#Lucas and Dustin make an attempt
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and don’t be alarmed if i fall
Author: melodicvinyl
Rating/Warning: General
Chapter Count: 1/1
Description:
Chrissy’s sorority is fundraising with Valentine Candy Grams, and she enlists the help of Dustin, Max, and Lucas to help deliver them.
Max wants absolutely nothing to do with Dustin and Lucas’s secret admirer plot to trick Chrissy and Eddie into finally getting together, but as always, she’s involved whether she likes it or not.
Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, 90s au, college au, valentines day au, secret admirer, matchmaking, Lucas and Dustin make an attempt, fluff, idiots in love, they're afraid your honor, angsty, misunderstanding, outside pov, one-shot, status: completed
#Alternate Universe- no vecna#90s au#college au#valentines day au#secret admirer#matchmaking#Lucas and Dustin make an attempt#fluff#idiots in love#they're afraid your honor#angsty#misunderstanding#outside pov#one-shot#status: completed#eddie munson#eddissy#eddie and chrissy#chrissy deserved better#eddie x chrissy#eddsy#hellcheer#munningham#chreddie#stranger things#chrissy cunningham
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when Mike and Will are in first grade, they attempt to run away. This is spurred by two things: Lonnie Byers’ general presence, and the boys’ current favorite book series, the Boxcar Children. The thought of living in a train car seems super cool to them, and since they live so near to train tracks, they figure that there must be an abandoned train car or two somewhere nearby. They begin trying to gather supplies—as discreetly as two six year olds are able to, which isn’t very discrete. Jonathan, age 11, finds out almost immediately. When he tries to convince them why it’s a bad idea, they—with their little kid logic—actually convince him to go along with it, at least for a little bit. With the condition that he goes with (after all, there’s an older sibling taking care of the kids in BCC, right?). He helps them pack a little better, maybe talks to Joyce about the kids going on a camping trip (to get away from Lonnie for the weekend), maybe implying (lying) that there will be Actual Adults there with them. And there’s no need to make excuses to Mike’s parents—Karen is pregnant with Holly and the whole house is focused on getting ready for the new baby. Karen will likely just think he’s at the Byers’ house. So over a weekend (starting on a Friday after school), Mike, Will, and Jonathan go exploring— looking for a boxcar or any abandoned train car—mostly looking along the train tracks. They eventually find the Junkyard—which the kiddos get excited about anyway (even Jon bc Boxcar Children was his book first shut up), so they proceed to search for hidden gems. They find a bunch of little treasures (a cracked but useable magnifying glass, an old working radio, and even a set of slightly cracked dishes in the trunk of one of the cars), but their biggest discovery is an old Bus. Jonathan tells them that, at least for tonight, it’s almost as good as a boxcar. Mike and Will immediately agree and the trio set out to make the space livable (to kid standards, at least). Set up their blankets and sleeping bags, etc. Jonathan reads to them (from the Boxcar children ofc). And the weekend goes along in a similar vein. The younger boys get homesick by Sunday morning, ofc, so they agree that the Bus can be Their secret place that they go to sometimes. Like the boxcar in the Children’s backyard. (And then Jonathan forgets about it after a while bc I completely forgot about the whole bit in S1E7 where they’re trying to find the kids—won’t remember til they go to pick up the Party and then Jon will want to hit himself for forgetting. The rest of the Party (once they become friends) don’t know about it. It stays a Mike and Will thing—until the Bus is p much destroyed in S2 RIP Bus). Joyce never finds out. (At least not for a v long time—maybe it’s one of the memories Mike uses when Will is possessed by the MF) Not about This run away attempt anyway.
Will tries to run away the second time when they’re in fourth grade. Again, mostly bc Lonnie Byers and his A+ parenting. And plus Will thinks one less child might make things easier on his mom. By this time, Lucas and Dustin are their friends too (and thus voices of reason, bc Mike is an enabler who probably immediately offered up his basement). So they’re talking about it—going over the pros and cons (Mike is still advocating for his basement), but Karen happens to overhear and it’s immediately Game Over: Joyce is told. She is, ofc, devastated. And they have a long talk about how much she would miss him if he were gone (ouch I hurt myself😃). So that’s the last time he actually tries to run away (Joyce gives brief thought that that might be what’s happened at the beginning of S1, but with the confirmation that Mike is Not in the Know, she thinks it’s v unlikely).
(And then during/after the divorce, if Will wants to run away, he either runs to Mike’s house to spend the night, or he runs to Castle Byers… He runs to it in the Upside Down. He runs to it after his possession has been lifted—as his friends (Mike) begin to pull away. And, after a Fight with Mike, he runs to it one last time…then there’s no longer any place in Hawkins Will can run away to.)
When they move to Lenora, Will thinks about running away back to Hawkins. He doesn’t go through with it though, because Mike hasn’t really been responding to his letters, and thus there’s no one to conspire with. Plus, with El, he doesn’t want to leave her alone. She’s quickly become a sister to him, and he knows (even tho school sucks for her), she likely wouldn’t want to run away from Joyce and Jonathan—considering she already lost Hop.
Once Will and Mike get together post-whatever happens in s5, Will tells him about almost running away to Hawkins (to Mike), and, it turns out, Mike had almost the exact same thought (esp when he couldn’t come for Christmas). Like he told Will during SB, Hawkins isn’t the same without Will there. They talk about ‘running away’ from Hawkins after they graduate high school—basically going to college out of state. “It’s not really running away if I’m with you, though. You’re home.” Michael Wheeler is full of cheese.
#again I dunno what this is but here#have a running away byler hc(s?)#why yes I will project my favorite childhood book and my childhood urge to run away onto Any and All of my favorite characters#stranger things#byler#will byers#mike wheeler#vee attempts to write#maybe one day I’ll write this out Coherently and post it on Ao3 but not rn we gotta drive like 8hrs tomorrow and it’s 11pm rn#Also Why Yes I do Hc that out of the four original Party members Neither Mike nor Will are the Voices of Reasons.#most often it’s Lucas. but sometimes (like half of s1) it’s Dustin. it’s almost never the other two#long post#not part of my fic series Technically but like it’s not Not part of it either#i should Probably format this or something but tbh I’m getting a headache so no thank u#also I’m sorry I wrote this when I was half asleep so it might be Shit and Also ooc I hope it isn’t but#byler headcanon#byler hc#bylers out here making good theory posts and I’m just like Will and Mike Run Away sometimes probably#this is sort of like a 3+1 sort of Not-fic thing ye? or like a 3+1+1 idk#vee fic
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𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In the simplest terms, Dustin Henderson has essentially become Eddie Munson's biggest cock block.
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, brief alcohol consumption, jealousy, mentions of a rough childhood, and explicit sexual content: humping, clit rubbing, pussy slapping, spitting, handjob, oral (male receiving), and ball play.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Couple uses of "Y/N," sorry. And for maximum enjoyment, please picture Eddie's whiny tantrums from the boat scene for this piece, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!
𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.
It started off minor, as most issue occur.
Eddie rather quickly took notice of the particular interest Dustin Henderson took in you.
It was lunch. Though they were essentially just a myriad of—let's be honest here—losers, the judgmental stares of high school boys as you approached and sat at their table was quite worry inducing. Getting through Eddie's hardening exterior was a journey in of itself, and now as his proclaimed girlfriend, you had to experience the journey yet again with his friends, who profoundly expressed their distaste for “your people.” Who knew such popularity within yourself would have caused them to initially despise you this much.
Not Dustin Henderson, though.
At an attempt to ease some of the awkward tension—made only worse when Eddie snapped at everyone to be nice—at the lunch table, you caught sight of Dustin's Weird Al t-shirt, one which he wore proudly, that in all honesty made you giggle. Ever since then, Dustin Henderson hasn’t been able to let go of the fact that he made a pretty girl laugh.
He clung onto you like a lifeline.
Eddie had a temper. He was always revved up. And seeing how often Dustin was conjuring a conversation with you, seeking your attention, truly made him ballistic. He didn't like sharing. Even if it was harmless. Ever since the officially introduction at lunch, it has been nothing but:
"Hey, check out my new comic book! It's limited edition!"
"Wanna help me with my science project? You're just so smart, it would really help. Maybe we can meet at the library?"
"Do you wanna see Alien with me? Lucas is going with Max, and you can join me." The fuck?! That was practically a double-date to Eddie.
The one that truly hurt him the most was two weeks ago, when you congratulated the stupid, little shit—Eddie's words, not yours—with one of your loving, sweet hugs for getting an A+ on said science project.
You used to always hug Eddie when he made good grades.
But, hey, maybe Eddie was just overreacting, right? But what the hell constitutes overreacting and not rightful-reacting, when some noisy freshman, who can't seem to grasp the simple concept of boundaries, once again oversteps, making him have blue balls, because all he wanted was to cum in his girlfriend's mouth, but apparently that's too much to ask!
Eddie huffed.
You stared incredulous.
"'Rightful-reacting.'" You tried to suppress the giggle, you really did, but you couldn't help but laugh at his dramatic wording, when he had dragged you away into his bedroom to vitalize this reoccurring issue.
Eddie moved close, right to your face, gripping tightly on your shoulders, looking like a crazed man. Hell, it was Dustin's fault. "Sweetheart, you're focusing on the wrong thing here." He heaved. "That little dingus has been ruining my life for the past week; only speaking to you, interrupting date nights, calling twenty-four seven, and now impeding our sexy time!"
"'Impeding our sexy time.'" Biting your lip did nothing to stop the emerging smile and laugh on your face. God, you loved the hell out of him.
"Would you quit that!" He whined with a theatric shake to your shoulders to get back to the point.
"Sorry, sorry," you placed on your best serious expression, "go ahead, explain."
"Explain?! Do you not remember what happened Saturday?"
Ah, Saturday. It was 11:42 p.m. Eddie—more so his insatiable appetite—had the bright idea of heading to Benny's Diner for the greasiest food to fill his stomach. It was late, and the diner had been empty with the exception of the older waitress smoking near the coffee pot, and he pulled you closely against his side, arm wrapped around waist, and toying with the soft cotton of your pajama shorts that rested against your thigh.
You moaned at the sweetness of the cold milkshake savoring your mouth. "Mm, you want some?" You offered to Eddie.
He was captivated, totally entranced by the pucker of your lips that held the creamy residue, "Mhm, yeah, I do." He whispered.
When you attempted to hand him the cold glass, he gently pushed your hand away, and consumed your mouth in a matter of seconds. The grease from his burger softened his lips, letting the pillowy feeling encapsulate you. Your hands naturally found solace on his jaw, prompting him to continue his movements, hands gripping your smooth thighs to keep you in place. As you parted your lips, Eddie's tongue snaked its way inside, officially getting a taste of that sweet vanilla that you had just swallowed.
"God, baby, you taste so good." He mewled against your lips.
His hand traveled up to your neck, securing your face in his palm, and you let your will fall in his control. His tongue prodded against yours, and the wet sounds of your spit exchanging grew entirely too inappropriate for Benny's establishment, though he didn't care. It was late, he wanted you, and no one was around.
Or so he thought.
"Gross, your gonna suffocate her!" Mike's grimacing voice broke your make out session.
While your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Eddie scoffed, unbothered. He rolled his eyes, glaring back at Mike, who justly looked appalled, and then there was Dustin, who had that bright, big smile on his face that Eddie was starting to grow annoyed with.
"Well, hey guys!" Dustin greeted with joy. "Funny seeing you here!"
"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" Eddie jumped straight into it.
"Nice to see you, too, Eddie." Dustin smiled. Eddie watched as the kid turned to you, eyes lighting up and everything. "Hi, Y/N!"
"Hey, Dustin." You politely greeted. Unlike Eddie, you didn't have it in you to be so blunt with disdain. "Um, what are you guys doing here so late?"
Dustin jumped with delight, quickly taking your question as an invitation to sit on the dingy booth across from you and Eddie. "Well, since you asked, Mike and I just spent the last five hours completing all twenty-seven games of Combat on my Atari!"
"Wow, that's incredible," Eddie feigned amazement, his sarcasm oozing out obviously, "now that you've told us, go." He gritted.
"Yeah, man, we have to get our food before my mom finds out we left and kills me." Mike extended, still waiting at the end of the table.
But not for long, as Dustin held a tight grip on his agile wrist, pulling him to the seating. "Nonsense, we just got here."
Eddie laughed. Not a good laugh. One of those scary laughs he pulls when he's on the precipice of enragement. "Oh, absolutely not!" His fist slammed on the table. Everyone flinched.
Dustin sneeringly dismissed Eddie, turning to you. "You don't mind if we stay, right? You always said you would welcome us."
Eddie couldn't believe his eyes. Your kindness was actively being exploited, and he watched in disbelief as you opened and closed your mouth to speak, but only an awkward laugh escaped. You peered at Dustin, back at Eddie, then to Dustin again. "Um, s-sure, I guess..."
Dustin whooped with excitement.
"Great." Eddie mumbled to himself.
You shot him an apologetic look that just exuded the words "I'm really sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Eddie's anger wasn’t directed at you, and he made sure you understood with a shake to his head to acknowledge, "I'm not mad at you."
He may not have been mad at you, but he was fucking furious with Dustin Henderson.
