#about how much steve misses that bitch
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Somebody's knockin'
Should I let him in?
Lord, it's the devil
Would you look at him?
I've heard about him
But I never dreamed
He'd have blue eyes and blue jeans
I got possessed, I draw a bit too much for my standard. My back hurts and I should sleep, but here an harringrove crumble
#billy harringrove#billy hargrove#harringrove#steve harrington#steve x billy#billy x steve#stranger things fanart#this shit should have had an angst description#about how much steve misses that bitch#billy hargrove fanart#steve harrington fluff
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welcome to eden
this is a love letter. inspired by this song
As soon as Steve picks up the phone, she knows she’s making a mistake.
“Rob?”
“No,” she says instead of hanging up like she should.
“Nancy?” He sounds more alert now, and she can picture him standing up straighter, calling to attention at the sound of her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Not really,” she sniffs, hating herself for it. “I—can we talk?”
He’ll say no. He’ll say no, because it’s one in the morning and he was probably asleep before the phone rang and she shouldn’t be asking to talk years after she broke his heart and didn’t even remember—
“Of course,” he says, and Nancy could kick herself. “Over the phone?”
“No. Not over the phone. I’m sorry, it can wait, you can go back to bed.”
She hears him huff a laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about any of it. “I wasn’t in bed,” he assures her. “Am I picking you up?”
Tears spring anew to her eyes. “If that’s okay.”
“Works for me,” he says. “See you soon.”
“See you,” she echoes, and hangs up.
She spends the time it takes pacing quietly in front of the front door, berating herself for using him like this. But she needs to talk to him, and the sooner it’s over with the better.
Headlights cut through the window way too soon, and she nearly throws herself out the door.
She gives him a look when she opens the car door, telling him she knows how many traffic laws he must have broken to get here this quick. He just grins in return, ready to point out the felony in her closet.
“Where are we going?” He asks, and her heart clenches. He’s so good. He’s so good, and she couldn’t-can’t love him like he wants. She has to tell him.
Tonight probably wasn’t the best night for this conversation, but her skin feels like it’s peeling off and the faster she says something the quicker it will be over with and she can go back to how it was before. Back when she didn’t have anyone to talk to, because Robin might never speak to her again after she breaks her best friend's heart for the second time.
Just rip the bandaid off, Nance.
“I don’t know,” she says instead. Maybe she’s a coward. “A field? Somewhere I can see the stars.”
“I can do that.”
The drive goes by in silence, Nancy staring stubbornly out the window. She can feel Steve periodically checking on her, and she knows he wants to know why she called. She can’t open her mouth to say it in the suffocating enclosure of the car. She rolls down a window.
They get to a field almost out of Hawkins, and the car is barely in park before she’s climbing out, going around to sit on the hood. Steve cuts the engine and follows.
She still doesn’t say anything. She called him to have a talk, why can’t she just open her stupid mouth—
“Nancy?” Steve asks, gentle in a way that used to make her melt. She pulls her legs to her chest, feeling vulnerable. “What’s wrong?”
“Jonathan and I broke up,” she finally gets out.
“Oh shit.” He looks genuinely surprised. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it was never going to be forever.” Except she’d thought otherwise. She thought they were Nancy and Jonathan, the two of them against the world. She hunches her shoulders. “We never talk anymore, and he was pulling away from me, and he was lying to me for months-“ she shakes her head, clearing the anger she feels at that. “It doesn’t matter. I’m starting to realize there’s things I need to work on, too. A lot to work on, actually.”
“I don’t know what that could be,” he says, flashing her a smile filled with boyish, roguish charm. “You’re already the best person I know.”
She sniffs, and suddenly she’s crying into her knees, shoulders shaking. He freezes beside her, before wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. She leans in for a second, chasing the comfort, before remembering what she came here to do and ripping away violently.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t—I can’t—this isn’t what I—“
“Hey,” he soothes. “Slow down. Let it out.”
She wipes her eyes, suddenly furious. “I don’t want to date you,” she says, finally looking him in the eyes. “I don’t—I’m sorry for calling you. I just remembered how much better you used to make me feel, but then I realized that’s like…really shitty of me.”
“Why?” He asks, as if Nancy didn’t come out here to break his heart again. “I want to make you feel better. I like knowing I can make you feel better.”
“I don’t want to lead you on,” she says, mouth screwing up. “That’s why I called you out here. And I know it’s shitty of me—“
“Nancy, you’re not leading me on. I…I don’t want to date you either.”
That stops her in her tracks. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he echoes quietly. “I—don’t take this the wrong way, okay, ‘cause I know I’m gonna sound like an asshole saying it, but, uh, I can’t do that again. And even outside of that, I don’t like you that way anymore. Uh, sorry.”
She tries not to sag at the overwhelming relief she feels at that.
“Are you sure?” She studies him closely, trying to see if he’s saying this for her sake or if he means it. “Back in the Upside-Down, and when we were fighting Venca, it seemed…”
He grimaces, and Nancy thinks if it wasn’t dark she’d see the beginning of an embarrassed flush on his ears. “I…may have been feeling things,” he admits. “I was testing the waters, I guess. I started feeling nostalgic, and you were there, and everyone was encouraging me, and it all just ended up in this weird…feelings soup. Sorry.”
“You said you wanted to have six kids with me,” Nancy reminds him. “And travel the country in a Winnebago.”
He groans, covering his face with his hands. “I am,” he says, “so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That had to be so weird for you.”
“It was kind of sweet?” She tries, not letting her relief show. Not yet.
“We haven’t been together in years, and I decided to tell you I used to dream about you having my babies. How do you deal with me?”
“Well it helps to know you were dropped on your head. Puts everything in perspective.”
“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.” He looks at her, really looks at her, and she tries not to fidget under his gaze. Too earnest, too caring for someone who doesn’t deserve it. He’s always tried so hard. To woo her, to be a better person, to keep back the vicious streak she still sees in him. “I meant it, when I said I loved you,” he tells her gently, no sign of that cruelty that had him painting her as a whore for the whole town to see. “Back then, I mean. I just wanted you to know that.”
She wants to cry. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it back.”
“It’s okay,” he says like he means it. He leans back against the windshield, looking at the sky. After a moment, she copies him.
They watch the stars together, and the air feels clearer.
“Where do we go from here?” She asks, afraid of the answer.
“What do you mean?”
“What happens with us now?”
“Well,” he says gingerly, like he’s testing the waters. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend.”
Friends. She doesn’t know that she and Steve have ever been friends, not properly. Even after the apologies they made to each other, she doesn’t know that she could call what they had friendship. It wasn’t substantial on its own, needing Jonathan as the barrier between them. When it fell, so did they.
“I haven’t had a friend in a while,” she admits. “Robin is kind of a novelty for me. She’s amazing.”
It’s funny, in a way. She was so jealous of Robin, of how close she was with Steve in a way Nancy wasn’t. She’d thought, at first, that it was because they were so clearly dating. After Robin told her they weren’t, she realized how badly she’d just wanted friends. She missed hanging out with Steve, missed his laugh and his squint and his bitchy attitude. She’d hoped that eventually they’d get to that point, was sure they were almost there before Starcourt. In a way, she’d been jealous of Robin for stealing Steve. She knew it was ridiculous. Steve had found a friend, a real friend who hadn’t cheated on him or slept with his girlfriend. She couldn’t begrudge him that.
She just missed him.
“She is, isn’t she?” Steve grins, but sobers up quickly. “I didn’t really think about that. How lonely you must be, since…”
She’s already shaking her head. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t reach out.”
“I didn’t exactly reach out either.”
They fall silent again, at a loss for words. Barb’s death, as always, the canyon between them.
Finally Nancy huffs. “It’s both of our faults,” she declares, “or neither of our faults. I don’t know. I just missed you.”
“Well shit, Nance, I missed you too,” he says, touched.
“I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend too, you know,” she says, glancing at him. He smiles.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Nancy Wheeler, I would be honored to be friends with you,” he says, and sticks out his hand to shake, like they’re meeting for the first time.
She stares at him, and starts laughing. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
She shakes his hand.
Max has always felt like a mirror. One Nancy wanted to smash, pull her out of the shards of her reflective grief and hug. Stroke her hair the way she wanted someone to do for her and say you’ll get through this. So Max could hear it from someone who knows.
Except Nancy doesn’t know anything. Still drowns in her guilt, the ball and chain dragging her into the depths. She can’t help when she’s still such a mess, three years later.
Her hands clench when Mike says Max is pulling away from Lucas. She wishes she could look her in the eye and tell her you don’t have to be me. You can be better.
She’s Mike’s friend. They barely know each other outside of a quick hello as they cross paths or fighting monsters. Max has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need her friend’s weird older sister butting in to tell her how to mourn the right way.
Nancy just hopes she’s getting out of bed. Remembering to eat. Brushing her teeth. She had more cavities in the year after Barb died than she’d ever had in her life, and she knows Max doesn’t have insurance.
Now, sitting next to Max’s hospital bed, Nancy wishes she’d reached out.
With school back comes studying, and with studying comes Eddie Munson, in all his super-senior glory. Nancy is going to get him a diploma if it kills her.
He laughs when she tells him so. “Shit, Wheeler,” he says. “The day something manages to get you is the day this shithole goes down for good.”
Robin turns down her offer to form a study group. “I’m pretty sure if I joined, I’d just distract Eddie, and let him distract me, and we’d end up throwing things at each other until you killed us. Sorry. Steve’s going to help me study for finals, though!”
She looks at Steve, eyebrow raised. She’s pretty sure it’s fair to be dubious, since she was the reason Steve passed his finals in the first place.
“I’m her rubber duck,” he says as an explanation, and she nods in understanding.
Her mom isn’t about to let her study alone with a boy in her room, though, and especially not a boy like Eddie, so she drags him to the library three times a week. He complains, he bitches, he tells her he doesn’t care about his fucking history class anymore. She just hands him a Rubik’s Cube she found to keep his hands busy as she quizzes him.
Three sessions in, he slowly puts a worksheet down and screams into his hands.
“Stop that!” She kicks him in the shin. “If you get me kicked out of the library I’m never forgiving you.”
“I can’t do it,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m so fucking stupid, Nancy. I can’t even get past question two. Is this torture? Did I die and go to hell? That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? Doomed to repeat high school for the rest of eternity?”
“Stupid” her ass. She knows what kind of work goes into those campaigns of his, has absently flipped through his annotated fantasy novels and left feeling as if she’d seen the story anew. Plus, she went and made a tape of everyone’s favorite songs, just in case, and she knew damn well how quickly he’d taught himself to play the song he did in the Upside-Down. “Stupid” and “Eddie Munson” don’t belong in the same sentence, much less belong in the same space in his brain. She hates Hawkins High just a little bit more for it. “Stop being dramatic. What are you stuck on?”
“Fucking nothing! I can’t focus, it’s driving me fucking insane. I keep trying, I swear, but it’s like I can’t even read anymore! This always happens, I swear to God it’s killing me more than the fucking demobats ever did.”
“Don’t joke about that,” she snaps. “You’re smart, Eddie, you know that. You just need to try.”
His face twists, and she realizes that was the wrong thing to say.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Wheeler, why haven’t I thought of that? Sorry for wasting your time, I’ll get out of your perfect hair now—“
“Sit down,” she protests as he gathers up his stuff. “Eddie, I’ll help you work through the problem, okay? Just sit down, please.”
“No, Nancy!” He swings around, eyes wild. “It’s what everyone always says. Just sit still, stop doodling, be quiet, pay attention, try fucking harder…I tried, okay! I’ve been trying, I tried for fifteen fucking years, and I can’t do it! I might as well just drop out and get it over with. I’m fucking sick of this.”
“Okay!” She feels herself getting riled up. “You want to fail so bad, fine! I’m not your keeper, do whatever you want.”
“I will!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
They stare at each other, not moving. Finally Eddie storms off in a huff, flinging open the library door in a grand gesture she pretends not to see. There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she can ignore it.
She pretends not to notice when he comes slinking back five minutes later, shuffling his feet.
“Sorry.”
“For what?” She asks primly, going over her notes.
“Nancy, please.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry too. I’m just…frustrated.”
“I’ve been told I’m pretty frustrating,” he offers.
“It’s not…”
“It is,” he says, sitting down. “It’s okay. God knows I piss myself off with this shit.”
She studies him, looking over his defeated face like he’s one of her flashcards. “You’re trying your best,” she says, sounding it out. She can’t really make sense of it. After all, trying her best has always been straight A’s, not stopping until she knew everything she needed to and more.
“It’s not good enough.”
“It will be,” she says. “You’ve got me this time.”
“Listen, I know you’re trying to help—“
“Do you want fries?”
“What?” He blinks at her, shocked, as she starts packing up her things.
“We’re not getting anywhere today. Sometimes you have to step back, and come back with a clearer head.” Usually she locks her door and cleans her guns, the repetitive motion soothing her mind until she can think again, but she has a feeling that won’t work for Eddie.
“I usually just give up.”
“I don’t. Get your backpack, we’re going to the diner. Dinner’s on me tonight.”
At the diner, he makes her laugh so hard soda comes out her nose. The next day, they go to the library again.
After a couple of days, he solves the cube. After three weeks, he nearly kicks her door down rushing to show her the B he got on a test.
Two months later, he throws his cap into the air and his cane on the ground. Swings her around, both of them laughing.
“Nancy fucking Wheeler!” He crows. “Achieving the impossible yet again!”
“Eddie, put me down!” She shrieks gleefully as he stumbles. She barely makes it back to solid ground before two more bodies are slamming into them, Steve and Robin whooping in their ears.
It was weird, to see Steve and Robin effortlessly communicate the way she and Jonathan always had and have it be so unabashedly unromantic. She’d always thought that knowing someone like that was a sign you were meant to be, and they did it while still loudly proclaiming Platonic with a capital P.
She and Jonathan didn’t do it much anymore. It was like dancing to a song that was always a beat off, syncing for just one moment before stumbling again, unsure that they were still allowed this.
She’d known him better than anyone, once, and he’d known her the same. Now she wonders if that was ever true.
“So,” Eddie says, throwing himself onto her bed. “Steve.”
She sits in her desk chair, raising an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“You broke up with Jonathan, right? Are you going to get back with him? I thought you would, but it's been months and neither of you said anything.”
“No,” she says. “No, that’s not what I want. It’s not what either of us want.”
“Really?” He rolls over, eyes searching. “What happened there, anyway? With both your boys. I’m a nosy little asshole, and I wanna hear it from you.”
It makes her laugh, the way he admits to it so freely. He grins wolfishly at her, baring his teeth in a grin. That’s probably why she tells him the truth.
“I wasn’t okay, when I was with Steve,” she says honestly. “I was distant, grieving…I was a mess, and I stayed with him because I didn’t know what else to do. With Jonathan…I was getting closure, I was healing, and things were good between us. They were so good, but after a while, we just started to…deteriorate. I don’t know if we lost momentum, or if the stress just got to us, but we started fighting more and more,” She traces the desk with a finger, remembering the sour taste of Oliver Twist on her tongue. It was a shitty thing to say. “I thought we’d figured it out, for a little while, but then we just…stopped talking. I think, maybe if we’d talked more, we could have worked it out. But I’m…not upset that we didn’t, you know?”
It’s a different kind of loneliness when your partner won’t talk to you. It was different than grieving, different than not having anyone to talk to at all. Because even when she didn’t have friends, she had Jonathan. And then, slowly, she didn’t anymore.
“Nancy, you’re one of my best friends, so-”
“Steve is your best friend.”
“Steve is my best best friend,” she agrees. “But he’s also more than that? Like, I think we’re literally soulmates. Platonic with a capital P soulmates, but, like, it feels like more than friendship sometimes? Like sometimes it’s like he can literally feel my bad days even when I haven’t talked to him yet. He told me once he just knows sometimes. It’s like I hit my hip on my desk and he felt it, but emotionally. It’s wild. It’s like the drugs literally combined our minds. Where was I going with this?”
“I don’t know,” she says, slightly bewildered. She wants to ask how they do that, but Robin barrels forward.
“Right. So outside of mine and Steve’s platonic more-than-friendship, you’re kind of my best friend? And you’re, like, the coolest person I know.”
She blinks. She’s not sure she’s ever been described as cool before.
After Barb, Nancy tried to cut her own hair.
Her mom found her in the bathroom, unshed tears in her eyes and hair a mess on the sink and floor.
She hadn’t laughed, hadn't said oh, honey, your beautiful hair. Just clucked her tongue and took the scissors from her hands. Stepped behind her and took over, took the uneven mess and made it something good, something presentable.
She didn’t say anything until she was done, setting the scissors on the counter. “Sometimes,” she said, wetting her lips. “Sometimes we need a change, before we can move forward.”
The closer she gets to Emerson, the more she feels like she’s letting someone down. Mike. Max. Jonathan. All the people who have relied on her, all the people who trusted her to fight.
In a strange turn of events, her mom is the only one she doesn’t feel is disappointed in her. Her mom is more excited about college than she is sometimes. Chattering excitedly over dishes about the classes she’s going to take as Nancy dries and smiles and tries not to feel like the ground is being pulled from under her feet.
This is everything she’s ever wanted. Why does it feel so wrong?
She takes Eddie to the gun range, because having a gun in her hands has always made her feel safer. More in control. More like the badass protector she wants to be, than the scared little girl she feels sometimes.
