiccuping through your words.

"I understand, sugarpuff. Your father and I were like that in the beginning. We couldn't go without seeing each other for more than an hour!" She says with a nostalgic laugh. "It's just what young people in love go through. You fall for someone, you want to be with them every second of every day. But at a certain point, there comes a time where you both need space every once in a while. Being together all the time makes you sick of each other after so long. That's what happened to us, I'm afraid." She says solemnly.

"I know. I just hate this. I get that it's the normal, healthy thing to do. But it's gonna take a while to stop hurting so much." You sniffle, wiping your eyes as the tears finally start to dry up.

"And that's okay, sugarpuff. It's an adjustment, and I wouldn't expect either of you to be happy about it. It'll be better for your relationship in the long run. I promise." She speaks comfortingly, placing a kiss on top of your head. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you too, Mom. Thanks for not making me feel stupid." A smile forms on your face, you're so lucky to have your mom. She's always here for you no matter what, and you're eternally grateful for that. "I should get to bed, I've got work in the morning." You say, and the two of you get off the floor together.

"That sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, sugarpuff." She gives you a brief hug, not wanting to suffocate you with her love.

"’Night, Mom." You go back down the hall to your room, swallowing another lump that pops up at Eddie’s absence. "It's gonna be fine." You reassure yourself, closing the door and removing your clothes. You put on Eddie's Hellfire shirt, a pitiful substitute for the real thing. You flick off the light switch and crawl under the covers. Arwen hops up and pads over to you, before curling up at your side. "Hey, little one. I'm sorry daddy didn't say goodbye to you. But I'm sure he'll give you extra cuddles tomorrow to make up for it." You say sweetly to her, but all it does is remind you that Eddie isn't here right now. You let the tears fall, but you keep your body still and calm. It's the only way you're going to be able to truly rest.

You stroke Arwen's soft fur, soothing yourself with her warm purrs. You wonder if she feels the emptiness too. She's a smart cat, so she probably does. She moves closer towards your face, even going so far as to lick a couple of your tears away. Her sandpaper tongue scrapes against your cheek, making you giggle. She's such a sweet little thing, and so in tune with you and Eddie. You slowly cease your petting, and slip your hand beneath the blanket. You close your eyes, and wait for sleep to take you into its welcoming embrace.

Unfortunately for you, your worst fear about this new arrangement is coming to fruition. You cannot sleep. You don't feel even remotely tired. Your safety net is gone, your comfort, your love. He's miles away, no doubt laying restless in his own bed. You gaze out of the window, finding the big bright moon staring back at you. Its face appears rather downturned tonight, sharing in your sorrow. You're about to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep, when you hear the phone ringing in the living room. Eddie.

You dash out of bed, running as quietly down the hall as you can. You don't want to disturb Mom or Dustin, but you long to hear Eddie's voice more than anything in the world. You snatch the phone up on the final ring, breathing heavily into the headset. "Y/N?" You hear Eddie ask oddly.

"Yeah. Sorry...out of breath." You pant, begging your heart to stop pounding.

"That desperate to hear my voice, huh?" He asks with a chuckle.

"Hey! You're the one that called me in the middle of the night!" You retort, unable to hold back a giggle.

"Oh, it's hardly 'the middle of the night', Y/N. It's what, eleven-thirty?" He pauses, before speaking again. "I miss you." He says softly.

"I miss you too, my prince." You reply, sitting down in the chair by the phone.

"It's taking everything in me not to drive over there right now." He admits, feeling rather silly for wanting such a thing.

"I know, Eds. We're probably still feeding the habit by having this call." You observe, wondering if you should've just let the phone ring.

"Yeah...I just couldn't help myself. And I can't sleep. I had to hear your beautiful voice." He says, somewhat ashamed for giving in to his need for you so easily.

"I can't sleep either. Tomorrow is gonna be hell." You whine. You just know you're gonna be kicking yourself for staying up so late.

"You can say that again, sweetheart. But I should let you go, or else I'll talk to you until the sun comes up." He jokes, drawing a small laugh from both of you.

"Okay. Goodnight, my love." You say, feeling a lot better after this small conversation. It's a reminder that you aren't alone in this, that everything is going to be fine. Eddie loves you, and cares for you, and you're both on the same page as always. You're even starting to feel a little sleepy, having found some comfort from hearing his voice again.

"Goodnight, princess. Sleep well." He says, fighting off a yawn afterwards. You hang up the phone, and go back to your bed. Your steps feel heavy, and you're actually happy to be snuggled up under your covers. You give Arwen one last little pat, and take the trip to dreamland shortly afterwards.

You spend the entire night dreaming about Eddie, doing all the things you love to do together. Driving around town, cigarettes in hand as you sing along to the blasting stereo. Cuddling on your couch, watching one of your favorite movies. Making out halfway through said movie since you can't keep your hands off each other. But most of all, you find your dream self in bed with him. Kissing, touching, fucking...with a symphony of moans and whimpers to really bring it to life. It feels so real, and pleasurable sensations roll over your body while you sleep.

Dream Eddie clings to you while he grinds his hips against yours, digging his cock deeper and deeper into your pussy. You're dripping with sweat, letting out beautifully vulgar noises between starving kisses. Your nails claw into his back, needing to keep him as close to you as possible. You beg him not to stop, telling him just how good he feels inside you. He promises to never stop fucking you, to make you cum again and again until you can't take it anymore. He nibbles on your neck, and grips your thighs firmly to keep you in place. He uses the perfect speed and rhythm, and full range of motion to hit your g-spot at all the right angles. You cry out his name as your high takes you over, the pleasure so lifelike that your panties become soaked as you lay unconscious in your bed.

Friday, July 28th, 1989

You go into work the next morning, hoping to find Eddie in the breakroom before you start your shift. You put your purse inside your shared locker, and feel two large hands slipping over your waist from behind you. "Happy five month anniversary, angel." Eddie hums as he presses a smoldering kiss to your neck. You instantly melt at his touch, tilting your head to the side to let him in further.

"Mmm, you remembered." You smirk. His lips on your throat remind you of your dream last night, and the evidence of arousal you found between your legs this morning.

"Of course, baby. How could I forget?" He rasps, nipping your neck a little harder than usual. You moan quietly at the sting, pressing yourself backwards into him. He groans against you, his hands squeezing your hips hungrily. "You wanna meet me in the storage room at lunch to get your present?" He asks, unable to hide his excitement. His pants appear to be doing a poor job of that as well.

"It's a date, Eds. I was dreaming about you...all night. I woke up absolutely soaked." You tease him with your words, pulling away once you hear Mr. Biggs' heavy footsteps approaching. Eddie's breath hitches at your filthy admission, which he quickly disguises as a cough once your boss walks in.

"Morning, you two. How's the preparation for the trial going?" Biggs asks cordially.

"Oh, um...it's g-going great!" You struggle to string the words together, Eddie's hand has managed to slip behind your back to grab a hearty handful of your ass. You try to pass off your yelp of surprise as enthusiasm about your preparedness for the trial. Biggs curls an eyebrow at you curiously, before dismissing your somewhat odd behavior as stress-related.

"Wonderful. I look forward to testifying for your side. Do you have the inventory finished for me?" He asks, moving the subject to work now.

"Almost, I just need a recount on the popcorn buckets." You reply, going to the desk in the office to retrieve your clipboard.

"Excellent. I'll be here when you're finished. I've got some special tasks for you today." Biggs says, effectively dismissing you until later.

"Sounds great." You smile, leaving the room with Eddie close behind.

"Well, looks like you've got a long day ahead of you, boss. I'll see you at lunch?" Eddie says, leaning in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

"I'm looking forward to it, love." You give him a ravenous look, biting your lip slightly to let him know you'll be counting down the minutes until noon. His eyes bug a little at your expression, and he realizes that he's gonna be hard all goddamn day because of you.

You both go your separate ways, doing your damndest to stay on task until the time is right. It is a little difficult, as you catch one another's eye many times throughout your shift. Every time your pupils meet, it sends a flare of lust through your bodies. It takes everything in you not to run to each other and rip your clothes off in the middle of the lobby. You get a short reprieve when Eddie goes to the ticket booth, able to half-focus now. You fill out some paperwork in the office, working overtime to resist rubbing your thighs together in your chair. You just can't stop picturing Eddie in all your favorite positions, his face buried between your thighs, in particular.

You check your watch, finding that the time has finally come. You put your work aside for now, practically hopping out of your chair to go meet your boyfriend in the closet. You check to make sure no one is watching once you reach the door, and carefully slip inside. The light is off, which you assume means Eddie hasn't shown up yet. You suddenly hear the lock on the door click closed, and Eddie's lips attacking your neck from behind again. "You ready for your present, angel?" He asks darkly, his hand reaching around to undo the buttons on your blouse.

"Mm, yes. Do you mind turning the light on? I wanna see your gorgeous face while you fuck my brains out." You suggest, though this groping in the dark is pretty sexy.

"Anything for you, baby." He reaches back with one hand to flick the switch, and the dim overhead light comes on. He then reaches in his back pocket, retrieving a slender, rectangular box. He brings it into your view, presenting it on his palm. "For you." He says simply, waiting for you to open it.

"Oh, Eddie. You shouldn't have! I didn't get you anything." You say, half guilty, half excited. You'd previously agreed to no gifts besides sex, five months isn't exactly the most exciting milestone in a relationship.

"Being with you is more than enough for me, Y/N. Besides, I love to spoil my favorite girl." He coos, giving your throat another sizzling kiss. You decide to stop wasting time and open your present. You pull the black ribbon loose, and lift the lid to reveal what's inside. You gingerly pull open the red tissue paper, finding a stiff, silver vibrator nestled in it. "What do you think?" He asks.

"You're a dirty little fucker sometimes." You say with a laugh. You turn around to face him. "But I love it, Eds." You give him a warm kiss, which quickly turns into your tongues battling for dominance. He resumes his task of opening your shirt, leaving the last couple buttons fastened once your tits are exposed. He grabs the mounds of them roughly, massaging them in his huge hands.

"I'm glad you like it, baby. I figure you can use it whenever you miss me...or I can use it on you when we're together." He says as you break away.

"I'll definitely put it to good use, love. But right now, I just want you." You set the box down to pull his head closer to kiss him hard, and you clumsily reach for his belt to unbuckle it. You pull the leather through the loops in his slacks, unfastening the metal piece in the middle of the buckle from its set notch. The ends of the belt hang slack, letting you slide his zipper down its track. Your mouths work furiously against each other, desperate moans slipping through the cracks. You ferociously yank his pants and boxers down his thighs. His stiff cock slaps against his stomach, and you quickly take hold of it as he continues to kiss you and grope your chest.

"Fuck, baby." He groans, enamored by your hollowed fist stroking him.

"Mmm, yes, please." You joke. Eddie reaches for your own pants now, undoing the button and zipper just as easily. He pulls them down for you, along with your panties. He slips a hand between your legs, smearing the slick that's already gathered around your pussy. "Eddie." You whine as he rubs his middle finger around your clit. He pushes two digits inside of you, and proceeds to rapidly curl them. "I need you, baby. Right now...I-I can't wait." Intense need stains your voice, an orgasm growing alarmingly fast inside your belly.

"Don't have to tell me twice, angel. How do you want me?" He asks through groans and gasps. He wants you just as badly, anxious to feel your hot, wet cunt hugging him so damn tight.

"C'mere." You lead him backwards, both of you still riling each other up. You almost knock a stack of boxes along the way, but you have a set destination in mind. You stroke faster on Eddie's dick once your back meets the wall. He takes his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips to suck them dry.

"Mmm, so sweet." He moans at the taste, gazing deep into your eyes. It distracts you both for a moment, but you quickly return to the task at hand. "Put your pants around your ankles, baby." He instructs. You do as he asks, and he gently nudges your feet apart with his foot. He then ducks down underneath you, looping himself between your legs before standing upright. He picks you up, grasping your thighs. You take the hint and put your bound ankles against his back to keep him close. You both gaze between your bodies to watch as Eddie takes hold of his dick, giving it a couple needy strokes. He groans, and a drip of his precum falls from his cockhead to the floor. He brings his tip to your slick folds, teasing your both for a moment by dragging it back and forth. "God, you're drenched baby. You been thinkin' about me all day?" He asks, looking up to meet your eyes. He slips inside you as he waits for your answer.

"Oh, god." You gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly as he fills you up. You gulp in a breath, before answering his question. "Yes, I kept seeing you inside my head. You were doing all my favorite things." You say dizzily. He's barely done anything yet, and you're already falling apart.

"And what things would those be?" He questions lowly, smirking at you. He slowly pulls his length back, almost falling out, then slams back into your soaked pussy. You both groan loudly at the sensation, your eyes rolling back into your skulls for a moment.

"Kissing me...everywhere." You reply as Eddie sets a steady pace. His eyes are locked onto yours, enjoying the retelling of your vulgar daydreaming. "My lips, my tits, my pussy. Your mouth is so soft...and warm. I love the way it feels against my skin." You consistently moan as you speak, turning the pleasure dial to an eleven with every syllable.

"What else?" He wants you to continue, to tell him all the nasty things that cross your mind about him. He continues to thrust into you, taking his time to build you up.

"I thought about your hands, particularly your fingers, rubbing my clit, or pushing inside me. They're so long, and big...and they always make me so wet, love." You continue to give him all the dirty details, drawing aroused groans from him as you talk. "Mm, I love your noises, too. I can't get enough of knowing just how crazy I make you." He picks up the pace a little, increasing your pleasure even more. His pelvis slaps upwards against your ass, the sound reverberating in your ears. "Fuck." You mutter under your breath.