"You remember?" Eddie's words snapped you from the memory of Saturday night’s diner incident, suddenly brining you back to the setting of Eddie’s room.
You quickly nodded your head.
"Yeah, see." He proved. "And what about Sunday morning?"
Following the events of Saturday, Eddie had slept over yours, letting the resided angry dissolve as he held you in his embrace. He'd been awoken by the succulent smell of your scent, urging his morning hard-on to spring to life against your plushy ass. He tiredly nosed the hair away from the junction of your neck and shoulders to place languid kisses against your skin. His hand snaked over your hip, toying with the cute bow that was situated on the front of your lacy underwear. With a hand on your pelvis, he pushed you back against his boner, letting his wet kisses and pressuring cock stir you awake.
A sleepy whine left your pouting lips, and Eddie nearly busted at the sound of it. "Fuck, baby, you gonna let me use you?" He kissed your neck. "So fucking hard for you, princess, got me dreaming about that pussy in my sleep."
You turned your head, letting both of your lips meet in the middle, as Eddie increased the speed of his hips to hump the globes of your ass. His fingertips soon gathered a firmhold of the front of your panties, pulling upward harshly. You choked on your breath as the fabric of your underwear wedge between your puffy pussy lips, igniting the friction against your pulsating clit. You quickly began to feel the icky sensation of his precum dampening your ass, while your slick soaked your underwear, making you a wet mess all around.
"Let me have your pussy, please, baby." He groaned.
You nodded your head with permission, "Fuck, yes, please."
Eddie was quick to pull your panties from your legs, discarding the piece haphazardly across your room. Your foot hooked behind his leg to keep you nice and open, and just as his fingers were about to pleasure you seeping pussy, the phone rang.
The phone fucking rang.
You flinched at the abrupt noise that was blaring on your bedside table, and Eddie's head dropped against your shoulder in disappointment, a groan muffled by your shirt. "Just fucking ignore it, sweetheart."
"Real quick, I promise, just to make sure everything's good." You swore, as you reached for the phone.
That wasn't going to stop Eddie Munson, though. Right as you picked up, the tips of his finger pressed against your clit, eliciting a shaky "Hello" to escape your mouth. He grinned with satisfaction as he watched your eyes screw shut and your teeth sunk into your plump bottom lip.
But then the next words you uttered truly set him off.
"Oh, h-hi, Dustin."
"What?!" Eddie screamed into your ear. "Hang up the phone right now."
He was stern with his words, and stern with his movements. The pace of fingers quickened, along with your breaths and his patience.
You held up a finger to signal Eddie to hold on, as you tried your absolute best to comprehend the conversation that Dustin was attempting to have with you. "So, yeah, would you like to go to the arcade this afternoon?"
"I- Dustin, now's, uh, now is not r-really a good time- fuck." You gasped softly.
"Yeah, so fucking hang up." Eddie whispered against your cheek, as his hand slide between your wet folds, gathering all of your arousal and coming back to rubbing your pretty clit.
"Why not? Everything alright?" If it wasn’t for the current situation, you would have appreciated the kid’s concern.
"Yeah, yeah- yes!" That response was definitely not to Dustin. "Um, yes, j-just busy with Eds." You breathed out in order to filter out your moans.
"That's right, so fucking hang up!" Eddie yelled loud enough for Dustin to hear, as it was intended towards him, and his hand pulled back, slapping your cunt, the stinging vibrations traveling through your sensitive clit.
"Fuck! Gotta go." The second you slammed the phone back to the receive, Eddie rushed to climb on top of you, swallowing your wails with his hungry lips.
Meanwhile, Dustin was just left dumbfounded, staring at the deadline of his phone.
"Do you see what I'm talking about, baby?" Eddie emphasized, hands cupping your face, pleading that you'd understand.
Snapping back to reality from the memory, you were quick to nod your head again. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that."
"No, it's not you." He stressed. "That little shit just knows how to work his way around you. That's why he fucking came here today."
Now, today was Eddie's last straw. At least Sunday morning, he was able to get rid of Dustin and have you all to himself, but today? Today, Dustin ruined one of Eddie's favorite moment with you. A blowjob.
It was late into the evening, as Eddie splayed himself on the worn couch of his living room. His legs lazily rested over the armrest, as he nursed down a beer that was keeping him sane from having to listen the Happy Days theme song that he grew profoundly annoyed with, but he was too lazy to move and grab the remote. It'd been quite a long day for him. During third period, Mrs. Lineker shoved a pop quiz in his face, which he knew he flunked. To top it off, you had missed lunch under the guise that Chrissy Cunningham stole you away to “work on cheer routines.” As if that's not what practice is for, Eddie rolled his eyes at your kidnapping, which he proclaimed it was.
And now you actually were at practice, gone and away from Eddie when he really needed you. That was until he heard the gentle knocking coming from his front door, which he had learned was you. You entered with a bright smile that washed all of Eddie's irritations away. He truly did have a soft spot for you, and only you.
"Hi!" You happily greeted, as you situated yourself on his lap, arms snaking around his neck.
"Hi, baby." He tiredly smiled, as he caressed your sides. "You're back early."
"Yeah, coach cut practice, so I was able to get home and shower to come see you." A shy grin flushed his face as you pecked his nose with a cute kiss.
Who knew this mean guy could crack under nose kisses?
"Good," he huffed, bringing you impossibly close, "been a shit day barely being able to see you. People always stealing you away." He grumbled.
In truth, behind his domineering demeanor that seemed untouchable to anyone, Eddie was quite sensitive when it came to his feelings for you. His biggest fears lied dormant under his tough exterior, only exposing itself in the presence of a safe environment, and it became evident as he hugged you tight, because he truly feared someone would steal you away. Whether it was as superficial as Dustin Henderson seeking your attention, or potentially serious as Chrissy Cunningham who still remained unsure of your relationship after the bullshit Jason Carver fed her. He was terrified that one day you'd listen to your friends and leave. How the hell was Eddie Munson, "Freak" of Hawkins High, suppose to provide you with all the things you deserved?
He did, though. Eddie Munson gave you everything.
"I know, I'm sorry." You whispered, as you kissed his pouty lips.
But he simply shook his head, rejecting your apology. "Don't apologize." He insisted. "It's not your fault you're so lovable."
A smile emerged on his face as he made you giggle. You cupped his cheeks, and gently brushed a couple strands of his bangs to fully capture his eyes that just captivated you.
"You're so lovable, too, Eddie." He deserved to know. "I love loving you."
You gave him a firm, long kiss to solidify your words as fact, because it was. No matter how much he denied it in his overthinking head.
"I love loving you, too, princess."
Your hand traveled down his chest, exposing the bareness, as he only laid in an unbuttoned plaid shirt. "Can I show you how much I love loving you?" He immediately recognized that look in your eyes that always paired so beautifully with your salacious smile.
He blushed under your insinuation, dick twitching and goosebumps rising as your fingertips brushed his happy trail. "I don't want you to think that you have to make it up to me."
"Oh, I know." You kissed his cheek. "But I just really want to. So can I, Eddie? Can I suck your cock?"
"Fuck." His groaned, as you grabbed his semi through his sweatpants. "If I ever answer "no" to that, sweetheart, I want you to take one of Wayne's hunting guns and shoot me with it."
You laughed as you settled between his legs, and he relaxed himself on the armrest of the couch. You opened his shirt further, and ran your hands against his chest and belly before grabbing his sweatpants and shimmying them down his hips. You rubbed his hardening length, planting a quick kiss, before pulling it out of his boxers.
"Fuck, yeah, baby." He cooed, watching your small, delicate hand wrap around his cock to languidly jerk it.
You peered up at him, and quickly crawled up close to his face. "Spit in my mouth, Eddie."
He cursed under his breath, as you felt his dick jump at the request. Unable to formulate words, he quickly nodded. Grabbing your chin, he pulled you into a messy, open-mouthed make out, where his tongue lavished against yours. Soon, his grip stiffened, preventing you from closing your tingling lips. You mewled at the sensation of Eddie's spit invading your mouth, a warm globe situated on your tongue.
You pulled back from his hold, aiming down to his cock, where you parted your lips to let his spit coat himself. “Oh, my fuck- just looking at you is gonna make me cum.”
His abs contracted as you held a firm grip to his cock, jerking the spit to his base and up and around his blistering red head. You suctioned on his frenulum, eliciting the sweet moans he desperately tried to hold back. "Shit, baby, oh my god." He muttered.
You kissed down his shaft, eventually nosing the fuzzy skin of his balls, that tensed at your arrival. Peering up with your large doe eyes, Eddie swore under his breath, meeting your contact, and raking his hand through your hair.
"Yes, princess, suck on my balls." He moaned, as your tongue ravished his taste. "Fuck, get 'em all messy for me, baby, please."
As your left hand jerked him, your right held a tight grip between his thigh and balls to secure all access from his opened legs. Soon enough, you popped one of his large balls into your mouth, his musky scent invading your senses.
"Shit, shit- fuck, make me feel good, sweetheart. God, I'm gonna give you everything I got, baby, just keep sucking." He whimpered.
His hand was yanking the roots of your hair, shoving your nose against the curls of his pubic hair, as your hand circled around his oozing tip. Dating Eddie had led you onto the beautiful journey of learning all his sweet spots, so you knew to massage the area beneath his balls, which quickly proved right, as his body twitched at the mere sensation.
"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!"
With a wet pop, you switched to his other throbbing ball, enjoying the sight of his sticky bangs framing his face and eyes fluttering shut. It was pure fucking heaven for Eddie Munson.
Until it turned into straight hell.
*Knock, knock, knock,* "Hey, guys!"
Dustin. Fucking. Henderson.
Now, Eddie knew he was an asshole; every insult, shove, push, punch, and crime he's ever committed flooded his mind as to what might be the cause of his bad karma. He knew he made bad decisions in his life that very much came to an inconvenience to everyone else in Hawkins, but he never claimed to be virtuous man. But did he really deserve this? This punishment? This torment? This torture?
"Hello? You guys in there?" God, the kid's voice came out like nails on a chalk board to Eddie.
He watched the front door, praying to a god that he sure as hell didn't believe in, that Dustin would leave. But his attention quickly snapped to you, when you dropped one of his balls from his mouth.
You heaved, "We should sto-"
"No, no, no, no, no!" Eddie whined, quickly shoving your head down his cock, quietly moaning at the gag you urged from the forceful intrusion to your throat. "S-sorry, I really need this. Ignore him."
So, you did.
Your tongue swiveled around his shaft, lips dragging the wetness of spit, slobber, drool, and precum up and down his length, as you hollowed in your cheeks to speed along his impending orgasm.
But the knocking was insistent.
"Hey! I know you're in there! I see both your cars out here!" Dustin yelled.
God, this wasn't happening, Eddie thought. It can't be! By far, one of the messiest and best blowjobs he's ever received was being interrupted at this very moment. Not to mention, every time Dustin knocked or spoke, all he got was a mental image of the curly-haired kid that hurdled his orgasm back from release.
Just focus on your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your cock, your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your cock, your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your co-
"Come on, guys! Eddie?! Y/N?!"
You pulled off. Eddie wanted to cry. "Maybe we should stop?" You suggested sympathetically.
Letting go of your head, Eddie dropped his face into his hands in defeat. You felt bad, you honestly did. But there was no way you could continue sucking his dick as Dustin's presence loomed right outside. You sat back on your heels as you watched Eddie huff. There was no longer sadness. Just pure fucking rage.
He stood from the couch, pulling his sweats up, and grabbing a throw pillow to cover his throbbing cock that bulged through the material. He footsteps echoed loudly, each stomp shaking the weak foundation of the trailer. You feared for Dustin's fate.
Throwing the door open, Eddie didn't let Dustin mutter single word of salutations. "What?! What, in the absolute fuck do you want?! What the fuck?!"
Dustin flinched back at Eddie's screams, agitation consuming the kid's face, as every ounce of spit had doused his head from the yelling. Though clearly frightened from Eddie's killing looks, Dustin knew he wouldn't hurt him, especially not in front of you. He was smart. Brushing away the spurts of spit, Dustin merely sauntered past Eddie and into the trailer.
Completely disregarding Eddie, Dustin spoke, "God, who pissed in his cornflakes, am I right?" With a loud giggle, as he sat next to you.
You, who could only awkwardly laugh and rub an remaining drool from your chin that didn't reveal what you were just doing.
Eddie's mouth dropped at Dustin's actions, watching the young boy get comfortable right on the spot that he was just receiving head. If this was a cartoon, steam would be blowing from Eddie's ears. Honestly, if you squinted hard enough, you could probably see it.
"Are you fucking insane?!" Eddie shouted. "Did I say you could fucking come in?! Get out!”
Eddie truly was getting scary at this point, you'd never seen him so angry, it was jarring. Dustin curled into your side, knowing any potential harm wouldn't be done with you by his side. So, he crossed his arms, "No, I just got here."
"Why?!" Eddie threw the couch pillow he was holding—boner long gone—at Dustin's head.
"Because I wanna hang out!" Dustin yelled back. "We're friends, remember." Eddie didn't appreciate the rhetorical question that Dustin implied with stupidity.
"You have other fucking friends!"
God, it was times like these you wished you had the guts to be confrontation.