Eddie stares down the scope of the gun and shoots like he has experience, but doesn’t hit a single bullseye.
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I’m in a fucking gun range and a bunch of small town hicks were hunting me not too long ago,” he snaps, taking another shot and missing the target completely. He swears and changes the magazine. “Excuse me if I’m a little bit on edge.”
She hadn’t really thought of it like that. “You didn’t have to come,” she says. “I just thought with everything that’s happened, you should know how to use one. Just in case.”
“I know how to use a gun,” he rolls his eyes.
“You know how to shoot one.” She looks from him to the target pointedly. “Not the same thing.”
“Deep. I could really feel the judgement there. Tell me, is there anything else wrong with me?”
“There’s security cameras all over this place. We’re not in Hawkins, so there’s no mob coming after you. I’m here, and I do know how to use a gun. No one is going to hurt you here.”
“I know all that.”
“Do you?”
He scowls at her. She looks back unflinchingly. She’s been here plenty of times, and the guys laughed at her until they didn’t anymore. By the time she brought Eddie, all she got was a raised eyebrow and a “boyfriend?” from Hunter at the desk. She didn’t know what was more incriminating, so she just shrugged.
“You’re kind of a pain in the ass, you know that?”
She rolls her eyes, taking the gun from his hands and lining up a shot. “I’ve heard worse,” she says, thinking about Nancy Dre-ew, and Nancy “the slut” Wheeler, and priss, and shoots. It hits the bullseye.
So do her next five shots.
Eddie looks begrudgingly impressed when she reloads and hands the gun back to him. It’s more satisfying than it should be, to realize that while he’d known she had guns he’s never seen her actually shoot before.
She raises a challenging eyebrow at him, and he huffs around a smile. “All right, all right,” he says good naturedly. “Let’s try this again.”
He does a little better this time around, now that he’s actually trying. He does a little dance when he hits one of the inner rings.
“Take that!” He crows. “I bet Steve couldn’t do this. In your face, Harrington!”
“He’s much more of a close-combat kind of guy, isn’t he?” Nancy agrees.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he says. “Does he really have a bat with nails?”
She blinks, caught off guard by the fact that Eddie hadn’t seen it. She never registered that he hadn’t used it during Vecna. Something about the fact seems weird somehow, as if it was as integral to Steve as his coiffed hair. “He keeps it in his trunk.”
“You and Byers need to update your Steve manuals. He said it’s under his bed now.”
“Ah,” Nancy says, thinking of all the times she’s slept with her pistol under her pillow. Empty, because she’s not stupid enough to sleep with a loaded gun when her little brother sometimes wakes her up after a nightmare, but the comforting weight of it alone makes it easier.
“Just tell me one thing,” he says, widening his eyes imploringly at her. “Did he look as sexy as I think he did? Byers won’t give me a straight answer.”
It’s a joke, but his cheeks are a little pink. She’s not dumb, she’s seen the looks the two of them share, as if he and Steve were circling each other. Caught in a whirlpool, waiting for the moment the vortex would drag them down and they could finally touch.
The looks between Eddie and Jonathan, too, that share a certain camaraderie she doesn’t entirely understand and at the same time understands all too well. Steve and Jonathan had always had a strange relationship, too close to not be friendship but not quite there. Surprisingly enough it was better after she and Steve broke up, Jonathan no longer avoiding them and the talk she’d forced the three of them into clearing the air. Sometimes, she’d wake up to Jonathan climbing into her bed, smelling of cigarettes and a hint of something stronger, and he’d tell her it was Steve who drove him there.
She’s a journalist. It’s her job to notice things. She just wasn’t ready to confront that reality, where the two boys she’d wanted wanted each other as well. But she’s grown since then.
She also knows that whoever Steve chooses, it won’t be easy.
“You know,” she says, considering, “when we were dating, Steve never pressed me up against the wall or anything you’d expect from the King.”
Eddie gets this look on his face, caught between confusion and caught out. “…okay? Did you want him to do that or something? Are you trying to ask me to hint to him?”
“No,” she says. “I’m just saying, he never did any of that. It was kind of funny. He always made it so that he was the one pressed against the wall.”
Eddie misses the next five shots entirely, and she laughs at him through it all.
She’s hyper aware of touching other girls now. She didn’t used to be. Even with Robin, who is a lesbian and definitely won’t hate her. Who’s probably gone through the same thing. She can’t help it.
What if they get the wrong idea? What if someone else sees? What if they can tell, what if they know, what if they hate me?
She hates feeling like this. She doesn’t know why it started, doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s no stranger to casual affection—or at least she didn’t used to be. Why does it make her feel so tense now? It’s been years since she realized she liked girls, shouldn’t this have happened back then?
Deep down, she knows why. The Reagan sign in her front yard. Her dad sitting in his chair, the news always on. “Always that nasty disease, Karen, I swear some people are just asking for it.” She’s always known she could never tell him, but now she knows that if she gets sick he’ll say she deserves it. She doesn’t know what her mother thinks. She’s afraid to find out.
She’s growing up, and her fear is growing with her.
Objectively, Nancy knows she and Eddie don’t make sense.
They’re not cut from the same cloth, like Steve and Robin. They don’t calm each other down, like Jonathan and Argyle. They’re too different, too alike in all the wrong ways, for them to get along. They’re both snappy, a little mean. Eddie’s dramatic enough to get on her nerves, and she’s prim enough to get on his. At their worst, they have earth shattering arguments that end in them not speaking to each other for days.
When people see them walking down the street together, they whisper about “that nice girl Nancy Wheeler” and “that awful Munson boy.”
It’s not fair, never has been. Nancy hasn’t felt nice for a long time, maybe before Barb ever disappeared. Eddie isn’t always particularly nice either, but the court of public opinion takes it to extremes, twists him into something cruel instead of the kindness he carries under his leather armor. Someone to keep their children away from. It really is a shame, because Eddie loves kids in a way Nancy never has. She can see it in the way he interacts with them, his bright smile fading when a parent comes to drag them away. Even when he’s expecting it, his face falls, just for an instant, before spinning around with a grin that won’t reach his eyes.
Nancy wants to take him out of here. There’s an offer on the tip of her tongue that she knows he’d refuse.
He’s not her brother, but he’s not…unlike one. It’s almost like talking to an older, flashier Mike. He’s annoying, is what he is. He picks at her, keeps pressing over the littlest things. Tries to get under her skin, succeeds, until she’s on the verge of stabbing him with her pencil. Looks triumphant whenever Robin has to grab her arm to drag her away, rambling an excuse about “some girl thing I totally forgot, yeah it’s an emergency,” while Steve drags him the other way to have bro time.
“She loves it,” she’d heard Eddie crow delightedly once, when Robin didn’t get her out of hearing range fast enough. “Do you see that fire in her eyes?”
“Do I?” She asked Robin. “Love it?”
“I mean, far be it from me to tell you what you do and don’t like,” Robin answered. “But, uh, as far as I can tell, you totally love it. You look like you’re going to rip him to pieces and enjoy it, and he loves that. I didn’t think you’d be this much of a nightmare together, seriously, like, how are you two at each other’s throats one second and then best friends the next? Steve and I have debated locking you in a bathroom until you get along, but we’re kind of afraid you’ll kill each other.”
So no, Nancy and Eddie don’t get along. They’re kind of a nightmare together. They don’t make sense, and they don’t try to. They have other friends, who they get along with better, that they can seek out.
But when Eddie knocks on her window, the only surprise is that he could even get there.
“How?” She hisses, opening the window. He tumbles in, doesn’t even try to play off the utter gracelessness he’s displaying.
“Wowie, I am never doing that again,” he breathes, flat on his back. “You’re going to have to help me down the stairs when I leave, had to leave my cane at the bottom and I cannot get back down that way.”
She doesn’t even want to know what he had to do to get up on her roof with his bad leg. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m but another lover, nothing but an ant in the face of your unwavering beauty, my queen,” he says, batting his eyes at her. The dramatics don’t hit the way he intends, given that he’s stuck on the floor. He holds a hand out pleadingly, and she rolls her eyes, hauling him up until she can get him to her bed.
“Never mind.” She puts her hands on her hips, a gesture that is so obviously Steve she removes them immediately. From the glint in Eddie’s eyes, he notices.
She tries not to be jealous. She tries, she swears, but…
Three of the four (five? she doesn’t know what Argyle thinks of her) friends she has are dating each other. Two of them dated her, first. She can’t help but wonder, if she’d known that was an option, if everything would have been different. If she wouldn’t have this aching bitterness between her teeth.
(Nothing would have changed, she knows. She’d been too desperate for other things. Trying so hard with Steve so her best friend didn’t die for nothing. Staying with Jonathan because he understood her more than anyone else, so maybe they didn’t need to talk. It wouldn’t have helped anything. She still wonders.)
It doesn’t matter. What’s past is past, and she needs to move forward. She can’t stop to think about could-have-beens, because thinking about boys is what got her into this mess in the first place.
She closes her eyes, taking a shaky breath. That’s not fair. None of this is fair. None of it is fucking fair because Nancy stopped caring about fair when Barb died.
She needs a drink. She needs a nap. She needs to stop feeling like Atlas with the world on her shoulders.
She doesn’t do any of that. She calls Robin.
“Barb was my first kiss.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Nancy says, and keeps talking, because Barb is dead and Robin is a lesbian and she’s long forgotten what Barb’s favorite chapstick was back then. “We were seven, and I liked it but I didn’t know if I liked her. But I was convinced I was going to marry her, until my mom told me that girls don’t marry other girls. And I knew she liked girls when she died. She told me when we were fifteen, and I didn’t know the word bisexual but I knew I loved her and that was all that mattered. Not—not like that, not romantic, or maybe it was but it doesn’t matter because she was my best friend and I still love her but she’s gone forever. I loved her.”
She feels Robin lay a tentative hand on her back.
“I had to look her parents in the eye and pretend. All those fucking NDA’s, I had to pretend there was hope. Pretend she was still missing. It was like everyone forgot about her except for me and them, and they sold their house to find their dead daughter and I wasn’t supposed to say anything and Steve kept reminding me about the fucking NDA’s—“
“Nancy…”
“It’s my fault,” Nancy says, staring at the water. “I lumped in Steve, because it was easier than being alone. He didn’t know her like I did. She was worried about me. She stayed because she cared, and look where that got her.”
“That’s bullshit!” Robin’s eyes are wide, and she waves her hands around as she talks. “If it’s anyones fault, it’s those—those scientist guys experimenting on El! They knew there was a problem, and they tried to cover it up instead of making sure people were safe. You didn’t know it was dangerous. How were you supposed to know it was going to end up as anything other than normal teenage drama? None of this is supposed to be real, you didn’t know—“
“But I left her,” Nancy cuts in. “I left her alone to go lose my virginity to a boy she didn’t even like—“
“He was your boyfriend, it shouldn’t have mattered if she liked him—“
“It doesn’t matter!” Nancy shouts, and Robin falls silent, mouth still moving. “It doesn’t fucking matter how it happened, because it did and now she’s dead and she’s never coming back and it’s all my fault.”
Nancy is sick of crying. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of not being able to change the past.
“It’s not just Barb. I took Fred to the trailer park—he didn’t even want to be there, and now he’s dead. Eddie needs a cane, Max is almost completely blind and might never walk again and it was my plan that put them there. My plan that almost killed them. I’m responsible—“
“Fuck that.”
“Robin…”
“No, you listen to me, Nancy Wheeler,” Robin says, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You are one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. Max would have died without that plan. We all would have died. Venca-slash-Henry-slash-One would have won without that plan, and I am not going to sit here and listen to you blame yourself for saving lives. And-and Fred! Venca had already marked him, you know that. You couldn’t have done anything! And Barb is not your fault, okay? I-I-I know I can’t convince you, but I’ll say it as many times as it takes until you start believing it, because it’s true. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill anyone.”
“I killed Bruce,” she says, just to prove Robin wrong. And isn’t that shitty of her, to forget about him until she can use him to prove a point? She’s a fucking awful person.
“I don’t know who Bruce is, but given your track record I highly doubt that.”
“I bashed his head in with a fire extinguisher.”
Robin pauses, and Nancy’s stomach sinks. This is it, she thinks. This is what will convince her, this is what will make her see that I’m wrong, that I’m poison-
“What was he doing?”
“What?”
“Bruce. You had to have a reason for it. What was he doing?”
It’s like Robin doesn’t even care that Nancy just admitted to first degree murder. “He was flayed,” she admits, knowing Robin will take it as proof that she’s right.
“That’s not murder, that’s self defense,” Robin says, just like she knew she would. “Also, if he was flayed he was already dead. Sorry, I’m sticking to your side on this.”
“But I’m less torn up about killing my asshole coworker than I am about anything else. How does that not make me a monster?”
“He was already dead, Nancy!” Robin shakes her. “You’re not beating yourself up over it because you know he was already dead, a-a-and I know you’re using him to try and push me away and I won’t let you.”
“Robin…” she says, tears springing to her eyes. She’s so fucking sick of crying. So sick of the way she never seems to stop anymore.
“Nancy,” Robin says. “None of us are going to leave you. Stop trying to make us.”
She pulls her into a hug, and Nancy sags into it, boneless.
There, sandwiched between the sky and the water, Nancy starts to feel like she could forgive herself.
“Nancy,” Steve says, putting a hand on her shoulder and ducking his chin to look her in the eye. “They won’t be alone.”
Tears well up, unbidden, at the way he seems to understand her now in a way he never did before.
“I want this,” she insists.
“I know you do,” he says. “Which is why you’re going to go out there, kick ass, and take names. We’ll be here, okay? We’ll keep an eye on them.”
“I know you will.” She swipes a hand across her eyes. “Can you talk to Holly, too? She gets lonely.”
Steve smiles. He’d always loved Holly, when they were dating. He used to braid her hair sometimes. Asked her about her drawings, her TV shows, listened to her talk with the same attentiveness Nancy’s father had never shown any of them. He’ll be a good dad, someday. To someone else’s children.
“I’ll talk to Holly,” he promises. “Does she still like princesses?”
“Ladybugs,” she says. “It’s ladybugs, now.”
“Ladybugs. I can do that. Black and red, and they’re all ladies. What’s not to like?”
“There are male ladybugs.”
“Wait, seriously?”
She laughs, tearfully, but they’re happy tears. Steve wipes them away gently, and she smiles at him to let him know she’s okay. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
“You’re the best person I know, Nancy Wheeler,” he replies, achingly sincere. “You’re gonna have the whole world under your thumb, I just know it. Ever thought of running for President?”
“Can’t be worse than the one we have now,” she says, grimaces as her own joke lands too bitterly to be funny. She sees his jaw tighten before he forces himself to relax.
“I’d vote for you.”
She grins at him, sharp to punch through the tension she’d made. “I’ll make Eddie my Vice President.”
“Oh, fuck no. You lost me,” he says, and Eddie makes an offended noise from where he’s stealing snacks from the glovebox. Jonathan swats him, and she smiles at him too. He smiles back, tentatively, and wanders to her side.
“You gonna be okay up there?” He asks quietly. She can hear the guilt in it, still, and she reaches down to squeeze his hand. The one with the scar that matches hers, so their palms line up. It feels full circle, somehow, the three of them together like this.
“I’ll be okay,” she confirms, and feels the truth of it in her chest. Her boys are here with her, the ones who have been there since the beginning. Eddie’s watching them fondly, munching on a granola bar. Robin is inside somewhere, rambling at her mother. Mike and Holly are probably still bickering over the last cupcake. She loves them so much, all of them.
“Of course you will,” Steve says. “You’re Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. Nothing stops you.”
She wants that to be true. She can feel in her bones that it will be. Eighteen has nothing on who she’ll be at thirty.
She’s Nancy Wheeler, and the world won’t see her coming.
#welcome to eden au#stranger things fanfic#nancy wheeler#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#jonathan byers#this is the biggest thing i've posted so far#i ran out of the little fics i'm gonna have to start figuring out how to format the big ones#there's background steve/eddie/jonathan bc this was originally a companion piece to a seperate fic about them#that was 22k before i lost interest#i'll post that one eventually#can you tell nancy is my favorite character. i love u miss survivors guilt <3#sometimes i think about how nancy has no friends for p much three seasons after barb died and i get very upset#jonathan could count but he also wanted to date her so i'm not counting it#I JUST WANT HER TO HAVE FRIENDS#i also love nancy/eddie friendship they're both judgy bitches#so is steve frankly. nightmare trio#i'm gonna write that ot3 one day (don't hold me to that)
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ROOOOWWWWWWW
REQUESTS ARE OPEN YOU SAY???
Self indulgent because I’m that bitch.
Maybe shy/ditsy reader (cause I love her) who is like so innocent and quiet out in public and in private is the neediest horniest depraved little slut for her man (obvs can be gender neutral) with either Steve or Eddie, or steddie x reader whatever your heart desires.
I HOPE THIS ISNT A SHIT REQUEST ITS TWO AM AND IM TIRED
- hellfiremunsonn (Lillie) 🩷
Freak Like Me - E.M.
thank you so much for the request lovey! I hope this is everything you envisioned! @hellfiremunsonn ily! 🫶🏽
Word count- 1.3K
Warnings - pussy slapping, dirty talk, p in v sex, female masturbation (Eddie helps), Eddie teases you, if I miss something please tell me and I’ll be sure to add it here!