"Tell me more, Y/N. Please, I wanna hear all the slutty little things inside your head." He insists, almost begging. His hands grip harder on your thighs, and he's steadily pounding you into the wall.

"More than anything else, I was thinking about this...having your dick inside of me. You're the fuckin' perfect size, you always reach all the right places." You moan, growing closer to your high. You're sweating through your shirt, and you and Eddie are breathing so heavily in each other's faces. It's boiling hot in here, setting your bodies on fire.

"More, sweetheart." He huffs, shoving his face into your chest. He nips and sucks your cleavage, wanting to mark you with as many love bites as possible. He wants you to have something to look at when you're not with him, and remember that you belong to each other. But how could you ever possibly forget?

"I-I thought about riding you, with you clinging to me as you sit against the headboard...fuck." You describe the scene inside your mind for him.

"More." He commands desperately, the single word coming out muffled.

"I thought about you fucking me from behind, laying your body over mine...w-with your hand squeezing my throat." It takes everything in you to get the words out, watching Eddie ravenously devour your chest is certainly a sight to see. His dampened hair flicking about in its ponytail, the glimpses you catch of his plush lips and nibbling teeth coming into contact with your tits. It's like he's trying to worship and consume you all at the same time. And it's so fucking hot.

"I need more, angel...please." He begs with a whimper, letting you know he's getting close. And your rapid gasping and endless stream of expletives and moans tells him you're on the same path to bliss.

"Fuck me harder, Eds. And I'll tell you everything." You answer, your final syllable extending into a whine. He thrusts his hips faster, throwing as much of his weight upwards into you as he possibly can. "Oh, god! That's perfect, baby...such a good boy for me..." You praise, drawing his lust-blown eyes to you. He stops attacking your chest, focusing on listening to everything you say. He wants to hear it all, every possible thing you think and feel about him. And the loving, intense look in his eyes leaves you unable to hide a single bit of it from him. It reminds you of the first time you said 'I love you'. The daring stare into one another's pupils, challenging the other to chicken out. But you've got your claws dug so deep into each other, there's no conceivable way that will ever come to pass.

"C'mon, baby...j-just a little more. Tell me how much you love me." He pleads, shaky, sweaty breaths escaping him between words. He's an absolute mess for you, and you gladly reciprocate the carnal chaos.

"Someone's a needy little slut today." You tease, which only makes him drill faster into you. "Fuck! You're lucky I love it when you're rough with me." You smile as your orgasm quickly approaches. You cup his cheek in your hand, stroking his slightly stubbled flesh. "I love you more than anything in the world, baby. You're my first thought in the morning, and my last thought before I fall asleep. You're my everything, and I want to have you for the rest of my life. I want to marry you, and live with you, and build a home with you. I want it all, Eddie. Forever." You speak so emphatically, overwhelmed with emotion. He seems to feel it too, because he quickly presses his lips to yours. He forces his mouth to slow down, to show you just how much he understands and mutually reflects your devotion.

He continues to thrust with full force, his hips beginning the stutter. Your insides waver around him, and you sense your release threatening to roll over you any second now. You're so full of unyielding love and affection, practically bursting at the seams. You wrap your arms fully around his shoulders, pulling him even closer to you as you tenderly kiss. Your tongues dance passionately in a delicate tango, and your hearts ba-thump at meteoric speed. Eddie breaks away mere moments from reaching the end, needing to mirror your sentiment. "You took the words right outta my mouth, princess. I want forever with you, too. I love you...so much, Y/N." He gives you another hasty kiss, sealing your fates. Both in the sexual sense, as well as the life path you're traveling down together.

"Oh, god! Eddie!" You cry out, throwing your head back against the wall as your high takes you over. Your insides spasm around Eddie's dick, and you let out a long moan that must be loud enough to be heard in the lobby.

"Fuck." He manages to gasp out, his brow furrowing and mouth falling open as he falls over the edge himself. His hips buck clumsily, making you want to scream. You soak his cock like you always do, your juices spilling over him. His sticky load shoots into you to join the mix, and you both let out one final groan to signal the end of your little celebration. He keeps thrusting, but at a much slower speed now. Lazy, comfortable strokes that keep you close as you come back down to earth. "Happy anniversary, my love." He gives you an exhausted smile, still panting from all his effort.

"Happy anniversary, Eds. That was so perfect...we were perfect." You coo, giving him a peck of appreciation.

"Mm, I agree, sweetheart. I swear, we only get better every time." He swipes a damp strand of hair from your forehead, still making those sweet, gentle movements inside you. You really don't want to stop this, you two could stay in this position forever and ever. But you're no doubt over time for your break as it is, and Mr. Biggs will surely fire you if he catches you fucking on the job.

"We'd better get back, baby." You say regrettably. He nods, slowly pulling his still stiff length out of your cunt. A collective whine at the loss rings in the air, but this is far from the last time you'll have mind-blowing sex. You might even be able to get another round in after working with Murray tonight. You clean yourselves up a little, and put your clothes back on in their rightful places. "I'll see you later, okay? We can have dinner, and hang out for a bit after Murray leaves. How's that sound?" You offer, knowing he's still not keen on this whole 'separation' thing. Neither are you, far from it. But for both your sakes, you're going to make sure your relationship stands the test of time.

"Sounds perfect, Y/N. I'll see you in a bit." You exchange one last chaste kiss, and slip out of the closet individually to avoid being seen. You put your little present into your locker, and resume working like nothing happened. One thing is for sure, you absolutely cannot wait for round two.

To be continued...

#fanfiction #hippiegoth97 #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

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steviewashere · 11 months ago

Text

Kiss and Tell

(Can be found on ao3)

Steddie WC: 2,279 Tags: Post Season 4, Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder, Eddie Munson Loves to Talk, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Queer Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, But He Already Knows (Sort of), First Kiss, Lots of Kissing

Based on this post that I made. Happy reading! <3

-------- Steve has a staring problem. He knows this. He's been told this. And it's not something he can help or fix or find an alternative for. This is just what he knows.

It's something he's tried to maintain since he was a little boy. And, on that same note, is something he picked up while being a boy in a room with two adults who were fast talkers and big negotiators and all-in on the nature of their careers. But his parents certainly hate that he has a staring problem. Which, that's not unusual, most people hate that he does. Because he doesn't look them in the eyes for more than thirty seconds at a time. And even if he does, he doesn't hear a single thing they said, politely asking they start over, and feeling hurt when they just scoff as loud as possible and walk away from the conversation all together.

The audio just doesn't process. Never has. Probably never will.

He listens to music, but doesn't understand any meaning. He talks over the phone, but must have all other sound blocked out and the curtains shut and his eyes closed to imagine what the words look like leaving the other person's mouth. He argues, but loses track of the original point of the argument—when he laughs instead of apologizes.

And it would be fine—if—he wasn't close to losing his life every year. Where he has to listen to everybody and the important tiny details and the plans and the reasons for what they're doing. Which leads him to danger. Which gives him a bruised face. Which makes the listening even harder, once the concussion leaves and he's just got the leftover damage of his quirkiness.

It would be fine—if—he wasn't made to feel so stupid for what he must do. The jabs and the constant reminders and the...yeah, his sob story.

But there was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, who he could keep up with. Because they'd talk about the same things over and over, until he could practically relay all the information, pulled straight from the deep crevices of his brain, and it ends up that they had forgotten, rather than him.

And there was Nancy Wheeler, who was polite enough to repeat things. Who had flash cards and a soft, focusing voice. It was easy to write off looking at her lips. "Eyes up here, Steve," she'd say. "Sorry," he'd respond sheepishly, "getting lost." And he'd chuckle and she'd giggle and then they'd kiss a little and he wouldn't be reminded that he's just a little weird. That, maybe, he just isn't normal.

Robin Buckley makes things easy-ish. She talks fast. And a lot. And she never looks him in the eyes, unless she's asking for a very serious favor, or he has something on his face, or she just feels the need (she claims it's that she hasn't looked in a while, but he shrugs her off every time). (If he can get away with staring at her lips, then she can get away with never looking him in the eyes.) He's mentioned, though, that he has a hard time following her sometimes. That he needs the words repeated a few times. Explained the lip thing, with a tense voice and a quake in his chest and his fingers tapping at the sides of his thighs. And, for a brief moment, he had felt like a creep. Like one of those weirdos that preys on the idea of women kissing. And he wanted to open up Family Video's register, shove his head inside, and sort himself out into the container of fives. But she shrugged, said "Okay," and went back on some ramble, to which he was immediately drawn to her mouth. And saw her repeat the name, Vickie, at least twenty times. He grinned and then when the store was empty, he leaned across the counter and teasingly said, "You have a big fat crush on Vickie, don't you?" To say that he was proud of her sputtering is an understatement.

Now, Dustin and the others were harder to get through. Because they moved at their own pace. And they don't really stop to add him to the conversation. He gets it, to an extent. He knows that he's not really all that intrigued in what they enjoy. (Even if he really leans into the conversation when they mention Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or Star Wars or, even, Star Trek. And he pretends to not be interested in their science fair projects. Or the one time he caught them huddled around a Sports Illustrated, in which he fought the urge to chat their ears off about both baseball and basketball statistics.) But there's a point in the conversations where he's made to feel a little dumb; even if he was staring where they were speaking, but they always grow frustrated, a huff of air released, when they notice he's not "paying attention" (translation: looking them in the eyes. "Because, Steve, it's just talking etiquette!" Dustin had shouted once).

He loves all of them anyway. Even if he misses words. And he loses track of what they were saying. He just wishes they were a little bit more forgivable about it at the end of the day.

Then, Eddie Munson is walking along side him in an alternate universe. He's peeled the vest off his back and chucked it at Steve. And they're talking. Jealous of one another, but talking. But, Eddie's voice goes soft and quiet, his eyes pointing towards Nancy's back.

Steve is looking at Nancy, words fading into the background. And it's not a moment of realization. Or a moment of longing. Yearning, what say you. No—it's one of his moments in which he's "listening," but not processing. So he looks back. And for a mere second, Eddie's eyes are big where Steve stares. Big and wet and curious. Big and wet and persuasive. Big and wet and not at all his lips and Steve is still not listening.

But his lips. Well, Steve's seen lips. These are pretty. They're pink. Chapped and bitten and plush appearing. Mesmerizing. Stretching over Eddie's sharp teeth, exposing dimples and smile lines, making his recent stubble more noticeable than it's ever been before. But his lips are pretty.

Like girls lips, Steve muses. Not really taking in what that means. Because Eddie's saying something about true love. And—shit—okay. Steve can get behind an act of true love. He can get behind sharing denim and coating Eddie's clothes in blood and staring down his lips and—god, his eyes, Steve can't help but notice once more.

Eddie's like a vulnerable cow. With pretty lips, he has to point out. Or a baby deer. With such pretty lips. And he's talking and Steve's finally listening. But it's not just processing. No, Steve's intrigued, interested even. He tilts his head like a curious puppy. Leaning in. Eddie's breath ghosts the tip of his nose. And, sure, it's a little rank. But weirdly sweet. Warm where Steve is otherwise cold. Warm in places Steve's never considered to feel warm in, but he's willing to give in, to wrap up in whatever Eddie has to say. If it all means more of him.

So, it makes sense that after all that they go through, Steve finds himself in Eddie's orbit. As a friend. As a trauma bond. As everything Eddie needs him to be.

He sits on the Munson's couch. On the cushion that dips a little too low. The lights orange and dim and casting beautiful streaks of almost candle light on Eddie's soft, beautiful features. Highlighting where his nose is the most bulbous. His pronounced Cupid's bow. The outer edges of his irises, golden and honey against the off-white of his scleras.

Eddie talks like Robin does. Excited. A lot. Fast. But his voice is soft, focused on the information—like Nancy's. It's teasing, like Dustin's. Soft, though. So gentle. Murmured. Which makes sense, if Steve were to stop and think about it for just a moment. With how late it is. With the little amount of weed they smoked. And it all just fits, with how slow and careful Eddie's lips move. As if testing the words. As if searching for what he means.

But, god, Steve is following along. Of course he is. Hanging onto each one of Eddie's words.

"So, the cashier at the record store got all apprehensive about selling me this tape. Which, I guess makes sense because it's a special edition. Comes with a photo card or whatever, but like—Come on, y'know? If he wanted it so bad, he should'a bought it the moment it dropped. Not my fault he slacks on not just his job, but also his opportunities," Eddie rambles. And, that's right, he's complaining about the music store encounter he had today. Trying to buy some album for some band. Steve got lost part of the way through, so he's not sure who exactly Eddie was getting a tape for. The style of music. But he has most of the information. He just—

Has to squint harder.

So, Steve leans in. As casual as he possibly can. And narrows his eyes at Eddie's lips. The word pretty comes to mind again. Because of course it does. And he can't pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. For some reason, the tips of his fingers tingle a little. Wanting to reach out. Trace his lower lip, right where it sticks out, just above the divot of his chin. Would it be soft, he asks himself. Does he wear chapstick? Steve sighs softly. I wish I could...taste it. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. But he ignores that in favor of whatever Eddie is saying. If only he could make it out. He leans impossibly closer.