"No." Dustin pointed out matter of factly. "Mike is on the phone with El, and Lucas went to the comic book store with Max. They're all with their girlfriends."
Eddie pulled his hair as if he was going insane. You'd never seen his eyes so wide. "I'm with my girlfriend, you little shit!" He pointed to you.
Dustin turned to look at you. Oh, no. You knew what was coming.
"Well, Y/N, do you want me to stay?"
"U-um-"
"No!" Eddie quickly interjected. "You don't get to fucking talk to her! She's my girlfriend!"
"Well, she's my friend!"
Eddie breathed out a couple times to catch his breath. His adrenaline was pulsating like crazy, and he was doing everything in his will power to not choke the kid out. "Alright." He panted. "You wanna stay. Stay." Eddie reached for your hand and pulled you from the couch. "But we're not staying with you."
He began guiding you to his room, as Dustin scoffed. "Eddie." You attempted to plead.
"Nope." He was stern with his stance. "Not fucking staying with him."
Eddie had dragged you into his room with a loud slam to his door. And that's where you were right now, in the low light of his bedroom as he reiterated all the interrupted moments caused by Dustin.
"That little shit just knows how to work his way around you. That's why he fucking came here today." Eddie groaned, as he finished his stressing tirade.
"Well, I don't know what to do." You gently spoke to calm his aggravated nerves.
“You gotta give it to him straight, sweetheart." Eddie urged. "He won't fucking leave until you tell him to."
"But I can't do that to him." You pouted. "That's mean."
God, you were so fucking cute. But cute isn't what he needs right now. "Baby, you've been dating me long enough that some of me has had to rub off on you."
You groaned, entirely out of your comfort zone. "Fine, but you have to calm down." You pointed, the best austere look you could muster, discipling him like a kid.
Eddie giggled at you. "Sure, anything for you." He kissed your tense forehead. "Sorry for the yelling."
After a couple more kisses and breaths, you both made your way back to the living room, Dustin still sitting at the same spot, smug look to his face. "Well, that was pretty fast. Miss me already?" Was it wrong that Eddie wanted to punch him right then and there?
"Actually, she needs to tell you something." Eddie sneered back, placing you right on the spot. He sat you right on the coffee table in front of Dustin, standing behind and massaging your shoulders, keeping his hands busy from connecting with Dustin's face. "Go on, babe. Tell him."
"Um, well, Dustin, w-we were thinking that maybe it's best if we have a-a little... alone time." You were walking on eggshells trying to keep both heavily opinionated boys at bay. God, they were more alike than they realized.
"What?" Dustin looked shocked at your revelation.
"What she means is, get out." Eddie smiled with glee.
Dustin scoffed, "What did you do to her?! I know you just made her say that!"
"What?!" So much for being calm. "I didn't make her do anything! She's tired of you always butting in, just too nice to say it! But I'll say it, you're driving us crazy, get out!"
"Shut up! Both of you!" Dustin and Eddie instantaneously quieted down at your newfound voice that they never once heard above its usual soft-spoken octave. "You're both driving me crazy!"
"Well, he started it. Always trying to take your attention." Eddie grumbled.
"Attention?! Are you jealous? Of me? I’m fourteen, you’re like old as shit!"
That snapped Eddie.
He tried to lunge at Dustin, "Okay! Okay!" But you were quick to hug his waist and pull him back. Dustin, of course, dramatically shrieked and fell back onto the couch as if he got hit.
Too much yelling, and too much hair was flying around for your liking. You were going to explode with stress.
"Look, Dustin, we love spending time with you, really, but there are times when Eddie and I just want to be alone together!"
"Yeah!" Eddie laughed at the young boy's sullen face.
But you were quick to turn back to Eddie. "And you! You have got to stop being so mean!" You got close and whispered to him directly. "I know this is rooted deeper for you, but I'm not leaving you, Eddie. Ever. For anyone. Get that through your head. You have every right to be annoyed, but don't so callous towards him or anyone, in general."
Eddie sighed, nodding his head, and understanding your words. Finally, a moment of clarity. He rubbed the wrinkles of your furrowed brows, clearly stressed from having to be placed in the middle of their quarrel. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, baby, you're right."
He leaned down, placing a loving kiss to your lips that denoted all his admiration for you. You both understood his underlying insecurities, and how they transcribed from his shitty childhood. Eddie Munson so undeservingly got dealt a bad hand at life that his pure heart shouldn't have had to endure. But the beauty of Eddie Munson was that his pure heart still remained, even if it was picky with the people it opened up to. You were beyond please you were one of them. Because you loved loving Eddie Munson. And Eddie knew you were worth fixing said issues; anger, insecurity, jealousy. Even if it took a lot of time and a lot of risk. But your heart and face eased his worries. He'd do anything for you.
"Hey, uh," Shit, you almost forgot Dustin was still there, "I'm really sorry, too." Dustin appeared guilty as can be. "I didn't mean to be so annoying."
"No, you're not annoying-"
"Well..."
"Eddie." You swatted his chest.
"Kidding, kidding." He threw his hands up, a chuckle leaving his mouth. "I'm kidding, Dustin."
"Look, it's just nice to know someone like you actually wants to be my friend." Dustin smiled.
"Like me?" You questioned.
"Yeah, you know, funny, popular, and sweet." He nervously played with his hands.
"Aw, Dustin." You hugged him, Eddie playfully scoffed at the melting look blushing over Dustin's face, clearly loving your affection. "You're so cute, but you don't have to prioritize my friendship over the others."
"Yeah, what the hell does she got that I don't?" Eddie smiled, as you rolled your eyes and Dustin at least laughed. He marched over and ruffled Dustin's curls. "Seriously, you getting tired of us in Hellfire?" Eddie teased.
"No, never." Dustin smiled.
"Good, we need you at Hellfire. Who else are we gonna sacrifice during our DnD campaign next week?"
"What?!" Eddie barked out a laugh, as Dustin eventually caught on and eased his heart from the potential worry. "Don't scare me like that."
"But it's so fun." Eddie chuckled.
"Okay, so are we good here? No more yelling?" You assured, pointing at both with your chastising demeanor.
"Yeah, yeah, we're good." Eddie soothed your arm. "Sorry for the stress, baby."
"Yeah, sorry." Dustin added. "But do you really want me to leave?" he peered between both of you.
"Look, kid, how about this," Eddie began, "I'll take you to the comic store, where I'm sure Lucas and Max are still there. Can spend the day with them, while we have our time," he proffered, "and in return, you can stop by tomorrow when Y/N is staying over and work on one segment of our upcoming campaign."
You'd never seen Dustin's face light up so brightly before. "Really? I can help you with DnD?"
"Only one segment." Eddie clarified. "Don't need your mouth blabbin' to the others."
"Deal!"
You could physically feel the weight on your shoulders release as all tension was gone. While Eddie briefly left to change, you made sure to place in an order for pizza, as you both felt deserving of a nice meal after the ensemble that had just occurred. Eddie returned with his jacket in hand and his shoes untied, too unbothered to care.
"I'll be back soon, sweetheart, I'll be sure to be quick," He leaned in planting a wet smooch on your cheek and whispered in your ear, "because my dick still kinda hurts from not cumming."
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb#dustin henderson
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STWG prompt 18/5/24
prompt: better to ask for forgiveness than permission
pairing/character(s): steddie, the party
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
"Are you sure about this?" Lucas whisper yells as Will anxiously checks no one is looking down the Harrington house's driveway.
Dustin's crouched in front of the door, poking a hair pin into the lock with his tongue poked out, and Mike is leaning against the door, unbothered, so it takes a second for anyone to answer.
"I'm worried about him!" Dustin finally says, his motions getting more intense as he seems to fail to pick the lock. "I haven't seen him all week! He wasn't at work all week either, I checked!"
"He booked the week off." Lucas reminds him.
"Well then why hasn't he been hanging out with us?" Dustin huffs, and then goes back to his attempts.
"Who even taught you how to do that?" Will asks.
"Eddie, he taught me too." Mike says.
"He's gonna be so pissed at us." Will continues quietly, biting his lip, and Mike shakes his head.
"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission."
"Eddie taught us that too!" Dustin chimes in.
Ten minutes later, they've finally managed to get into the house. Lucas is privately surprised that Steve didn't hear them and come see who was trying to break into his house. Maybe Steve's not even home! Hopefully.
A quick survey of the ground floor reveals no movement, so the group make their way up the stairs until they're in front of the closed door leading to Steve's bedroom.
Dustin determinedly reaches for the doorknob, and Lucas tries to stop him once more.
"I really don't think he'll appreciate this, Dust-" He whispers, but Dustin cuts him off with his own (attempt at) whispering.
"I need to make sure he's okay!"
With that, the door is quietly pushed open, and promptly all of their jaws drop and they stand in the doorway in silence, processing what they see.
Steve is laying on his back, fast asleep with his mouth ajar, and tucked into his side is a very naked Eddie, whose butt is unfortunately peaking out from under the covers. He's asleep as well, his face pressed against Steve's hairy (and hickey covered) chest.
"I told you this was a bad idea." Lucas whispers frantically, gesturing at the pair. He looks to Will for backup, but Will is bright red and his eyes are still on Steve and Eddie, so he figures that's a lost cause and turns to Dustin and Mike.
Mike looks a little red and shellshocked too, but Dustin immediately starts whisper yelling some more.
"Well, he should've told me!"
"Told you what? That he's sleeping with a guy?"
"Not just any guy, Eddie! Why didn't he tell me?"
Lucas feels a hand grab at his shoulder urgently, but needs Dustin to understand what he's trying to say so he ignores it.
"He was probably scared you'd hate them for it!"
"For dating?"
"For being gay, idiot."
"I'm not gay, for the record. I'm bisexual." Steve suddenly pipes up, and Lucas and Dustin look over at him immediately with wide eyes.
Steve and Eddie have shifted a little now, Steve propped up against his headboard with Eddie lazily laying against his chest still. Thankfully, his ass is covered up now, but Lucas knows he's naked and that's enough to make him shudder.
"Hi Steve. Fancy seeing you here." Lucas tries with a (hopefully) charming smile. Steve snorts in response, and drops his forehead to rest on Eddie's hair for a second in defeat.
"This is literally my bedroom, Sinclair. How'd you guys get in anyway?"
"We picked the lock on your front door!" Dustin says, having the nerve to sound proud of himself.
"Right. Of course." Steve sighs.
"Eddie taught us." Mike chimes in, finally having gone back to his normal colour. Will's still flushed, but looks more present overall, and he nods along to his best friend's words.
Steve quirks a brow at the information, lifts his head again, and promptly flicks Eddie, who's still half asleep, in the head. He immediately looks more awake, and glares at Steve as he rubs where he got flicked.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"You're the reason they picked the lock, Munson."
"Oh, look what you guys did. I got demoted back to Munson." Eddie finally addresses them for the first time, but thankfully he doesn't look too upset. More amused.
Actually, now Lucas thinks about it Steve doesn't look upset either. Pissed off? Yeah. But in that older brother way he gets with them, not actually mad.
"You're the one who told us to ask for forgiveness not permission!" Dustin defends himself, and Eddie gets another flick to the head for that from Steve.
"Well, are you going to ask for forgiveness then?"
"Screw you. We were worried about you!"
"Have you heard of phones before, Henderson. And the rest of you, really? Wheeler, I expect it from-" Steve starts, getting interrupted by an indignant 'hey!' from Mike, "But Sinclair? Baby Byers?"
"For the record I did not want this to happen." Lucas says defensively, and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Interesting considering you're still here when you could've abandoned them." Eddie snorts.
"The party sticks together."
"Still waiting on that beg for forgiveness." Steve singsongs, and Eddie sits up a little straighter as he adds on his own demand with a grin.
"I want full-on on your knees with prayer hands, begging for forgiveness."
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie ficlet#steddie drabble#this is so silly#i missed dustin lucas arguing dynamic#hope you enjoyed#stwgdailyprompt#dailydrabble#mywriting
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after everything, after all the adrenaline dies down, steve collapses one day whilst helping out at the school. the doctors say it was a delayed reaction, all his injuries finally catching up to him. the stress of everything making his stubborn ass keel over and finally give in.
everyone's fucking terrified. eddie and max are already in hospital beds, though at least they're awake. luckily lucas had been by steve's side as he fell and stopped his head smacking against the linoleum. for a fourth or fifth time.
the doctors assure them all he'll be fine. it was just exhaustion, his body needing some time to recover. there's nothing to worry about!
though when he wakes up, something is fucking wrong. robin tells everyone as much through tears, how he'd woken up and asked who she was. that all he knew was his name and basic information about himself.
dustin is beside himself when steve does the same to him. he'd held onto this hope that he'd be different. steve was like his brother, of course he'd remember him, right?
but no. no, the only person steve seems to remember is eddie munson. not only that, but he's convinced they're dating. won't listen to anyone who tells him otherwise. it's all a bit much, no one really knows what's happening with him, if he'll ever remember them. the case is forwarded, with vague promises that they would do whatever they can. but they needed the bed, so he can't stay.
when he's discharged, he beelines for eddie's room. he's in there and by eddie's side before anyone can even fucking blink, or attempt to stop him. eddie lights up seeing him, then dims a little, asking if he's okay, asking why he's up, if his head hurts at all. (dustin had kept him informed, but neglected to mention the whole 'steve thinks you're dating' thing. didn't want to stress his friend out any more than he was, you see.)
and steve just... kisses him. everyone freezes, but eddie only melts, leaning into it like it's natural. dustin is two seconds away from breaking them apart when they hear him ask, in the smallest voice ever,
"you remember me?" steve just nods, like an overexcited puppy. grinning from ear to ear.
and that's how everyone finds out that, no, steve's brain isn't as scrambled as they thought. he's just actually been dating eddie since a little after starcourt. and they've both been somehow hiding it from everyone.