-feel free to reblog & interact it’s much appreciated thank you all for reading! I really hope you enjoy this! 18+ only!
“Where you going sugar?” Eddie’s husky voice says from behind you. One of his ringed hands coming up to grip on your shoulder. You feel your knees go weak, trying your best to remain standing as you look around at all his friends. They’re all watching you as you turn to look at Eddie. “Back to the van… if that’s okay, Sir.” You mumble out. A few of his friends chuckle as you hide your face, flushing from embarrassment. He nods, leaning forward and kissing your cheek softly before handing you the keys. “It’s all yours baby be there soon.” You listened as Eddie continued talking about some dnd campaign, the sound of his voice drowning out behind you.
He’d made a spectacle of you all night long, teasing you in front of everyone. He knew exactly what it did to you, you’d almost not agreed to come out tonight because you knew this would happen. Eddie loves teasing you, and his friends love it even more, watching you babble when he asks you a question because only a minute before he had said something incredibly dirty. The wide smirk on his face causes you to stutter as you squeeze your legs together, praying that no one will be able to see. They do. This time you decide not to stick around to hear the remarks they’d make.
You slowly open the door to his van, hopping up inside and slamming yourself back onto his seat. The uncomfortableness of your panties sticking to you is too much to handle, so you lift your hips, sliding them down your legs before throwing them in the back seat. All you can think of when you slip your fingers down to flip up your skirt is Eddie’s voice, the way he mocks you, laughs at you, the sweet nothings he’ll whisper to you once he has you all to himself. “Fuck.” You whimper out, your fingers lightly grazing against your clit.
You shuffle around a bit angling yourself so when Eddie opens the door he’ll have a perfect view of what belongs to him. To his friends, you’re shy and reserved, innocent even. Eddie knew the real truth about you and you were none of those things. Your eyes close as you get lost in the moment, you bite your lip hard enough that you’re sure it’ll bleed as you circle your fingers around your clit, the sensations running throughout your body as you moan quietly. “Please Eddie.” You cry out, sliding down against the passenger door.
“Well ain’t this a pretty picture.” Your eyes snap back open as a sick smile breaks out across your face. “Knew you wouldn’t keep me waiting long.” You say, giggling as Eddie climbs up into the drivers seat. He’s quick with the door, slamming it before turning to look back at you. Your fingers are still working over yourself, only going faster now that he’s watching. You go to stop but he grabs your wrist, guiding your hand down. “Oh please honey, don’t stop because of me. Let me see how desperate you are.”
You nod, your eyes half open from the pleasure as Eddie pushes two of your own fingers inside yourself. You groan at the feeling, it’s messy but you couldn’t love it more. The sounds of wet squelching and your moans fill up the van as Eddie’s eyes burn with lust. They’re latched onto where the both of you are moving together. “This is so good, but I really need you Ed’s please.” You beg. He shakes his head, holding your hand down, rocking your fingers in and out slowly. “I didn’t say you could stop babydoll.” He whispers as you buck your hips up, grabbing at his wrist with the hand that isn’t buried deep inside you.
Eddie leans back, sitting on his knees as he watches you. He pulls his hand away slowly and makes you do all the work as he palms himself lazily over his pants. “I wish they could see you now baby, absolutely pathetic and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet.” He says, your eyes threatening to roll back into your head as a loud moan rips its way from your throat. “Fuck. Please.” You whine, your heartbeat speeding up as the tight cord winding itself in your stomach threatens to break. A bead of sweat makes its way down the side of your face as you buck your hips up again, meeting the thrusts of your own fingers.
You sit up a little, your body trembling as you watch Eddie slowly unbuckle his belt. You trail your eyes up to his face where he’s biting his lip, his eyes staring into yours as you continue to pleasure yourself. He laughs a little when he sees tears on the corners of your eyes. “Aww darlin’ you’re so ready aren’t you? Go ahead, let me see you cum, give me a show baby.” It takes you no more than a small thrust of your fingers before you’re letting go. Your wetness spreads all over yourself and down onto Eddie’s seat as he watches. You can hear him talking you through it but the blood rushing behind your ears keeps you from hearing what he’s actually saying.
He gives you no time to recover, you hear something rush past you into the back of the van before Eddie’s on you like a wild animal. He slowly strokes himself a few times, rubbing the head of his cock right against your clit as you squirm underneath him crying and begging for him to fuck you already. He stops teasing only to reach down and slap your pussy, once, twice, three times. You yelp and just as you go to sit up to scold him he thrusts into you, practically knocking the wind out of your lungs. “Y’gonna scream for me sugar? Let all my friends hear how much of a slut you really are for me?”
“F-uckkk Eddie please!” You scream out, the slapping of Eddie’s skin against yours growing louder as he thrusts harder than before. He reaches under your ass to pull you up some, angling you just right so with every thrust his cock rubs up against your g-spot. “That’s it sugar, it’s okay I got you, let go. Cum on this dick and let everyone hear who makes you feel this good.” Your body trembles beneath him, your stomach flips at his dirty words as you look down and watch him sliding in and out of you. The drag of his cock, enough to make you feel like you’re on another planet entirely as you finally give up. Your eyes roll back as your mouth babbles on, Eddie grips onto your hips, his blunt nails digging into your skin as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. His deep moans blend with yours creating a delicious melody as he fills you up.
You hear him laugh as you both come down from your high, he slowly pulls out of you leaving you empty and sore as you open your eyes to look up at him. “What’s so funny?” You say, your voice rough from how loud you were being, he smiles at you before leaning down to kiss your forehead, moving some of the hair that’s stuck to it away. “Oh, s’nothin. Just thinking how funny it is that you’re a freak, and they have no idea.” You bite your lip before giggling, slapping his arm slightly as you sit up to fix your clothes. You don’t bother with finding your panties as you watch Eddie reach into the back of the van, grabbing his pants. “Well, next time maybe we’ll have to give them a real show, Eddie.” You whisper, running your tongue up the side of his ear, his cock throbs at your words, a low moan slipping from his lips.
tag list- @voyeurmunson @vecslut @littlexdeaths @xxbimbobunnyxx @josephquinnsfreckles
#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#southern!eddie#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#stranger things smut#joseph quinn smut#eddie x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female character#eddie smut
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Steve is bitchy. It's a known fact. He's a reformed mean girl and bitch is like a second language to him. Whether it's scathing commentary about Family Video customers almost before they're out the door,
"So apparently it's national hit on someone young enough to be your granddaughter day, who knew we had such a gross holiday?"
snarky conversations with the kids,
"Well, whaddya know, Dustin, would you look at this?"
"What?
"It's the coke you said wasn't in the fridge! Isn't it amazing how it just magically appeared?"
"Oh, shut up, Steve."
"I'm just so completely in awe!"
or calling out the people that still give Eddie nasty looks (and doesn't that make Eddie's heart grow three sizes and threaten to pop out of his chest and burrow into Steve's?),
"You know, Carol, if you keep making that face, it might stick like that. But look on the bright side, at least then the outside would be as hideous as the inside!"
Eddie adores all of it. Loves Steve's mile-wide mean streak. Loves how he can use it to tease the people he loves or decimate the latest idiot he's been forced to deal with.
But Eddie's favorite, the best, the most wonderful, absolutely fantastic moments of Steve's bitchiness? Those happen while he's driving. It doesn't matter what exactly has him riled up about another driver, Steve always has something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue to bitch about them with.
"Do you look as stupid as you drive? Dumbass."
"Jeeze, I never knew the white line was for driving on. What an amazing thing you've discovered!"
"Oh, apparently I missed the memo where 35 mph got changed to 55. Eddie, remind me to check the speed limit sign the next time we drive through here. God, what an impatient asshole."
No matter what it is, it always has Eddie stifling his laughter behind his hand. But this last time - they're at a four-way stop and the car turning across from them definitely went before it was their turn and Steve says, "Hmm, seems someone missed the lesson on taking turns in kindergarten," with that little bitchy tilt to his head - Eddie can't help the guffaw that bursts out of his mouth.
Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye. "What are you giggling about?"
"You. You just - you get so bitchy at the other drivers and, I swear to god, man, it's the funniest shit." He laughs again, says fervently, "Christ, I love you, Stevie."
And then he freezes. Realizes what he said. Takes a deep, horrified breath. It's too soon, they only just started dating, he can't say something like that, he's... He backtracks. "Uh... I mean, uh, I love when you - "
And then freezes again when Steve slides his hand off the steering wheel and onto his thigh, fingers curling around the inside. "So, you love me, huh?"
Eddie chances a glance over at Steve. Despite the teasing tone in his voice, there's something soft around his eyes and the edges of his smile. Something almost... hopeful.
Eddie swallows and decides fuck it. "Yeah, yeah I do," he tells Steve quietly.
Steve makes a quiet sound that goes straight to Eddie's heart. When he peeks over again, Steve is looking back and forth between Eddie and the road and his expression is so open and tender and happy that Eddie doesn't regret for a second what he said, even if it is too soon. "I love you, too, Eds," Steve says and Eddie feels his stomach swoop with butterflies. He puts his hand on Steve's, squeezes it, tangles their fingers together, grins bright at this man he loves so very much.
And if, after that, Steve goes out of his way to play up his bitchiness whenever Eddie is in the car and Eddie never stifles his laughter at it again, well, that's between the two of them, isn't it?
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#are steve's bitchy comments while driving entirely based on my own? yes#steve and i are both bitchy drivers#reformed mean girl steve#yes i am incapable of writing anything that doesn't devolve into fluff 😅#also i have been trying to write this since january 27th so i'm not even gonna try to edit it you get what you get#zan fic
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can you do rough g!p kate bishop??
BOYFRIEND
PAIRINGS: Kate bishop x reader
WORD COUNT: 1,149
WARNINGS: smut, cheating (R had a husband), kitchen sex, breeding, Kate has a dick, being caught, blood kink, knife kink, use of knives, kinda playboy!Kate, degrading, praise kink, think that’s all :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
Your walls clamped tightly around the younger woman’s cock as she drove into you, forcing her hand over your mouth in order to silence your loud moans. Your eyes squeezed shut while your body continued to rock back and forth, her smirk only bringing you more annoyance combined with a sick pleasure. Your husband was sleeping a singular room away, your body being placed on the cold counter of the kitchen as Kate stood in front of you. Her clothes had been discarded previously along with yours, creating a small pile of fabric by her feet but neither of you could care less about the mess.
“You need to be quiet, slut. Weren’t you just worrying about him hearing you?” She muttered in a hushed tone, yet you could still hear it loud and clear as the words seeped into your mind, the degrading nickname sending you into spirals. She picked up on this.
“Awh, you like it when Daddy tells you how bad you are? You must fucking love it, I can feel you clenching around me.” She moaned lowly, goosebumps traveling across her body as a chill went down her spine. You weren’t the first to be panting beneath her, but you were definitely her favorite sight out of all.
“C’mon, tell me, tell me how much you love it.” She removed her hand from your face, and before you could even process what she had done, whimpers were escaping you faster than the speed of light.
“I-I love it, Daddy.” She slapped your cheek, causing the rising tears to suddenly fall onto the now reddened skin.
“You love what, baby?” You threw your head back, hands fumbling to find her biceps as you held onto her for dear life. Her grip landed on your thighs as she held you firmly, her face close as she created marks of her arrival on your neck.
“I love it when- fuck! I love it when you treat me like a bitch, wanna be your slut.” She groaned, chuckling darkly in response. You should’ve never let her back in, but when she came to your door late at night after sending you a quick yet truthful ‘I miss you’ message, you knew there was no hope. You felt so shameful for acting on such sins, but it felt so heavenly when her cock would tear you up in ways your husband could never do.
That’s when it all started, her pinning you to the wall as she groped you through the loose pajamas you had worn for your partner, only to receive a small compliment before he went to bed, not even registering what you were ensuing or just not wanting it. Kate would never. She’d never miss an opportunity to worship your body in all the ways he failed to do. She thought, no, knew he was a fucking idiot for not falling to his knees and begging to make sweet love to you right then and there, so it was her job to make up for it.
“Maybe I’ll get you on your knees to suck me off like a dirty whore. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded sharply, placing your chin on her shoulder as she inhaled your scent. It was her favorite perfume, the one she bought you during her shopping spree where only you were on her mind, resulting in thousands of dollars worth of clothing, expensive jewelry, and slutty lingerie, none that were meant for your husband's eyes.
She fluttered her eyes open as her sight landed on a knife holder placed on the same counter you were just on, now you were in her arms and it was even better.
“Here’s the deal, baby,” She started. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock and in return, I’m gonna fill up this pretty cunt. Then, I’m gonna take that knife, and ‘ima carve my name on your beautiful body. So whenever Steve wants to fuck you, he’ll see that you’re all mine.” There was a part of you that feared the pain she’d cause, but the other side of you craved it. You craved her touch, whether it was sweet or painful, you wanted it all.
“Please- need your babies, Daddy.” You pulled on her long, black hair that caused an ache in her scalp, but she didn’t mind. Your feet dug into her ass, your legs around her waist starting to become sore.
“I’ll make you a Mommy, baby girl, I fucking promise.” She grabbed the sharp object, now holding your entire weight in just one arm. Her strength had always amazed you.
The blade sunk into you, causing you to let out a silent scream. She bit her lip as blood seeped out of you, droplets landing on the counter and floor. It hurt so bad, but it felt so good.
“You doing okay?” She asked in the heat of the moment, and you could feel the care she held for you, creating a puddle of warmth in your heart.
“Yeah, ju-just keep going…please?” She didn’t give a worded response, only continuing as you asked. You looked down, noticing the letter being carved into your soft skin. It was a K, and you realized there would be no hiding it from Steve. This was it. This was the moment when everything would change for better or for worse.
Her thrusts weren’t as fast but exchanged for a deep, powerful desire. She didn’t want to ruin her creation, she wanted it to be perfect, it’s what you deserved.
“Nothing but the best for my princess.” She admired her work before disposing of the knife, letting her thumb brush over the open wound. Now she could fulfill her promise, now she could release her finish deep inside of you like both of you had been wanting for months now. Ever since you two slept together for the first time, it all changed. You couldn’t get enough of one another, you’d grown addicted as if she was some sort of drug, a highly illegal drug that is.
“Cum.” A small phrase did so much as your release instantly hit, bringing Kate even closer. She wasn’t letting you go, not even when her thrusts stilled in response to her cum filling you up, a few drops leaking out of you and joining the mess on the floor.
“Take it. Fucking take it, whore.” You choked out a sob as you felt your womb being filled to the brim, just like she planned.
“I hope you get pregnant, just so I can show that bitch you’re mine.” There was a small moment of silence between the two of you, the only sound being your shared pants and your winces whenever she brushed over your torn skin.
“Y/N? Honey, is that you?” You both shared a look of fear when the deep voice was heard.
“Shit.”
#kate bishop x reader fluff#kate bishop fluff#kate bishop x fem!reader#kate bishop x y/n#kate bishop x female reader#kate bishop smut#kate bishop x reader smut#kate bishop x reader#kate bishop#kate bishop angst#kate bishop x you#kate bishop x gender neutral reader#hawkeye x reader smut#hawkeye x you#hawkeye#hawkeye x gender neutral reader#hawkeye x reader#hawkeye x y/n
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good girl
Stucky x Reader (uni au)
Run-through: You come home all sad and upset after a horrible date, and your two best friends cheer you up in the best way ever.
Themes: virgin!reader, dom!stucky, smut, fluff, slight angst, loss of virginity, praise kink, steve x bucky (hehe)
a/n: i’ve been MIA i know, but uni’s a bitch sometimes. Anyway, I love you guys so much!!
You wiped your tears away as quickly as possible when you heard the front door opening.
They were here. Steve and Bucky, your best friends. Also roommates. Also the only people who could make such a terrible evening better.
Wiping your tears was useless because the moment they both walked into the living room and their soft eyes settled on you, you broke into silent tears again. You managed to get one brief look at them before your eyes got blurry with tears. Steve with his hat backwards and his tight t-shirt and Bucky in his usual black jacket.
They both rushed to you on the couch immediately. Their boyish scents; cologne and aftershave and whatnot filled the air you breathed and you loved it.
“What happened, doll?” Steve asked softly despite being surprised to see you in tears, sitting down beside you with his strong arms around you like a safe cocoon.
Bucky sat on the other side, sandwiching you between their muscular bodies, as he said, “We thought you’d be out all night. Did something happen with the guy?” His tone went from being calm to now alert. “Did he hurt you?” Bucky asked, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to go find the guy and punch him in the face. Repeatedly. If he did hurt you.
You sniffled, their combined body heat grounding you like nothing else could. You leaned back a little, their shoulders brushing against yours. “He didn’t do anything bad. But…” You trailed off.
“But what?” Steve asked, getting ready to take whatever action he needed to take. You felt him tense up against you as you leaned into his embrace a little more.
Bucky placed his warm hand on your exposed knee, his touch comforting and familiar. Only then did you realise you hadn’t changed yet. You were still in the little red dress from the date. “Come on doll,” Bucky said softly, “Tell us what happened.”
You sniffled. “So,” You began with a shaky voice, and Bucky immediately began gently rubbing your knee as if encouraging you to speak. You sent him a thankful look and continued, “The date was going well, I think. I was having fun, and so was he.” You sniffled. “And then we began talking about… stuff.”