And there it is again. The soft puffs of warm air. On the tip of his nose. His own lips. Tickling his stubble. Eddie's breath smells like weed and strawberry Tab; a little bit of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Maybe the smallest trace of pepper—

"Uh, Steve?" Eddie nervously calls out. But gets no response. Steve is only a couple inches away from his face. Eyes hooded. Glassy. Zeroed in on Eddie's lips. He's not talking. Doesn't even give a hum. Just...keeps staring.

Eddie sucks in a breath. Eyes darting over Steve's face. He doesn't talk again, hoping maybe Steve will stop. But, nope. In fact, the only thing Eddie gets as acknowledgement for the fact he's stopped talking, is that Steve pouts. Upset. As if his lips no longer moving is some great catastrophe to Steve, some tragedy, some misfortune.

And, Eddie, the awful wreck that he is, can only assume that this means one thing.

Steve wants a kiss. And is, maybe, too chicken shit to close the gap.

So, with no other option. And definitely not wanting to get away from the heated, stirring, calm mask of Steve's face—Eddie presses his mouth against Steve's. Hesitantly smushing their lips together. Dragging his lower lip against Steve's soft scowling one.

And he pulls away. Because Steve isn't doing anything in response.

No, in fact, Steve is extremely expressive now.

Wide eyes. Mouth opened into a silent "Oh." His cheeks are flushed. And as quick as it came upon him, whatever realization that was, fades. Like a cartoon character, Steve's face melts into one of pure infatuation. Mouth lilting. His posture slouching. Eyes going soft against the extreme red of his face.

"Do that again," Steve whispers.

Eddie obliges. And he obliges. And he keeps obliging until they're under a cool top sheet, skin slick with sweat and eyes piercing one another's mouths.

That's when, in the silent air of Eddie's tiny bedroom, Steve admits the greatest thing in the world. "I don't really process when people are talking unless I'm looking at their mouth. I have to read their lips. I didn't—I wasn't trying to kiss you at first, but—" And the motherfucker giggles. "If that's all it took..." Then he's kissing Eddie again. Like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do. And Eddie thinks, If I die from running out of breath doing this, then I've done everything in my life correctly.

So, sure, Steve has a huge staring problem. And he doesn't really listen. And it's something he'll never fix, even if there's a way to.

But he finds that his technique—the thing he's crafted since he was a little boy—no longer works. At least, not on Eddie. Because suddenly, looking at his gorgeous pink lips makes Steve only able to think about one thing: Kissing. And he can't follow along unless he fulfills that want.

Eddie could be in the middle of a deep, all inclusive description of his recent trap in the campaign he's crafting. He could be singing. He could be complaining about some movie he rented. But that doesn't matter. Because he stops talking the moment Steve leans in and kisses him. Kisses like he needs it to live.

And though he rolls his eyes. Huffs a breath. Smirks and barrels on. There's that giddiness, that love pooling in Eddie' heart. Just knowing the effect he has on Steve. And the way he's affected, too, when Steve just whispers, "Sorry, I got lost again. Start over?"

He obliges. And he keeps obliging. And his lips are usually swollen by the time he's finally done rambling.

Steve stares. Eddie talks. And it's the combination of a lifetime.

--------

❤️

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #first kiss #Steve Harrington has a bisexual awakening #Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder

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heartbreak-sandwich · 1 year ago

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✨ Master List ✨

18+, MINORS DNI ~ Ageless or underage blogs will be blocked; this content is for adults only. Thank you for understanding 💕

{❤️‍🔥} smut {✨} fluff {🔥} angst {🕊️} contains trigger warnings {📖} series {💭} headcanons {🦄} oneshots {👽} au

🔥 REQUESTS ARE OPEN 🔥 📖 Currently writing for: (Stranger Things) Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers; (Fargo) Gator Tillman *If you have any requests outside of the scope, just send me a message, and we can talk about it! ✨

*Thank you so much to those who have enjoyed my work! Feedback, comments, and reblogs are amazing forms of support and always so appreciated!*

HOHOHOE WEEK 2023 HOLIDAY MINI SERIES Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC (JJ Feron) BLUE CHRISTMAS {❤️‍🔥📖} CANDY CANE LANE {❤️‍🔥📖} WARM ME UP {❤️‍🔥📖}

YOU MADE A FOOL OF DEATH WITH YOUR BEAUTY (finished) Jennifer's Body AU Billy Hargrove x Tommy Hagan; Billy Hargrove x Jason Carver {❤️‍🔥👽🦄🕊️} [Read on Ao3]

RED LETTERS TO NOWHERE (WIP) Stepbro!Billy Hargrove x Mayfield!Reader {📖✨🔥👽❤️‍🔥} [Read on Ao3] 💕 CHAPTER ONE: Move-In Day CHAPTER TWO: Certain Type of People

ANIMAL MAGNETISM (finished) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {📖🔥❤️‍🔥} [Read on Ao3] 💕 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

ECHOES OF REDEMPTION: LOVE AND SHADOWS IN HAWKINS A Tale of Growing Up, Rock 'n' Roll, and the Battle Against an Unseen World (WIP) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {📖👽} [Read on Ao3] 💕 CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR

HE'S THE BAD GUY (finished) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥✨🦄}

BILLY HARGROVE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭}

JEALOUS BILLY COMFORTS YOU {✨🦄}

SIDES OF BILLY ONLY YOU SEE {💭✨}

WAKING UP NEXT TO BILLY {✨🦄}

🐊 Gator Tillman🐊

69 IN A 60 (finished) Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥}

KISSING HEADCANONS {💭}

STEVE HARRINGTON IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭}

THE CUMPETITION (finished) Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler {❤️‍🔥🦄👽}

EDDIE MUNSON IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭}

FULL CIRCLE WARNINGS (finished) {🔥🦄👽}

PLEASURE DOM EDDIE BLURB Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥}

💕 Argyle 💕

ARGYLE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭}

💕 Jonathan Byers 💕

JONATHAN BYERS IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭}

💕 Other 💕

ST BOYS UNEXPECTED TALENTS {💭✨}

METALHAMSANDWICH DOMESTIC CUTENESS {💭✨}

MUNGROVE MEETING {✨🦄}

RONANCE BLURB - NANCY REALIZES HER FEELINGS {✨🦄}

ST GIRLS DURING BAD BREAKUPS {💭🔥}

ST BOYS AS FATHERS {💭✨}

This list is updated regularly! ✨ Please feel free to send me an ask or message with any requests or questions, and thank you so much for visiting 🥰

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wheels-of-despair · 9 months ago

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Can You Feel It? Pairing: Ex!Billy Hargrove x You x Unimportant Jock Event: A Very @corroded-hellfire Valentine's Day Summary: Billy fucked around. Now he's gonna find out. Contains: Heartbreak, spite, sex, Billy Hargrove Is His Own Warning. Song: You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette Words: 1.4k

Minors and ageless blogs who interact with this fic will be blocked.

And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it Well, can you feel it?

You hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

You hate his stupid hair and his dumb earring and his loud-ass car and you especially hate the fact that you found him with some skank's tongue down his throat at Tommy Hagan's party last weekend, just hours after he told you that he loved you.

You didn't make a scene. You didn't key his car or slash his tires or even let him know you'd decided to come after all.

You just went home and cried.

You cried until you got angry.

It boiled over Monday morning in the Hawkins High parking lot. You were separated by staff who threatened to call your parents and told you both to stay far away from each other. You were happy to comply. He was as good as dead to you.

For a few days.

The following Thursday in the cafeteria, when he winked at you while that slut sat in his lap, you rose up out of your chair to go murder them both... when Ashley M. stepped into your path and caught you off-guard by shoving a flyer in your hand.

You read it - keg party, this weekend, no parents - and a new plan began to form in your jilted brain.

You went all out. Teased your hair. Applied make-up that would make Cyndi Lauper proud. Wore that top that makes your tits look phenomenal and a tiny skirt that your parents didn't know you owned and the painful shoes that Billy called "Fuck-Me Heels."

Boys were drooling the minute you casually strolled into Ashley M's front door half an hour late.

You located him in seconds. He sat on the kitchen counter, staring. You'll give him something to fucking stare at.

You looked to the right and made eye contact with the first idiot who'd crowded around you, vying for your attention. According to his letterman jacket, his name was Spencer. He'd do.

It was almost too easy. One dazzling smile and a dance with a little too much touching, and he was practically dragging you down the hallway. Easy, Sparky, don't forget who's running this show.

He tries two doors before finding an empty room. A bathroom. Good enough.

He closes the door and locks it and shoves you against the back of it and tries to worm his tongue down your throat. No technique. Not at all like Billy.

Right. Billy. That's why you're here. You palm Sparky's comically small package with one hand and subtly reach behind you to unlock the door with the other. You push the meathead away, approach the sink on the opposite side of the room, and hop on. It faces the door. Perfect. You want to see the look on his face when he inevitably storms in and throws a fit.

Sparky sheds his jacket - stopping to hang it carefully on a towel hook, lest his precious jock gear get a wrinkle in it - and stands between your knees. He leans forward and begins to maul your neck. His hands find your tits and grab at them like it's his very first time. You distract him by peeling his shirt off, "accidentally" tangling it around his head to stall him. When he gets free and tries to resume his frantic fondling, you move his hands to your ass and watch the door boredly.

"You're so hot," Sparky moans, squeezing your ass with both hands. You roll your eyes. Hurry up, Hargrove.

You wait patiently until the bathroom door crashes open. It sends a jolt through your entire body, like you've been struck by lightning. Billy Hargrove stands in the doorway, eyes blazing and shoulders squared. The doorknob left a dent in the wall behind it. What did he do, kick it open? It wasn't locked, you fucking moron.

Sparky turns around at the sound. "Hey man, you mind? We're kinda busy here."

You grab Sparky by his bare shoulders and jerk him back to you. His face collides with the side of your neck, and he resumes his disgusting slurping like Billy isn't standing just a few feet away, ready to kill him. You stare coldly at the asshole in the doorway while you scratch your nails down Sparky's back. A move that was guaranteed to make Billy go feral, every fucking time.

Can you feel that, Hargrove?

"Ow! Shit!"

Sparky backs away from you and your claws, and Billy steps forward to catch him. Billy grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him into the hallway, bouncing his face off the wall a few times before shoving him to the floor.

Now it's your turn.

Billy steps over Sparky's body and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He locks it, and before you can marvel at the fact that the lock mechanism still works, he's on you. Hand on your throat. Your head smacks against with the mirror behind you.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What's it to you? You don't want me anymore, remember?"

Fire blazes in his eyes, and his grip tightens.

You stare calmly into his furious face.

Why the fuck did you miss him? He made you mad almost every day. You fought all the time. He was moody, and difficult, and snarky, and let's not forget the fact that he's a liar and a cheater and an all-around dickhead who broke your fucking heart.

You'd give anything for him to love you the way you love him.

In the blink of an eye, Billy's hand moves from your throat to the back of your neck, and his mouth is on yours. Your brain quiets, and your body buzzes, and being close to him is the only thing that matters.

His massive hands drift down to your breasts, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You moan into his mouth, and his hands keep traveling south. You open your legs for him, and he doesn't waste any time slipping under your skirt and past your barely-there panties and dipping a finger into your center.

Feeling how wet you are brings him back to the reality of the situation. He extracts his hand, wipes it on your thigh, and glares.

"That douchebag get you this worked up?"

"That limp-dicked dumbass couldn't work a calculator."

Billy snorts, and you smile. God, you missed this.

"Who'd you wear those Fuck Me Heels for, then?"

"Who do you think, asshole?"

He smirks in a way that makes you want to smack it off his face. Instead, you hook your leg around him and pull him closer. Billy grabs your ass and jerks you to the edge of the counter, so you can feel his stiff member pressing into your heat. You need him so fucking bad.

His assault on your mouth begins again, and you wrap your arms around him and cling to his back. He rocks into you, and the friction from his jeans is almost enough to finish you off.

"Billy," you breathe. "Need you."

"I should make you beg," he taunts, slowly dragging the double-stitched denim of his fly upward and surprising you with a sudden jerk of his hips. You claw at his jacket and puff out a breath of air. You're not fucking begging. You try to grind your hips against him, but he reaches down to hold them still. You respond by lurching forward and biting his neck.

Billy responds with a slap to your ass. He pulls back, and you glare up at him, chest heaving. You're not fucking begging.

"Fuck it," he grumbles, reaching for his belt buckle. He unbuckles unzips, and slams into you in seconds.

Fuck, you missed this.

Billy begins to thrust hard and fast, eyes on yours. When you begin to approach your peak, you close your eyes and lean your head back. He grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. He wants to watch it happen. He needs to see what he does to you.

You come together, with grunts and moans, collapsing against each other in a panting heap. You fall back against the mirror, and he leans with you. His head rests on your shoulder. Breathing ragged. Bones weak. Brains foggy. Nobody makes you fall apart like he does.

"I love you," is what you want to tell him.

"I know," is probably what he would say before he smirked his dumb little smirk and zipped up those tight jeans that fit him just right and left your stupid ass in a puddle of your own tears again.

You wish you could hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

#writings of despair #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #corroded-hellfire's valentine's day playlist #alanis i'm sorry i love him :'(

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kookygranger · 10 months ago

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Is This Desire?

Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

Steve takes you on your first date. Robin asks you a question.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, allusions to sex, witchcraft, reader is a town outcast, fem!reader, no upside down/no hawkins au, mention of dead parents

Word count: 1.8k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter Three: Sweetness in his golden hair

Steve had everything planned. He’d reserved a table for two at a restaurant with warm lighting, white tablecloths, and oaky red wine. When he came to pick you up he was holding a bouquet of lilac and pink snapdragons, crisp light blue shirt tucked into his best slacks, Harrington charm dialled up to eleven to hide the way he kept wiping his palms on them.