(steve's memories fade back in eventually. eddie never lets the fact he's the only one he remembered go. ever.)
#stranger things#prompt#steve harrington#steddie#imagine#eddie munson#stranger things prompt#robin buckley#steddie fic#steddie prompt#steddie headcanon#steddie hc#stranger things headcanons#stranger things hc#headcanon#hc#steve x eddie#eddie x steve
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Thinking about Steve getting disowned by his parents.
And he's talking to Eddie and Eddie calls him "Steve fucking Harrington." And Steve's like. "I'm not a Harrington anymore :( They took everything from me including my name." And he was like. Understandably sad about his name and his identity and the fact that his parents don't love him and all that.
And Eddie. In an attempt to cheer him is all flirty and offers his own name up for Steve to use. Steve sad laughs and says that if Eddie wants to propose he needs to do better than that.
While they're having this conversation Dustin is lurking and hears this and is outraged that Eddie thinks he can just. Give Steve his name without earning it. Steve should be a Henderson. He's basically Dustin's brother already.
Dustin complains about this to Will in front of Joyce and Joyce is like. Not if i can adopt him first.
Will mentions it to Lucas and Erica is like. Bitch he should be honored to be a Sinclair! And she tells her friends about it in front of Robin who's like. Excuse me. We are twins. He needs to be a Buckley.
Meanwhile Lucas mentioned it to Max and she's always down to compete with Dustin and also. Steve is her brother too asshat.
She complains to El about it. Hopper overhears and is like. Steve is disowned? Where's he living? I already adopted one kid in the past few years what's another.
Over the course of the next week everyone has decided that Steve is their family and he should live with them and/or take their last name.
They're all getting together just because they're all a bit codependent and need to get all together every few weeks or else they all start worrying.
Steve and Eddie are running late for whatever reason. (overslept. Steve's trying to do his hair. Steve found Eddie's 5-in-1 doesn't really matter except Steve and Eddie are together and Steve's been staying at Eddie and Wayne's new government issued house.)
By the time they arrive everyone is bickering, varying from Hopper quietly saying that Joyce already has two kids wouldn't it be better for Steve to have a parent who can give him more attention, to Max and Robin having a silent standoff to Erica and Dustin fully wrestling on the ground biting and scratching.
And Steve's like. "HEY! What the fuck is going on?"
And no one wants to admit how wild they've all gone in fighting to adopt Steve. So there's this awkward beat of silence before Dustin and Robin both break down and yell at Steve that he's their family and he should take their respective last name.
Steve is so overwhelmed he starts crying. And almost none of them have seen him cry. Like. Nancy and Robin. Maybe. And only when he's been pushed to his limit.
So everyone's like. Did we break him? Did we offend him? Did we accidentally remind him of his pain?
And he's just. Never felt this loved before.
Maybe he chooses one. Maybe he chooses all of them into a really long string of names. Maybe they develop some kind of elaborate competition to decide who earns Steve as family. Maybe there's some kind of rotation in place. Tbh I'd love to hear other people's ideas.
But I do know that the day it becomes legal, Steve's last name and Eddie's last name become the same. Maybe it's a hyphen. Maybe Eddie charges his name to Buckley-Byers-Henderson-Hopper-Mayfield-Sinclair-Wheeler (alphabetical was decided to be the most fair).
And no matter what Steve is so so loved and everyone makes sure he knows it.
#stranger things#steve harrington#steve and robin are platonic soulmates#Steddie#dustin henderson#eddie munson
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Okay so this idea has been rocking around my empty skull for some time now just we know that Eddie can be a pretty mean DM and a shithead and I've been thinking abt romances in D&D and how it would work in Hellfire
And I had this thought that Eddie would like be "no romances!!" to the Corroded Coffin group (before the kids joined) and they're like why? and Eddie just to tease them says that he doesn't want to pretend to fall for their smelly ugly faces
Which just motivates them to try and seduce like every character that Eddie introduces for a fucking month and it leads to the creation of the rule: Every romance/seduction directed roll must be rolled above 15 to succeed AND if Eddie decides that the attempt is particularly bad the roll is with disadvantage
The Corroed Coffin boys are obviously teasingly like ohhh so we get an advantage if it's good?
"Doubt that would happen boys, but sure, if you make me, Eddie fucking Munson, to blush like a fair maiden then you'll get the advantage on the roll"
They try, they really do, but all the CC boys succeed in doing is killing off all of their party in three sessions and Gareth who is a little shit is actually rolling his third character (because the consequences of a failure are fucking brutal) by the time Jeff and [unnamed freak] give up
After that they know better (except Gareth who still sometimes does that just to annoy Eddie and be a little shit) to try and then the kids join Hellfire and Eddie has even less of an desire to flirt with fucking Wheeler, Henderson and Sinclair (they're baby children!!)
But the kids are a little shits too and they see Gareth being a little shit so they copy
It ends badly for them, they gripe about Eddie being unfair because like "all three of us have girlfriends Eddie and you don't so we clearly know more about romance then you do" Dustin not only gets a flick on the head for that but his character might have ended up being put into situations™ throughout the session that are "totally unfair!"
But fair to say all of Hellfire knows the rules and all of hellfire knows that no matter how well they try and how smooth they are (they really aren't ever smooth) Eddie will not blush or even consider they attempts as "good", the best they got was "tolerable" (Lucas got it and he's still very proud of it, as he deserves okay?), Eddie is impossible to fluster and so it's just is this fun thing they sometimes do when they feel particularly like little shits
And that's it about it
Until Vecna and all the upside down shit and the surprising friendship of Eddie and Steve happens
And suddenly Steve Harrington is not only sitting but playing D&D
Everything is going actually pretty good and Dustin practically vibrates out of his chair at how proud he is of Steve for how well he is doing so far and then
And then Steve tries to flirt with a pretty bard
Dustin deflates, he is ready for the absolute disaster that is going to fall upon Steve, he makes eye contact with Lucas - both of them ready with "it was actually a pretty good line tho!" at the tip of their tongues to defend Steve's decisions, he doesn't know Eddie's special rules after all and it would be funny to see Steve fail, sure, but it's Steve's first game and the kids wanted it to be good for Steve so convincing him to play again would be easier
But now Eddie is going to absolutely rip into him and Steve will never want to play again and-
"Roll with advantage" Dustin gasps, audibly, loudly, the room is silent, except for Steve who's very unaware of the chaos he just created and just rolls the dices, his usual confidence in place
And if someone looked closely - and all of the hellfire is fucking looking - Eddie Munson has indeed a light blush on his face
#i feel like it would have been so funny#steve and eddie just spend the rest of the session flirting through the bard and steve's character#steve also doesn't know why Lucas looks so in awe of him after the session Mike is scowling and Dustin is looking at him#as if he's a weird matemathical equasion#the CC boys give Eddie so much shit tho after the session#'oh so ours ugly mugs don't do it but king steve's jocky ass does?' 'it's a pretty great ass!'#steve doesn't really learn abt the rules until like a month later#also this is my gareth is a little shit agenda and i will be always pushing it#steddie#fic idea#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#dom's au idea of the day#corroded coffin#also hahaha yes this is my official my brain cannot keep my ideas in my head anymore so im going to unleash all of them slowly here
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She’s Trouble
(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)
Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.
Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader
Word count: 16,185
Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!
A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?
I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️
Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)
Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen
~*~
You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.
This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.
And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.
“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.
“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.
It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.
You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.
“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.
You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”
It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.
Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.
Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”
You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”
You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”
The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.
~*~
Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.
The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.
~*~
You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.
It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.
Maybe I’ll get lost…
You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.
Skull Rock it is.
~*~
One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.
In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.
~*~
Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.
That leaves one place. Skull Rock.
~*~
The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.
Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.
He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.
Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?
Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.
Fuck.
~*~
In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.
I dare you.
Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.
Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.
“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.
Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”
A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.
“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”
“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”
Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“
“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.
Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”
Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”
“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.
Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”
Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.
“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”
“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.
“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”
Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.
Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”
“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.
Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”
Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.
“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”
Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.
Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”
Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.
“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.
Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.
~*~
He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.
Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.
He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.
~*~
By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?
Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.
You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.
The freak got dumped
You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.
~*~
By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…
“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.
It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.
Good.
What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”
“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.
Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.
Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.
He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.
“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.
“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.
“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.
Fuck it.
You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.
Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.
“No.”
You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.
“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.
Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.
Coward.
“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.
“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.
“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.
“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.
Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.
You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.
Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”
Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.
~*~
If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?
Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“
Great.
Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.
“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.
“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.
“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.
She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.
“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.
You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.
“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”
“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.
You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”
“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.
Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”
You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.
“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”
“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”
There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.
“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.
Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”
“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”
Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”
You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”
She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”
Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”
Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”
She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.
~*~
Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.
Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.
It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.
His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.
As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.
Fuck…
You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.
You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.
Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.
“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”
The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.
And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?
“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.
~*~
Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.
“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”
“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.
“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“
You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.
“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”
His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.
He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.
“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”
You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.
Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”
“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.
“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.
Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.
Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”
It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.
He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.
As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.
How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.
“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.
He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.
That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.
“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”
“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”
“Because, I… Eddie, I—“
“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“
You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”
You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.
“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”
You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.
Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.
You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—
“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.
You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.
~*~
You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?
Want.
A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.
His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.
With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.
That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.
Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…
Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.
You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.
Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.
His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.
“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.
Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?
You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.
Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.
Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.
Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.
You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.
Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.
Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.
You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.
Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.
“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.
Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”
“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.
You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.
His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.
“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.
He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.
You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.
“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”
You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”
When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.
“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”
His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.
His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.
“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”
“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”
Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.
“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”
You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”
Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”
You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”
You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.
“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”
Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.
Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.
Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.
Fuck me.
“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”
Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”
You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.
“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.�� You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.
“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”
You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.
“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.
You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”
Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.
“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”
You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”
At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.
His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“
He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.
You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.
Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.
It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.
Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.
The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.
“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.
You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.
“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”
Yet… Fuck me running.
Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.
“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”
Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.
“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”
You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.
He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”
You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”
You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.
He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”
There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”
And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.
Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”
You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”
Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.
When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”
This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.
“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”
He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”
You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”
You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.
Love… You don’t have to think twice.
Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”
At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”
“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.
He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”
And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.
Holy shit and fuck me…
Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”
He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”
And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“
He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”
His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”
Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”
While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?
Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”
“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.
Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”
The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”
There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”
~*~
Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd
-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-
Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)
#kristenwrites#eddie munson#my work#my writing#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#stranger things 4#stranger things#stranger things 4 fanfiction#stranger things 4 fic#stranger things smut
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hehe for your summer fic fest!
“are you okay? is the heat getting to you?” w/ shy!reader x steve harrington! <3
maybe something like established relationship (or not) and he knows shy!reader won’t ever complain :)
love ur writing <3
thanks so much for your request angel! hope you like it!! — the one where you get sunburnt and steve calls you his lobster as a declaration of love (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2k)
bug's summer fic fest ♡
Steve emerges from the blue pool water with oversized goggles covering the top half of his face. They leave a soft red indention around his eyes when he shoves them to his forehead to push back his wild strands of wet hair.
His chest heaves with labored pants, lungs aching after being denied air for over three minutes. He blinks salt water from his eyes and squints across the patio. Your lounge chair has your beach towel thrown over it but is entirely vacant of you.
His heart deflates with a boyish disappointment when he realizes you weren’t around to see him break his breath-holding record.
“Where’d she go?” Steve shouts to Robin over the sounds of splashing water and roughhousing teenage boys.
The brunette girl looks up from her book and glances at the empty chair beside her. She turns back to him and shrugs, all cool with dark sunglasses over her eyes. “Um, I don’t know… She went inside, like, a minute ago, I think.”
Steve pouts. “So no one was keeping time?” he wonders with an unabashed whine.
“I was... Then I got bored.”
“Great. Thanks, Robin,” the boy deadpans.
He backstrokes to the steps of the pool and tries to avoid the splash war between Lucas and Dustin on the way there.
He wipes his dripping skin with a fluffy towel before wrapping it around his waist. His wet feet leave dark prints against the burning pavement, drying just as quickly as they’re made. He walks by Mike and Will sitting beneath the poolside cabana, and then by Robin who doesn’t look up from her book, as he heads to the backdoor.
Steve stumbles backward when the glass entrance slides open. Max and El giggle into their ice cream cones as they walk by him, paying him exactly zero attention as they go. They both wear matching Xena Warrior Princess t-shirts over their bathing suits.
“Can you guys save me one of those? Jeez,” Steve asks with a laugh, only half-joking in his complaint. “You’ve both had, like, ten since you got here.”
El smiles shyly at him, tilting her chin to her chest as she peers up at him through her lashes. Her cheeks reddened — a combination of misplaced embarrassment and sun exposure.