They both froze, understanding. Then quickly got over it. Steve spoke first. “Did he… I mean, were you, uh, uncomfortable?”
“No,” You responded quickly, “I was fine, in fact, I could see us going back to his place after dinner, you know?” You missed the look the boys shared as you kept talking, “And then… and then I had to ask him how he’d feel, um, being with an inexperienced partner.” You squirmed in place, sudding finding your fingernails very interesting.
“Then what happened?” Bucky asked, taking your hands in his large one so you’d stop wringing them. His voice was so soft, and calm. Yet he was anything but.
You sighed, “He said that would be stupid. He said, how could a grown woman be inexperienced. Then he asked if I had ever…,” You sighed again. Squirming again. “And when I said no, his whole face fell. Like all he wanted was what happened after. Like this whole dinner didn’t matter anymore. Like all I was good for was-,”
Steve cut you off, “Hey, hey, hey,” He reached up to cup your face. “Forget about him, okay? He’s not even worth you crying over him. He’s an asshole. Forget about it.” He whispered, wiping your tears away.
“I’m not crying because of a stupid boy.” You stated. “I’m crying because of how I feel. It’s.. it’s kind of embarrassing.”
Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him. “Come here, doll.” With your back to his warm chest, you relaxed into his embrace. “Want me and Steve to go beat him up for you? Hmm?” He asked, playfully nuzzling your neck.
You were ticklish so you let out a little laugh. “No,” You said.
“And it’s not embarrassing,” Steve argued. “Alright?” He reached out and touched your cheek gently. “Now forget about him.”
“I have. He was silly anyway.” You said, pouting a little. “His favourite ice cream is mint and chocolate.”
The boys chuckled. “It’s kind of embarrassing that you went out with someone who likes toothpaste flavoured ice cream, honestly.” Bucky said.
You laughed along with them and realised that this was all you needed. You wiped your final tears away and began thinking. And said, “He was kind of right though, wasn’t he?”
They both frowned. “What do you mean?” Bucky asked.
You said, “I mean, uni’s ending in about a year. I can’t still be a virgin. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to lose it, I do. I truly do. But I have trouble trusting people, you know? And honestly, that’s the only thing preventing me from, uh, having sex.” Your face felt hot. But you added, “Even though I really want to.”
Something shifted in the air then. All three of you became suddenly aware of your proximity. Of your back against Bucky’s warm chest and your legs sprawled across Steve’s lap. Of how Bucky had been casually rubbing up and down your arm while Steve mindlessly caressed your exposed thigh.
Over the years, how many times have you all been in this exact position? Countless, you’d say. All the movie nights. All the drunk nights. Parties. After parties. But none of those nights ever felt this… intimate.
You looked up and found Steve with a heated look in his hooded eyes. Bucky was already breathing differently. And you… your heart was pounding. But the boys didn’t stop touching you. And you didn’t want them to stop.
You shut your eyes for a moment. Every sense of yours heightened. The fabric of your dress was suddenly restricting. Their touch was driving you insane. Their scent was as well. You could taste the wild desire in the warm air. You’d never wanted anything more than you wanted the two of them in that moment. You couldn’t be bothered about the outside world right now. The date, the stupid boy, the past few hours you’d spent crying… nothing mattered anymore.
This was almost heavenly.
Bucky was the first one to get out of whatever trance you were all in. He cleared his throat and you opened your eyes immediately to find Steve much closer than he was earlier. Bucky said, “You know you can tell us to stop anytime, doll.”
“I know.” You whispered, unable to focus on anything other than his body heat, or Steve’s eyes on you. “I know.” You repeated.
Steve then asked, “Do you want us to stop?” His voice was different. Deeper.
“No.” You whispered.
They both moved instantly once the word left your mouth. Bucky dipped his mouth down to your neck while Steve leaned in to kiss your face. You couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling of both of their mouths on your warm skin. You’d been kissed before, but never like this.
They kissed you like they needed the taste of your skin more than air.
Steve’s hand slid up your thigh at the same time as Bucky’s hand slid under the neckline of your dress. Steve caressed your inner thighs while Bucky toyed with your breast. You were nothing but a writhing, whimpering mess in between their muscular bodies.
Bucky breathed near your ear and you let out a soft moan, which made Steve freeze. Bucky chuckled and whispered into your ear, “Are you okay with this, baby?” He kissed the skin around your ear, “Hmm? Does this feel good?”
You couldn’t answer him because you were busy whimpering as Steve kissed the corner of your mouth. He chuckled as well.
“Is this okay? Or do you want more, doll?” He teased, as his fingers gently rubbed you through your thin underwear.
You whined, accidentally grinding against his hand which made you whine even louder. Bucky swore under his breath as he watched you. “More,” You begged, “More please.”
Steve smirked, pushing your underwear to the side before touching you properly. You whimpered even louder. Your own touch never felt that good. Behind you, you could feel Bucky undoing the zip at the back of your dress before sliding the thin straps down your arms.
“Wanna touch you,” He breathed into your ear again. Your dress bunched around your middle as Bucky hands reached around to touch and play with your breasts. “Fuck,” He swore, “You’re so warm, baby.”
Steve carefully slid one finger inside you, his eyes watching you intently and gauging your reaction the whole time. “Look at you,” He mumbled, maybe more so to himself, “Is this okay, doll? Does it hurt?” He asked.
You looked up at him, and shook your head. “No. I want more, please.”
Steve gave you a mischievous smile and said, “I’ve got you, doll. Don’t you worry about anything, you hear me?” When you nodded he smiled and said, “That’s a good girl. Now just relax, and feel good for me. Okay?”
Before you could ask what he meant, Steve pulled your underwear down, parted your legs and settled in between them, his mouth inches away from you.
“Trust me?” He asked.
You nodded, and then he held your stare as he pressed his soft mouth to your dripping folds. You gasped when you felt his tongue lick up and down your slit. You threw your head back, resting it on Bucky shoulders while Steve ate you out like he had all the time in the world.
Bucky kissed his way up your neck and finally placed his mouth on top of yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth, making you moan and gasp louder. He pulled away and smirked down at you.
“Are you being shy, baby?” Bucky asked. You shook your head, then let out a loud whimper as Steve teased a sensitive spot. “Then look at him. Come on, look at him.” Bucky made sure you looked down at Steve, and how diligently he ate you out. “Take his hat off, play with his hair. Show him how you like it. Guide his mouth where you want him.” Bucky whispered into your ear and as though under a spell, you did everything he told you to.
You pushed Steve’s hat off and slid your fingers in his hair, making him growl as he looked up at you. You gasped at the intensity and the heat in his eyes.
“Go on,” Bucky urged, like he was a little demon sitting on your shoulder, luring you to sin. “Grab him by his hair and move his mouth wherever you want it.” But seeing that you were hesitating, shy maybe, Bucky placed his hand on top of yours, sliding his fingers into Steve’s hair as well before moving his mouth to where he wanted. Right over your throbbing clit.
Bucky chuckled when you moaned out loud.
“See?” Bucky said, kissing the shell of your ear, “He’ll do anything. He’ll put that mouth wherever you want him to.” Bucky teased both you, and Steve. The latter looked up and glared at Bucky.
Steve pulled away briefly and smirked at Bucky, “Don’t fucking act like you’re the one in control here.” He sounded mean, but in a playful way.
Behind you, Bucky scoffed and tightened his grip on Steve’s hair and said, “Shut up and go back to eating like a good boy, Steve.”
That tone got you thinking… had Steve and Bucky ever…? You always thought they were just close friends. Even though sometimes they shared looks that could possibly mean other things. Could it be that-
Steve’s tongue stopped you from completing that thought. You whined again, grinding against his tongue gently as his hand moved from your thigh to your hips, then your waist… then disappeared behind your lower back. You wondered what he was doing back there but then… Bucky let out a delicious groan and you realised that Steve was palming him through his pants.
And that only made you feel even hotter. You focused on Bucky gasps and growls as Steve’s tongue made you come in no time. “Fuck,” Steve swore when he pulled away from you, licking his lips. “You taste amazing, doll.”
You didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. So you grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Tasting yourself on his lips gave you a high like no other. You deepened the kiss when he slid your dress down your legs and threw it down somewhere. You could hear Bucky taking his clothes off as well, and you began undoing Steve’s jeans.
When Steve pulled away from your kiss to get rid of his shirt, Bucky took the chance to pull you back onto his lap. “It’s my turn with you now. I want to hear you moan for me too.” He said, looking down at your chest and unclipped your bra before throwing that somewhere as well. His mouth immediately wrapped around your nipple, making you cry out loud.
Steve inched closer and wrapped his mouth around the other breast. Both of their mouths teased, and bit, and sucked, and pulled until you were a moaning mess, cradling both of their heads and keeping them as close to you as possible.
One of them caressed your inner thigh before parting your folds. You didn’t care who it was, you just wanted it. You felt a finger sliding into you, then sliding back out, and then back in until you were riding it. Another finger was added, and soon you were coming undone all over again.
“Fuck, she’s sensitive.” Bucky mumbled before biting down on your nipple and making your cry out even more.
Steve groaned in agreement, pulling away to kiss his way up to your mouth. “Come here,” He whispered, kissing you so deeply that you almost cried actual tears. “You’re such a good girl for us, doll. Look at you, such a sweet, pretty girl.”
You whined against his lips and playfully bit down on it.
Steve chuckled then said, “You want some cock in you? Huh? You got a taste and now you’re desperate for more, aren’t you?”
You pulled away, giving Steve your best puppy dog eyes. Meanwhile Bucky groaned as he mindlessly kissed all over your chest. “You two are killing me.”
Steve looked down at him, smirking as he said, “Oh look.” He cupped Bucky’s chin and traced his lips with his thumb, tugging on Bucky’s lower lip as he said, “Another one who’s desperate to come.”
Bucky glared at him playfully. “Fuck off, Steve.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to ask, “Um, do you two…?”
Steve shrugged, “Sometimes.”
Bucky scoffed, “More than sometimes.”
You nodded, “Oh. I didn’t know.”
Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, “Now you do.” He said. “In fact, you’re more than welcome to join us anytime you want.”
Steve leaned closer and said, “We’ve actually been waiting on it. That someday you’ll figure it out and… be curious. But you’re such an innocent, good little girl, you never even noticed.”
You glared at him, teasingly. “I’m not that innocent. I just thought you guys were really, really good friends.”
Which was stupid really. Because how could you have missed it? The stares they gave each other were nowhere near friendly, they almost undressed each other with their eyes.
They both chuckled at that. And for a moment there, you all forgot you were even nearly naked and on top of each other. That’s how comfortable the boys made you feel.
Bucky seemed to have picked up on what you were thinking, and said, “We can stop here, baby. We don’t have to do anything else.”
Steve nodded, reaching out to touch your face. “Yeah, we’ll get dressed again and watch a movie or something. We can do this another time, no pressure.”
You smiled at them. Both wearing only their boxers. You didn’t miss the erections, you just chose not to comment on it. “I know.” You said, then gave them a coy smile as you said, “But I want to keep going. I… I want this with you. Both of you.”
“You sure? This isn’t just because of that dickhead, right?” Bucky asked. Steve awaited your answer just as eagerly as Bucky did.
You shifted on Bucky's lap so you faced both of them properly. “No, this is what I want. And I want it with both of you.”
Steve wasted no time in pulling you in for a kiss. When he pulled away, Bucky kissed you next. Then he pulled away and said, “I think we should head for one of the bedrooms. More space.”
And in a few seconds, you all found yourselves in Steve’s bedroom as it was closest to the living room. Bucky tackled you down onto the bed and kissed you passionately. You were lost in the kiss, the only thing you could focus on was his chain dangling from his neck and ticking your chest, and the sound of Steve rummaging through drawers in the background.
And this was heaven.
Bucky’s hands roamed all over your bare body, his mouth eagerly tasting yours like he couldn’t get enough. “Fuck baby!” He growled against your mouth. “How dare you keep yourself from me this whole time, hmm?”
You moaned when he began teasing your clit, his fingers finding their way in between your legs. “Bucky,” You whined, “Please make me come again.”
He chuckled against your lips, then pulled away and stood up. He looked down at you, all bare and open for him. He almost took you right there and then. And oh all the things he would do to you… but not yet. He had to share with Steve of course. Later, he’d have you all to himself, sometime when Steve’s at the gym or out running errands. Later, he’d take his time and ravish you like you deserve to be.
Bucky gave you a playful tap on the thigh as he looked up and found Steve equally as enchanted at the sight of you naked on his bed.
Steve was just as lost in heated thoughts as Bucky was. Fuck, how many night had he and Bucky been in this room, desperately trying to be quiet as they made each other come. How many nights had they talked about how fucking amazing it would be to have you here with them? Later, he’d tell you all about those nights as he made you come over and over again. As for right now, he was gonna make sure your first time is as good as can be. Both he and Bucky would ensure that.
“Come here, doll.” Steve spoke up from the other side of the bed. And you excitedly crawled over to him and knelt right in front of him not far from the edge of the bed. You felt the bed dip behind you and you knew Bucky was mere inches away from your back.
Steve caressed your cheek lovingly, and said, “We don’t know what you like in bed, doll. You wanna tell us?”
Oh. “I, well I don’t know yet. I’ve never-,”
Steve rolled his head and bent down a little, getting eye to eye with you. “We all know you’re not that innocent, doll. Sure you haven’t had sex yet. But I’ve seen the smutty books on your shelf. I know what you read. I just don’t know what you like.” He said it so casually like he hadn’t just read you to filth. You tried your hardest not to hide your face.
“Steve,” You whined, embarrassed. “Don’t say it like that.”
Bucky laughed from behind you, then inched closer until you were basically in his lap again, both of you kneeling on the bed in front of Steve. “Oh don’t be embarrassed.” He said, “I Googled some of the books on your shelf once and showed it to Steve. We were both fucking baffled.”
You hid your face in the palm of your hands this time, and said, “I hate you two.” Your voice sounded muffled, but they heard it. And laughed even harder.
“I mean who knew innocent virgins read so much filth, huh?” Steve teased you even more as you kept hiding your face from both of them.
“Stop.” You groaned. Trying your hardest not to focus on how his words made you want to do things you’d never done before.
But like true best friends, they kept going. Bucky added, “I didn’t even know all those positions and kinks existed.” This made Steve laugh even harder, and you tried to run away from them but Bucky grabbed you by the waist and yanked you back into bed before you could and secured your wrists in his hand so you couldn’t hide. “Don’t be shy, say it. What do you like?”
Steve leaned in closer and whispered, “Let’s make it easier for you, okay? How about you tell me what you think about when you touch yourself at night? Huh? What gets you going? What makes you want to shove your pretty fingers into your panties and rub yourself until you come?”
You squirmed against Bucky, suddenly feeling his hard on against your back. You gasped, but quickly recovered as you said, to both of them, “You’re not allowed anywhere near my book shelf anymore.”
Steve smirked, knowing damn well you couldn’t stop him if he wanted. Bucky just chuckled and nuzzled your neck, “You’re like a feisty dragon,” Bucky said, “Guarding her hoard of smutty books.”
The boys chuckled as you whined and said, “You guys are so mean today.”
Steve caved first, “Aww baby girl, come here.” He cooed, pulling you in for a kiss. And somehow, Bucky joined too. When Steve pulled away, Bucky’s mouth replaced his. And when he pulled away too, you opened your eyes to find them kissing each other. Ferociously. Passionately.
Like they were lost in the taste of each other. Like they forgot the world around them existed. And you watched, entranced. Soft lips meeting in a wild dance, eager hands exploring each warm body. They made out in front of you and you could feel the tingly feeling in between your legs.
You must’ve whined in a desperate manner because they pulled away, shared one last heated look, and then turned to smirk at you. “Impatient, are you?” Steve asked.
Bucky played along, “That’s not what good girls do.”
You shivered. Remaining quiet.
Steve added, “Yeah. Good girls wait. Patiently.”
Bucky said, mischievously, “They don’t whine and pout when they don’t get attention. They wait. That’s why they’re good girls. But you know what you’re being right now?”
You were in the middle of the bed, but you felt cornered. So deliciously trapped.
Steve inched closer and whispered, “You’re being a very, very bad and disobedient girl.”
“And you know what happens to bad girls, baby?” Bucky asked, reaching for something but you didn’t dare look what he grabbed.
“They get punished. And they get taught lessons on how to be patient.” Steve replied.
You were under a spell. And you never wanted to break out of it. Within a minute or two you were handcuffed to Steve’s metal bed post. Not with one of those fake fluffy handcuffs either, these were sturdy.
Both of your hands cuffed behind your back, and the cold metal post pressing against your spine, you remained in the corner of the large bed while the boys moved to the middle. As if they were about to give you a nice little show.
And oh did they give you a show.
Slow hands, and deep breaths. Quiet moans, and wet kisses. You watched how Steve and Bucky leisurely kissed, and touched and stroked each other. Hands reaching for each other’s cock, followed by grunts and moans, and groans of pleasure. You couldn’t move much, but you desperately needed some friction down there so you kept squirming in place as you watched them.
Steve took his time kissing up and down Bucky’s neck while the latter tugged on his hair and brought his wandering mouth over to his, and the both sighed and groaned in relief momentarily. The erections in their black boxers were too prominent to ignore now.