He’d even rehearsed what he was going to say to you on the walk up to your front door, the crickets chirping amongst your thoughtfully arranged flora drowning out his mumbles. But much like last time when he found himself standing on your porch, it all left his head. The sweet smell of your garden and the perfume you’d just applied hitting him all at once, punching a shaky exhale and a mumble of beautiful from his lips – though the bite of your lip to contain your shy smile proved it was enough.

But well-intended plans almost always unravel.

Steve saw the way your face lit up as you walked past the diner in town, the two of you opting to stroll rather than drive to your destination on this balmy night, and he couldn’t ignore your curious eyes.

Your attention was caught by bright red baskets of golden, salty fries and the artificial pink of sweet milkshakes topped with whipped cream and glossy cherries, but mostly your eyes sought the boisterous teens crowding tables that barely fit them and loved-up couples swapping stories and saltshakers. The scene was nothing out of the ordinary for someone who’d grown up in small-town America, but then Steve remembered.

Nothing about your upbringing would’ve been ordinary.

You’d never been on those awkward teenage or even adult dates, sat across from one another in a diner booth trying to figure out a common topic to discuss. You didn’t have your first kiss during a round of spin the bottle in Tommy Hagan’s basement, that lasted no more or less than three seconds, wondering if you’d even done it right.

And the look on your face told him that maybe you felt like you’d missed out – he sure would’ve if he were in your position.

So, instead of the white cloth tables and tealight candles, Steve steers you into a sticky vinyl booth, sliding in right after you and wasting no time in putting his arm around your shoulders. His smile lit up by the red neon of the open sign hanging in the window when you lean into him.

Through soft words, you both get to know all the details you’d been longing to. What your parents were like – yours dead, Steve’s miles away and as good as – what had filled your days in between your first proper meeting at that bar all those years ago and when you were finally reunited, and what drove you to get up every morning and face them now. You talked of literature, poetry and watching seeds grow to the mixture of leaves and dried flowers that scented your teacups. Steve talked of Robin and filled you in on some of the more exciting adventures he’d experienced working at the firehouse.

When you’re both full of greasy food and comforting conversation, Steve suggests the eight o’clock screening at the cinema across the street. It was a single theatre, so there’d always be a comedy for the Saturday night showing to appease the masses – except for the second Saturday of the month, which was romantic drama night.

He buys a medium bucket of popcorn and a large soda with two straws and leads you to the back row. You’ve barely made it through a couple of handfuls of popcorn and the pre-show commercials before he’s peppering you with buttered kisses.

You give up when his at first innocent hand on your thigh finds its way past the hem of your dress, and somehow make it home without ever having to detach from him.

The curtains in your bedroom flow with a welcome breeze as you trace circles in his golden skin, looking up at him from the chest you’d made a home in, in more ways than one. His lips curl up when you plant a kiss between his pecs.

“Was that a normal date?”

You feel his chuckles vibrate under your chin.

“Yeah, all standard practice. But it doesn’t usually go this well.”

“Are you saying I should’ve waited to get you in my bed? It was a little late for that.”

He laughs again, still softly so as not to break the spell “I’m saying it doesn’t normally feel like this. It’s never felt like this.” He rubs the apple of your cheek with a rough thumb.

“Is that a good thing?”

His brown eyes bore into yours while he takes a second and you wonder what he’s thinking.

“Baby, you have no idea.”

You crawl up to him from your position, cotton sheets slipping off your back, his hands sinking into the hips that straddle him. Your loose hair falls around the two of you like a curtain; like the bubble that refuses to burst now that you’re finally able to be together.

“I think I have some idea.”

***

The driveway of the Ravenwood house is now occupied by a burgundy BMW most nights.

Since your first date, you and Steve find yourselves in each other’s company more often than not. If it’s not spending nights together letting the sway of the trees and chirping crickets, along with Steve’s soothing hands in your hair or digging deep into your shoulders, lull you into a peaceful state on your front porch, you’re finding each other during the day. Spending lunch breaks in the park, Steve visiting you at work, where you’ve set him up with a membership so he can borrow the books you’ve been recommending.

He reads them during quiet lulls at the firehouse, trying to keep up with all the references you make so you don’t get bored of him.

But you never could.

Steve now knows all about Austen, Woolf, Stoker, Plath and Joyce. He may not understand much of it, but at least he feels like he can keep up with your conversation.

You don’t mind the quiet though. Especially when it comes to moments with Steve. You’d happily sit reading, carding your fingers through his soft locks as he lets his body melt into your touch, eyes closed and mind at peace.

And you do. Often.

Steve’s grown to love it also. Quiet used to mean emptiness to him, and he’d often find things to fill the space that kept him social. Kept him talking, despite not really having much to say. But now, he loved the quiet. Your quiet. Because it wasn’t empty. It actually left his heart fuller than it had ever been.

***

It took longer than you would’ve liked to meet Robin, considering how many of Steve’s stories featured her. You were worried that meant he was ashamed or embarrassed by you. Despite the way he acted completely to the contrary, you knew it couldn’t exactly be easy dating the town outcast. The town witch.

Not that he was aware of just how true those rumours were.

When he finally brought up the idea of you two meeting, his nervous rambling about how Robin was a handful and would often just say what she thought, calling him names and never ever passing up the opportunity to bring him down a peg or two – but she was his best friend and it was important that you two meet not just because you were the two most important people in his life but because you were obviously going to love each other, made it all click.

Steve wasn’t embarrassed by you, or Robin for that matter. But bringing the two of you together would finally burst this bubble you’d both inadvertently created. It had been nothing but you and Steve against the world for weeks now. There wasn’t even a world to be concerned with when you were in each other’s arms.

But reality, no matter how difficult, will always have to be faced.

So it was with a pop, that Robin Buckley appeared at your door. Steve’s plan was to pick her up after his shift and bring her over to yours where you were preparing dinner for the three of you. But he was running late, some last-minute training due to a health and safety accident that would keep him an extra hour, and Robin didn’t want to wait.

She was desperate to meet you, asking what your intentions were with her best friend at the front door before wrapping her arms around you when she was quickly satisfied by your admission to still forgetting how to breathe when you were around him. She told you she was already obsessed with you and marvelled at the inside of your home as you led her into the kitchen.

You were pouring the both of you a cocktail when the phone rang, Steve on the other end apologising before you’d even got a word in and assuring you he’d be home to relieve you soon. You told him you were fine of course, in fact you were getting to know each other quite well and he sighed, stating that’s exactly what he was afraid of.

As you stirred at a green sauce over the stove, keeping an eye on the bubbling pasta pot, Robin watched you attentively. Chewing on her lip before blurting out what she’d been dying to ask you since she crossed the threshold of your home and felt a warm tingle up her spine.

“So uh, are you like–are you really a witch?”

Your stomach drops. Continuing to stir, you take your time in acknowledging her question. “I won’t cast a love spell if that’s what you’re asking. They’re far more dangerous than people realise.”

“What about a tarot reading? I just wanna know if loves in the cards, or like…any sort of relationship at this point.”

You smile, anxiety lifting as you turn to see her hopeful face. “That I can do for you Robin Buckley. Maybe I can come down to the bar while you’re working one night and bring the cards with me. Draw some fellow love-seekers your way. This town may claim to hate witchcraft and dark magic, but no girl can resist having her fortune laid out in front of her.”

Her head shakes minutely, voice a whispered awe, “Finally a decent wingman.”

“I’m home!” Steve calls down the hall, wrapping his arms around you and delivering a peck to your cheek as soon as he can, giving Robin a nod before he turns to stick a finger in your sauce, ravenous after a long day.

You and Robin share an understanding look. She smirks, knowing exactly how clueless her best friend can be.

“This is delicious baby.” Another peck, this time warm from lips to cheek.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #robin buckley #firefighter!steve harrington #witch!reader #she writes

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bizaar · 1 year ago

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Endless Summer ✧

Part 1: Our Lips Are Sealed

Cruel Summer Masterlist

- Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), virgin!reader, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (f)

word count: 10k

a/n: so I may or may not have been writing a few chapters of a semi-raunchy little prequel to Cruel Summer, this is the same babysitter!reader at the beginning of her relationship w/ Eddie - reader is hopelessly obsessed in a totally uncool, sweaty palms sort of way and Carol Perkins is the meanest girl in school.

Carol Perkins has been talking endlessly about … something, for the better part of the ten minutes it’s been since you sat down with your lunch tray.

You aren’t exactly sure what about, because you’re not listening. You’re just sitting there watching her lips flap.

You might have felt bad about that even as recently as last week, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the feeling today.

Maybe it's because you didn't get any sleep last night and your brain feels like its made of television static.

Maybe it has to do with the recent events that have more or less completely soured your opinion of your so-called best friend.

Maybe it’s just that her conversations these days are not exactly the stuff of edge-of-your-seat intrigue.

You're not listening to what she's saying, but a decent part of you is fairly certain in the knowledge that whatever she is saying is bound to have something to do with her stupid boyfriend.

Tommy Hagan has been Carol’s singular topic of regular conversation for going on two years now, and you have been bored to tears for just as long.

Tommy said this, Tommy did that, oh my god Tommy is so funny, Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is fine, you guess, if you like snot-nosed bullies who never matured past age twelve.

If you like a guy whose idea of trying to divert attention away from the fact that he’s more into Steve Harrington than he is his own girlfriend is by stirring up drama, and feigning some kind of bullshit interest in you.

If you like a guy who calls you Princess like it's a slur and gives you a hard shove in the back like it's a sign of affection.

Yeah… Tommy is so not your type.

Then again, you never would have thought he was Carol’s type, considering her interests have always swayed more Han Solo than anything else — (see: The Empire Strikes Back poster she secretly has taped to the inside of her closet door) — but you know she would go to her grave denying it if you dared to remind her of it.

She'd probably try to take you with her if you did, so you don't, especially not today when you've left more than half your faculties at home in bed.

All you can manage right now is keeping your mouth shut and moving watery canned green beans around your lunch tray with a plastic spork.

Meanwhile, Carol talks and talks and endlessly talks.

You’re on probation with Carol after last week’s debacle in the quad, anyway, so you are not invited to chime in, even if you were listening.

You’re supposed to just sit there and listen to whatever it is she has to say and nod along dutifully without interrupting.

That’s your whole job here, nothing more, nothing less.

That's fine, you don't currently have the brain capacity for anything else.

Still, a bigger part of you than you are willing to acknowledge has started desperately wishing that Tina Burton or Nicole would show up and implore her to shut the fuck up.

Once upon a time, you might have done so yourself, but you haven’t been brave enough to speak so directly to Carol since the eighth grade.

One too many times getting your head bitten off has conditioned you to wire your jaw shut and tune it out, for self-preservation's sake, which is exactly why you’d just stood there and took every bit of vitriol Carol had to give you that morning last week, like the good dog you are.

Apparently, someone said something about hearing Tommy talking big in homeroom about some other thing that happened over the weekend at a party you didn’t attend.

Logic would tell you that Carol knows you weren't at this party because she gave you such a heinous amount of shit over it when you told her you weren't going, but logic almost never comes into account when it comes to things like this.

Carol doesn't care about the facts, she only cares about the rumor.

It was suggested that you’d tried to cop a feel or something. Worse than that was how it was suggested that Tommy was into it, and she went nuclear.

Not at him, of course.

Never mind that Tommy was the one spreading the rumor in homeroom, all that mattered to Carol was who he was trying so desperately to incriminate.

Literally anyone else, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. If somebody had said that it was Vicki Carmichael or Tammy Thompson or Tina, Carol wouldn’t give a shit.

She’d throw her weight around, make a show of girlie dominance, there would be a very public spat, and that would be that.

But no, it had to be you.

Why oh why did it have to be you? You imagine she’s asking herself the same question, and you’re not sure if your ears are ever going to stop ringing after the way she’d shouted at you, in front of God and Tommy and practically everyone in school.

He just stood there watching it happen with that smug little smirk you hate so much plastered across his stupid face.

Everyone just stood there, even you stood there, staring helplessly at your sneakers, waiting for it to end. You were an island unto your own shame... until you noticed a pair of dingy Reeboks appear beside your own.

“Good God!” A voice as familiar as childhood rang out, loud enough to slice through the air and silence Carol mid-stream.

Like so many meerkats, the whole school shifted and turned toward the intrusion, and like a knight in leather and patchy denim, there stood Eddie Munson.

At first, you couldn't believe it was him, or that this was even really happening.

He was just standing there, like it was the most natural thing in the world to butt in like this. Like this wasn’t the first time something like this had ever happened in the history of cool kids and losers interacting at Hawkins High.

Exactly where you fall on that spectrum was yet to be determined, but what was perfectly understood was that Eddie Munson had come riding in to rescue you from the dynamic duo that is Tommy and Carol.

They were speechless — Eddie was not.

“What on God’s green Earth is making that awful racket?” He said loudly – theatrically – and then he turned his blinding attention to you, “Sounds like someone’s skinning a cat out here,”

Then, he gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, like you were old friends and it was some kind of an inside joke, as if you were supposed to have any idea what that meant.

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and still too stunned to speak, and he winked at you.

You have no idea what you said following that, if you even said anything at all. You're pretty sure you blacked out.