Max is a lot more sneering with her glare. She arches an auburn brow in a challenging leer. “You should go get your girlfriend,” the redhead monotones just before licking at her vanilla cone.
Steve’s brows furrow. “What?”
“She looked sick,” El concurs with a firm nod.
“What do you mean she looked sick?”
“She means that she looked like she was seconds away from puking her guts out,” Max explains in her usual dramatic inflection. Her lip quirks at the look on Steve’s face, the corner of it stained with ice cream.
“Oh. Jesus. Okay,” Steve murmurs with a scrunched face — a mixture of concern and disgust.
Worry blooms in his chest at the thought of you being unwell. He hates the idea that you might’ve felt sick and were too nervous to tell him. He loves how soft you are but despises how polite you are shyness. You’re still frightened of being a burden, even though Steve tells you all the time you don’t have to be scared of being human.
The cool air of his house makes his skin prickle with goosebumps. It soothes his reddened skin as he ascends the stairs on a quest to find you. The door to the main bathroom is shut. A yellow light glows beneath it. The soft hiss of the faucet sounds muffled in the hallway.
Steve taps his knuckles at the closed entrance — gently in a mindful attempt not to frighten you.
“Babe?” he calls, face absentmindedly contorted with worry. “Are you okay?”
You mumble something unintelligible in response. He can’t quite make it out. The distance and the sink drown out your soft voice.
“Can I come in?”
Again, you just mumble.
Steve’s chest burns with a fleeting panic. He’s momentarily terrified that you’re halfway passed out on his bathroom floor, lying barely conscious on the tile. He opens the door, slowly at first, just in case you want to slam it in his face for barging in. He knows you’re too soft for that, though.
When you don’t protest, he walks all the way in. The door squeaks when he shuts it behind him.
He finds you, not on the floor, but leaning against the sink. You’re drowning in the t-shirt he gave you to wear as a cover-up. It’s oversized even on him, so it swallows you whole entirely. You blink at him with wide, glassy eyes while you press a damp rag over your face. Your skin is tinted a warmer red after spending the afternoon in the sun.
You look beautiful, but very unlike yourself. Max wasn’t lying — you looked like you were seconds away from being sick all over his bathroom. He rushes to you, anyway.
“What happened?” Steve wonders quietly, brows pinched in concern. “Are you okay?”
You shake your head, slow and lazy.
“Was it too hot outside? Is the heat getting to you? Do I need to fight the sun?”
You nod this time, holding the cloth to the burning apple of your cheek.
“Shit, babe. I’m sorry—” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, only that he feels the need to say it.
He reaches out to touch you, to hug you to him so he can absorb all the sick you feel and take it all for himself — but you jerk back before his fingertips can reach you.
“Don’t,” you tell him quickly as you step backward. You drag the wet rag down to your chin and pout. “Don’t touch me. I think I might burn you.”
Steve grins a lopsided and very pink grin. “Yeah, I’ll take that risk, babe.”
When he reaches out to touch you this time, you don’t protest.
You feel like an inferno. The cold rag is hardly making you cooler. Actually, you think your fiery skin might just be warming it all over again.
It makes you feel sick — not a stomach kind of sick, or a simple-head cold kind of sick. Those you can fix pretty easily. This is different. Whatever this is.
You feel icky all over, and with no real root to the problem, you don’t know how to fix it. You just have to hope the A.C. will eventually break through the barrier of fire dancing over your skin and that Steve’s magic touch will be able to help you through it.
His hands curl around your elbows, much cooler compared to how hot your skin feels. His fingertips just barely graze your arm before he jerks them away again. His face scrunches in a halfhearted frown, feigning hurt as he pulls back like you’ve burned him.
“Ooh,” he winces playfully.
You pout while Steve laughs at his own dumb joke.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he assures through his laughter.
He swipes his fingers over your cheek to smooth the damp hair sticking to your temple — maybe from sweat, or water from the rag, or a combination of both. His face contorts with concern all over again. “You are warm, though, babe. Like, crazy warm.”
“I think the sun is trying to burn me alive,” you monotone, only half-joking.
Steve takes the damp rag from your weak, trembling hands. He sticks it beneath the running faucet to rewet it for you. When it’s sufficiently soaked, he wrings it out with one hand and turns the sink off with the other.
“Here. Up,” he commands with a halfhearted wave, motioning you to sit on the counter.
You try your best to abide him, but you’re too tired to do anything more than rise to the tips of your toes. Steve helps urge you backwards with his broad hands on your hips, encouraging you further back until your feet are dangling off the ground.
He stands in between your thighs. You lean into his touch when he dabs the colder rag against your forehead.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Steve wonders with worry softening his tone. “I coulda got you inside before it got this bad. And I would’ve made all those shitheads go home before they made it worse.”
“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you,” you confess, slurring from the sudden exhaustion that settles heavy on top of you. He brings the rag to your right cheek and presses it there for a few beats. “Everyone’s having such a good time. I didn’t wanna ruin it because I’m a baby…”
Steve scoffs out a laugh and holds the cloth to your left cheek. “You’re not a baby because you’re melting like an ice cream cone, babe. That’s not your fault.”
“Well, no one else is getting a cold rag pressed against their face by Steve The Hair Harrington,” you retort in a tone so soft that he can’t tell if you’re joking or not. He figures you might be toeing the line between both, still halfway delirious in your heatstroke.
“Yeah. ‘Cause I don’t love them like I love you.”
You cower at his words, not expecting him to be so suddenly affectionate.
You’ve had a hard time getting used to that — his incessantly flirtatious disposition. It’s hard having an aversion to compliments, but it’s harder dating someone who loves to give them.
Steve smiles when he watches you go all shy. You always get so sheepish when he loves on you, so pretty in the way you get all bashful. It isn’t any wonder why he loves to do it so much.
“Feel any better?” the boy asks when the corner of your lip quirks in a shy half-smile.
“A little… Do I still look sick?” you question, blinking at him with your eyes not as glazed over. “Maybe don’t answer that,” you protest quickly after.
Steve drops the rag to the counter and drags his knuckle across your cheek. Your skin isn’t quite as warm, but it still glows a faint red — obviously sun-kissed. “You look beautiful, babe. You always do. Even though you kinda look like a lobster.”
“I just said not to answer!”
“Lobsters are cool!” Steve defends at your pouting. “I like lobsters! Everyone likes lobsters!”
You don’t want to laugh, still feeling a bit too sick, but he makes it dreadfully hard not to. A halfhearted giggle sputters from your lips at his high-pitched assurance before you can stop it.
He smiles at your smiling, wide palms squeezing gently at your knee. “Lobsters actually mate for life,” he singsongs with raised brows and a crooked grin. “Betcha didn’t know that…”
“I think that was disproven, actually,” you squint.
“No, it’s true! Wanna know how I know?”
He’s fishing for a reply. You know it, but you bite anyway. You humor him with a nod, the corners of your lips lifting in an anticipatory smile.
He steps closer to you. His hips press into the edge of the countertop as his palms smooth up your thighs and settle on your waist. His honey eyes sparkle at you when he tilts his head and peers at you from beneath his lashes.
“’Cause you’re my lobster,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “And you’re also my soulmate— and one plus one equals two, and blah blah blah…”
“I’m your lobster?” you humor in a high-pitched whisper, eyes twinkling with fatigue and adoration.
Steve beams, grinning at you like the lovesick idiot he is. “Yep. You’re my lobster. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”
“I’d love to be your lobster, Stevie,” you tell him, giggling through your promise.
“We’ve said that word too many times, I think. It’s started to lose meaning now,” he says with his own breathy chuckle right before pressing his mouth to yours. He tastes like sunscreen, blue skies, and vanilla ice cream — like heaven and the rest of your life.
Steve kisses you breathless, telling you all the words he can’t say out loud with his pink lips slotted between yours.
He hopes you know that was his dumb, roundabout way of promising forever with you. You kiss him like you do, anyway.
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#stranger things x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fic#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#st drabbles#stevie drabbles#bug's summer fic fest!
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You and Eddie are enemies, you can't stand each other, but when you spot him with Chrissy in the woods you're forced to confront your feelings for him and the fact you'll have to hide it from him.
He hates you, he'd only make your life miserable if he found out.
Everybody lives, nobody dies Au, angst to fluff, jealousy and idiots very much in love. 18+ mdni.
❤️
You can hear Eddie before you see him as you walk into the cafeteria with your cheer mates. As usual, he's making a spectacle of himself at the Hellfire table, standing on it and calling out the marching band, basketball players and the party crowd.
Rolling your eyes at his dramatics you attempt to walk past the table but Eddie seeks you out, a smirk on his face as he focuses his attention fully on you.
"There's my favourite cheerleader" his winks at you and you stand your ground, ready for whatever shit he's about to say.
His purpose was annoying you, or at least thats what it felt like. It was always you that got his ire, who grabbed his attention every time. Honestly it was the same for you when Eddie was around.
It was like both of you were moths to a flame, something simmered between the two of you that you couldn't place or at least if you could, you didn't want to examine the cause too closely.
"There's my favourite dumbass" you fire back and he clutches his heart like you've wounded him. Ever since you and Eddie laid eyes on each other it was like you were magnets to the other.
Whenever your paths crossed there was tension in the air, banter exchanged that left both of you bothered and wanting more... Whatever it was between the two of you could wait for another day, you had cheer practice, prom committee and a bake sale to organise.
You did not have time for Eddie Munson today.
Not that he cares about your plans. He jumps off the table and lands right in front of you. Ugh. "Munson, I haven't got time for your dramatics today, go bother someone else"
He pouts and it's frustrating that he looks almost endearing while doing it. "How can I cope if I haven't been told to go kiss my own ass and the many other insults you've spouted at me just in the last week or so sweetheart?"
Here's the thing. You're certain Eddie enjoys arguing with you, gets some sort of pleasure from it. If you're being honest you enjoy it too.
"Oh bite me, you'll survive Munson" his eyes light up and then you hear a snigger from behind you, it's his sheeples or whatever he calls them, Dustin, Lucas and Mike watching the two of you fascinated.
"You say I'm oblivious, look at those two" Mike mutters and Eddie still overhears even though Mike has whispered it.
"What was that Wheeler?" Eddie narrows his eyes at him and Mike turns pink and looks suddenly very interested in his soda. You slip away from Eddie when he's distracted.
Both of you are rattled by what Mike said but you try not to show it as you walk away.
❤️
As the day winds to an end you're beyond relieved to just be going home, then you notice Chrissy walking into the woods instead of heading home herself.
Curious, you follow her into the woods, then freeze as you find out that she's meeting up with Eddie.
It's an awkward conversation at first but the tension melts away as Eddie and Chrissy are talking, he's goofing around to make her smile.
Throws himself backwards into a pile of leaves, asking if there is something in his hair, shy little smiles and hiding his face with hair as he talks to her.
There's a sinking feeling in your stomach, an aching in your heart that multiples when Chrissy giggles along with Eddie.
Seeing enough you stomp away, crashing blindly through the trees, there's wetness on your cheeks and you realise you've been crying. Crying over Eddie fucking Munson and the fact he was obviously smitten with Chrissy.
It wasn't a surprise, everyone was and to Eddie you were just an annoyance, someone who pissed him off and that was that. You always knew that but now the realisation was paticularly crushing.
You liked Eddie, like really liked him. Of all the guys you could fall for, why did it have to be the one who spent half his time thinking of new ways to irratate the hell out of you?
Couldn't you have realised this any sooner?
Shit if he even knew how you felt about him it would he horrid for you, he would never let you forget it and show you his disgust.
So it was settled. You would stay far far away from Eddie Munson, and his cute dimples and pretty brown eyes. They were nothing but trouble.
❤️
For the next few days you keep your distance from Eddie. It's hard though, because he seems to be wherever you are with that amused grin on his face.
You don't even entertain his stupid barbs, you ignore him for as long as you can, but he's growing more frustrated that you aren't your usual sarcastic self.
It gets to the point that you turn around during one encounter and glare at him, embarrassed as tears pool in your eyes. "Will you just leave me alone Munson" his eyes widen at your tears, you storm away before he can say anything else.
...
Eddie does leave you alone, you don't see him the next day which is a rarity.
It doesn't last for too long, you find him at his van talking to one of The Hellfire Members. He turns around and spots you, shooing his friend away.
"Will you talk to me" he sounds almost pleading and it throws you off balance. There's no way he missed talking to you is there?
"Why for you to rant and insult me, or make me feel even more shitty about myself,'" he reels back like you've slapped him.
"What? I don't... 'he trails off as you scoff and turn away from him.
"Yes you do. Not all time but sometimes you're just fucking mean. I guess because I'm and I quote "so bitchy and vapid''you think that it won't bother me" his face falls and he shakes his head.
"I shouldn't have said that. I was a mean douchebag" you look away from him stubbornly and shrug.
"Yeah well, I'm not sweet and perfect like Chrissy, everyone adores her" fuck you adored her, so no wonder Eddie liked her.
"What does Chrissy have to do about this?" He looks puzzled. His big brown eyes searching you for an explanation.
Flustered you explain what you saw. "You were all flirty and sweet with her the other day, when I saw you in the woods together, not that I care" you wince realising that you've gave away that you do care very much.
