#stranger things 4

[periwinkle-berries]

Everyone knows the age old question: where is Steve’s hand?

Well I have a proposition or two:

[bylerfiles]

"Lmao he was crying in van scene because he saw his haircut in the rear view mirror!"

you will NEVER understand the pain the queer community felt when they first watched that scene. never.

[t3ll4xd]

oh i love it

Comic redraw of this post by @cleric-byers7!! 💙

I couldn't stop giggling when I saw it lol

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Early Bird Gets the Worm

Eddie Munson x Reader

established relationship, reader is kind of grumpy, is mentioned to have anxiety, and is described as having blue eyes, swearing, mega (somewhat cheesy and self indulgent lol) fluff, pussy whipped Eddie lol, super brief mention of weed, reader uses she/her pronouns, Eddie being kind of annoying teehee, use of Y/N, ending is a little eh bc it's not proofread lol

1.4k words

Mornings with your boyfriend <3

If you had asked a young, somewhat arrogant and outcasted Eddie if he liked mornings he would have one, two word response: fuck no.

As most things, opinions, and people tend to do, though, that notion changed after some time; once he met you. You were his first (and hopefully only) love, a light at the end of the dark and torturous tunnel that made up his earlier years. He’d only had hookups, bad dates, and frivolous talking stages before you dropped into his life like an atomic bomb but after getting to know you, he grew grateful for everything that he’d ever been through since it led him to you.

You were rough around the edges, crude at times, ADD-riddled, a bit of a stoner, a huge music snob, and a goddamn comedian just like him but you also carried traits of inhibition, quiet, generosity, and softness that had been missing from his life for a long, long time. He fell and he fell hard for you. I mean for Christ’s sake, mornings became the best part of his day by the time he hit his mid twenties and it was all because of you. 

He woke up first. He always did not because he was a light sleeper (quite the contrary, actually) but because you had something called ‘sleepy girl syndrome’ (his words, not yours). You could sleep for 24 hours straight, honest to god. It didn’t matter how much you got, you’d always be down for a nap or a full blown snooze at the drop of a dime.

A long sigh followed by the cracking of joints sounded through the quaintness of his room as he stretched with a sleepy grin. The sun was just barely poking through the window, which meant he had around another hour before he had to get up for his 8:45 client down at the tattoo parlor near the edge of town. Turning towards you, he forced his tired eyes open and the mere sight of you made his grin double in size. 

You were knocked out, the purest sense of the word. Face smushed into the pillow, legs pulled up into the fetal position beneath the blankets, arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed dinosaur, lips slightly parted, hair a mess. You never looked more beautiful, he thought. You just looked so soft and unbothered, it was adorable. When you were wide awake, you tended to overthink and get caught in the vast seas of your mind but not like this when you were smack dab in the middle of Dreamland, USA.

As gently as possible, Eddie shuffled his way towards you until he was absurdly close, close enough that he could touch you with one simple shift. He tested his luck by casting an arm over your midsection and you squirmed a bit but ultimately settled down. Huffing the faintest of laughs out through his nose and moving ever so slightly to lay his head half on your pillow, he let himself relish in the feeling of holding you while he fluttered his eyes shut. 

It didn’t take long, however, until his overbearing body heat became too much even for your asleep self. You always did run hot and this morning was no exception. 

“Mmmgrmh.” Your hum was grouchy and unintelligible as you groaned, scooting back until you were at the very edge of the bed. One wrong move and you’d be on the floor. Eddie hadn’t yet fallen back asleep so he blinked a bit, smiling again since he knew you were stirring. Part of him knew that maybe it wasn’t a totally awesome idea to bug you right now but another, much larger part, couldn’t help but push your buttons.

As one can imagine, that part overruled the other. 

Even though you were trying with all of your might to fall back asleep, you knew that wouldn’t happen because of your boyfriend’s very unignorable presence. A tight arm looped over your waist and his face in your neck, you struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Y/N.” He muttered sleepily. You could hear the grin on his face, that shit eating smile that always melted your cold exterior into nothingness. You grumbled back, refusing to open your eyes just yet. 

“Sweetheart.” He said a little louder this time, punctuating the pet name with a dainty kiss to your collarbone. “Mm bored.” He trailed the affectionate pecks all the way up the side of your neck then back down again, lips lazily tracing over any patch of skin he could afford to get his hands on. 

Bored, really? That’s why he was waking you up? Asshole. 

“Mmsleeping.” You gargled out, ‘accidentally’ throwing an elbow his way.

Yeah, that aforementioned softness was definitely fleeting. 