You don’t even remember what Carol said. You know there was some kind of vicious back and forth that occurred between them before a staff member eventually arrived to break up the huddle and cart Eddie off, and you know that Carol was pissed that you didn’t defend her.

Most of all, you know you’re still paying for that imagined slight with a concentrated cold shoulder from most everyone you know a full week later, but you can hardly make yourself care about being so summarily iced out like that.

Because Eddie Munson stood up for you.

You still can’t wrap your head around that. Nobody’s ever stood up for you like that before, nobody over the age of twelve, anyway.

But Eddie did, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. You haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

You really can’t afford to be thinking about him right now, not while you're so sleep deprived and not while Carol is sitting right there. If she could read your mind she'd claw your eyes out.

Thankfully, she hasn't noticed the way your attention has begun to stray. She’s too busy talking, and it's starting to give you a headache.

Deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you know you ought to try and smooth things over, because for as nasty as she can be (all the time, every day) she’s still your best friend. Even though she regularly puts you on probation like this for imagined slights.

Even though your friendship has conditions and stipulations that only seem to apply to you.

Even though you have nothing in common anymore except for the fact that you’ve been best friends since you were eight years old.

So, perhaps the better phrasing is you know you ought to try a little harder because you used to be best friends.

Nostalgia is the ancient, flaking paste keeping the walls of your friendship standing, but the paper there has long since begun to peel to reveal the rot beneath.

Carol is still going on about who said what and who is dating who and all the latest gossip, talking at you more than talking to you. Talking just to fill the air because there's nothing Carol hates more than an awkward silence, and any silence with you is awkward.

You’re doing your best to at least try to pretend to look interested – really, you are – but with your lack of sleep and your headache, and everything else happening in the room, there’s not much you can do to stop the way your gaze has begun to wander…

Because Eddie Munson has entered your periphery, Eddie Munson is standing on his lunch table – Eddie Munson stood up for you.

Good God, indeed.

You couldn't have listened to what Carol was saying in that moment if you tried, not with Eddie standing there, larger than life and violently demanding your undivided attention.

Well, okay... not yours specifically, rather the attention of anyone who just so happens to be bored enough to tune in to his frenetic display … which is to say, you.

You’re happy enough to let him have your attention, and you tell yourself it's because whatever he’s up to is bound to be vastly more enticing than anything Carol has to say.

No other reason, absolutely not.

You’re not sure you’d be able to resist giving it to him even if you didn’t feel that way, because if you were being honest, you would admit that you’ve been painfully aware of him from the moment you’d stepped into the lunchroom.

Not because you’re minorly obsessed with him or anything as uncool as that. Certainly not because you’re harboring a bizarre gargantuan little crush on him, or that when you tune everything else out and let your brain switch tracks, it’s him your mind shifts to.

No, nothing so embarrassing as that.

He’s a rebel with entirely too much cause, standing tall on the flattop, talking big and proselytizing to his minions about something with all the fire and charisma of a bible belt preacher. You’re hopelessly lost on the context of his sermon, but you’re nothing if not convinced and entirely prepared to convert to the church of Eddie Munson.

Quietly, and so, so carefully, so as not to alert the predators lurking in your circle. Stranded in the lion's den as you are, you're stuck having to worship your false idol from afar, and you're almost content to keep doing so.

Still, your cautious reverence does nothing to ease the shock of chills that wracks your body as Eddie raises his voice.

You can feel it vibrating in the pit of your stomach and you know you must be gawping stupidly at him as the passion of whatever it is that’s got him going today takes him to the edge of euphoria.

It’s absolutely captivating to watch, and almost enough to break Carol’s concentration... almost.

This is not exactly new behavior for Eddie, so most people have learned to tune him out.

Normally you would count yourself in among that group — you know, like a liar — if for nothing more than that good ol' self preservation.

Then again, you aren't normally dead on your feet after spending a night tossing and turning, restlessly caught in the throes of a decidedly raunchy REM cycle, the subject of which just so happens to be standing on a table across the room.

He's the reason you didn't get any sleep last night, and despite your bone tiredness, you're suddenly wide awake.

So what if you had a sex dream about Eddie last night? So what if your skin is buzzing where you can still feel his hands pulling at you, the gentle fanning of his breath on the nape of your neck where it had felt so real...

“Sweet Girl,” he’d whispered on heady exhale in your dreams, voice thick and shot full of holes in the way you can only imagine he might sound in the throes of ecstasy.

Just the thought of it sends a bolt of heat lancing through your core and forces you to shift in your seat and, tragically, avert your gaze.

It's just a little bit too much show for you with tell out of the question, and Eddie, or at least the version of him in your dreams, is driving you nuts.

You are an island to your own fantasies, feeling your heart throbbing between your legs and trying to be as subtle as humanly possible about the way you’re pinching your thighs together for the faintest glimmer of relief.

You stop that right this instant you dirty slut. A snarling voice in your head warns you, and you immediately obey as cooler heads prevail.

The absolute last thing you need is to go to pieces at the lunch table in front of all your peers. In front of Eddie.

Carol would never let you live it down.

Someone shouts something at him from across the room, and you have to fight not to look for his response.

You're just a little too hot under the collar right now to watch Eddie give someone the finger, especially while you're sitting there wishing he would give it to you instead.

Jesus Christ you are so pathetic.

You force yourself to look at Carol and watch her lips move. You don't hear a word she says, but you're grateful for the distraction and the sudden pang of longing in your heart, if only for entirely selfish reasons.

You hate having to suffer in silence like this.

Once upon a time, you might have been free to share the specificities of your dream in bowed heads and hushed tones, but you are entirely certain that were you to try that now, to lean across the table and whisper conspiratorially:

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who I had the filthiest dream about last night,” you’d be instantly crucified, socially speaking.

Carol doesn’t care about the yearnings of your most secret self. Not anymore. Now she only cares about Tommy and who did what at Tina’s party and how embarrassing it was, and quietly sidling up to Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t care about you, and your secrets are absolutely not safe with her, no matter what the pathetic lingering sense of nostalgia keeps telling you.

You would cut ties if you had a little more self-respect, but high school is hard enough with bad friends, you know for certain it would be next to impossible with no friends.

The concept of starting fresh and trying to make new ones halfway through your sophomore year is a Sisyphean Hurdle you have no idea how to even begin to tackle. So you grin and bear it, and swallow any biblical yearnings you happen to harbor for the town pariah for later.

Besides, if you told her, all she would do is ask you what it is you think you know about anything raunchy before dutifully reminding you that you’re a virgin.

Actually, the technical term would be “still a virgin” and would be followed up with the demand to know “when you’re going to do something about it” — like somehow the untouched state of your being is so embarrassing.

You suppose in the eternal tide pool of the high school diaspora, it’s just one more patently uncool thing about you hampering her.

Carol Perkins and her loser best friend who doesn’t put out, has never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed.

You would remind her that it’s hard to put out when nobody knows you exist.

Who are you but her excessively boring shadow? You don't put out because half the time nobody even notices you're there. But that would feel too much like whining and would only become an agonizing exercise in her rattling off a list of names you’d so much rather eat glass than accompany anywhere socially.

But you tell yourself it's not all bad, because if you're invisible, then at least you don't have to worry about how poor a job you're doing masking the way you're staring at Eddie.

You can't be embarrassed if nobody perceives you right? You're not so sure.

You don’t really know when your stupid little crush began.

He's always been there if you really think about it, a fixture in the background of the swirling miasma that is your social circle, suddenly much larger than it has ever been since High School has became your habitat.

Hawkins is a small town, and Eddie’s lived here his whole life, same as you. He’s a year older, but that wouldn’t be enough distance to remove someone from your orbit under normal circumstances, let alone someone like him in a town like this.

Some part of you has always been mildly obsessed with him from a purely academic standpoint — forbidden knowledge is perhaps the most tantalizing thing to a young mind, and the likes of Eddie Munson has always been completely off-limits to the likes of you.

Eddie's father was always something closer to a Universal Movie Monster than a real person in your mind.

More like Dracula or the Wolfman than a human man with a substance abuse problem.

When you were growing up, the most you knew about it was that Al Munson was the local boogeyman, and was to be feared by school children and good Americans alike.

Eddie didn't even feature in that conversation until much later, not until the notorious Munson patriarch finally went to prison and everyone could breathe a weighted sigh of relief.

With the streets safe again, life went on, and the good people of Hawkins very quickly realized their mistake.

People start to get nervous when there are no local pariahs to blame all their problems on. Hawkins is cursed, after all, but with Al gone, that narrative quickly began to crumble.

Luckily, they had a Munson to spare, and as soon as he was old enough, everyone was happy to force the son into the void the father left in the cultural zeitgeist.

Eddie became bad news over night, "just like his father", your parents still used to say and you were are strictly forbidden from socializing with him.

You remember a time when it wasn’t like that.

You remember when your parents spoke about Eddie with a heavy dose of sympathy, because back then it wasn't his fault his father was a monster.

When you were little, it was “that poor kid,” but as you got older and he started getting into more and more trouble, it became “stay away from that boy – he’s no good,”

Still, there’s nothing so tempting as forbidden fruit – you’ve known that since you were old enough to recognize there was a difference between boys and girls.

And he is nothing if not strictly forbidden to you.

Even now, sitting in the lunchroom so publicly yearning, you can still hear your father’s lecturing voice warning you that if you so much as spoke to Eddie Munson you’d get instantly hooked on drugs, knocked up, and end up living out of a cardboard box by the time you were twenty.

Which is stupid, of course, because you’ve gone to school with Eddie since first grade and you’d seen him talk to plenty of people over the course of that time, none of whom had gone on to suffer such a dismal fate.

Anyway, it's not like he's banging down the door for your attention. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even know you exist.

There wasn’t much danger in becoming corrupted by someone like Eddie Munson before Carol got popular and dragged you along with her, and that hasn’t changed just because you won a golden ticket to the cool kid’s table… by proxy — you're more of an unwanted plus-one than anything else.

Not Charlie Bucket so much as Grandpa Joe.

But of course, you’ve never personally subscribed to the generalization that Eddie is evil or something.

He isn’t the boogeyman or Dracula or any of those things that go bump in the night, no matter how badly your raunchy little dreams wish he'd come bumping through your night.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie isn’t even all that mean or scary, and maybe that’s just because he’d treated you so sweetly last autumn at Tina Burton’s Not-Quite-Halloween party….

Except you’re not supposed to be thinking about that, remember? Because last week's dressing down in the quad wasn't actually the first time Eddie came to your rescue.

That memory is not safe within Carol’s proximity, but it is the ambrosia that has been singularly sustaining you for the better part of a year now – a year next week on Halloween, but who’s counting?

It is a shining jewel that you keep tucked safely in the spot behind your lungs, and you just can’t help but pull the curtain back to take a peek at it.

It was your first high school party.

You’d never partaken in anything before that night, never even been offered, but suddenly and unceremoniously finding yourself shoved up against Eddie in a game of puff-puff-pass, you let yourself be pressured into playing.

He must have realized you were nervous — maybe your fingers were trembling when he passed you the blunt, but suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in your life, he was speaking directly to you.

“Have you ever done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly, a heavy dose of concern shadowing the wry quirk of his brow.

It was startling, to realize the curse of your invisibility had so unceremoniously been lifted, leaving you suddenly exposed to the one person you were never meant to speak to.

You had to resist the urge to whip your head around and ask, “Who me?”

Yes, you.

Eddie Munson was looking at you and asking you if you knew what you were doing.

Like something out of one of those anti-drug campaigns, you suddenly felt the unbearable pressure to perform in a situation you’d been preparing for your whole life: if Eddie Munson offers you drugs at a party, just say no kids.

Only you could not help but notice how genuinely concerned he looked, how soft and approachable and incredibly fucking normal.

Not nearly as scary or dangerous as McGruff the Crime Dog had led you to believe. In fact, he was entirely too enticing, and you were suddenly desperate to make a good impression.

You opened your mouth in the fanatical hope of saying something cool and casual — yeah, of course. You’ve done all kinds of shit — and were naturally horrified to hear the truth squeak out.

“No.”

Eddie’s brows crept toward one another forming a deep crease of concern between them, and in a bright burst of suddenly onset clairvoyance, you could read his mind - yeah, that’s what I thought, he seemed to say.

You watched as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, before leaning in, invading your space almost conspiratorially as the moist pink tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke.

Your heart was beating so aggressively in your chest that you were convinced he must have been able to hear it.

“You don’t have to breathe it in if you don’t want to.” He said, “Just puff it and pass — you’ll be fine.”

You still remember the way his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he whispered to you, how the fanning of his breath made you shiver with the tantalizing suggestion of nicotine and spearmint secrets.

But it was the last little bit that really did you in.

Not the overwhelming pressure of your peers insisting that just one hit won’t kill you, but the kind assurance from the person who provided the contraband that you didn’t have to partake if you didn’t want to.

It was the suggestion of having a choice in your fate that ultimately lured you out of your field and into the underworld — sickly sweet pomegranate promises, dripping from his tongue to yours.

You’ll be fine.

Just like your father and McGruff the Crime Dog and all those insufferable after-school specials had promised, Eddie Munson turned his gaze upon you, and you were instantly hooked.

He passed you the blunt, and you tried not to get too caught up on the way his fingers brushed yours when you took it.

You curled your lips inward as you brought it to your mouth, and you puff puff puffed, doing your best to hold your throat closed against any swirling wisps of smoke that might slip through and poison you.