This was stupid. You were jealous of your friend and you shouldn't be. Having enough you decide to walk away but Eddie follows you.
"Chrissy wanted some weed for her and Jason, that's all, I'm not interested in Chrissy princess and she's definitely not interested in me". You're stunned by this, you never expected Chrissy to ever try weed and this stops you in your tracks.
"Seriously?" you gape and he gestures for you to sit in his van, opens the door for you as he does so.
"Why were you avoiding me sweetheart?" he asks you his tone very gentle. You feel your whole body flush with mortification as he stares at you, waiting for an answer.
"Please don't make me say it Eddie, you'll only turn around and be a complete ass about it"
Or be sweet like he is now and turn you down kindly, looking at you with pity. There's a brief pause and then his fingers interlace through yours, the feel of his calloused fingers entwining with yours sends tingles down your spine.
"Tell me"
"I have feelings for you okay. l've fallen for you badly, seeing you with Chrissy made me realise that. So now you know and if you're going to be a dick about it then do it now" your lip wobbles but you refuse to cry again.
He softens and cradles your head in his hands. The gesture is so tender and kind.
"Sweetheart, you're all I think about. Every single day from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. Only you" he kisses you tenderly and pulls you close to him, kisses you until you're both breathless and smiling goofily at each other.
"I'm so fucking into you sweetheart, one of the things I talked to Chrissy about, if you stuck around long enough to find out"
Now it makes sense why Chrissy asked you earlier if you had talked to Eddie, looked disappointed when you said no, gently urged you to.
"You know he talks about you a lot" Chrissy grinned at you, there's a knowing look in her eyes, yet you shrugged off what she said. Figured that he only talked about how you annoyed him.
Shit you were such an idiot to not see what she really meant. So wrapped up in the idea that it was Chrissy that Eddie was smitten with. Chrissy would never let anyone talk crap about you either, you should have known that.
Eddie rests his head against yours. Kisses it briefly then a cheesy smile forms on his face. "You're crazy about me huh sweetheart?" he teases and you roll your eyes at him.
"Doofus, you're just as crazy about me" he squeezes your hand, tugs you back in for another kiss that robs you if your next words. That's fine, you could argue about that later... much much later.
💞
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#jealous reader#eddie munson
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because of you • part three
PART I • PART II • PART IV • PART V // REQUEST -> @sattlersquarry
❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )
B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T H R E E
🎶 thick skull ( re: julien baker ), paramore ft. julien baker
❝ GOOD GIRLS DON’T CRY & GOOD GIRLS DON’T
LIE & GOOD GIRLS JUSTIFY BUT I DON’T ❞
“Think she’s okay?”
“Shh!”
“What? No way she can hear us back here.”
“Dustin, ‘back here’ is literally a seat behind her.”
Sat quietly at a table seat in the Winnebago, Eddie looking on worriedly across from you, you were still grappling with the fact that you were alive. That you didn’t die. That you were breathing fresh air and free from the dark and free from Him.
For now.
And as the RV bumped down the road out of Hawkins you said nothing. Felt Steve’s eyes on you constantly as he glanced at you in the rearview. Eddie’s hand still holding tight to yours after he helped you up, afraid to lose you again. Dustin and Lucas and Max all talking in not-so-hushed voices behind you about what it all meant and if El could get back in time and was this all gonna be enough?
Voice thick and choked by the sobs that had felt endless, you’d managed to tell everyone what Vecna had showed you. Told them about Hawkins, about the monsters, about your family, about them. Eddie, Robin, Nancy Steve. And no one had said anything at first. The sounds of your cries filling up the RV. Stark against the silence and heavy with the weight of your words and they knew before you’d even opened your mouth that it was going to be bad.
Of course they knew.
But now that Vecna had revealed his master plan, the efforts you were all making just felt hopeless. The munitions stuffed under the bench seats and closets and cabinets, all puny and worthless against Vecna and his army of nightmares.
A big bump in the road brought you out of your thoughts and when you glanced up your eyes met Steve’s as he snuck another look in the rear view. And instead of glaring, instead of flipping him the bird, you looked right back. Held his gaze for moment longer and he didn’t shy away until he came up on a turn-off.
“Alright, shitheads. We’re here.”
“Here?” Lucas asked, more than confused at the thick forest Steve was now driving you all through.
“Yeah, this is it.”
And as the trees slowly thinned out, thick grass and wildflower blooms took their place. Creeping out ahead of you to reveal a meadow, wide and green and lush. A haven that felt so very far away, felt safe, and as Steve parked and the engine quieted you let out the breath you’d been holding.
❝ MAYBE IF YOU JUST GOT SOME GUTS
WE’D KILL ‘EM WITH A THOUSAND CUTS AND SAY WE DID IT OUT OF LOVE ❞
Everyone piled out of the RV and got after their tasks. Pretended like preparing for the end of the world was totally normal and routine. Nancy and Robin sawing off the end of a shotgun. Lucas and Erica attempting to make spears from tactical knives and broom handles. Eddie and Dustin shoving each other around in the grass with their garbage can lids full of nails at their feet and none of it instilled you with confidence, but Dustin screaming No wedgies! did manage to pull a little smile out of you.
And for a split second it felt okay.
Laughter, the sound of birds, the feeling of the wind on your bare skin and all the green around you – so unlike the cracked and bitter feeling in the Upside Down and then your smile fell.
You wished He hadn’t shown you.
Wished Vecna had just left you alone. Wished for just a moment that you hadn’t gone to Max’s trailer and put yourself in the middle of all this, but then Eddie grabbed Dustin in a big bear hug and your chest squeezed.
Your best friend.
The reason why you had gone to Max’s trailer.
The reason why you weren’t going to run.
The reason this was all worth it.
“Ah, shit.”
Sat next to you, Steve sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. The funnel in your hands slipping as you lost focus and liquid trickled down your hands and wrists.
“Hold it still,” Steve quickly tipped back his can of kerosene and set it down to grab a piece of ripped towel.
A string of curses were muttered under your breath, so much for homemade molotov cocktails.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment you went to wipe your hands on your sweater, but when you looked back up at Steve he was looking too. Eyes searching yours, unsure and tentative. Moles dotting along his cheeks and jaw like tiny constellations. Skin gold like it held summer and when you blinked away the haze of him, you realized he was reaching out to you.
“Here, get that off so it doesn’t burn,” he said a little softer. Cloth in one hand, he took yours in the other and wiped at the kerosene.
Oh, fell from your lips. Surprised. Unsure. Your skin buzzing where he touched you and you swallowed thick as you felt your pulse flutter against your neck.
“Uh–here, you can get the rest,” Steve said quickly, like he’d felt it too and hastily passed the cloth off to you, dropping your hand to wipe his on his jeans.
“Thanks,” you mumbled back.
It was quiet for a moment as he cleared his throat and picked up his can of kerosene again. You followed suit and grabbed your empty vodka bottle and funnel. Wordlessly he leaned over to hold your hand in his and once it was steady began pouring again, eyes flicking over to look at you.
“I’m an asshole,” he suddenly admitted, breaking the silence, and you had to focus really hard to not fumble the bottle again.
“I didn’t say it,” you started and he chuckled under his breath. A low, warm thing that made the air around you fizzle and crack like bonfires down at the quarry.
“Didn’t say you did,” he gently pushed back, lips still tugged up into a small, wry smile, but it faded the longer he looked at you. “Listen. I know we aren’t…well, I know I don’t have a great track record,” he said and the change in his tone surprised you. Told you he was serious and you had to look away to try to gather yourself back up again.
"No, really?" you said, all sarcasm, and he huffed another laugh.
“Hah hah,” he joked, weakly at first, and then his expression shifted more serious. “I just wanted to say that…well, that you have every right to be here it’s just–” the boy hummed around his words. Dropped his gaze down to where your hands met on the kerosene filled vodka bottle and put the can on the ground.
Talking to you like this, showing weakness and vulnerability, made him feel so exposed. Uncomfortable. Unable to find the right words and his tongue jammed into his cheek as he tried to decide just how honest he wanted to be.
With you.
“It’s just–everything about the Upside Down wants to kill you and it’s like–” he sighed heavy and carded a hand through his already messy hair. “I dunno. How many more people have to die? You know?” and then he was looking at you again. Really looking, really asking, and for a second it made you doubt everything you felt about him.
Jock. Asshole. King Steve.
No second chances, remember?
“Can I ask you something?” you heard yourself say and you could feel the muddled mixture of nerves and frustration and anticipation buzzing under your skin. Everything you’d been holding onto all this time pent up and pushing against the wall you’d built around it. Waiting waiting waiting for you to set it loose.
“Oh–sure, yeah.”
“Why are you really here?”
Steve’s eyes grew wide and he sat back on his milk crate, hands squeezing at the tops of his thighs.
“Why am I here?”
“Yeah. Do you really care about Eddie?”
Steve’s eyes darted back over to where Eddie and Dustin were hammering more nails into their garbage can lids and maybe you were impatient or maybe Steve was stalling, but you didn’t want to wait.
“Cos you didn’t care about him before.”
“B-before? I don’t–what d'you mean–”
Steve was stumbling over himself now, struggling to own the words you put on him and frustration grew warm in your chest, but you tried hard to swallow it down. Tried hard to let him prove Eddie’s theory of change.
“High school, Harrington,” you started, trying to keep your tone even and calm. “Yelled at us in the quad? Tossed people’s books in the hallway? Threw fries at us in the cafeteria.” You paused, debated whether or not you wanted to tack more on, and then you thought of Tommy and it came out all on its own, “Let your friends say really shitty things to me.”
Steve’s gaze dropped down to his feet and he didn’t say anything at first, not a word, and you kicked yourself for even bothering to think he’d be able to handle it. Of course he couldn’t.
“You know what–nevermind,” you mumbled, capping your bottle and moving to stand, but his hand grabbed yours and pulled you back down onto your milk crate.
“Wait. Please?”
And the way he was looking at you was pained, the pinch between his brows deep, and it made you pause. Was Eddie right? The way Steve cared for these kids, for your best friend, showed clearly something had shifted in him, but was it enough?
“Wait for what, Harrington? So you can show me things are different now?” your voice was softer, but hurt, “Because Eddie swears you’ve changed, but you still sound just like Tommy.”
The mention of his ex-best friend felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew Tommy was wrong now. Hell, he knew it back then too. Knew how fucked up it'd been in the parking lot at the school, but he hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Couldn’t stand up to him or tell him off because he ‘had a reputation to uphold’ and what would everyone else say if he went ‘soft on a freak’?
“I–I know. I fucked up. I get it and I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but–” he started truthfully, hand still holding yours, thumb shifting softly against your palm, “–but I am. Really sorry.”
Really sorry.
Finally. After all those years. After everything he’d said and done, but sorry didn’t fix it. Or take any of it back. Was it too late?
Reluctantly you pulled your hand away from Steve’s, his fingers flexing as they fell away from yours, wanting to hold on just a little bit longer but you weren’t ready.
“You know that doesn’t fix it, right?” you said quietly, glancing up at Steve through the long sweep of your lashes and guilt settled heavy over him.
He knew it didn’t fix it. Knew all too well that words didn’t mean shit, but he would be the first to admit he was a slow learner. Crawl before you walk. Hit your head and maybe something will suddenly make sense and when it came to you? Vecna had been like a sucker punch.
You were strong-willed. Didn’t take shit lying down. Were fiercely loyal to your best friend and just wanted to try to help and it had taken Steve a minute to realize – in your eyes he was still bullshit, but he didn’t want to be. It wasn’t going to be easy, not in the least, but just like you he wanted to try.
“I know it doesn’t fix it.”
His eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to look at you. Tried to make it easier on himself as he pushed through the discomfort of taking responsibility for his actions. Tongue running along his bottom lip, just like it always did when his brain was working overtime, he finally looked back up at you.
“I’m not asking you for forgiveness or–or to be my friend or anything. I just want you know I really am sorry. For all of it. Okay?”
Sitting there so close to him, your hands inches away from touching, holding each other’s gaze as you listened to the words falling from his lips in sincerity – it was almost too much. The wall you’d built around yourself cracking and straining against this new feeling that had settled in your chest, but the words wouldn’t come to you as your lips parted and you tried and pull yourself together but–
“Dammit, Eddie, no wedgies!”
Dustin’s voice cut through the silence that had settled and Steve reflexively sat up. Pushed himself away from whatever it was you’d waded into together. Away from sorry and the feeling of your hands pressed together and the look you gave him through the long sweep of your lashes and the way you made his heart race. Turned away from you and played it off.
“Hey! Less dicking around, more putting shit together!” he yelled at Dustin and Eddie flipped him off without looking.
“Like you’re doing anything important, big boy!” Eddie hollered back and the way it made Steve’s cheeks grow pink made your lips twitch with a smile you had to work hard to hold back.
“Shut up,” Steve muttered at Eddie, but mostly to himself, and stood from his milk crate to put your filled vodka bottle into the box with the rest.
You watched quietly as he placed the last bottle in and folded the cardboard shut. Muscles tensing and pulling taut as he worked, moving against the fabric of his shirt and you quickly looked away for fear of being caught.
Then your eye caught his nail covered bat tipped against side of the Winnebago and the threat of the Upside Down and all its nasties wrapped around you tight like a vice.