“Fuck…” You whined, “Please, please I’ll be good. I promise.”
Aside from heated stares and a chuckle, you got nothing. “Good girls wait,” Steve said.
“And they don’t whine.” Bucky added.
You cried out, “This is torture.”
Careless scoffs filled the room. “You wanna know what torture is?” Steve asked in that condescending tone you couldn’t hate. “Come on Buck, let’s give our doll a real show.”
Bucky frowned, “I gave you head the last time. It’s your turn.” He sassed, ready to push down the waistband of his underwear.
Steve grabbed him by the back of his head and growled, “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”
Bucky smirked, “Yeah, yeah. Well, don’t forget who’s older. Now come on, put your mouth to good use.”
Steve looked down and Bucky had already had his cock out. Steve couldn’t argue any longer. Not when even you whimpered at the sight of Bucky’s hard, smooth erection. Steve bent down and immediately wrapped his mouth around Bucky, like he had done so many times before.
“Yes,” Bucky hissed, “That’s it. Oh fuck, use your tongue.. Yeah, yeah that’s it.” Another loud groan left his lips, “Fuck.”
You were a mess. A whimpering, squirming, wet mess. Watching Steve move his head up and down Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s moans only made you more inpatient. You watched as Steve pulled his cock out and began stroking himself at the same pace that he sucked Bucky. Watching his hand move up and down himself made you burn with desire.
You were so busy watching them, watching their limbs move. Watching Steve’s throat as he took more and more of Bucky into his mouth, watching Bucky’s fingers tug on Steve’s hair and messing it up even more. Watching Bucky tip his head back and gasp and grunt in pleasure, watching Steve stroke himself until he began to leak… you didn’t realise that the two of them were watching you.
Steve carefully pulled away from Bucky’s cock, his lips more pink and wet than usual. “See?” He taunted. “See how nicely you sat there, waiting?”
You whined quietly. Murmuring, “Please.”
“Oh fuck, baby. Come here.” Bucky rushed to you and undid the handcuffs before pulling you closer. You ended up being between both of them. Their bodies now warmer and damp. “Was that hard to watch? Hmm?” Bucky cooed. “Did you get all wet?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he reached down and inspected for himself. The devilish smirk he gave Steve meant that he was happy with what he found.
“I think you’re ready for more now, doll.” Steve whispered, kissing your neck and then down to your shoulders.
You realised that you’d have to make a choice on who gets to take you first. But you wanted them together. However, this was also your first time and you didn’t want it to hurt. But you wanted both of them…
The boys picked up on what you were thinking, and Steve said, “Hey, don’t think too much.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, wrapping his arms around your from behind.
In front of you, Bucky inched closer and took your chin in his hand. “It’s okay baby, I’ll let Steve have you the first time.” He said, “I’ll have you all to myself later. It’s just… I trust Steve to be a bit more gentle with you right now, okay?”
You nodded.
Steve smiled against your skin, kissing your cheek as he said, “Yeah, Bucky can be an animal. And we don’t want you to get hurt.” He clarified. Then smirked and said, “Some other day we’ll take you together. At the same time, okay?”
You smiled and nodded again.
The boys moved immediately. Steve grabbed a condom, while Bucky kissed you deeply as he repositioned you like how he wanted. And you found yourself on your knees still, but bent forward, ass up in the air towards Steve and your mouth really close to Bucky’s cock. You didn’t mind this at all.
“You sure you’ll be okay? You wanna give it a try first?” Bucky asked, pointing at his cock which was all hard and tall in front of you.
You held his stare as you sheepishly leaned forward and gave it an experimental lick. Then another. And when Bucky moaned, looking down at you with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, you dared to wrap your mouth around his tip. Just like you’d seen Steve do earlier.
“Fuck…” Bucky groaned. “That’s it, baby. You’re such a good girl.” His fingers slid into your hair, and he didn’t rush you or move your head. “Your mouth feels so good, baby.” He just held you there and let you find your pace.
You knew Steve was watching from behind you, and the way he was caressing your body meant that he liked what he saw. “You ready, doll?” He asked, fingers dipping into your folds to smear your wetness around.
You pulled away from Bucky for a moment, looked over your shoulder and said, “Yes.”
That was all Steve needed. And as you turned back to Bucky, lowered your mouth and teased his tip with your tongue, Steve gently pushed inside of you. The feeling was foreign but in no way did it hurt like you expected it to. Perhaps because you were well lubricated and so fucking turned on.
You heard both boys groaning as Steve slid all the way inside you, making you move together, your mouth on Bucky, and Steve sliding in and out of you slowly. You felt the stretch as Steve pulled out and pushed back in, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, you wanted more of it.
Bucky’s moans got more frequent as you took him further into your mouth. Steve’s hand reached around and toyed with your sensitive clit as he gradually sped up into you, still being gentle and slow with you. He grunted as your walls wrapped around him perfectly.
“Does that feel good? Hmm, baby?” Bucky cooed, tugging on your hair gently. You looked up at him and tried to nod, your walls clenching around Steve as he groaned and sped up into you. “You look so pretty, taking both of our cocks nicely like this. So fucking beautiful.”
Your body moved in between the two men so perfectly, it almost didn’t feel like this was your first time. The horrible date and the silly boy seemed like a lifetime ago. This was all you wanted. This was where you wanted to be, forever if you could.
“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking tight, doll.” Steve whispered under his breath, fucking you slightly faster. The momentum causing you to take more and more of Bucky into your mouth, and making him moan louder as well.
Bucky held your head gently as you took him deeper into your mouth. “That’s it, you’re doing so good, baby.” He said as you took him in until he hit the back of your throat. “Doesn’t this feel good? Being stuffed like that? Hmm?”
You just cried out in pleasure, with your mouth full. The boys chuckled.
“Fuck, you take it so well, doll.” Steve pounded into you from behind, he groaned and grunted as your warmth wrapped around him perfectly. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.” He growled as he fucked you nice and deep.
You knew you wouldn’t last too long. The pent up tension, all the teasing, and their damn words. It was all too much, too good.
“Are you gonna come, doll?” Steve asked, hitting a spot which made your eyes roll. “Huh? Are you gonna come all over me?”
You kept moaning around Bucky’s cock as Steve drove you wild with his cock buried deep inside you and his fingers toying with your clit. You felt the familiar warmth washing over you, accompanied by an unfamiliar pressure in between your legs…
“Go on, baby. Come for us.” Bucky urged. “I’m so close… fuck,” He groaned with his head tipped back and the sight of his delicious neck was enough to make you clench around Steve.
“Fuck!” The latter hissed.
The following few seconds were filled with careless moans and grunts. Steve gave you his all as gently as you could, but even then you could tell he was holding back just because he didn’t want to hurt you. You felt the pressure build and build and build…
Then Bucky came first, all over your tongue, swearing under breath and gasping as he watched you swallow all of him. Steve sped up into you, chasing his orgasm as well, groaning when he felt your walls clench around him, squeezing him as he fucked you.
“Come.” He said, growling, “Come all over my cock, doll.” He swore again, “Be a good girl and come for us.”
So you did. Bucky pulled out of your mouth and looked down at you. You gasped and whined as Steve pounded relentlessly into you from behind until you came all over him. Bucky smirked as he watched you, how your face morphed into a frown of pleasure as you moaned a little louder.
“Such a good girl,” He cooed, running his fingers over your scalp. “You did so well, baby.”
“Oh fuck…” Steve growled. Finally slowing down, but remained buried inside you for a while longer.
Your body tingled as you remained there, between them. A little sore, worn out, but you felt cared for as one of them gathered you into their arms and laid you down properly in bed. Soon, you were snuggled from both sides by your favourite boys.
“Are you okay, doll?” Steve asked, repeatedly kissing your face. “I’m sorry if I-,”
You cut him off by saying, “Oh you were perfect, Steve. Thank you.” You said. Then you turned to Bucky and repeated, “And thank you.”
Bucky smiled and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Take a nap, okay? When you wake up, it’s my turn.” He gave you a wink and snuggled closer to you.
You began to drift off when you heard Steve tell Bucky, “And then my turn again after that.”
Bucky scoffed, “You had your turn, dumbass.”
“Fuck you,” Steve argued, “Yeah I did, but…”
You didn’t hear the rest of it as you fell asleep. You were warm, and safe, and satiated. In the arms of two of your favourite people in the world. Nothing else mattered.
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Pierce My Heart
@steddiemicrofic prompt: pin, WC: 388, rating: G
"Ouch!" A dribble of blood trickled down Steve's finger, the pin of the needle had pricked him. Steve stuck the top of his finger in his mouth, the metallic taste of blood reminding him of darker days. The blood stopped quickly but he still got up to grab a small bandaid for the wound not wanting to risk getting any blood on the fabric he held, it had been a bitch getting it out in the first place. This was the fourth small stabbing of the afternoon.
"Stevie?" He heard from the door, shit when had Eddie gotten home? His shift wasn't supposed to end til...Steve glanced at the clock how was it four already.
"Um, in here!" He called trying to hide the garment behind him, a useless effort since as soon as Eddie saw him he wrapped his arms around him pulling him into a hug. "Hi, baby, I missed you," he said kissing Steve's cheek, "Hang on, what're you hiding?" Eddie made a grab at the ball of denim but Steve quickly held it out of his reach.
"Nothing!"
Eddie gave him an amused look, "Sunshine I know my vest when I see it, why have you got it, oh no don't tell me you were wearing it again and spilt stuff on it," he laughed, "Did you miss me that much, love?"
"No," Steve pouted not wanting to be teased about the time he was in fact wearing it because he missed Eddie and had spilt a whole milkshake on himself, that had been almost as hard to clean as the blood.
"Then what were you doing?"
Steve was caught, there was no way out of it, at least he was almost finished so he didn't feel too defeated showing his boyfriend what he'd risked his poor fingertips for. He held up the vest displaying the smattering of red thread on the left side, hidden between buttons and patches.
"Baby," Eddie said with awe in his voice, "You sewed this for me?" A small red heart with 1987 stitched haphazardly in the middle, the year they got their shit together.
"Pricked myself a few times but I wanted you to be able to take me with you when you go on tour next month, can't forget me, rockstar."
"Impossible, Stevie, you're my heart forever."
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The Very First Date
Modern!Steve Harrington x college!fem!reader
Part two to "lemon drop martini" ... Read part one here
18+ MINORS DNI
desc: you finally call Steve for that first date. And it goes better than you imagined
cw: alcohol mention (reader is not in the slightest drunk), slight Dom!Steve, cocky!Steve begging, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), unprotected sex, p in v, creampie. (let mw know if I missed anything)
wc: 2.8k
a/n: I hope y'all enjoy this! based off of this ask who asked me for a part two a while ago (I am so sorry). My writers block has lifted after like a year and here we are! So expect more fics soon!
...
Three days.
You’d waited three days before calling the number on the napkin.
Well that’s a lie. You actually called the number the next day (after eating a greasy meal, drinking a shit ton of water, and downing some aspirin… nothing like a hangover) from your roommate Alixs phone. But the second he answered, you hung up very fast.
Alix, of course, called you a little baby back bitch and told you that you needed to call him. That it’d be nice to have some perks around your little college town.
You rolled your eyes at the sentiment.
To say you were nervous talking on the phone with him would be an understatement, in fact you were shitting myself. Scared he’d be able to hear it in your voice how nervous you were. Or, worse, that he wouldn’t remember you.
Four days ago:
“This is Steve Harrington speaking. How can I help you?”
You took a deep breath, putting a smile on your face in the hopes it’ll translate through the telephone.
“Hi, Steve. I-it’s y/n. From the bar the other night.” You cringe at the slight stutter and the wave in your voice. “You gave me your number on the napkin.”
You can practically hear the smile in his voice, coolness seeping from his voice, “lemon drop martini girl. Of course I remember you, sweetheart.”
You quietly sigh in relief that he remembers.
“Oh good! I’m sorry for not calling sooner. I was a little hung over and then I had to study and take exams. Finals season.” You laugh awkwardly, cursing yourself for rambling and making a fool out of yourself. Alix would be rolling her eyes.
Steve laughs on the other end of the line, “ah yes. I hated finals. Very frustrating. Hence why I dropped out, much to my fathers dislike.”
One thing about you is that you love oversharing. But you love when other people overshare even more. There’s nothing like bonding over a trauma dump.
You giggle into the phone which makes Steve giggle too, the sound mimicking a sweet song. All you want to make him do it again.
“Anyway, sweetheart, I was wondering if you had plans for Friday night?” His tone is cool and relaxed. You could only wish to sound like that.
Your heart pounds in your chest, words failing you for a moment. “Oh! Um, nothing actually.”
“Perfect. Hows ‘bout you and I go on a little date? I know a great place. Kinda fancy. What do you say?”
You could kick your feet like a little girl at the prospect of going out with him. You, also, are tempted to make him wait. To give him just a little bit of a hard time. It was what you'd usually do to the men you like. But there was something in the back of your mind begging you not to.
“I-I would like that, Steve.”
“Great! I’ll pick you up at 7. Give you time to study and get ready. Take a nap even.”
…
“I can’t do this. I can’t go. I mean, fuck, I have nothing to wear.”
Nothing to wear was an understatement. You could hardly see the floor of your bedroom, clothes littering it with only a small path for where you keep walking from the mirror to your closet.
Alix sits on your bed, drinking some wine and eating some popcorn. “I liked the black leather. I don’t know why you won’t just wear that one. You look hot in it.”
You slide your hands down the front of the blue, sequence dress you have on. “I just feel like that’s not enough. And isn’t it a little … short for a dress for a nice restaurant?”
Alix shrugs, “I mean, probably but who cares. You look hot.” She sips her wine and says again, “well you look hot in everything.”
You look over at her, “while that’s sweet, he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes and I need a few shots to calm my nerves so help me pick a dress, please.”
She rolls her eyes at my dramatics, downing her wine. “I think you should wear the short black one you wore two weeks ago. Not the leather one, the velvet one. Makes your ass look great. Oh with your Louboutins! You spent a lot of money on them and have worn them once. It’s a sin.”
One thing is for sure, you did spend a lot of money on them, charging them to your dads credit card.
One change and two shots of vodka later, you were walkin down the steps of your condo to an awaiting Steve. He’s in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a gray jacket. His hair is just as perfect as the last time you saw him. (which was via instagram… gotta do the research right?)
He whistles long and low as you approach, and in a quick stroke of confidence you decide to do a little spin. He claps slowly as you face him and so, you bow. Just slightly so you don’t accidentally flash him. Not the way you want to start this date.
“Well hello to you too, Harrington,” you say as you smirk.
He slips his hand in his pockets, a smirk on his lips that you feel right between your legs. “You look very pretty tonight, sweetheart. I mean you’d look pretty in a potato sac but,” he shrugs. “We should get going.”
You smile and nod at him.
And the bar is clearly in fuckin hell, because him opening the door for you makes you want to jump his bones. But then again, no man has ever opened a door for you so… we can let it slide.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Chivalry is not dead sweetheart.”
…
Steve is very thoughtful. Sure, he asked all the usual questions you ask on a first date.
What’s your major?
Do you have any siblings?
What do your parents do for work?
Oh, your dad is in sales? Funny mine too.
He gives you guilt money? Mine too! Look at us
He also, orders you and him a bottle of wine (he has great taste) but lets you order your own meal (again the bar is in fucking hell). The place he takes you to is nice and the food is the best food you’ve had since you left home after summer break.
“So Steve, what made you decide to open up a bar in town?” You eat a spoonful of dessert, eyes never leaving his.
He takes a spoonful of his own dessert. “I was sick of working for everyone else. I knew if I made a unique bar, something you and your friends have never seen, others would want to check it out. Then you’d tell all your friends, who’d tell their friends, etc.” He grins as he talks, keeping eye contact with you.
It felt like a game of ‘who is going to look away first.’ A game you weren’t going to lose. Slowly, you pull the spoon out of your mouth, dipping it back in to your dessert. “Interesting. Great concept if you ask me.”
He huffs a small laugh through his nose, “I’m glad you enjoyed my bar.”
You scrunch your brows, the wine making you bold, “who said I enjoyed it?”
Now he really laughs, “you seemed to really enjoy all those lemon drop martinis. So much so you had a hangover the next day. I tried giving you waters but you threatened to gut me.”
Your jaw hangs open, “fibber.”
“I haven’t been called a fibber since I was a kid,” he smiles. “But yes you did tell me you would gut me. And then you left and I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
You can’t help but feel slightly guilty inside for not calling sooner. Well, you did call sooner but chickened out.
“And here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.”
He seems to think for a moment, sipping his wine (one he ordered that would go well with the dessert. He was right.)
“Wanna get out of here, sweetheart?” He looks up at you through his lashes, tongue rolling down the inside of his cheek.
He wasn't… demanding. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could turn him down. That he would take you home with a smile on his face. There would be no fuss, no fight, no name calling. No pressure.
And for that very reason, with a smile on your pretty face you answer him, “yours or mine?”
…
You’re not even through the door of his apartment before his mouth is on yours, his large hands on your face. The kiss starts soft, testing the waters and it isn’t very long before you deepen it. Your tongues dance but there is no fight for dominance, you let him win. You want him to win.
His lips trail over your jaw before slowly moving down your neck, gently nipping at your skin.