You hoped it would give the subtle impression that you knew what you were doing in order to escape the humiliation of inexperience before you handed the joint off to the next person.

It still burned in a funny sort of way, but nothing really happened.

You didn’t slip down the rabbit hole, you didn’t burst into flames, and perhaps most importantly no one seemed to notice the wool being pulled over their eyes as you dared to steal another cautious glance at Eddie.

His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a satisfied smile, and you bloomed under the approval of someone whose attention you never realized you so desperately craved.

You couldn’t believe you’d pulled it off, and you were so pleased to have evidently made Eddie proud that is physically hurt to watch him turn away from you and take the shining warmth of his attention away, leaving you shrouded in darkness.

Tragically, invisible again, just like that.

If only you could have been so lucky.

Trust Carol to catch you faking when you — a virgin in so many aspects — continued to remain clear eyed and level headed after three rounds of puffing and passing.

“You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy!” She shrieked, causing everyone in the circle to laugh at your blatant inexperience.

Everyone but Eddie, you would have noticed had you been able to look, but shame-faced as you were, you kept your gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

When your next turn came around, you inhaled deeply and felt your lungs ignite.

You coughed, of course, and choked on the musky smoke as it filled your lungs and seared them medium rare.

It only took a handful of minutes before you quickly faded into oblivion, backed by the soundtrack of everyone laughing at you again.

The rest of that night remains a mystery to you to this day.

You don’t remember what happened after the game or how much longer the party lasted or even how you got home, but there are some things that stand out clear as day.

Somewhere, hidden back in the furthest reaches of your subconscious, you swear you can still feel the press of his body as Eddie held you caged in the crook of his arm, with your head resting on his collarbone and tucked neatly beneath his chin.

You don’t know how, but you swear you know what his lips feel like, brushing the highest point of your cheekbone, and the long line of his nose pressed flat against your temple with his breath gently fanning the side of your face.

You’re sure you can feel the deep rumble of his voice filling you with warmth, a low timber in his chest calling you Sweet Girl as he smoothes your hair back.

You don’t know how you know all that, only that you do.

You feel it with every fiber of your being in a way that is so goddamn real it can’t just be an effect of your stupid little crush and unchecked libido.

How else could your dreams be so inexorably vivid?

In a moment of weakness, Eddie promised you everything was going to be okay, and you believe him to this day.

That night at Tina’s party, academic fascination bloomed into something new, fueled entirely by teenage hormones and the need to be seen.

Like a door that, once opened, cannot be shut again, you are always thinking about Eddie, one way or another.

Attention is the high you crave like nothing else, and you desperately want Eddie’s attention, his undivided, unfiltered, unwavering attention, fixed solely on you.

Selfishly, you want him to be as obsessed with you as you are with him, and it makes you feel like at any moment you’re going to implode in on yourself like a dying star.

Your parents would be appalled.

Carol would be appalled.

But Carol hasn’t noticed, because she’s still talking, and you’re still not listening, because Eddie is still going. And going. And going.

Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Eddie is suddenly so much closer than he was a moment before.

At some point, when you weren’t looking, while you were too busy thinking about him to notice the direction his tirade had taken him, he picked his was across the lunch tables and crossed the room.

Your stomach does a cartoon flip-flop, and you hold a wheezy breath in your lungs when he vaults down from the end of his table, furthest from his seat and closest to yours.

Suddenly he's right fucking there, and you forget how to breathe.

Your eyes meet briefly as he straightens up, and you immediately avert your gaze — self preservation, remember? — feeling your face flush hot enough that you’re half surprised it doesn’t melt right off of your skull as you shift your focus back over to Carol.

Carol... what's Carol talking about again? Oh, that's right. Tommy Hagan. Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is so goddamn boring, but in this instant, with Eddie Munson lurking within enough proximity to feel the pull of his orbit, Tommy is the most interesting person in the world.

You desperately want to know everything about Tommy and Tina and who said what about you and how embarrassing it was.

Because you’ve changed your mind. You don't want Eddie's attention. Eddie’s attention is blinding, like looking into the sun.

It makes you feel exposed, like he’s a spotlight shining straight through to your innermost self — your secret self.

The one that thinks about him in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes you and deft fingers creep their way down your body, edging toward the wanting apex of your spread thighs and slipping past creamy slick barriers to pull soft, lilting breaths and his name — his blessed, cursed name — from your parted lips until you’re going hot and cold clamping your jaw shut to stop the sordid cries of your orgasm from escaping your lips…

Jesus Christ –

No, actually, you’re much more comfortable remaining a wallflower and letting someone else get wrapped up in that undivided, unwavering, fixed-solely-on-you attention.

Better to stand aside and make room for somebody built to withstand that kind of heat from someone like Eddie. Someone edgy and cool, who gives the middle finger to the world and dresses the part — not some midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of.

Yeah... but he’s from that town that no one has ever heard of, too, you think watching Carol’s lips move and hearing nothing but your own heartbeat.

You gaze wanders without your permission, and before you know it, you're looking at him again – your insides seize and cramp, because this time, he’s looking too.

Your heart spasms in your chest and scrambles up into your throat, punching an airy breath out of you and flattening your lungs.

Fuck.

There’s that blinding light, that feeling of indecent exposure — it’s not the sun, it's a solar eclipse burning your retinas out of your skull, and somehow you can’t bring yourself to look away.

You’re painfully aware of how you’re staring again, though this time it is because he has your eyes and he absolutely refuses to let go.

Somehow it doesn’t feel even the slightest bit aggressive, more like an understanding – he sees you.

He sees you.

You’re blushing, you know you’ve got to be bright crimson — beet red even — you can feel it.

You're sweating.

Sweet Girl — hands pulling, lips brushing, wandering fingers, gasping, gasping —Sweet Girl Sweet Girl Sweet—

“Hello? Ground control to Major Tom.”

Carol snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in your face, breaking the spell and bringing the quiet din of the lunchroom rushing back in on you.

It feels like getting swamped at the beach, swept off of your feet by the tide, and rolled in the undercurrent. You crack your head on the reef and your brains come tumbling out as you're washed away into oblivion.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Are you even listening to me?” She snipes, scrunching her nose in aggravation and flattening her bubble gum pink lips into a thin, ugly line.

You blink stupidly at her as she comes back into focus, but you don’t answer, because you very clearly hadn't and your mind is not working well enough to drudge up an excuse.

It feels foolish to try and lie about it because Carol loves to remind you that she always knows when you’re lying, and yet the truth is entirely too dangerous.

Your secrets are not safe with her, and your biggest secret is still standing right there.

You can see him in your peripheral vision, poking and prodding you and just begging to be noticed.

And you can't stop yourself from looking. Of course you can't, who can resist the sun?

When you do, Eddie rewards you with a brief, goofy smile. All crooked lips twisted up to one side, the faintest suggestion of teeth poking out.

It's a startling contrast to the vitriolic injustice of whatever it was that had previously gripped him in such a chokehold, and it’s contagious, that smile.

You can suddenly feel the corners of your mouth twitching in response, threatening to expose you and just daring you to try to resist.

It makes your insides go tight and squirmy, and you have to clench your teeth to keep anything remotely similar to a straight face.

The change in your demeanor is unfortunately not lost on Carol.

She narrows her eyes at you, and you are powerless to stop your own from darting back and forth.

Carol - Eddie - Carol - Eddie - Carol... Eddie always wins.

You feel your heart seize and begin to palpitate as she begins to twist to see what could possibly be so important to hold your rapt attention, and you have to grip the edges of your seat to stop yourself from reaching out across the table.

You could scream stop! and make a scene, but that would only make you look even crazier than you are sure you already do.

There's nothing you can do to stop the collision, and all you can do is brace yourself for the sky to come crashing down on your head.

Unstoppable force? Meet immovable object.

Round two. Fight.

Carol physically recoils when she sees Eddie. Dramatically so - like he'd been waiting there to douse her in a bucket of ice water.

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does, she has nothing but spitting, poisonous vitriol for him, much to your unbearable dismay.

“Take a picture, Freak, it’ll last longer.” She snaps.

Something indiscernible crosses Eddie’s features as his gaze flicks over to her from you, then back again.

You watch his brows marry in the middle as he pulls a face that is tinged ever so slightly with something that looks a little too much like hurt than you're comfortable with.

The flash of vulnerability makes your stomach go tight, and you’re suddenly possessed with a violent and desperate need to make him understand that you are not with her, despite how stridently untrue that is.

You are Carol's friend, after all, even if lately you've started to feel like little more than an out-of-trend accessory.

With her, is all that you are.

The hurt look is gone before it has time to settle, and Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust.

For a long moment, they stand staring poisonous daggers at each other and daring the other to be the first to die.

She hates him and he hates her right back — cool kids and losers. Circle of life.

All you can do is desperately hope beyond hope that you’re not lumped into that circle by association. Golden ticket by proxy.

“Seriously, what the fuck are you looking at?” Carol snaps, and strangely, Eddie's features relax.

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “Just wondering how Bulimia Barbie got out of her box.”

Your insides clench and had she been facing you, you’re certain you would have seen Carol turn white as a sheet.

Eddie turns to make the stilted victory lap back to his seat at the head of his table, electing to take the floor this time rather than the tabletop.

You watch him go, because at this point, you're Pavloved — if Eddie is moving, you're watching — and when he gets to his seat, he gives you one last parting glance.

This time, you muster your courage and hold his gaze, pulling a face that you hope looks at least halfway as apologetic as it feels.

That went exactly the way it was meant to, according to the strict social hierarchy of Hawkins High, and you feel terrible about it.

Not nearly as bad as you ought to feel for Carol, however.

There are a lot of ways to get under her skin — she’s never been exactly easygoing, but even you think bringing up the eating disorder she’s been less-than-privately struggling with since the eighth grade is a low blow.

She’d been devastated when word of it got out, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tommy who’d let that information slip, because they'd only just started dating when that rumor was making the rounds.

Tommy's mean, Carol's mean too, but despite the words still hanging in the air between you, you don't believe that Eddie is mean, not truly.

Carol makes a harsh sound of indignation in the back of her throat.

“Asshole!” She shouts unevenly, then, “—can you believe that guy?”

You don't answer, you're still too busy trying very hard to muster those latent psychic abilities you're still waiting on to tell Eddie you're sorry.

Carol hisses your name and you snap to attention.

"— what the hell are you looking at?"

“Nothing.” You say quickly, doing your best to curl in on yourself so she can't reach across the table to bite your head off.

Only Carol has not believed a word that has come out of your mouth since the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She twists in her seat again just in time to see Eddie looking away, much to your patent dismay,

“…Oh, gross!” she scoffs, whipping back around to face you, “What, are you swapping eyes with the Freak?”

The adrenaline of being caught bursts in your midsection like a firework and sends lightning rocketing down to the tips of your fingers.

"No," You lie.

"Liar," she says.

You turn your attention back to moving the bits of your lunch tray back and forth, but you have completely lost your appetite, especially as she admonishes you with a disappointed utterance of your name.

Your cheeks burn with shame.

“I was just being friendly.” You stress, pressing the plastic tines of your spork into the bottom of the tray until they bend and snap off.

“With Eddie Munson? Ugh — gag me!”

The unchecked disdain in her tone doesn’t sit right with you, because it’s not like she’s ever even said two words to Eddie that weren’t hurled as insults, and you can’t help yourself clicking your tongue.

“...he’s not that bad,” you say, immediately regretting the statement as the mean nickname comes roaring back to slap you upside the head.

Bulemia Barbie snorts out an undainty sound of disgust, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from apologizing.

“He’s a freak.” She snarls — so you keep saying, you think — “He worships the Devil or whatever — everybody knows that.”

Horrifically, there is nothing you can do to stifle the bitter snort of laughter that comes bubbling up out of you.

It is a harsh, sardonic snot of a sound that escapes before you can reign it in.

A brief flash of hatred colors her features, and you can’t help but feel that the curtain has been pulled back and you’re suddenly looking at her true self.

"Everybody knows that." She repeats, slowly, forcefully, giving you a hard, cold look as if daring you to disagree.

Evidently, you dare, which is a shock to you.

“How do you know?” you say, narrowing your eyes and wrinkling your nose in a quiet defiance.

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, because she doesn't know. That's just what everybody says, but as far as you're concerned, no one has any actual proof that Eddie Munson worships the Devil.

Your stance gives you the upper hand in this verbal joust, and your reluctance to concede is like throwing gas on a fire.

Suddenly, Carol is all but shouting at you as her eyes go bright and her skin flushes a blotchy crimson.

“Oh please, like you know any better, Little Miss Babysitter!”

She hurls it at you like a slur and you flinch as the violent intention strikes you.

You don’t know precisely when Carol became so mean, only that it happened sometime between the transition from seventh to eighth grade, right around the time she’d gotten her first training bra and started to notice how boys were noticing her — right around the time Tommy showed up.

Since that day, everything between the two of you has been a competition that she is determined to win, despite how clearly uninterested you are in participating.

You don't want to fight, and yet you feel the strangest sense of righteous indignation rising in you because she doesn’t know Eddie. She's never even tried to get to know him, and here she is condemning him right alongside everyone else just because it’s what’s currently on trend.

You want to ask her how that’s fair, how she would feel if the shoe were on the other foot, and suddenly she became bad news overnight.

You don't, because you don't want to get your head bitten off as much as you don't want to parrot the condescending tone of your mother asking you if you’d jump off of a cliff the same as everyone.