“That’s why I’m waking you up.” He roared a croaky laugh as if it were funny. “C’mon, mama. I’ve got an hour ‘fore I gotta get outta bed.” 

“An hour you could use to sleep on your own side.” You said grouchily. He frowned even though you couldn’t see, kisses turning to deeper grazes of teeth against skin. It didn’t hurt, it tickled more than anything, but it did compel you to finally muster up some energy so you could properly give him a piece of your mind. 

“Eddie…” You flipped over to face him, forcing him to inch back even if he was still very up close and personal. His eyebrows raised and his lips pursed out of amusement as you grimaced, eyes still shut out of utter bullheadedness. 

“Eddie?” He jeered, squeezing at the exposed skin of your hip from where your shirt rode up. “You haven’t called me that since we were just friends. You’re that grouchy today?” You swatted his chest with a firm nod. He had a point but you prevailed.

“Mhm. Mm gonna wake you up by banging pots and pans around tomorrow.” 

“For that to happen, you’d have to be up before me. Which has never happened in the history of ever.” Another swat to the chest. At this point, he was gonna be cherry red by the time he went in for his client. 

“Hey! I didn’t lie!” He giggled.

“Didn’t say you did.” You said, pausing to yawn and curl into him a little more. He was annoying, sure, but he provided you with a great sense of security and comfort. “You’re just a dick.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” 

“Aw, c’mon. Lighten up, babe. I’m not gonna see you until tomorrow, you really wanna be all faux mean right now?” 

Well, damn. He presented a pretty sturdy case. Even though he only had the one client today and maybe a few walk-ins if anyone showed up, you had a typical shift at the thrift store you worked at in the next town over and then you had two back to back lectures that would take up the majority of the evening. You wouldn’t be coming home (to your OWN place without Eddie) until well after 10:00 P.M. 

You relaxed against Eddie rather than flat out giving in and saying he was right. A delighted whisper of a laugh scoffed from his lips but he showed mercy by not giving you shit for it. At least, not too much. 

“That’s more like it.” He crowed when you finally stared up at him, expression sleepy but less hostile.

It was the first time he’d seen your eyes since you went to bed the night before, which felt like centuries, and they never failed to render him speechless. Looking into your pits of cerulean gave him inner peace. He’d never been religious or drank the kool aid like most of the folks in Hawkins but staring at you like he was now made him think that maybe some of those things were true; you were something of God, you had to be. 

“Shutup.” You slurred. A rare pout formed on your face when he laughed again but it didn’t linger since his next words sent a bolt of excited, girlish lightning through your body. 

“You know I can’t do that. It’s a chronic condition at this rate, angel…how about some Munson Famous Pancakes instead? I’ll even put chocolate chips in ‘em.”

Realistically, how could anyone with a brain in their head say no to that? You were tired but not stupid. 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Perfect.” 

And it was perfect. Undoubtedly so. Mornings were flawless as long as you were there: grouchiness and all. 

God, if his teenage self could see him now. 

[mashkdemss]

And that's the exact same reason Mike told El she was pretty when she dressed feminine? Or he kissed her in the Snowball when he was feminine? Or told her he loved her new style? Make it make sense 😂

Actually, I'm even glad that I was asked such a question, because I wanted to continue my thought from the last post. Now I will tell you why I think that Mike is not attracted to girls and that his feelings for El cannot be considered romantic.

Important: you can consider Mike whoever you want, bisexual, asexual, gay, even straight. but I think that he is gay, because there is a huge amount of evidence for this, and if his feelings for Will are confirmed, then it will be much more logical to say that he is gay.

Let's start with the first season, where the arc of the romantic relationship between Mike and El begins:

I think it's obvious that El looks like a boy at that point, it's mentioned several times in the series, perhaps this was the reason why it was easier for Mike to treat her kinder than Dustin and Lucas did. Another reason for this occasional kindness on Mike's part is that El helped Mike find Will. Mike's main goal, after all, was to find Will, and that's why he needed El. He didn't treat her like a cute girl he fell in love with at first sight, he treated her exactly as a weapon or their key in finding Will (as rude and unfair as it may sound to El, but nevertheless, these are Mike's words)

Why Mike kissed El, or asked her to dance, or called her pretty, is hard to understand unless you've been in his situation. And by situation, I mean social pressure and expectations, and how they don't match your internal identity.

Let me explain: when you're a little boy who doesn't yet fully understand that he's gay, who lives in a small conservative town in the 80s, in a nuclear family with a father who makes homophobic jokes at your expense, you're going to try to be more normal. You're going to model your parents' relationship, you're going to model your friends who are openly attracted to the opposite sex, you're going to model your behavior on stereotypically masculine men on TV, etc. And you're going to end up telling yourself that you HAVE to like girls, because otherwise you're "wrong."