“Such a pretty girl,” he says in between kisses.
He sucks a bruise into your shoulder, easy to cover up, just in case. You let out a soft moan, hands coming up to tug at his hair.
“You-you’re pretty too.”
You can feel him grin against you, head lifting as his body cages you in, “I don’t think anyone has ever called me pretty. Well besides Eddie but that was mocking.”
You laugh, moving in and kissing him slowly, sweetly, “you are a very pretty boy.”
You can feel his hard dick jerk at the sentiment, and you keep it as a mental note. You know, just in case you need it.
“Fuck, can’t say shit like that.”
“No? Why not?”
“Cause it makes my cock hard. And it’ll be very embarrassing if I cum in my pants. Can't ruin my reputation.” The smirk on his face makes you almost pass out. You swear to God you can feel every word in your core.
“Hmmm, we can’t have that can we?” You push his jacket off his shoulders before running your hands down to the hem of his shirt. “Should take me to bed so we don’t risk you cumin’ early.”
It’s all the permission he needs. His lips are back on yours, his hands under your ass and picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, hands in his hair as he carries you to the bed.
He puts you down gently, his lips never leaving yours. Not for a moment. Not until he pulls away to tug his shirt over his head. You take the moment to take him in, his body lithe and toned. You also can’t help noticing the scars on his side that look a little like bite marks. Bite marks from something that isn’t human, something you make a mental note to ask him about at a later date.
“Sculpted from marble, god damn.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, never wanting to stroke a man's ego.
Steve just grins as he finds the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it down slowly down, his knuckles slowly touching your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You shiver under the touch and he notices. You’re quickly learning that Steve notices everything.
It isn’t long before he’s pulling the dress down your body, leaving you in only your underwear. Underwear that barely covers you, a wet patch on full display. If it was anyone else, you’d be embarrassed.
“Are you this wet for me?” His tone is mocking and he’s practically cooing at you, “go on. Answer me.”
Your eyes widen. Men have been demanding in the bedroom, plenty of them thinking they’re little tough guys. But none of them get that from you, none of them deserving. You’re not sure why you want to give that to him. You’re not sure what makes him different. And honestly, that is a problem for future you to talk about in therapy.
“Yes,” you reply, voice a little higher than usual. “S’all for you.”
The smirk he gives you makes your heart speed up. “Such a sweet, pretty thing. God, I want to devour you.”
His lips move to your chest, sucking a peaked nipple into his mouth. You can’t help but arch into his mouth, a small moan falling from your lips, his hand coming to play with your neglected breast. And it isn’t long before he swaps sides, his teeth nipping and sucking.
“Please. More.”
He laughs, moving to oblige you and kissing down your sternum before settling between your legs. “May I?”
Him asking makes your heart stutter in your chest, “yes. God yes. Please.”
Steve tugs your underwear down your legs, tossing them to meet the rest of the clothes on the floor. “I think I could get used to praying to me.”
He doesn’t give you time to answer before he licks up your cunt, stopping at the top to suck on your clit. The moan that comes out of you is loud and you’re thankful the windows are closed. “Fuck, Steve!”
He pushes a finger inside of you, curling them to reach the spongy spot inside you. “And you moaning my name is even better. Why don’t you do it again, angel”
He pushes another finger inside you, the burn causing you to grip his hair. “Steve please!”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
He moves his fingers faster, continuing to hit your sweet spot over and over again. His mouth moves to your clit, sucking gently. He keeps his eyes on you, observing, listening to every sweet moan and sigh that comes out of you. He files them away in his brain so he never forgets what drives you crazy.
“Need to… I-I need”
He sucks hard before pulling back, “need what? Go on, use your words.”
You gasp, “to cum. I- please.”
Begging wasn’t what you did for men. If anything, they begged you. Begged you to let them cum.
Steve doesn’t say a word, just grins and uses his free hand to press on your stomach. That is your undoing. “Steve!” You pulse around his fingers, breath getting caught in your chest. You feel warm all over, head emptying as he works you through it.
“That’s it baby. That’s a good girl. Bet that feels so good doesn’t it?”
You try to answer, you really do. But all you can manage is a small nod.
“Gonna let me fuck you?”
Again, you can only manage a nod.
“That’s my girl.”
And before you can even process his words, he flips you over on your stomach, hands pulling your hips in the air. You’re on full display for him. He can see everything. But you couldn't care less, all you want is him inside you.
And you get your wish. He moves slow, making sure he doesn’t hurt you. He’s big and you can feel every inch of him stretching you. It’s a tight fit even with how wet you are.
“Holy shit this pussy is amazing baby. Squeezing me so tight.”
His other hand braces himself by your head before dropping down to his forearms. He’s so close to you now, inside and out, his hips moving slowly so you adjust to him, and his breath fanning across your face.
“F-faster. Faster.” Your hands rake down his back, nails digging into his back, making him hiss.
He snaps his hips faster, grinning down at you. “Just so needy huh?”
You nod feverishly, “yes. F-feels so fucking good.”
He laughs at you now, kisses you. “Such a dirty mouth, baby. Pretty girls aren’t supposed to swear.”
“Says-says you… swear all the time. L-like a sailor.”
He hums. “Dirty mouth for a dirty fuckin girl.”
“That-that’s me.”
He fucks you faster and you feel like coil growing tighter and tighter inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, not wanting him to get too far away. He groans and you can tell he’s close.
“Want… no need you to cum inside me. I’ll d-die if you don’t,” you beg. You know you’ll probably regret it in the morning, all that you’ve said here in this bedroom. But at the moment you can’t find it inside you to care. Mainly because he was taking up every inch of you.
“Yeah? Need it? I’ll give it to you baby. Will give you anything you want.”
And it’s all you need to fall over the edge, walls clenching around him so hard he falls with you. A mutual “fuck!” falls from both your and his lips.
You're both panting as you come down from the high. He pushes your hair out of your face and kisses you sweetly. Suddenly Steve is giggling, his head falling into the crook of your neck.
“What? Why are you laughing?” you ask with just a little bit of worry.
“I am so fucking glad you ordered a lemon drop martini.”
#stranger things#steve harrington#stranger things fic#Steve Harrington smut#Steve Harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x fem!reader#Steve Harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve x reader
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(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k
content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags
“My dad called.”
Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now?
It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son.
Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust.
Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong.
“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself.
“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.”
Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight.
“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging.
“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!”
His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.
“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off.
He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can.
But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.
“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”
Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.”
“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks.
“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?”
Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.”
He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace.
It’s only then that Steve speaks.
“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”
Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them.
“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree.
“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge.
Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen.
“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”
“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”
Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain.
“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow.
“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”
Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him.
“Definitely.”
The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.
There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter.
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#myblurbs#(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was#our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact?#anyways#replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️#super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕
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Tumblr dashboard in Night Vale simulator
🧪homo-genius
Today's science fact:
Spiders have an open blood circulation system, which means they do not have veins and their blood is different from the blood of mammals. Unfortunately many healthcare professionals do not know this, which can lead to improper methods in...
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🎙️voice_of_night_vale
Spiders are a valuable part of our community and deserve good healthcare.
But more importantly, I want everyone to know that Carlos the Scientist made this post, he is my husband and I love him very much! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
🪬a-thousand-fingernails Follow
Cecil everyone knows you and Carlos are married and most of us are happy for you but you don't need to tell this in every post you make
🎙️voice_of_night_vale
Wait have I mentioned it before?
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⭐sheriffofallarts
Hah saw some loser (@ marble-eyes) bring the same girl (@ mountainbeliever343 I think, couldn't see her face clearly from the cameras) home for the third time this week lol
cmon just say you are girlfriends already dont be shy
💎marble-eyes Follow
Hey you can't just share private information like that!! And besides that is not true, I haven't brought anyone home for a long time, I don't have time for that anymore!!!
🟡secretly-in-your-home
No. I can confirm that what Sam said is true. I was there. I am always there. Also, I put the rest of your cereal to your washing machine. They have been in the cupboard for a while now, I thought they were getting quite dusty and needed cleaning.
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🏀basketballpalmer Follow
We had an another great season with @nvwheelchairbasketball team again! Thank you everyone, it's an honor to be the captain of the team! See you guys next season <3
👍wallabyyy Follow
Aaaaa congratulations! I miss you guyssss
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☀️prophet-of-smiling-god
I just had the most delightful date with the most gorgeous theologist in Desert Bluffs Too!!! We had a lovely dinner at my house (some eyeball salad, mushed tarantulas and fried human fingers), watched some movies and of course made sure to serve our great Smiling God by making each other as happy as possible!! Unfortunately Charles said that it would make him unhappy if I shared the details, but I can confidently say that I have never been more joyful!!
🦷smiling-mayor Follow
Kevin, you missed a service in the Temple of Joy because of this. Surely you would remember doing that for an old friend, wouldn't you? 😊
☀️prophet-of-smiling-god
Oh, Lauren, of course I wouldn't ignore anything like that on purpose, you know how much I love tolerating you!!
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🪽not-an-angel Follow
Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?
You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link
🌟erikaaaaaaa Follow
Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?
You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link
💵ex-vanston Follow
Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?
You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link
💡erika-the-black-one Follow
Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?
You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link
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😎violentfootstool-deactivated20230416
Hey guys, so I just spoke to the new scientist lady and found out I don't actually have three pairs of arms. The lower two were just robot limbs that I tried out when I was seven years old and forgot to take them off. So hows your day ://
🔬janet-lubelle
I am always happy to help with explaining your problems away.
🎀tinfoilforteeth
Hey bitch how is it going under the cow
754 notes
🎙️voice-of-night-vale
Alright, I'm going to say it. Steve Carlsberg does NOT know how to be a basketball coach. He knows nothing about any game structures, and he only allows one ball per game!! He talks too loud, except when you can't hear him. It will be ALL HIS FAULT if we end up losing this season!!!!!
🌠lines-in-the-sky Follow
:(
🎙️voice-of-night-vale
For everyone who finds this post now: I made this many years ago. Things have changed a lot. I'm very sorry, Steve. I couldn't hope for a better brother-in-law. You are my best friend, and I was the irrational one in this situation.
I have changed the way I look at people. I will not treat them the same way I used to treat Steve anymore.
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🎙️voice-of-night-vale
Alright, who let Susan Willman be in charge of anything? She is the absolute worst at making desicions, like, who asks an obelisk its NAME? She had an oppoturnity to ask almost anything, and that's what she chose?? She better stay away from our way for at least seven decades, and keep her "Huntokar"-nonsense with herself!!!
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Eddie loves to complain.
It’s a known fact to Eddie, to Wayne, to every single sorry son-of-a-bitch who winds up being friends with him, that Eddie loves to complain. Half the time he opens his mouth, it’s to let an absurd about of bitching fall out of it. Trailer trash with a trash mouth, is what he calls himself sometimes, always with a wry grin.
Even more so, Eddie loves to complain about how Steve Harrington seems to get everything he wants in life.
He gets the big house at the end of the block, the spot of captain of the basketball team (not that that’s a position Eddie would ever gun for), the stupid title of ‘King Steve’ that let him soar through high school, untouched.
Missing homework? Well, King Steve Harrington just gets a gentle reprimand, a reminder to make homework a priority next time. Whereas, Mr. McKay had nearly popped his eyeball out in stress when chewing Eddie out for his missing homework in the very same week.
Double fucking standards. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Steve get free shakes down at Harper’s Diner which made Eddie scoff— as if the likes of Steve Harrington can’t pay for his own shakes.
So, yeah, to Eddie? Steve Harrington gets everything he wants.
It becomes so much of a habit — bitching and blaming King Steve for every other minuscule inconvenience as well — that even when Eddie has the week from hell and his entire worldview is shifted, quite literally, upside down, he still complains about Steve.
Because, damn it, even at all this, Steve is better than Eddie is.
Ignoring the fact it’s definitely not Steve’s first rodeo, Eddie can’t help but keep the bite in his tone. It feels a bit too humiliating, being kept bed-ridden in Steve’s empty mansion due to wounds that need tending to every day. Hidden from angry mobs because he’s that unlikable in this town.
Worse, is that even though Steve got a bite taken out of him too, he seems just fucking peachy compared to Eddie.
Pathetic Eddie who can’t even change his own bandages yet. Steve’s more gentle than Eddie probably deserves for all his bitching at him.
Because, of course he bitches. Eddie can’t help it; some defence mechanism from within that isn’t sure how to handle the fact Steve is, like actually genuinely, a decent person. It’s worse when Steve waves it off. Shrugs off his pointy comments, might make a comment about being ‘someone’s grouchy and tired’ but is still so fucking nice.
Until the one day he doesn’t shrug off the comment— this time when Eddie makes a complaint, whinging and grumbling about can’t believe I’m stuck with Steve Harrington playing nurse, Steve narrows his eyes. Then he sighs.
“What’s your problem with me, man?” Steve asks, not unkind, just probing. He’s still winding one of the bandages around Eddie’s torso, the latter propped against the bathroom sink.
Fuck, this bathrooms massive. It’s bigger than Eddie’s entire room at the trailer. He hates it for that. He hates that he’s had more gentle touches in this bathroom in the weeks living here, with Steve, than he had in his whole 20 years since— well, since his mama died really. He tries not to think about that much.
Eddie really glad he asked; he thinks he’s had this whole speech prepped since sophomore year and Steve’s stupidly fluffy hair and smarmy grin walked through Hawkins High’s front doors. Charmed his way to top of the school with his stupid perfect life.
But, well, not all of that is true anymore. Eddie knows there’s quite a few holes in his original fantasised idea of what the perfect life of Steve Harrington looks like. Doesn’t matter, Eddie’s still got a bone to pick. He’s stubborn that way.
“What’s my problem? Did you meet yourself in high school?”
Steve winces a bit at that, his eyes ducking away but his hands keep moving, winding the gauze slowly and carefully. He doesn’t say anything, thinking, but Eddie rolls on regardless.
“Dude, you get— you have everything. You have the house, the popularity- shit, half the population of the school had the hots for you.” He doesn’t mention that he was at one point part of that population. Might still be if Steve keeps being so nice to him. Damn, he’s easy.
His tone as he talks tells a completely different story though, all annoyed and dramatic. “I once saw Miss O’Donnell wave off a failed test just cos. Just cos you were you! That’s the same fucking test that failed me the first time round.”
Eddie waves his hand around, on a roll now; he’s had plenty of practice with bitching about the likes of how Steve Harrington has it all.
“I know all this shit is, well, not fuckin’ ideal but even then! It’s like, of course, you’ll roll out of this with some badass scars that the chicks will dig.”
Steve is still listening intently, Eddie can tell because his eyes flick up to meet his every couple of seconds. His hands keep working.
Eddie huffs and winces at the pain that radiates up and down his side. “If you had these scars,” he gestures up and down. His side is undeniably worse than Steve’s own, they both know. “It would just be badass. Survivor shit, yanno? On me, it’s just, like, shitty mutilation.”
The sentence hangs in the air and Eddie feels his embarrassment creep up by how quickly that turned into a pity-fest, which absolutely not the point. The point is that Steve gets it all and Eddie gets nothing — and that’s how it’s always been.
Steve says quiet for a bit thinking as he ties off the end of Eddie’s bandage. He has to pull it tight and Eddie winces again, another flush on pain. Even if it’s not as embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, Steve taking care of these wounds for him, Eddie still hates it.
“So, that’s your problem with me? You think I get everything I want?” Steve asks plainly, pulling his hands back and folding them across his chest. Eddie hates how handsome he looks doing it. Then hates himself for noticing it.
“In a manner of words, yes.”
Steve uncrosses his arms and suddenly leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Eddie’s hips on the bathroom counter. He leans into his space and Eddie has to force himself not to pull back instinctively. Steve’s face is very close to his.
“And... if I want you?” Steve asks, voice dipping quieter in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach tighten. He represses a shudder and only after, do the words dawn on him; there’s no hiding the way he gets a little wide-eyed and fuck, he just looked at Steve’s lips. Wait, what? Eddie’s heart is thudding like a trapped rabbit’s, wild and quick.
Steve’s stare is intense, eyes a little darker than usual. He looks at Eddie and just for a moment, his gaze drops to his lips. Steve licks his own, his knuckles on the counter growing whiter as he grips it tighter and steels his nerve.
“Do I still get everything I want?”
#break from da blurbs bcos i am on STEDDIE BRAIN at the mo!#i've also had that dialogue in my drafts for yoinks#yet again.... gay ppl in my phone#i trust u to find this#sorry to all my stevie followers u will have to see this just once lol#maybe twice#steddie#ruby writes steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#wahoo
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Dancing in the Kitchen
summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him.
or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.
parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader
word count: 4.9k
warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention
a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3
If I've missed any tags, please let me know!
gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥
my ao3 | my masterlist
Read this fic HERE on ao3!
♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥
Everything was cold.
Everything was ruined.
Everything was a fucking nightmare.
Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.
You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed.
You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.
It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius.
Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius.
Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.
Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you.
“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”
You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.
“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”
You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.
“Tony, please, I–”
“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”
Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.
Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop.
“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”
The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.
“Fuckin’ cunt.”
Click.
You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses��� to heal each wound he was responsible for.
This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family.
A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–
Knock. knock. knock.
In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.
The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.
Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked.
Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.
This time was unlike the million other times.