Oh.
Right.
The end of the world.
Just a few yards away Nancy pulled the trigger on her shotgun, the sound making you flinch, and it hit you like a ton of bricks – you had absolutely no clue how to defend yourself against this. Against Him. Against an army from hell. You knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the crotch and you’d always had an arm on you from playing volleyball, but none of that had anything to do with monsters. Or guns. Or nail covered bats.
“Uhm–” came out mumbled, more sound than word, and it pulled Steve’s attention up from the box.
“What’s that?”
“Can you–er–would you maybe show me how to swing that?” you asked and it made him turn to face you, giving you his full attention.
“What?”
Your cheeks grew hot.
“That bat,” you said shifting uncomfortably on your crate, “I don’t think–I can't shoot a gun.”
Steve’s expression softened as he remembered what it'd felt like the first time he saw a demogorgon. The first time he swung that very bat into the side of a demodog. The first time this world had been exposed to him and he knew how overwhelming and absolutely crazy it all felt.
Grabbing the bat in his hand he gave you a small smile and took the few steps back over to you.
“Sure. It’s not too hard. You know, just aim and swing.”
“Just aim and swing?” your tone was flat, all skeptics, a defensive move against his kindness and it made him chuckle.
“Well, there’s probably more to it than that, but those stupid bats are thick enough when they swarm it’d be hard for anyone to miss.”
Your eyes grew wide at the thought of swarming bats and it made him laugh again, a half-grimace pulling at his features.
“Shit, sorry. Uh–here,” readjusting his grip he bent his knees a bit and dug his heel into the ground. “Just make sure you get a wide stance, yeah? Like, hip width apart? And don’t be afraid to choke up on your hold. It’ll make your swings hit harder.”
He swung the bat and the sound it made as it cut through the air made your breath catch in your throat.
“Wanna try?” the boy held the crude weapon out to you and you swallowed thick. Stood up from your own milk crate and tentatively took it from him.
It was heavy in your hands, heavier than you thought it’d be, but smooth. You did as he said and slid your hands up a little further on the handle and tried a swing, but threw yourself off balance and stumbled forward.
“Ah, that’s okay. Here, uh–” Steve stepped in behind you and placed his hands over yours on the bat, “–try again, but follow through with your hip. Your grip’s good, just don’t throw your full weight forward.”
The warmth of his chest on your back made your cheeks burn again. Made your heart race. Hammering against your ribcage as he slowly took you through the motion again.
“Then when you get to the end of the swing, follow with your hip," his voice was much quieter over your shoulder, words falling into your ear and making you dizzy as he tried so damn hard to keep his focus. Placed a hand on your waist to guide it and toed your foot forward with his shoe as he took a step. “See?”
“Yeah,” was all you could manage, the feeling of his breath on your neck trailing goosebumps across your skin and you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way the closeness of him pulled your gaze and when you looked up he was looking too.
“Does that–uh–did that make sense?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper and you nodded. A small thing that barely registered and he was so close now. Close enough his nose nearly brushed your cheek, getting closer by the second and–
“Harrington! Where are those bottles? I gotta get ‘em loaded up!” Eddie yelled from the other side of the RV and the space between you shattered. Both of you stepping away as though you’d touched a hot stove and you pressed the bat into Steve’s hands.
“Should probably get ready,” you muttered and he nodded, cleared his throat and took two big steps back to set the bat down.
“Coming!” Steve called back as he scooped up the box of molotov cocktails, bottles clinking against each other as he walked away and disappeared around the corner of the RV.
King Steve turned Steve Harrington.
Steve Harrington turned something else.
Something more.
Something you thought you’d written off.
Something that held you so tightly now it made you want to run, but at the back of your mind, somewhere soft and warm, you couldn’t help wondering what might happen if you didn’t.
[ NOTE: THIS IS PART THREE OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]
crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️
#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington stranger things#steve stranger things#steve x you#steve fanfic#steve x reader#steve x fem#steve harrington series#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington angst#because of you#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff
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omg reader sitting in eddie’s throne and mike and dustin just being scared shitless bc it’s eddie’s throne but then eddie comes in all nonchalantly just like “oh she can sit in it just none of you can”
oh i l o v e this
💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗👛💗
"She's in Eddie's throne!" Dustin hissed, eyes wide. "That's not allowed, Eddie's gonna be so pissed."
"She's what!?" Mike whisper-screamed. "Oh my- Do you think Eddie'll blame us for this if we don't get her off?"
Lucas nodded vigorously. "We gotta make her move."
"You know, I can hear you," you called, waving your hand.
Dustin, Mike, and Lucas froze.
"S-So, you know you need to move, right?" said Mike.
You shrugged. "I really don't see what the big deal is. I honestly don't think he'll care."
"Of course he'll care, that's his throne!" Lucas shrieked.
You made a face. "It's just a chair, man."
"Just a - " Dustin began to hyperventilate.
"What's going on?" Eddie walked into the room and slid into his chair, pulling you onto his lap.
The boys gaped.
"You're just gonna let her sit there!?" Mike said, horrified.
Eddie shrugged, running his ringed fingers up and down your arm. "Yeah...?"
"But it's your throne!" Dustin whispered.
Eddie nodded. "Yep."
"You said no one's allowed to sit there but you!" said Lucas.
"No one's allowed to sit there but me and her," Eddie corrected.
"Why does (Y/N) get to sit there?" Mike whined.
"Because she's my girlfriend," Eddie replied.
The boys scowled. You stuck your tongue out at them.
"Now leave, peasants," said Eddie dramatically, waving his hand.
They trudged out of the room.
You cackled, leaning your head against his neck. "It's actually hilarious how much they listen to you."
Eddie grinned. "A little bit, yeah." He tilted your chin up and kissed you, rotating you so you're straddling his waist. His tongue slips into your mouth and you hum into him, letting your body melt against his.
"Hey, Eddie, I forgot my- OH SHIT."
You lurched apart at the sound of Dustin's voice, bright red.
"AH, WHY!? WHY, WHY, WHY!?" Dustin covered his eyes, holding a hand out in attempt to find whatever he left.
"Shit, Dustin!" Eddie groaned, shoving his face into his hands.
"I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I SHOULD'VE KNOCKED!" Dustin yelled, still searching.
"Henderson, we're not making out anymore!" you shouted. "Uncover your fucking eyes!"
Dustin hesitantly removed his hand, grabbed his cap, and sprinted out of the room.
"THEY WERE MAKING OUT!" you heard him yell.
You rolled your eyes and turned back to your boyfriend. "Why are you friends with children?"
Eddie shrugged. "They're good at D&D."
You laughed. "Good enough for me." You kissed him again.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson
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My observations on the VR game re: Byler, including a couple of things I haven’t seen mentioned yet
I just saw part of a game walk through on YouTube (I can’t afford VR), and hoo boy!
1. The Mike that says El is so amazing and Will wouldn’t get it isn’t the real Mike, it’s the Mike that Vecna shows Will to terrorize him: In Chapter 3, Vecna possesses Will. Will resorts to a happy memory (Mike and him in Castle Byers), where Mike gives him a a ViewMaster. Will starts playing it, but Vecna makes every memory awful, full of spiders and particles. He distorts scenes, showing things like everyone ditching Will after calling him weird and other things that blatantly didn’t happen. Then he tells him he’ll show him suffering and shows that scene where Mike talks about El while particles fall down.
2. Will is confirmed to be a human being with wants and needs of his own: During that scene, Vecna goads him to tell Mike how he feels, and that he doesn’t want to meet El at all. At this point Will and El hadn’t met in the real world, and Will didn’t wish harm on her or anything, he just didn’t want her to be there, which is a normal and natural thing to feel about your crush’s hypothetical crush.
3. Vecna’s full of shit: In chapter four, Vecna tries to possess the four boys from the Party, and fails. He tells Dustin he puts double the effort into the friendship than the other three boys do, but Dustin turns him off with the TV remote (is Dustin’s happy memory watching tv?). Then he basically tells Lucas “you’re black and people judge you for it”, but he’s in a memory of a movie date with Max (at a drive-in theatre somehow) watching happy memories of the Party. Lucas does see the monster (so it somewhat hits?), but Max says it can’t do anything and they easily shut Vecna down. He also taunts Mike by telling him he’ll never see the most awesome person he’s ever met (El) and it’s his fault because he didn’t try hard enough, but he’s in the middle of a DnD battle with the boys and doesn’t even pay attention. A couple of dice bring Vecna down no problem.
4. Mike lovingly tends to Will’s nosebleed: Vecna does almost succeed in possessing Will, but he’s with the boys playing DnD, and Mike soon realizes Will’s nose is bleeding. He takes Nancy’s shirt and uses it to clean the blood/attempt to stop the bleeding, and admonishes Lucas and Dustin for not going to get a towel. Notice that in season 1 the boys saw El have nosebleeds and Mike was never as precious about it, unless she passed out of something and then they all helped. Lucas and Dustin are even heard in the background pointing out that nobody dies from a nosebleed. There’s a funny moment when Vecna tells Will he will always be alone right as Mike sweetly asks him if he’s ok while holding his face.
5. Brenner is training Vecna (???) and points out that he’s full of shit: I don’t know if this means anything for the show’s canon, but it’s interesting. Before Vecna tries to possess the boys, Brenner points out that they’re too young and untroubled, and afterwards he makes fun of Vecna for losing against children, again.
6. Will isn’t the weakest link, he’s the link Vecna knows best: Brenner points out to Vecna that the reason he could possess Will easier is because he already knew him (from the Upside Down) and knows the nature of his fear. When Vecna tries to possess Will, he does tell him to help him find out about Lucas’, Dustin’s and Mike’s fears, and actually asks him “what is Mike afraid of?”, indicating that he knows jack shit about them. Which leads us to:
WHERE THE LEDE IS BURIED:
7. LOSING EL ISN’T MIKE’S BIGGEST FEAR. OR SOURCE OF GUILT.
It might be a fear or regret of Mike, but it’s not THE fear.
Turns out Vecna was attacking Lucas, Dustin and Mike based on superficial knowledge, suppositions and stereotypes (Dustin’s the newest of the group, Lucas is black, Mike met El), not an actual, deep knowledge of their minds. Yes, good memories helped them keep Vecna at bay. Yes, those things Vecna told them might bother them. No, those aren’t the things that are at the core of their fear and guilt, or the right angle to drive them to either the dark side or suicide if pushed about them enough.
P.S.: At some point (that I haven’t seen yet, Max tells El that she doesn’t need to be a superhero all the time, that she’s more than fine as Jane, her friend. I think this might be literal, as in, superpowers are not the key to defeating Vecna. This is a psychological thriller disguised as supernatural horror, therefore the weapons to defeat him might be more psychological.
TL; DR: Vecna will be defeated with the power of Cognitive Behavioral TherapyLove and Friendship.
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The visit
Eddie munson x Henderson!reader
Summary: Suzie comes to visit Dustin which some how wraps you and eddie into the mix.
Laying peacefully in bed. Your head on eddies chest. Naked under the sheets. Skin touching. His arm around you as you lay at his side. Your arms wrapped around his slender waist. The clock reading 1:43 pm. What more could you want? Nothing could ruin the moment. Until...
BANG! BANG! BANG!
On your bedroom door
"We're back with Suzie come say hi don't be rude." Dustin shouts from the other side of the door waking eddie. Then his running footsteps could be heard. Eddie groans rubbing his eyes. You sit up in bed kissing Eddie sweetly. As you pull away he attempts to chase your lips. But gives up throwing himself into the pillows.
"Morning baby." You say stretching before getting up looking for you pyjamas.
"Afternoon more like." Eddie says glancing at the clock. You both slip your pyjamas back on. Eddie hugs you for a moment and sways holding you. "Common let's go meet Dustins not so imaginary girlfriend." Eddie says kissing your head.
He opens the door for you and you both exit. Walking to the living room eddies arm over your shoulders keeping you close to his side. Dustin hears you before he sees you.
"Finally. Suzie this is y/n. Y/n this is... Why is Eddie here?" Dustin completly trails off starring at Eddie.
"Cause he's my boyfriend n it was late. Hi Suzie I'm Dustins sister nice to meet you." You say stretching nearly accidentally hitting Eddie from how close he was stood next to you. You rub his arm in apology.
"Nice to meet you y/n." Suzie smiles giving you a small wave.
"And this is Eddie you know my D&D club leader I told you about." Dustin gestures to Eddie.
"Oh yes Dustin has told me lots about you." She smiles at eddie.
"Nice to uh meet you." Eddie says still half asleep.
Dustin shows Suzie around the small house and you and Eddie head to the kitchen. You sit in the side as he puts the kettle on making you, your mum and himself a coffee as he refuses to let you do it when he's over due to you burning yourself once. "Your so good to me." You say as Eddie steps between yours legs. He burries his face in your neck arms going to your waist.
Dustin and Suzie walk into the kitchen and Eddie untangles himself from you going back to the coffee task. "Did you seriously only just wake up?" Dustin asked sitting at the small table with Suzie next to him.