Mostly though, you don't ask because she's right.

You don’t know Eddie any better than she does, not with all your wishing and hoping and fantasizing, and certainly not after the way he’d looked at you at Tina’s party – Sweet Girl…

“Yeah okay, whatever,” You mumble, because there’s no point in arguing with Carol when she gets like this.

Your submission doesn’t apparently sit any better with Carol than your challenge did. Her face twists into a displeased scowl as she snatches up the can of coke that is the entirety of her lunch and begins to raise it to her bubblegum pink lips before thinking better of it and setting it back down with a harsh sigh.

You don’t know what’s got her so flustered, or what you did to embarrass her so badly. All you did was smile at Eddie, it’s not like you invited him to come and sit at the table with you.

“Why do you care anyway?” She demands then, clearly not done fighting.

“I don’t,” You say flatly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Then how come you’re defending him?”

You cross your arms.

“I’m not.”

“You are though.” She insists, like she’s caught the scent of something she can weild against you, and is trying her best to sniff it out. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face like you’re about to get all self-righteous about something. What’s the deal? Do you like him or something?”

Your heart seizes and suddenly you can feel color bleeding into your cheeks as your armor creaks under the stress of her accusation.

How could she possibly know that?

Because she’s your best friend, she knows everything about you…

“No…” you say, though even you are not convinced by the quavering tone of your voice.

Carol stares at you, briefly uncomprehending before it dawns on her, and suddenly her eyes are blazing with malicious delight.

Shit.

“Oh, nasty!” She shouts, then gasps, mouth falling open in scandal, “You do! You totally do!”

“I don’t – I mean, I don’t even know him.” You stammer, kicking yourself for how your resolve has begun to waver.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not into him! Oh, that’s so gross!” Carol sneers, she is loving this all too much, “Oh, my God, look at you – you’re blushing!”

Your hands fly up reflexively to bracket your face, and you hate yourself for the heat you can feel billowing off you, betraying you.

Carol squeals with malevolent glee and you know you must be sweating again for the way she is looking at you, eyes bright, teeth bared, wet, and shining in a hungry grin like a predator getting ready to make a meal out of you.

“O-okay, that’s enough.” You say unevenly, trying and failing to be firm as you are suddenly unable to keep your voice from shaking as you speak.

She doesn’t hear you – that or she just plain ignores you because she is getting too much of a rise out of your misery.

“What are you, like, in love with him?”

“Carol – stop.”

“You are! Holy shit, you totally are!” She cackles, “You want to marry him and have a hundred of his freak babies!”

She is practically screaming and you are this close to panicking about it, glancing anxiously across the room to the table where Eddie is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, talking and laughing with his friends about something.

You have to force yourself to believe that they aren’t laughing at you because there’s no way they could possibly be clued into your conversation with Carol … who has started play-acting that she is you, moaning loud and wantonly as you are fucked by what you can only imagine is supposed to be Eddie.

It's shockingly apropos in the worst possible way, almost as if somehow she’d found the time to steal away and read the mad scribblings you’d left smeared across the pages of your diary that morning.

“Oh, God–!” She moans, hands flying up to tangle in her hair and igniting a burst of cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach like a Roman candle, “Oh, Eddie! Don’t stop! Right there – Yes! YES! YES!”

You could die. You could literally die.

People have started to look over at you, stare at you, and all of that would almost be fine if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently imploding like that dying star.

You can’t be certain if its a result of your friend’s whorish display or just the screaming sensation of someone staring at him (because if you weren't watching him like a hawk before, you certainly are now) but Eddie’s attention snaps back over to your table in an instantly, to you, and you nearly pass out.

You’re on your feet with a loud squeak of chair legs on linoleum – much louder than anything Carol had just kicked up. If people weren’t staring before, they’re certainly staring now, watching you frantically attempt to gather your things and make a break for it before your brain can catch up with you.

Carol has started to come down by now, and she's leaning back casually in her chair, watching you panic.

"Seriously?" She snickers, like she didn't just publicly humiliate you, again, "You're leaving?"

“I gotta go,” you say quickly.

“Oh, come on, I was just kidding.” Carol sighs, “Don't be so sensitive. Where are you going?”

You can hardly hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is hammering so violently against your ribcage that you can barely catch your breath to try and stammer out an excuse.

“I just remembered,” You begin, your voice hitches and threatens to break, “I have this… thing I have to do for class. Totally forgot. I gotta go work on it.”

You shove the last of your belongings haphazardly into your backpack and slide your lunch tray into the nearest trashcan – the entire tray hits the bottom of the bin with a loud thump that has the lunch lady shouting indignantly at you from the other side of the room.

You don’t linger to rectify your mistake or apologize or do anything of the sort, because your frantic attempts to escape the lunchroom have drawn only more attention.

One cursory glance reveals to you that, devastatingly, Eddie’s entire lunch table has turned to watch you go.

You nearly go stumbling to the ground as you trip over your feet in your frantic attempt to get as far from there as you possibly can, as fast as you can.

“Liar!” Carol shouts after you, “Where are you really going?”

“I’ll see you later!”

You twist at the waist and wave when she calls your name again, and, because you're Pavloved, you can’t help look to see Eddie leaning back dangerously in his chair, craning his neck to watch you go in a way that makes your heart seize against your ribs.

His eyes go wide when he sees you looking, and he lurches forward to right himself again, briefly losing his balance and just about toppling out of the chair as he does.

He saw everything, which means he probably heard everything which means you should probably just go find a corner to curl up and die in.

Like, right now.

You turn and pick up your pace and blow through the double doors before anyone can get the bright idea to follow you.

You move through the halls without really knowing where you intend to go, but before you realize it, you’re in the gymnasium, stalking across the empty floor to tuck yourself back beneath the bleachers.

It’s not the most covert hiding spot, and you're almost surprised to find it empty considering how many people tend toward coming down here to hide and make out.

The braver, hornier couples around campus have even been known to engage in the odd session of heavy petting or dry humping back here where they can get their rocks off more or less removed from prying eyes.

More, being the keyword there. It feels like someone is being busted for that kind of under the bleachers indecency every other week.

You’ve got no such plans to follow suit, despite the ruined state of your panties, as you scramble to slip out of sight with a gentle squeak of Chucks on clear coat.

Your heart is pounding as you pull your knees up to your chest, face absolutely burning over the way Carol’s stupid play acting has left you slick and throbbing with the memory of your stupid, stupid dream.

You bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts and violently will yourself to get a grip, because what are you going to do about it? Nothing, you're gonna wallow in shame and that will be that.

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through its haphazard contents, desperately searching for some kind of a distraction – something to take your mind off of the lingering sensation of full lips and calloused fingertips and hot fanning breath – Jesus motherfucking Christ! Get a hold of yourself.

You need your book. You need to lose yourself in thick text, hard science fiction, and worlds and histories and glossaries of outlandish names… only your book is not here.

Your well-loved, annotated copy of Dune, whose cover is hanging on by a thread with how many times it has been bent backward as you pour over the familiar text. Whose pages are creased and dog-eared and littered with notes and doodles and all the little lines and themes you never want to forget.

It’s not here. Even after you dig and dig and dig, even after you dump your bag on the gymnasium floor and spread all your things out in a neat fan in front of you.

Your book is still missing.

You hardly get the time to stress about it much further than the singular thought before the school bell rings with a shrill, metallic clanging cry. It startles your brain back into an approximation of working action and sends you scrambling to shove all your things back into your bag.

You’re almost relieved.

Without your book, you’d just been sitting there biding your time until Carol eventually sniffed you out and you would have to brace yourself for round two, but your schedules are thankfully far removed from one another.

She’s got Mrs. O’Donnell for fifth period, whose classroom lies mercifully on the other side of the school from your fifth-period chemistry class, and the ringing of the end of lunch bell is a Godsend, solidifying your escape and requisite safety from another bout of humiliation.

Your lab partner is a freshman, Gareth Emerson, who just so happens to be a newer addition to Eddie’s roving gang of minions.

Somehow, that is much less terrifying than you’d half expected it to be when you first noticed him in the lunchroom, sitting tucked neatly into the chair at Eddie’s side and hanging on his every word.

It had just been nice to know that you’re not the only one so affected by his gravitational pull

Still, you’d often wondered how Gareth was lucky enough to win such a coveted spot so early on in his tenure, considering Eddie Munson tends to be a particularly terrifying entity to the newest additions to the Hawkins High student body.

As you’d gotten to know him, you stopped wondering about that.

Gareth’s a sweetheart. He’s nice, funny, and reminds you a lot of your neighbor, Dustin, if he were a little older and just a little bit cooler, that is.

It’s no wonder he’s so quickly found himself at a place of honor at Eddie’s side, how could anyone resist him?

You wish you could hang out with Gareth instead of Carol.

You wish you could sit comfortably at lunch and talk about the things that actually held your interest. That you could make afterschool and weekend plans without a hint of dread, and be safe in the knowledge that a trip to the movies or to the arcade was simply that. No ulterior motives or hidden agendas, no fear of being humiliated or abused for the amusement of the people who were supposed to be your friends.

You wish you could be real friends with Gareth, but Gareth hangs out with Eddie, and the thought of joining them at their lunch table is enough to send your heart into palpitations, so you just have to settle with the friendship you have, limited to the confines of the classroom.

“Hey,” Gareth says, frowning quizzically at you as you unpack your things and hop up onto the metal stool beside him, “What happened to you at lunch? You looked like you were about to pop.”

Your insides clench with shame and for a very brief moment, you're afraid you're about to empty them all over the tabletop.

“You saw that, huh?” You mumble, swallowing hard.

“Everybody saw that.” He scoffs, pulling a face.

Everybody. The word clangs around your ribs and you have to blink back the image of Eddie leaning so far back in his chair, watching you run from the lunchroom.

Literally run. Like some kind of scared little kid fleeing the monster that lives under their bed.

Great.

“What does she think you did this time? Sell her firstborn child for concert tickets or something?”

You sigh, slumping forward to prop your head up on your elbow and level Gareth with an unimpressed look.

“Nothing – I don’t want to talk about it.”

He takes the hint and offers you his hands in a show of surrender before turning back to the blackboard, where Mr. Kapz has stepped up and begun scribbling formulas with a hard squeak of chalk.

You watch without really seeing, trying to keep your mind from drifting too far with all your classmates sitting around you.

There is a cold lump in the pit of your stomach as a hundred different things whisk around your mind, all fighting tooth and nail for the limited real estate left in your brain with so much of Eddie stuffed up in there.

It’s always like that though, and it leaves you feeling particularly pathetic, thinking about yourself, sitting beneath the bleachers on your own, like the loser you are, hiding from your friends, wishing things were different, wishing you could be the person they wanted you to be, wishing you could be free of them.

You suck greedily on a sharp intake of air and shake your head to dislodge that line of thinking before it can take root and pivot to a much more pressing matter, for the sake of your own self-preservation.

“Hey, weird question,” You start, tilting your head down toward your shoulder and speaking in a loud whisper, “But have you seen my book?”

Gareth’s brows are pulled tight over his eyes when you glance at him, and you are quick to elaborate,

“Dune." You clarify, "It’s all beat up and annotated…?”

“Yeah, no— I mean, sure I’ve seen it—”

"Recently?" You posit, hoping he understands that you've lost it and not just trying to small talk about the sorry state of a mass-market paperback.

"Yeah."

You hardly let him finish.

“Really? That’s great! Where?”

“...Eddie’s got it.”

It hits you like a fist to the gut, punching your lungs flat and forcing the air out. Your heart thumps a heavy beat like it always does when someone mentions Eddie and you feel your tongue go fat in your mouth.

“Ed-Eddie Munson?” You splutter, voice an embarrassing octave higher than normal, and barely manage to get the sound out over the way your throat is closing up.

You can feel your cheeks heating just from the sordid act of speaking his name aloud.

If Gareth takes any sort of hint from your bizarre reaction, he doesn’t let on.

“Yeah.” He says again.

You blink back at him, waiting for him to elaborate and feeling your chest go tight when he doesn’t.

“…Why does he have my book?”

“He said you left it in the parking lot after you dumped your stuff last week—”

Oh, for the love of God…

In the wake of everything else that happened that day, you’d almost completely forgotten about that…

You’d been running late for school, having spectacularly slept through your alarm and been so rudely awakened by the thunderous hammering of two little fists, doing their best to bang down your bedroom door – Dustin, shouting at you to get your ass up out of bed.

You’d forgotten you were supposed to be carpooling that morning, and you're sure you must have broken some kind of a land speed record with how you burnt rubber to get the both of you to school on time.

Gas pedal to the floor, music cranked up to eleven, you made the distance in five minutes flat.

After, you’d been too caught up in your sudden prospective future as a Formula One driver to notice how you were headed for disaster. Jogging across the parking lot and trying to stuff your Walkman into your backpack, you weren't prepared for the wall of denim, patches, and studs to come stumbling haphazardly out of the open door of a semi-shitty beat-up panel van and directly into your path.

You barely had time to look up, let alone pivot to try and avoid the sudden six-foot obstacle before you, so naturally you collided.

You managed to keep your feet and even catch your Walkman with an incredible feat of feline grace, but it came at the expense of your bookbag, which went tumbling topsy turvy and upchucked its contents all over the pavement at your feet.

Fantastic.

They stepped into your path, whoever they were. They crashed into you, but still you stammered out an apology, because how could they have been expected to look out for you when you’re running around under a cloak of invisibility?