You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.
“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him.
It was then, everything came crashing down.
You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.
All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip.
Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home.
“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.
“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.
“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”
“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”
“What, angel? What about Tony?”
“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”
Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone.
He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.
Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake.
“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”
You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”
The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind.
He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him.
Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.
In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.
All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve.
Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able.
And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.
Had he always looked at you like that?
“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him.
You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him.
“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”
You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin.
“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.
He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners.
“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”
Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs.
As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend.
“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”
A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.
“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.
“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”
You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.
“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”
You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.
“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”
Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”
You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room.
Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.
You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it.
Or, liked it.
You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee.
Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards.
Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve.
You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.
But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.
Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach.
You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.
The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind.
Bzzt.
You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.
⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready
You looked at yourself in the mirror.
“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”
The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs.
“Fuck.”
You opened the door.
⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆
“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.
More like you.
You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.
You mentally scolded yourself.
“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”
“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.”
He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed.
He was what you needed.
Was he?
You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again.
“Thank you, Stevie.”
“You’re welcome, angel.”
You pinched yourself, then took another sip.
Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock.
Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down.
“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?”
His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.
And your life.
“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.
“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”
Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety.
“Why?”
You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.
“What?”
“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”
“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.
Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”
“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–”
You felt tears again.
“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”
“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!”
You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat.
The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.
As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.
Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.
He’d do it all again for you.
Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.
“May I have this dance?” he whispered.
You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.
Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.
He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.
It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.
Steve had been there.
Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years.
He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn.
And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over.
Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision.
Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.
“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.
“Since the day I met you.”
“Why didn’t you–”
Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.”
Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”
He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating.
“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”
He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you.
“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”
You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”
Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding.
“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”
His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed.
You crashed together.
Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.
He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.
Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”
“Never?”
“Ever.”
You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild.
#dancing in the kitchen#jen writes#fluff#angst#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x f!reader#captain america x reader#college!au#modern!au#college!steve#modern!steve#modern!steve rogers#steve rogers fluff#captain america x f!reader#curvy!reader#best friend!steve rogers#best friend! reader#cap quartet au#chris evans#chris evans characters#steve rogers fic#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers onshot#steve rogers imagine#protective!steve rogers#slightly posessive!steve rogers
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little bird (part 1) (steve rogers x fem!reader)
summary: steve rogers has been acting strangely around you for months, and now you know why: he found out about your crush on him and decided to tease you until you couldn't take it, as penance for your insubordination in the field. how much of steve's provocation can you take? and does he enjoy working you up?
warnings: explicit sexual content, upcoming smut, post-endgame avengers au where everyone lives and stays, witch reader, DIRTY TALK, sparring, voyeurism, humiliation a little
notes: hi hi hello! my name is april and this is my first fic on this account. i just can't get steve rogers out of my head and need to express myself tbh. so i hope you enjoy! i love to write, so let me know if you have any requests for steve (or bucky perhaps in the future). and let me know what you think of this one. hopefully this draft is not too rough.
"sweetheart, throw one more thing at me and there will be consequences," steve said gruffly from the other side of his kitchen. his expression told you this would be your final warning.
your hands cast a pink glow and the vase on the table next to you began to levitate. it flew toward the captain and just barely missed his head.
"you knew," you said lowly. "you knew and you were fucking with me."
"i might have heard something from natasha, who heard something from wanda," steve tried to minimize his knowledge of your feelings for him. "your thoughts were too loud, i guess."
"oh, so you decided to tease it out of me in front of everyone?!" you asked, incredulous.
"it's only fair, little bird. you were openly insubordinate from day one," he reminded you. he took a few steps toward your body, which was floating on a cloud of pink a few inches above the floor. "i had to put you in your place. plus, you're cute when you're embarrassed."
with a flick of your wrist, you sent steve flying backwards into the wall. he grunted but made a quick recovery, and in a flash he was next to you again.
"what did i say about consequences?" he whispered in your ear.
"i didn't throw anything at you," you replied, a bratty smile on your face.
"you're out of control. and as the captain of this team, that's a problem for me," steve continued, his hands roaming your body to coax you into submission. "i'm a patient man. you will learn discipline, no matter how long it takes. but i doubt it'll take long for you to fold, because i know all your weak spots."
you shuddered, unconsciously leaning into his touch. in an instant, he manhandled you so your feet were on the ground and pinned you against the counter. steve slotted his right leg between yours, just under the hem of your dress.
"there's this one, of course," he teased, flexing his toned thigh and grinding his knee against your clit through your panties. you couldn't hold back your whimper. "you like that? yeah, i bet you do. can't help how wet and tingly you get around me."
---
once, you and steve were paired up for a sparring match in the gym. according to the avengers' training rules, you weren't allowed to use your powers, so it was bound to be an unfair fight. no matter how much you bitched and whined, you couldn't get out of the match.
"you know if this were a regular fight, i'd kick your super ass, rogers," you taunted as he circled you.
"you think about my ass a lot, y/l/n?" he countered smugly, eliciting laughs and cheers from the other avengers. while your face burned in humiliation, steve pounced. he had you under him in a matter of seconds. one of his hands rested high on your thigh, forcing you to the ground, and the other bound your hands together above your head.
while you thrashed uselessly beneath him, steve brought his lips to your ear.
"i know what this does to you, me pinning you down," he murmured. "i can hear your heart racing, i can feel the heat between your legs, i can fucking smell you soaking your panties."
"time!" tony called, and steve withdrew. your skin tingled with the afterglow of his touch. you huffed and got up, trying to save face by acting unaffected.
"you okay there, y/n?" bucky asked, an amused smirk on his face. "you didn't last very long."
"she's alright, pal," steve answered for you, putting a hand on bucky's shoulder and leaning in. "just a little... frustrated, is all."
---
you felt another gush of wetness seep out of you at his filthy words. he pressed hard on your clit for emphasis, and you jerked in his hold. his hands then ran up your body and came to cup your breasts.
"and these... how many times have you imagined me squeezing them, telling you how soft and pretty they are? i know you were thinking about it when i gave you that shoulder massage."
he was dead-on.
---
after you wrenched your arm on a mission in tokyo, steve had insisted on giving you a massage. he claimed to want to "keep you comfortable," feeling a responsibility as your leader to look after you. you were one of the youngest avengers, after all.
he toyed with you—using his big supersoldier hands to provoke a reaction from your body, only to then leave you wet and unsatisfied. even worse, he did it on the quinjet in front of natasha, sam, and bucky. he stroked all over your body, smiling as he watched you squirm and whimper, basking in his power over you.
---
"dickhead," you whispered, your voice less venomous and more flustered than you intended.
"good point, pretty girl, i almost forgot about that," he replied with a cheeky grin. "how many times have you fantasized about feeling my big cock inside you?"
---
one movie night at the avengers compound, steve showed up wearing only a thin tank top and tight flannel pajama pants. you shuddered and pressed your thighs together when you saw him walk into the kitchen, looking so sexy. seeing the desperate look on your face, he had the audacity to wink at you.
"when are you gonna take notice of the fact that you're huge, steve? you need clothes that fit your supersoldier body properly," you chastised him to cover for the fact that the sight of his skin turned you on so much.
"i suppose you're right, doll," he responded, smiling coyly. "guess i'm still getting used to being big."
"serum makes everything bigger, doesn't it stevie?" bucky strolled into the kitchen, winking at his best friend. "so difficult to adjust."
your knees went weak at bucky's words, unable to stop imagining the monster dick hiding under steve's slutty sweatpants. you excused yourself to the restroom, hearing bucky and steve chuckle behind you.
when you returned to the living room for movie night, you made the horrifying realization that there was no seat left for you. everyone sat in their own individual recliner chair, wide enough for two small people or one supersoldier.
some of the new agents had shown up to movie night, excited to bond with the avengers. this left you sitting on the floor between two seats. both were empty, but reserved with bags. at least it had decently thick carpeting.
"aw, honey, no room left for you?" steve cooed as he and bucky strode back into the room to take their seats. "you're not sitting on the floor. don't be ridiculous. we can share."
your eyes widened and you stood up uneasily. he sat down in his chair and gently pulled you into him, leaving you perched on his left leg. this would be your undoing.
throughout the movie, the captain kept flexing his strong thigh underneath you, sending pulses to your clit. on the third flex, he feigned innocence when you gave him a dirty look.
you tried to change positions so you were no longer straddling his thigh and eventually wiggled free of him. while you considered your next move, he threw his arms around your waist and pulled you to him. soon you were sitting between his spread legs, feeling his cock through his sweatpants.
"why are you flyin' away, little bird?" he whispered in your ear, his hot breath making your head feel warm.
you couldn't help but rub against it. you had no choice, really. you were so turned on and delirious that you could only obey your dirty instincts.
when his length began to harden from the friction, you gave him a victorious smile over your shoulder. even though you were desperate for him, he couldn't deny he liked it now.
your smile faded when you made eye contact with natasha, who gave you a knowing smirk in return. god, how many people knew about this?
no. you can't do this, he's your captain. it's indecent, and he only means to humiliate you for your desire. you snapped out of it, breaking free of steve's hold and taking him by surprise. "i gotta go to bed," you managed, and darted off to your room.
that was the end of the encounter, or so you thought. later that night, you woke up to the sounds of steve groaning on the other side of your shared bedroom wall. he sounded pleasured and pent-up at the same time.
unable to resist temptation, you used your magic to project some of your energy into his room, allowing you to see him.
the sight was magnificent: captain america with his hand wrapped around his cock, moaning and grunting as he stroked himself. and oh, what a cock it was. slick with precum, long and thick and bigger than any you'd ever seen before, even in porn. you wanted his hot, hard length in your—
---
"i know you've seen it. that night at the compound, you watched me touch myself," steve rasped in your ear, caressing up and down your hips as he held you against the kitchen counter.
"how did you—"
"i saw your little pink sparks floating by my door," he interrupted you.
"okay, yeah, i'm desperately attracted to you! is that what you wanted to hear? i won't talk back or disobey your orders anymore. just please, don't humiliate me any more!"
"humiliate you? oh no, honey, you've got it all wrong. i wanted the team to know so that they'd understand i had you under control. can't have them thinking i'm a bad captain, right?"
"well, it's still embarrassing and degrading."
"not if i want it just as much as you," he said gently. "look, i was teasing you because i like to see you squirm. because i like you too. quite honestly, i have to fight like hell every day to resist the urge to take you. bend you over the counter, throw you down on my bed, fuck the attitude out of you."
you paused for a moment, stunned into silence. "and the others?"
"they're laughing at me as much as they are you, if not more. because i can't control myself around the girl who talks back to me. you make me so hard all the time, baby."
the words were music to your ears. you were dripping in your panties as he rubbed himself against you through his boxers.
"then lose control," you said.
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fanfic#mcu fanfiction#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#future smut#avengers au#avengers fic#captain america fanfiction#captain america x reader
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IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…
Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!
the gang x motherly!reader
!warnings!
1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭
2.fem!reader
3.swearing and a small mention of violence.
Johnny Cade ;
like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.
honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!
when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!
when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.
but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.
johnny likes it when you patch him up now!
he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’
when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.
he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.
johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.
when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.
because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.
having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.
Dallas Winston ;
another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.
mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.
but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.
he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him
he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.
“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”
for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.
BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.
dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.
even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.
Ponyboy Curtis ;
he’s like a toddler around you???
ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.
but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?
he tries though!
when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.
“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”
“oh? why’s that?”
“well because-“
and now you have to sit there and listen to him.
he’ll draw for you so much :(.
if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!
Sodapop Curtis ;
he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.
he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???
“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”
when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.
and of course, you say yes everytime.
so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!
when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.
and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.
he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.
“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”
“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”
“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”
Darry Curtis ;
he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.
you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?
you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.
“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”
“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”
“yeah!!”
“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”
if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.
Steve Randle ;
steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.
but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.
shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.
he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.
he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.
he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.
“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”
“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”
“RIGHT?!”
Two-bit Matthews ;
he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.
he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.
“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”
“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”
“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”
he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!
please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.
he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.
“so y/n…you want some?”
“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”
he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?
“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”
“steve, be nice! apologize.”
“what the fuck?!”
author notes ;
1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.
2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??
3.are you guys okay??
4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??
5.i think theres no romance??
may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM
#2knightt#the outsiders#the outsiders x reader#dallas x reader#dallas winston x reader#johnny x reader#johnny cade x reader#ponyboy x reader#ponyboy curtis x reader#sodapop x reader#sodapop curtis x reader#steve x reader#steve randle x reader#two bit x reader#two bit matthews x reader#platonic the outsiders#motherly!reader
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)
PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh?
content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross
word count: 7.2k
Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.
I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.
Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.
Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.
Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.
Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.
The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.
This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.
It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.
What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.
And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.
Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.
He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.
But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.
He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.
“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.
Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.
Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.
“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”
—
“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.
“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.
He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.
So you do it again.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.
“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.
“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”
“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”
Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”
Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.
You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.
“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”
Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.
“Stay out of my way, then.”
“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”
“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”
“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”
—
Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.
See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.
Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.
In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.
Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.
He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–
“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”
On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.
“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”
Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”
“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”
Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.
But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.
But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.
He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.
“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”
You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.
“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”
“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”
“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”
A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”
“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.
Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.
“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“
“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”
“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”
Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.
He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.
Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.
But he’s done it.
Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.
Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.
“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”
Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”
And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“Nicole Summers.”
“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”
“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”
“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”
“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”
You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.
“How was it?” you press.
Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”
Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”
“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”
Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.
Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.
What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”
“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.
“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.
“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.
“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.
“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.
Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.
“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”
“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”
Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.
“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”
That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.
“Combination lock, huh?”
“Allegedly.”
“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”
Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”
Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”
He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.
You’re drunk.
If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.
If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.
You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.
And it would mean nothing.
And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.
But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.
“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”
So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.
“Oh, shit!”
Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about.
“Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.
Trembling.
“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”
Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.
He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.
Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”
But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.
Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.
You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.
“Uh– Lacy?”
The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.
A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?
“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.
Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?
“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”
“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.
“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”
But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.
“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.
What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.
“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”
It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.
“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.
“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”
“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”
“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”
–
You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.
“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.
You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.
“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.
Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.
“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”
She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.
You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.
So somebody must have.
Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.
Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.
Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.
Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.
Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.
“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”
Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.
“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”
“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”
“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.
“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”
Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”
“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.
“Wayne–”
“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”
He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.
He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.
–
Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.
It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.
You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?
Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?
But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.
The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.
Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.
You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.
You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.
Regret stabs at you.
“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.
“What?”
“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”
Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”
“Ugh, thank god.”
“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”
You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.
“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.
“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”
“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”
Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”
He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”
You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”
“You’re never late for first period.”
“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”
“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”
It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.
Until now.
And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.
Until now.
“So?” he says, all expectant.
And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.
The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.
But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?
Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.
You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.
As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.
You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.
“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”
You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”
Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.
Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.
Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.
She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.
“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”
“Huh?”
“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”
You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”
Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.
Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.
“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.
Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.
“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
–
Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.
But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.
Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.
Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.
You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.
Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.
“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.
She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.
Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.
“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.
This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.
“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.
There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.
You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.
Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.
“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”
author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes:
- you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob
- eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease
- speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later
- admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people!
- did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~
- jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory
- RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig
- at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track
- thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats
#published by powder#in progress#hellfire & ice#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson fic#stranger things fic#e. munson by powder
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Thick with Desire
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem plus sized! reader
Genre: hurt/comfort, smut, fluff
Rating: Explicit/18+ only MINORS DNI
Length: 7k
Summary: When your boyfriend Eddie’s shirt doesn’t fit, you start to feel like you don’t deserve him. But Eddie is having none of it, not when he finally gets to see how beautiful you are.
Warnings: reader is 18+ but is implied to be a senior in hs with Eddie, reader is insecure about her figure/weight, reader degrading herself for her figure/weight, briefly mentioned unsafe weight loss methods (dieting/disordered eating), Eddie being a whole simp for his thick gf, praise kink, so much dirty talk like 😮💨, sacrilege lol, overuse of pet names probably sorry, body worship, daddy kink 😬, face sitting/oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Eddie has a big dick, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, dumbification if you squint, dacryphilia, marking kink — if I missed anything please let me know 🖤
Requested: Yes by @joekeeray — “Don’t be shy now, come sit on my face”
A/n: I’ve been working on this for way too long, bc as a thick bitch, I felt ✨inspired✨ but this could be potentially triggering for anyone who struggles with body image issues 🖤 also this has been beta read 🫡 also my requests are open so pleaaaaaaaase send me requests ❤️
⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆
You stared at your reflection in Eddie’s mirror as fat, salty tears rolled down your face without a stop in sight. Eddie’s frantic voice muffled by the locked door as he begged you to let him in. You knew this moment was coming — it had been looming in the distance most of the day.
It had started at lunch, Jeff’s new girlfriend, Missy, wearing his old Hellfire shirt — the one he’d accidentally torn the neck of in frustration a few months ago sitting at the same table they were at now, trying to psych himself up to ask Missy on a date. You hadn’t thought much about it, in fact you thought it was cute she was putting in effort (something you figured she could stand to do more of) but that in itself wasn’t the problem.
The problem was the ideas it gave your wonderful boyfriend.
Eddie had leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Why don’t you ever wear my shirts, sweetheart?” and instead of making you buzz with excitement — as his honeyed voice usually did — it filled you with dread.