"Yes n if it was up to me n not your loud mouth we would still be asleep." Eddie complains half for getting Suzie there. But not enough to not make her and Dustin hot coco. "Here." He slides them a cross the table to the too
"Why won't you let y/n do it?" Dustin askes
"Cause I burnt myself once n he won't get over it." You mumble sipping your coffee as Eddie takes your mum hers rolling his eyes. "He can't say I don't try he's just a drama queen."
"First I'm dungeon master it's my thing. Second I'm not being responsible for if u burn yourself again you was a baby last Time." Eddie says kissing your cheek.
"Hey Eddie..." Dustin askes. Eddie turns so he's stood between your legs with his back to you looking at Dustin arms crossed over his chest. Your arm that isn't holding coffee goes around him. "What?" He answers simply.
"Do you wanna I dunno would you mind taking me and Suzie to the arcade I wanna introduce her to Mike will and Lucas... And then back here..." Dustin askes hastily.
"Only if y/n comes so I'm not a total taxi driver." He answers leaning fully back into you. "I'll come." You say sipping your coffee.
"Well there's your answer." Eddie says. You lean a cross and put your mug in the sink. Both your arms going around his neck. His hands to your legs and and slide to his back. "To my bedroom. I gotta get dressed." You say as Eddie walks out the kitchen with you in his back.
"I hope were like them two one day. They seem so happy, and in love and they act like it's just them two in the world." Suzie says smiling at Dustin sipping her drink.
"Once you get to know them more you'll realise were more like them then you think trust me." Dustin says finally holding her hand. Which she blushes and smiles at.
In your room Eddie throws you on to the bed. Jumping in you as you giggle. "Where the black Lacey top and the black leather mini skirt. I'll give you my leather jacket to go with it." Eddie says kissing you.
"Why?" You giggle.
"Cause you look hot in that outfit and I'm going to willingly give you my jacket." He says rolling off of you to find some of the clothes you'd stolen.
You both get dressed and enter the living room.
"Let's go kiddos." Eddie says signalling for the door. Suzie and Dustin walk out hand in hand smiling. Eddie glanced you up and down. "God I love you in that jacket." Eddie says playfully throwing his head back.
"Mmm and I love you in just the demim over vest really shows yours tattoos." You say walking over to him.
"I love you."
"I love you most."
"Come in Romeo's gonna start shouting at Me if I don't hurry." Eddie says gesturing the door for you. As you close the door and look around you see Dustin and Suzie kissing and then pulling away. Eddie takes your hand and walks down to the van.
"Hey babe?" He says opening the sliding door for the two. "Yeah? " you answer as he slams the side door and them opens yours. Which you happily jump into.
"Remember when we was that awkward?" Eddie whispers and giggles.
"Yeah I remember when you first kissed me and you went as red as a tomato and started stuttering." You laugh putting a hand on his cheek.
"Shhh don't tell them." Eddie says kissing you then closing the door.
He gets in the drivers side and starts the van.
"Red as a tomato huh?" Dustin says to Eddie from the back of the van.
"Shut it Henderson or I'll tell the whole club how awkward that kiss you two just shared there was." Eddie half threatens to which Dustin takes his hands.
"Rights let's go." Eddie pulls out of your driveway and rests a hand on your thigh as he drives to the arcade. Dustin and Suzie are talking and blushing. You can't help but remember when it was you and Eddie sat in the back of the van talking, blushing and giggling and you smile, happy that Dustins found what he never thought he would find.
You look over to Eddie to see him with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. One hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. "Love you." He says as he blows the smoke out the window.
"Love you more." You say taking his hand in yours.
"Love you most." He smirks kissing your hand with a loud 'mwah' sound.
"Huh you bitch." You say smirking kissing his stubbly cheek.
"You love it." He smirks
-
A/n: WOULD ANYONE LIKE A PART 2 CAUSE IDK.
#eddie m#eddie munson thoughts#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x yn#eddie smut#eddie x reader#eddie x you#rockstar eddie munson#eddie my beloved#eddie stranger things#dustins sister#dustin henderson
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Eddie is the only one to notice that Steve squints at everything.
Whether this is menus, street signs, other people in general… he’s always squinting.
It becomes concerning when Steve starts missing exits, brushing it off as if he’s distracted rather than admitting he couldn’t read the sign in time. Then, while Eddie and Steve are playing babysitter for the kids at the fair, Steve panics when he loses sight of them. But they’re not far away and pretty hard to not notice.
Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just points them out and watches as Steve squints into the distance, pretending to see them. At least he trusts Eddie’s sight.
After they’ve dropped off almost all the kids, Eddie hesitates to get out of Steve’s car. He ushers Max to go on, explaining that he needs to talk to Steve.
Steve pulls outside of Eddie’s trailer home and nervously fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “What’s up, man?” He asks trying to sound casual.
“Steve, you need glasses,” Eddie says as a statement rather than a question.
“No I don’t,” Steve attempts to argue.
“You do.”
“Really, it’s not a big deal-”
“Not a big deal?! What happens when it’s not just exit signs that you’re missing? What if it’s a car?”
Steve just looks down and shrugs. Eddie will unpack that later, but, for now, he knows exactly what to say. “What if you’re with the kids when that happens?”
Steve’s head snaps up to look at Eddie, fear and shame flooding his features. He clears his throat. “We’ll go tomorrow,” Steve reluctantly says.
“I’m driving,” Eddie says half jokingly.
The visit to the eye doctor goes pretty well, and it’s quickly determined that yes, Steve really needs glasses. Eddie can’t help but whisper, “I told you so.”
Steve rolls his eyes.
When it comes to picking out the style of glasses, that’s when Eddie and Steve really start to struggle for different reasons. Steve struggles with the frames that best fit his face while Eddie… he struggles with the fact that Steve looks really hot in glasses.
Steve settles on a classic square frame that makes Eddie’s mouth go dry. Maybe making Steve get glasses wasn’t the best idea…
The optometrist finds Steve’s prescription lens in that exact frame, commenting on how he’s lucky they were in stock.
As soon as Steve puts them on, his eyes widen and jaw drops in awe. He looks around the room at the lights saying, “They’re… not blurry. I can see the bulbs.” When he looks outside at the trees he excitedly rambles, “The trees! I can see the leaves! And… the sign all the way down there… I can read it.”
Eddie chuckles which gets Steve’s attention. His gazes travels over the Eddie, and he freezes. It’s as if he’s seeing him for the first time. Which… he probably actually is.
Eddie shifts uncomfortably under the gaze, overly conscious of all the flaws Steve can now see clearly. Steve won’t stop staring.
The eye doctor clears his throat. Steve quickly looks away and hurries to pay. Eddie sighs in relief.
On the drive back, Eddie can’t help the wide smile that is permanently etched on his face as Steve shouts out all the different things he can see.
-:-:-:-:-:-
“What the hell? Since when do you wear glasses?” Dustin asks getting in the car.
Steve self consciously pushes the glasses up his nose. “Since yesterday.”
Mike laughs but stops when Eddie shoots him a look. “They look great, don’t they?” Eddie asks, trying to get everyone to agree so Steve doesn’t convince himself that he doesn’t need them again.
“They really do,” Max replies with a smirk. Christ. Lucas rolls his eyes and agrees with Max. Will nods enthusiastically, and Mike remains silent.
Steve beams and looks over at Eddie, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to his eyes. And for the life of him, Eddie cannot understand why Steve has been so fascinated with his lips since getting his glasses. It’s only been a day, and Steve has looked at them over a hundred times.
He shakes off the thought, listening to Dustin ramble on about Suzie as everyone else groans.
A few days later, when Steve and Eddie are hanging out alone, it finally becomes unbearable because Steve. Won’t. Stop. Staring. At. His. Lips.
And Eddie keeps nervously licking them, which has caused his lips to chap. So maybe that’s why he’s staring? But then, he puts on chapstick which maybe gives him another reason to stare?
Honestly, he’s about two seconds away from breaking.
Steve looks at his lips again. That’s it…
“Why the fuck do you keep staring at my lips? What is so fascinating about them? Are they weird looking? Do you have a sudden new interest in lips because of your glasses?” Eddie rambles on, knowing he sounds ridiculous but seriously. What is wrong with them?
Steve turns red and his mouth opens and closes a few times. “Uh…” is the only thing he can say apparently. He glances down at Eddie’s lips again. Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“Do you really want to know?” Steve asks.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Eddie says now concerned at what the hell Steve is going to say.
“This is going to sound so stupid, but… ever since I got my glasses and saw you… it was like… seeing you for the first time all over again. And…” Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been able to see you the way I did… before.”
“What?” Eddie questions because what?
Steve runs a hand over his face and takes his glasses off, as if it’s going to help him to think. “I can’t stop thinking about the way your eyes shine and have such intense depth. The way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile. How I can see every strand of your hair and it looks… so soft…” Steve trails off and reaches for a curl, feeling it between his fingers before releasing it.
Eddie swallows. There’s no way that Steve means what he thinks he does.
Steve puts his glasses back on and stares at Eddie. He glances down at his lips and says, “And I mean it when I say I can’t see you the same way as before because I keep staring at your lips, and I want more than anything to kiss them.” His eyes flicker back to Eddie’s, pleading and scared. Steve corrects himself. “I want to kiss you.”
“Making you get glasses was the best thing I’ve ever done, then,” Eddie says, cupping Steve’s jaw and kissing him gently. His nose nudges against the frames, but he can’t complain.
Steve pulls back and takes the glasses off. “And taking them off is about to be the second best thing I’ve ever done,” Steve says before kissing Eddie again.
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Trailer park Steve AU pt 56
part 1 | part 55 | ao3
March
"Steve, honey," Claudia calls from the living room, where he can hear her shuffling around to get her things ready for work — the rustle of a jacket, the clink of keys against her thermos. "Do you need anything before you go?"
"I'm fine, Ma!" Steve answers.
And he is. He is fine. It’s been three weeks, and Steve is fine! He has a date tonight with a girl he doesn’t care about, and he's gonna cheer on Lucas at the championship game, and the other day at work he got a fifty cent per hour raise. And sure, his nightmares are worse than ever and his head aches all the time, and he’s had some weirdly persistent sinus infection or some shit going on, but he only teared up once this week while jerking off to thoughts of Eddie, so.
All in all, not bad.
He shoves a plain bagel in his mouth and rushes to leave the house; passes Claudia on the way out, who's now rapping her knuckles impatiently against Dustin’s door and asking, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late!" to which Dustin replies with a panicked shriek: “DON’T COME IN, I’M NAKED!”
Jesus Christ. "Deafen my other ear, why don't you?" Steve mutters under his breath.
He throws Ma a parting wave and heads out to pick up Robin so he can take her to school before his shift starts. She looks nicer than usual, and she won’t stop reapplying her mascara, and by the time Object of My Desire starts playing on the radio Steve is practically begging her to just suck it up and end this will-they-won’t-they thing with Vickie because it’s been months of obvious flirting and Robin still won’t make a move.
“I listen to you, and now look at me!” he argues, as if the handful of pointless dates he’s used to distract himself from Eddie are anything to look at. “Boom. Back in business.“
“Mm,” she objects, a little ‘you’re so full of shit’ frown on her face. “Not the same thing.”
Don’t say it, you bitch, don’t even—
“You ask out a girl and she says no…”
Oh, thank fuck. Steve sags in relief and licks the corner of his mouth as he listens to her rant, grateful that she’s just working the small town homophobia angle and very graciously not pointing out how half-hearted and sad his attempts to move on with his life have been. It’s a small mercy he repays by rambling about girls and boobies and girls who definitely like boobies until she scowls so hard at him that she smudges her mascara and has to apply another coat.
—
Dustin calls the store some time around lunch. Asks if Steve wants to sub in for Lucas at tonight’s Hellfire campaign, which, first of all, fuck you — he’s been helping Lucas practice for months now, he’s not about to miss this game — and secondly:
“What, to hang out with you and Eddie the Freak Munson?” he asks, idly playing with a slinky. “Uh, yeah. I’ll pass.”
"Dude."
"What?"
"You can’t just call him names because you’re pissed at him! That’s not cool!”
Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the slinky so hard it flops off the counter’s edge.
“Look,” Dustin says, his voice dipping into that low and slow and trustworthy thing that makes Steve want to snap the kid’s non-existent collarbones. “I know you won’t tell me what happened, but whatever it was, he’s sorry, okay? He’s really, really sorry. And he asks me about you, like, every day; if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he was in love with you or something.” Steve chokes on his own spit, and Dustin just keeps going; steps right over Steve’s corpse to continue his impassioned plea. “Besides, friends forgive each other! Right, Steve?”
Goddammit. Steve really regrets saying those exact words in that exact order the last time Lucas and Dustin had a fight. “Man, you can’t just use my own brotherly advice against me.”
“I can, and I will.” Wow. What a little shit. “Seriously, dude, come on! How many times do I have to pass on his apology messages before you just talk to him?”
How many times? How many times?
Steve doesn’t know.
He just knows he’s not ready; knows that as soon as he talks to Eddie, it’ll make it all real. It’ll be over for good. Whatever words they exchange next will get etched into the headstone of the thing they briefly had. He opens his mouth to say something, to try and make sense of the vortex in his head, but all he gets for the effort is a fresh migraine coming on.
He’s saved from answering by the doorbell’s chime. “I got some customers,” he says over Dustin's squawk of protest. “Gotta call you back, bye.”
—
part 57
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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