If it weren't for Lucas, who with his childish stereotypical thinking noticed Mike's affection for El, or if it weren't for Nancy, who for the first time saw her brother with a girl, asked if he liked her, then Mike would not have decided on a romantic relationship with El. When Lucas comically depicts Mike kneeling in front of El to show him that Mike is supposedly in love with El, Mike at first does not even understand what Lucas means. The final point in the question "Was Mike in love with El in the first season" is put by the words of Finn Wolfhard, when asked about Mileven relationship, he said that at the time of their meeting, Mike did not even have a thought about love in his head.

Only when he realized that he had a good chance to start a relationship with the first girl he met who wasn't disgusted by him (Lucas' words btw) did he decide to take things into his own hands and start showing her the signs of attention that he could see in the movies, for example. And a kiss, an invitation to the ball, or little compliments were these signs of attention, albeit very, very childishly awkward.

Also, don't forget that words and their hidden symbolism play a big role in interpreting the ideas of this show (crazy, stupid, bullshit, etc., they all matter). Let's remember when else have we heard the word "pretty"? I can think of two instances: In Season 1, El looks at a picture of Nancy and calls her pretty, and in Season 3, El tells Billy that she saw his mother in visions and that she was really pretty. In both cases, there is no romantic subtext, especially the first moment, because it is a direct foreshadowing/parallel to Mike's words. When El calls Nancy pretty, Mike agrees. Reluctantly, but he still agrees. The fact that he may find Nancy and El pretty does not confirm his attraction to girls, because if finding El pretty = being in love with her, then Mike is also in love with his sister, which is obviously not true. Besides the parallel between El and Mike's sister, I want to say that finding someone of the opposite sex beautiful when you're gay is a completely normal experience. Like, I'm a lesbian myself and I may find some guys good looking, but that still doesn't mean I'm romantically interested in them, romantic attraction is different.

Mike initiates the kiss in season 1 and 2, and the reason for this is because of the pressures of heteronormativity, he takes on the role of the man in the heteronormative relationship that everyone expects of him. And then later, during the kissing scenes in season 3, El is the one who initiates the kisses. El leans in while Mike basically stands there like a statue. Mike takes her hands off of him. During the second kissing scene in season 3, El is the one who holds Mike's face in her hands while Mike literally just sits there. Even though he is still affectionate with El as time goes on + as she develops her own identity + comes across as more stereotypically feminine, we see him become more and more uncomfortable with it, especially during the last kissing scene in season 3.

Mike and El's final kiss in season 3, or to be more precise, Mike's reaction to that kiss, is a whole other conversation, because I think that was his final stage of realizing his lack of attraction to girls. He may not have realized yet that he liked boys, but he did begin to understand that he wasn't interested in El or girls in general. I won't dwell on that, I'll just say that if Mike really liked girls, that embarrassing scene wouldn't make sense. If he didn't realize then that he didn't like girls, then what? I don't think he realized that he just didn't like El. That would be weird, because given his previous attention to her, it's unclear what could have changed in El so much that Mike "fell out of love" with her in one season.

Anon also mentioned that Mike liked El's new style, but I don't even see the point in analyzing that, because it's just a parallel to Hopper, who literally said the same thing. Another parallel between Mike and El's parental figure, nothing romantic.

Now I want to tell you why I think Mike isn't attracted to girls, but let's move El aside a little to look at Mike outside of their relationship.

Mike is the only one from the entire party, or even from the entire series, who does not show interest in the opposite sex, with the exception of his partner. Dustin is dating Suzie, but he still thinks Phoebe Cates is hot. Lucas is dating Max, but before that, he also competed with Dustin for Princess Daphne in slot machines, and also called Max "perfect in her own special way." Max is dating Lucas, but he likes to look at boys in magazines and finds Ralph Macchio attractive. El, apparently, enjoys the idea of Max dreaming about other guys, and El also imagined herself in the heroine's place when she watched Hopper's TV. If we consider other, slightly more adult characters: Steve actively shows interest in other girls, Nancy has a poster of Tom Cruise in her room, and Robin, the first confirmed LGBT character in the series, also showed interest in Tammy Thompson, Phoebe Cates and Vickie.