Then, you dropped to your knees in an attempt to catch your pens and pencils before they could roll away. You fully expected to be ignored, to watch whoever it was that had just knocked your shit into the dirt skip off to class like you didn’t even exist, but when you looked up, there was Eddie Munson, crouched on the asphalt right alongside you with his head bowed toward yours, stacking your books and muttering his own apology.

It just about damn near knocked the wind out of you, suddenly finding yourself so close to him again after spending so long quietly yearning for his proximity.

Once you got your lungs working and inflated again, you couldn’t help but breathe deep, trying to get a sense of him and refresh the waning memory you still clung to. He smelled just the way you remembered, like camels and spearmint gum standing out over the notes of whatever cheap cologne he’d obviously dusted himself in and Old Spice.

It made your mouth water, and then go completely dry when he looked up at you, turning that honey-warm gaze on you and bathing you in his spotlight.

You weren’t invisible anymore, you were blushing, and you’d missed whatever it was he’d said to you – fuck.

You weren’t listening, you were staring into his eyes, at the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, at the plush spread of his lips, and the pink tip of his tongue darting out to swipe a slick sheen of moisture across them.

Somewhere, distantly, you could hear your Walkman still playing, Ann Wilson imploring you to get a little more lost in him than is rightly wise…

Oh, he’s a magic man, Mama…

And he was waiting for you to answer him.

Fuck. What the fuck did he just say?

“My fault…" Eddie mumbled thickly, "Didn’t see you there,”

Oh, thank God for that.

“Oh – God, are you kidding? It happens all the time.” You scoffed, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave.

It was almost a cool, collected thing to say, but then you just kept talking,

“Like. Way more than you would think,”

And talking.

“It’s actually kind of ridiculous how often people bump into me like that–”

And talking,

“Honestly, at this point, I feel like I should start wearing a bell.”

Shut up shut up shut up already! You screamed, but before you could well and truly condemn yourself for being such a goddamn awkward weirdo, Eddie’s face twisted up in amusement and he laughed out loud.

A little too loud for something that wasn’t even halfway to being a joke – he was obviously high, the whites of his eyes were tinged an angry swollen pink, hooded and nearly closed as he peered over at you with his face split up in that crooked smile of his, but it was still so wildly endearing you couldn’t help but giggle yourself.

You can’t believe you’d nearly forgotten that, that wonderful almost perfect moment of brushing fingers and traded looks and semi-meaningful silences.

If you really think about it, it makes perfect sense that he has your book. You haven’t seen your it since that day, haven’t even thought about it. It had been all but washed away under the bell-clanging effect of what happened later that morning between classes, with Carol jumping down your throat and Eddie riding in to pull you out of her line of fire.

Good God! He shouts in your memory, and you can’t help but agree with him.

“Didn’t he give it back to you?” Gareth asks, brows marrying over his eyes.

You give your lab partner an incredulous look because never mind how this new information is ever so subtly breaking your brain, but why on Earth would you be asking after your copy of Dune if Eddie had already given it back to you?

Why would you even be talking about this?

The lack of logic there seems to dawn on Gareth just a tad too late to save face.

“Guess not, never mind,” he hums, twisting back in his seat to face the blackboard.

You sit, staring at nothing in particular as you try and fail to wrap your head around the concept of Eddie Munson carrying around your book.

There’s something incredibly personal about an annotated book, and you can’t decide if you ought to be embarrassed about that, hoping that he didn’t stop to take the time to read any of the inane things you’d written there.

Suddenly you’re wracking your brain to try and remember if you’d gone and scribbled anything too incriminating in the margins, whether you’d absently scribbled out a dopey “Mrs. – Munson” alongside all your annotations about doomed heroes.

You imagine it written out in loopy script, replete with doodles of hearts and clouds and all the stupid cupid bullshit that is typically kept strictly within the pages of your diary.

You’re suddenly burning with hot, whorish shame as you think back to the pages you’d frantically scribbled on in the aftermath of the wet dream you’d woken from that morning. Your fingers were trembling as you fought to get it down on paper before the vivid images and sensations slipped from your grasp and left you with nothing more than faint memories of calloused hands and full lips, burning your skin with the suggestion of phantom touches.

Yeah, you’re going to have to go back and revisit that when you get home this afternoon, thank God you’re not babysitting tonight.

You realize after a moment that in staring off into space, trying simultaneously to banish the feeling and relieve it, that you’ve actually been sitting, staring at Gareth, watching him wrestle with something like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let more information slip.

Truly, you’re not sure how much more truth you can stomach here in fifth period chemistry, sitting perched on your metal stool and trying oh-so-subtly to shift over to the edge and give yourself a little relief from the way that your heart is throbbing in your panties again.

Your guts seize like you’ve been caught red handed when Gareth twists back around to face you and ducks his head conspiratorially.

For lack of anything better to do, you mirror his movements and hope beyond hope that, if you’re blushing, he doesn’t notice.

“Okay, so…” he begins softly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but... he likes you,”

You do your best not to react as your heart leaps into your throat – you don’t dare to hope to know who he means.

“Who does?” You ask, playing dumb for the sake of your poor, nervous heart, because what if you’re wrong?

You’re probably wrong.

“Eddie does.”

Then again, maybe not… oh, shit.

Gareth continues.

“Like… a lot.”

OH SHIT.

Oh shit oh fuck oh sHIT be cool be cool be fucking cool!

It takes every fiber of your limited willpower not to react, because honestly, you could scream. This is what it feels like to have your wildest dreams come true.

Eddie Munson likes you, Gareth said, like a lot, he said.

Maybe it’s just the wrecked state you’ve been existing in from the moment you snapped into consciousness that morning, but suddenly you’re desperate, giddy, feeling the hard push of the urge to run and go find Eddie.

Find him and seize him by the shoulders and shake him and scream and shout and cheer and... and and and... and do what?

Confess your feelings?

Make some sort of grand declaration then drag him off somewhere to hop on his dick?

That’s what your ovaries are currently imploring you to do. Finally do something about that goddamn virginity of yours so Carol will climb down out of your ass.

But that’s ridiculous, right? And not at all practical, fantasizing about running off and trying to consummate what, as far as you can tell, is only a rumor before it can slip from your grasp.

Where would you even go?

Under the bleachers, where the braver, hornier couples go to rub up against each other and get their rocks off.

No, no that’s stupid… and yet?

You’ve heard the talk about Eddie, how he’s supposed to be easy or something — some part of you is pretty sure he’d be game to take you out to the back of his van if you went over and asked him nicely... just ask him nicely to lift your skirt and help you out with that pesky little virginal problem of yours, Christ, how embarrassing.

He’d probably laugh in your face if you did. How do you know for sure that he even really likes you? What makes you think that there’s even the slightest chance that your stupid crush on him could ever be reciprocated?

You’re not a real person, remember? You don’t put out because you don’t exist.

No, Eddie doesn’t like you, you decide in an instant, how could he? He doesn’t even know you.

Gareth is wrong, and worse still, he’s teasing you – he has to be. It is, after all, the opening line to the oldest joke in the Hawkins High popular kid book: so, Eddie Munson wants to take you to prom…what do you do?

It makes your chest hurt, and you have to pull your lips into a tight line to keep them from wobbling.

Ha-ha, real funny joke, tease the loser virgin for the big stupid crush she has on the local Freak.

“That’s mean, Gareth.” You say quietly.

“What is?”

You shake your head because you almost can’t bear to say it.

“Teasing like that. That’s not nice...”

He gives you a horrified look, like you’ve suddenly got bugs crawling out of your ears.

“What? No, Dude, it’s not like that at all!” Gareth stresses, “I promise I’m being so serious right now. Eddie likes you. He really likes you.”

It feels risky, but you can’t help yourself. Gareth’s a sweetheart, why would he lie to you?

“…Really?” You ask, ever so slightly embarrassed at how small and hopeful your voice suddenly sounds and trying so, so hard to play it cool.

“Yes… and it’s super goddamn annoying — no offense,”

You shake your head, because in the absence of the ability to form rational thought you rely on deep-seeded pleasantries.

“Oh, no, of course.” You say, “None taken … I think.”

You suddenly can’t make your brain work, it just sits there like a fat grey lumpy pile of worms in your skull. Part of you is suddenly so sure that you can smell the smoke wafting up off of it as it overheats in your attempt to jumpstart it again.

Eddie likes you. This is all really happening.

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Gareth is still talking, and a moment even longer to clue yourself back in to what he’s saying.

“— he’s been going around in circles trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but he’s chicken shit, so he won’t do it unless he has some bullshit excuse to make it all casual — giving you your book back was supposed to be his excuse, but that was clearly a bust,”

And then, “Also, he basically threatened to kill me if I said anything so just do me a favor and be cool, alright? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“…So why tell me?” you ask, almost startled by the sound of your own voice and how far away it sounds.

You’re having an out-of-body experience, that’s what this has got to be, sitting there, floating, watching yourself have this conversation with Gareth.

Eddie Munson has your book, Eddie Munson stood up for you, Eddie Munson likes you...

“Because he freaked when he found out we were lab partners and he’s being a huge creep pressing me for information about you, like he expects me to spy on you or something... Anyway, I figured with how fucking weird he always acts around you that you probably already knew.”

You shake your head and hope to God the movement doesn’t cause your eyeballs to fall out of your sockets. You can’t remember if you’ve blinked over the course of the last five minutes.

“I didn’t.” You squeak.

His eyes go wide and you watch the color drain from his face.

“Oh. Shit,” He says, “— well, like I said, you didn’t hear it from me.”

You didn’t hear it from anybody. As far as you’re concerned, this conversation isn’t actually happening. Any moment now you’re going to snap out of whatever fugue state you’ve obviously just slipped into, and you’re going to find that this is all a dream – only your thigh is going raw from where you’ve been subtly pinching yourself.

Still, you still don’t completely believe Gareth isn’t teasing you – this feels like dangerous ground and suddenly your guts are churning because you don’t know what to do with this information.

You don’t know how to make yourself understand that the one person who has always been wholly off-limits to you could suddenly be within your grasp.

Possibility makes you ravenous and you have to fight to resist the urge to seize Gareth by the front of his torn flannel shirt and shake him, demanding more more more, that he tell you everything there is to know about Eddie and everything he’s ever said about you among the safety of friends.

With a sharp pang, you realize that you’re suddenly violently jealous about the confidence he has to freely speak about the objects of his affections – evidently, you.

The thought has warmth bleeding through your abdomen and filling up your chest cavity. You’re floating again, and you’re suddenly so, wickedly pleased.

Carol would shit her pants if she found out.

The rest of class comes and goes without incident, and you don’t hear a word of the lesson.

You’re far too busy fantasizing about all your wildest dreams coming true, planning your future with Eddie, picturing your wedding and your first home together, growing old together, and all the road trips and holidays and milestones you’ll hit in between.

By the last twenty minutes of the lesson, you’re even toying with naming your children.

You’re disgusting and pathetic and so far gone for him in such a stupid, irresponsible way. Only there’s one tiny little obstacle standing in the way of all of that.

Gareth says he’s not brave enough to talk to you, not without good reason, which is so painfully endearing, but a real problem because that makes two of you – you can barely even look at Eddie, let alone fathom trying to strike up a conversation.

So, therein lies the problem. How on Earth are you supposed to marry him and have a hundred of his babies, as Carol had so eloquently put it, if neither of you can manage to buck up the courage to have a normal conversation?

The bell is ringing before you can decide how to become a human being again, you’re still more cloud than girl when you catch Gareth as he begins packing up.

“Listen, tell Eddie…” You start, feeling suddenly too shy to have his name in your mouth – it feels heavy on your tongue, forbidden, and you chicken out, “Tell him… that I don’t bite. If he wants to talk to me … then he should just come talk to me, right?”

Gareth rolls his eyes,

“I told him that, like, a hundred times… but I’ll tell him again. I’ll say you said so this time.”

The promise pleases you immensely, only there is one glaring issue with that plan. He was never meant to tell you how Eddie supposedly feels about you. You’re not supposed to know he likes you.

You bite your lip and feel your brows creep toward one another, forming a deep crease of worry between them.

“Is that gonna get you in trouble?” You ask.

Gareth opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again as the words fail to come, like he too had very conveniently forgotten that the information he’d just passed to you was decidedly not for you.

He hums thoughtfully, brows furrowed, and face pulled tight into a mask of displeased concentration.

What to do, what to do.

Finally, after a moment that feels like eternity, one you spend fidgeting with your fingers twisting them to the point of pain, holding a breath in your lungs almost like you’re afraid if you breathe he’ll take it all back.

Gareth shrugs.

“...well, I don’t see why he needs to know that I’m the one who told you… people talk.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

A hundred years and a short lifetime ago, you and Carol spent an evening trading secrets and the deepest desires of your heart, and you jumped up and down on her springy mattress, screaming along to the Go-Go's and promising one another that, just like the song said, your lips were sealed.

You can’t help but wonder if she ever really meant it, if she would have laughed and recoiled and teased you mercilessly if you trusted her with your secret feelings about Eddie Munson. Only you had made the same decision and elected not to tell her even back then, even when your secrets were still safe with her.

Can you hear them? They talk about us, telling lies, well, that’s no surprise.

People talk, Gareth said.

“They certainly do.” You hum, shouldering your bag and following him out the door.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn eddie munson #stranger things fic #endless summer fic #cruel summer prequel

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