Mike, on the other hand, has never shown any interest in girls other than El. Ever. When Max shows up at school, Mike is the only one who is extremely negative towards her and tries hard to keep her out of the team, acting in complete opposition to the rest of the party. His negative attitude towards Max not only helped create an interesting dynamic between them and make El jealous, but it was also an interesting way to differentiate Mike from the other boys based on his attitude towards girls. I've heard people justify his behavior by saying that he misses El and doesn't want Max to take her place, but that sounds crazy because how could Max take her place? Does Mike really think that if Max takes El's place, he'll have to date her and forget about El? That doesn't make any sense. The only way Mike's behavior makes sense is if he was jealous of his friends' (and especially Will's) attention to Max and didn't want Dustin and Lucas to have a love interest while Mike has no one to project his feelings onto.

When Dustin and Lucas compete for Princess Daphne in a game, Mike shows no interest in it. When Dustin says his girlfriend is hotter than Phoebe Cates, Mike makes his signature face. He doesn't respond to it, while Lucas expresses his doubts that Susie couldn't possibly be hotter than Phoebe Cates. When Ted calls El a "sweetie pie," Mike makes that face again, even though there was no reason to do so.

Oh, and let's not forget about those shots, which could very well be a complete accident, but could also be brilliantly planned symbolism:

Even though the main characters are 14 years old in season 3, in the midst of their teenage years and growing up, Mike still has no interest in girls other than El, both because he is fixated on her and because he has no attraction. The scene in the mall where Mike, Will, and Lucas are looking for a gift for El has always caught my attention. Especially that moment when the boys stumble upon a lingerie store and, as befits normal teenagers, get scared and run away. I find this scene interesting because of what the boys are looking at: based on the sequence of shots, it is clear that Lucas is looking at women's underwear, Will is looking at the bottom of the underwear, which can also be identified as men's, and Mike is looking at stockings, which have no clear gender.

This is an interesting decision, because if Mike was attracted to girls, there would be no point in putting a shot with gender-neutral underwear after it. While this may sound like an argument against my point, I'm mainly just bringing this up to include this screenshot of a post from the official Stranger Things Twitter account:

And finally, let's get back to the take on the Tom Cruise poster in Nancy's room.

Did you know that posters can say a lot about the person whose room they're in? In the show, we also saw Billy's room, who is obviously attracted to women, which is why he has posters of women in bikinis. We also see Steve's room, who is also attracted to women, which is why he also has posters of women in bikinis. And what do we see in Mike's room? Yeah, I think you know what I'm talking about... A half-naked muscular dragon being fought by a little wizard? Oh, okay.. A poster for the 1982 movie "Conan the Barbarian"?!? With another half-naked muscular man, I guess... Okay, but there's also a woman in the corner of that poster, right? Yeah, I hate to spoil the fun for you guys, but this is definitely not the kind of movie a man who likes women would watch. "Conan the Barbarian" is FULL of misogyny, toxic masculinity and... half-naked muscular men, yes.

In general, I think this topic can be discussed for a long time, but I will probably stop here and I will be glad if you share your thoughts if you do not agree. I will be grateful if someone explains to me why he thinks that Mike is bi or even hetero, since I am not used to looking at this character from this point of view

[olive-ig10]

Hey guys so I had an analysis page on TikTok and for whatever reason I can’t log in anymore so I need to start all over again and I really want to gain as much followers back as I can because I put a lot of effort into my vids and I don’t want to have it go to waste here is the account plz consider following if not that’s okay I try to cover nice topics in the fandom :)

Pls pls pls follow it would mean a lot to me

[petrichor102]

I find it interesting that

the names Mike uses for monsters hunting Will are:

• the Demogorgons

• the Demodogs

• the Mindflayer

and the name Mike uses for the monster hunting Eleven is

• One

when the entire Party calls him Vecna.

[iadore]

I can’t tell you how it will happen, but I know how it won’t happen.

In a broadway musical number (think Cats meets Ferris Bueller’s Day Off)

At Universal Studios Japan

Over jazz brunch

While Mike is dressed like a opossum

From the perspective of Mike’s candlestick

With Steve eating pizza poppers while sitting on a child’s rocking horse in the shadowy corner of the room

It's killing me that I don't know how Byler is going to happen. Can someone just ... Tell me

Please

[fyeaheddiemunson]

Dissociation vs Overstimulation

[asp-png]

🫢anyways-

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the honesty, trust, and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

��No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[tennant-the-tigger]

Distraction

Eddie was determined to pass this year, it was his year!

My Stranger Things Art | Steddie Fanart

[scapegods]

Will Byers should be allowed to beat someone up

[love-byers]

once is an accident

twice is a coincidence

three time is a pattern

four times is....well, you get the point

[owlssin]

he was a punk she did ballet or something like that

[smalltownrobin]

At this point Steve doesn’t know Vickie broke up with her bf. he’s just proud of Robin being a homewrecker