You didn’t look like Missy, no matter how hard you wished, cried, dieted, starved, or hated yourself for it. You weren’t thin or delicate like her. And no matter how many times Eddie called you his tiny baby or his little princess, you couldn’t help but feel the stab of his words deep in your chest. You weren’t tiny like he wanted you to be — like you wanted to be.
The sheer thought of attempting to squeeze yourself into your boyfriends shirt made you want to cry. The material, while baggy on his lean frame, would stretch threadbare, and there wasn’t a chance in hell it would be long enough to cover your tummy. The idea of Eddie seeing you had caused you to shy away from his affections on more than one occasion. You’d never let him get your clothes all the way off, and had carefully avoided the topic of sex by learning how to give Eddie the best head of his life, and letting him finger you to his heart’s desire. It wasn’t like Eddie was pushing you, or cared in the slightest that you hadn’t gone all the way yet. And you’d almost given in on multiple occasions, when his hands would brush over your body in the most sinful ways and his voice rasped in your ear, verging on desperation as he explained all the filthy things he wanted to do to you.
You weren’t a virgin, although being with Eddie had made you wish you’d waited for someone like him before giving it up to Andrew Johnson at the Halloween party sophomore year. Especially not when you came to school the next day and the basketball team — bar Steve Harrington — had been whispering about what you looked like under your clothes. The whispers stopped quickly after Will Byers had disappeared along with Barb Holland, and the Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington drama had thrown you back into social obscurity: back where you felt safe.
It had taken you nearly 2 years to trust another boy. You’d almost given up on men entirely — like your best friend Robin had suggested you do — but Eddie had wormed his way into your heart so easily. You trusted him with everything you had. But you were so scared that if Eddie saw you, all of you, he would decide you weren’t good enough anymore, that you weren’t enough.
It wasn’t long after Eddie had whispered in your ear that you were pushing your half eaten lunch away from you, standing up from your seat. “I need to talk to Mrs. Highland about making up a test,” you mumbled into Eddie’s ear, pressing a gentle kiss to cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, to question you about why you were leaving so suddenly, but you were already nearly out the door.
You carefully avoided him the rest of the day — taking long detours around areas you knew he frequented. You even went so far as to pretend you didn’t see him while talking to Robin between classes, unable to miss the hurt on his face. It broke your heart to know that you made him feel that way. But you didn’t know how to talk to him about this.
However, much to your chagrin, that kind, wonderful boyfriend of yours waiting for you at your locker at the end of the day, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Sweetheart, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”
The confusion swirling in his big brown eyes had tears welling in yours as you shook your head, “No, ’m sorry,” you mumbled, tucking yourself under his chin as his arms wrapped around you.
“What happened, my love?” He cooed, pressing his lips to your forehead.
“Nothin’, just got in my head,” you sighed, willing away the tears that gathered in your bottom lashes. He looked suspicious, but let it go to tuck you back into his embrace, steering you out of the school — books and homework forgotten in your locker.
The ride to his trailer was quiet, comfortably so, with Eddie’s hand on your thigh, gently kneading the muscle through your jeans. It was something he had always done, his hands never straying from your body for too long. But today the sight made you feel sick to your stomach.
In your head, you could see that same beautiful, veined hand with thick, golden fingers, adorned with clunky metal rings on another girls thigh — a much smaller and daintier leg belonging to a girl more beautiful and more deserving the place in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van and in in his heart. If he noticed your silent suffering, he didn’t show it while he drove; Iron Maiden played softly while Eddie hummed along per usual.
It wasn’t until you’d gotten into Eddie’s trailer that he said anything — something entirely out of character for him — but you were too in your head to notice. “Alright, baby, time to tell good ol’ Eddie what’s bothering you. Because I can see those tears from here, and I’ve seen them in your eyes since lunch. Fess up babe,” he rambled, his tone light, but you knew him too well.
You could see the way his hands shook as he rubbed them on the outside of his pants, pulling off his Dio vest and leather jacket as he spoke, his voice wavering on hysterical; he was anxious. The tears you had swallowed came back with a vengeance, immediately slipping down your cheeks as he gasped.
“No, no, no, my love! I don’t want you to cry! Just please tell me what I’ve done and I’ll—“
“You d-didn’t do a-anything, Eds,” you stuttered through the tears, “I’m j-just sensitive is all, a-almost my period,” you lied, and Eddie’s frown deepened, taking two steps toward you to catch your face in his hands.
“Princess, light of my life, I know you’re lying to me,” he whispered, brushing a thumb over your cheek to wipe away a tear. You shook your head, trying to deny his accusations, but you couldn’t force another lie out of your mouth even when you tried. “Oh. I think I know,” he trailed off.
“Eds really, I’m okay, I just am having a rough day and I don’t—“
“No, baby, I should have put it together earlier. When Missy was wearing Jeff’s shirt at lunch, I saw the look on your face. I’m sorry I’ve never given you one of my shirts to wear, I just never thought about it. But I swear, princess, I want to see it.”
Ice ran through your veins at his words. You tried to protest — you really did — but somehow you ended up in the tight bathroom of Eddie’s trailer, struggling to pull his shirt over yourself as tears streamed down your face silently. It was tight and uncomfortable as you struggled, the enclosed space making your skin sticky as you fought the fabric.
Your reflection in the mirror made you feel sick — his shirt looked like a crop top on you. The soft skin of your tummy hanging out the bottom, and the white material was stretched thin across your chest, making your breasts look somehow larger than they were.
“Sweetheart, let me in, I wanna see you,” Eddie’s voice called out sweetly.
You couldn’t contain the sob that forced itself out of your chest. The thought of Eddie seeing you like this made you wish his bathroom had a window you could fit out of, so you could simply disappear instead of having to face him like this.
“No, Eddie, you can’t come in,” you choked out, and he went silent for a second before the doorknob started twisting.
“Why are you crying, sweetheart? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Please let me in,” he begged.
You tried to keep the words in, but the earnest tone of his voice tore them out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Missy was wearing Jeff’s shirt and she looked so cute and so small and I know I’ll never look like her. I shouldn’t even be with you Eddie, you’re so beautiful, you deserve someone as beautiful as you are — like Chrissy or Jennifer — and I don’t know why you even want to be with someone like me.”
“Sweetheart just open the door,” he pleaded.
“No, just give me a minute and let me change and just drop it okay? You don’t wanna see me like this, just please go away,” you whimpered softly.
His frantic pulling on the doorknob stopped for a second, followed by a tiny, almost imperceptible click, and then the door was swinging open to reveal your boyfriend, lock pick in hand.
Time seemed to slow as he stared at you, his eyes going wide and his jaw falling open in shock as he looked at you. Every insult you’d ever heard came flooding back through your mind as you tried to prepare yourself for Eddie’s inevitable disgust.
“Eddie please just go,” you begged, crossing your arms over your stomach to hide from him. You tried not to choke on a sob as he stared at you, frozen in the doorway, expression unreadable in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll take it off, I’m sorry I stretched it out and I’ll give you the money to make a new one; just please don’t-don’t leave me because I look—“
Your words seemed to snap him out of his daze, his eyes zeroing in on your face as his eyebrows furrowed. “Baby, I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” he said quietly, straightening himself out and taking careful steps toward you.
You sagged in defeat as he moved toward you, “Because I’m fat, Eddie and I ruined your shirt and I’m not good enough for you and I’m too selfish to let you go when I know you deserve better than me. But I’ll try! I’ll try for you, I swear I will, I love you so much, I’ll lose some weight, just please—“
“Don’t.” Eddie said firmly, crowding you into the corner of the bathroom, his hands on your cheeks as he stood over you. “Do not say another mean word about yourself, or change a single hair on your pretty little head. I love you, exactly as you are.”
“You don’t mean that,” you hiccuped softly, curling in on yourself.
“Hey, look at me baby,” he ordered. You turned your eyes up at him slowly, “You are perfect. God I mean, look at you.”
Tears started falling again as you felt the weight of his words settle on you. “Just look at yourself,” your parents would say, grinding your self confidence into powder under their heels.
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered sadly.
Eddie sighed, grabbing your hand in one of his, placing it on his bulge without a word. The shock of his action stunning you into silence, effectively stopping your tears. A sweet smile spread across his face as you looked up at him in confusion before he was bending down to press a kiss to your forehead, “The only thing you have to be sorry about is saying all those nasty things about my girl. Shit baby, if I would have known how goddamn sexy under those baggy shirts, I would have burned all your other clothes before this.”
“Stop, it’s not funny,” you whined, turning away from him, but his hand caught your chin, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forced you to look into his eyes.
“Princess, I’m not joking,” he said seriously, “I thought I was fucking dreaming when I opened the door. Seeing you standing here in nothing but your jeans and my shirt? I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
“But Eddie it’s so small on me, I look so—“
“God that’s the best fuckin’ part babe,” he groaned, “I didn’t know I needed to see you in a tight little crop top, but you are so… Fuck, you put those cheerleaders to shame, angel.”
You could feel your face heating up under his heady gaze — the look in his eyes was dark and nearly feral. He looked hungry; hungry for you.
“My pretty little baby,” he cooed, closing the gap between the two of you, letting his chest brush against yours, “Doesn’t even know how perfect she is, hm? Guess I need to treat my girl better; don’t I?”
“N-no, you’re perfect, Eds,” you sighed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, planting sloppy kisses along the skin.
“No, princess, you’re perfect. I can’t believe I’ve never gotten you in my clothes before, never gotten you naked before, I’m such an idiot,” he huffed, hands beginning to wander over the exposed skin of your tummy. “God, I love your fuckin’ skin. As soon as I touch it it’s like electricity is running through me. Always wanted to know what you felt like, bare under my hands,” he slurred, his hands moving to cup your breasts. “And your tits? Fuck, sweetheart — I love your tits, y’know that? They’re fuckin’ heavenly.”
“Eddie,” you whined, letting your head drop back onto the small, square bathroom window. Eddie’s hands were lighting a fire in your veins.
“Am I allowed to pick you up, my pretty girl?” Eddie asked softly, “Because I wanna take you to bed so bad, sweetheart. Fuck you so good, make you cum till you’re crying and forget all those mean things you think about yourself. Wanna fill that pretty pussy and keep you all fucked out and cockdrunk in my bed. Can I do that? Will you let me take you to bed, and fuck you like I’ve been dying to for ages now?”
“Eddie, I don’t know if you can—” you whispered, but you were cut off by Eddie’s hands digging into the plush skin of your thighs before lifting you off the ground easily.
You yelped, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers into his hair. “My tiny little thing thinks I’m some sort of weakling? Can’t hold up my precious girl? I really haven’t been treatin’ you like you deserve, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your neck, as your thighs wrapped around his waist.
He managed to squeeze you both out of the small bathroom before crossing the distance to his bed and dropping you unceremoniously. You hit the mattress with a gasp, feeling dazed as the room spun slightly.
When you were able to refocus your gaze, all you could see was him, hovering at the end of the bed — your mouth beginning to water as you stared at his heaving chest. He’d pulled his shirt off in the few moments you’d been dazed — the patch of dark hair that trailed from his bellybutton to the hem of his pants pulled your focus immediately.
God you’d never wanted him so bad in your life. You wanted to devour him, feel his cock unhinging your jaw and lodging itself into your throat — but you also wanted him inside you, desperately. You’d cum with his name on your lips as you fucked yourself into oblivion night after night in the safety of your sheets, thinking about his long, thick cock splitting you open.
“Eddie, please,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as you squirmed on his bed. The ache in your cunt was making your brain hazy with need.
“Just gimme a minute, sweetheart, I gotta burn this image into my head. Gonna think about you like this for the rest of my fuckin’ life, like fuck, babe, you’re the goddamn dream,” he groaned, grabbing your ankle, lifting it up to his cheek, nuzzling into the sliver of skin between the hem of your jeans and the top of your shoe before pressing a soft kiss there. “I’m gonna treat you right, sweetheart, but I gotta know if you’re okay with this first. Because I don’t ever, ever, wanna make you feel uncomfortable. If you say stop, I’ll stop, no questions asked, but baby please, I gotta see you, all of you.” You responded with a single nod, the words dying in your throat as he stared at you from behind his fluttering eyelashes. His pupils were blown wide with lust, and you could have sworn you had never felt more desired in your life. “None of that, I need words, princess. Tell me that this is okay, and I’ll spend the rest of the night worshiping you like you deserve.”
You thought for a moment about every interaction you’d ever had with Eddie, trying to come up with a single reason you shouldn’t trust him with all of you. When you came up woefully short, all you could do was whisper a small, “I trust you.”
A near feral groan coming out of his chest as his head snapped back, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Fuck,” he moaned sinfully, “You’re gonna make me blow my load in my pants if you keep talking like that,” he smirked, making you giggle. “Now, let’s get my princess out of these clothes.”
You bit back a sigh as he pulled the shoe off your foot slowly, letting it drop to the floor next to him before peeling off the sock. The feeling made you shiver as his fingers ran over the sensitive skin of your foot, tracing the tendons and veins lightly — almost as if to commit it to memory — before putting your ankle onto his shoulder and grabbing your other leg, repeating the action of pulling off your shoe and sock. As soon as he placed the other foot on his shoulder, he was dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, hands running up the covered expanse of your legs gently.
“I’m gonna take your pants off now baby, is that okay?” He asked, looking up at you from between your legs.
The sight made you sigh, only being able to let out a breathy “Yeah,” in response to his question. He grinned, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, taking his time to unbutton and unzip your pants torturously slow before finally beginning to strip you of them — leaving you covered only by the thin strip of maroon lace, barely hiding your pussy from his heavy gaze.
You half expected him to dive into your cunt face first based on the look in his eyes, but Eddie’s hands splayed out across your exposed skin, silent as he kneaded at your naked flesh, watching how the dimpled skin reacted under his purposeful movements. He crawled up your body slowly, dragging his mouth across your soft skin before resting his chin on your stomach, his hands buried underneath you to grab at your ass.
“I’m mad at you,” he mumbled, dropping his forehead, mouthing at the plump skin of your belly and tracing his tongue along your stretch marks, “Been hiding this from me for so long, s’mean, baby. Keeping these thighs, and this tummy, and your pretty pussy away from me? Not anymore, nuh uh, not gonna let you hide anymore. Not now that I know I’ve got the prettiest baby in the universe.”
You felt your face heat up at his words, the argument on the tip of your tongue, but the words were stolen from your mouth when Eddie’s mouth attached itself to your cunt as he sucked on the thin material of your panties lewdly. The ghost of pressure on your clit made you jolt, a shiver running down your spine.
“Oh, my baby is so worked up,” he cooed softy, placing a chaste kiss on your pubic bone before crawling up the bed to lay on the pillows. You stared at him in confusion as he got himself comfortable, his eyes meeting yours before he smirked. “Don’t be shy now, come sit on my face.”
You sputtered for a few seconds, unable to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. “Eddie, you-you can’t I mean-I’m too—“
He simply sighed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you on top of him with nearly no effort, his eyes narrowed as your knees slotted over his thin waist. “You say another word about this body — this fucikn’ amazing, sexy, unbelievable body of yours that I love and worship — I will have no choice but to punish you, got it?” You nodded solemnly at the seriousness of his tone, making the pretty smile you were used to grow on his face. “Now be a good girl and sit on my face.”
Good girl. The words burned through you like lightning, and you knew you’d do almost anything to hear them again. Especially falling out of his mouth sounding like honey and the promise of forever — of more. So you swallowed the protest that threatened to escape you and shuffled up his body until your knees were planted on both sides of his head.
“That’s right sweetheart, now just sit,” he commanded, pulling your panties to the side with his thumb and slamming your hips down onto his face with his arm wrapped around your back.
The sensation was almost too much to handle, his warm, wet tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, circling your clit with his tongue before dragging the appendage back through your folds slowly to tease at your opening. You couldn’t stop your hips from rocking against his ministrations, both your hands burying themselves in his hair, earning a groan. “Fuck, Eddie,” you moaned.
“Fuck baby, you taste so good,” he groaned into you, the vibrations zinging through you, setting your nerves alight.
“Eddie-fuck!” you choked out a yelp, your thighs tightening around his head as your hips moved of their own volition. You could barely focus on a single sensation at once, Eddie’s hands were everywhere — on your ass, running up your exposed thighs, pawing at your tits that were still covered by the too small Hellfire shirt.
You now understood why girls would rave about getting eaten out by their boyfriends — his mouth on your cunt felt like heaven. You almost couldn’t remember why you’d never done it before, because the sounds he was making as he ate you, the way he touched you, and the way he made you feel was intoxicating. You felt sexy and powerful in a way you’d never felt before, especially with how he spoke to you.
“Come on pretty baby, cum on my face, lemme hear those sweet noises you make just for me,” Eddie hissed before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking harshly, ripping the orgasm from you forcefully as you wailed and shook in his hold.
The sensation of your orgasm tearing through you had you losing all sense of reality. You felt like you were flying, or dying, or both at the same time, and you never wanted it to end. “Fuck, daddy, ’sgood,” you mumbled, unable to stop the word from coming out of your mouth.
You didn’t even realize you had said it until you were flipped onto your back with Eddie in your face, eyes dark and full of ravenous lust. “What did you say?” he ground out through gritted teeth. You shook your head, tears welling in your vision as you tried to think of an excuse. “My pretty baby, still needs to learn how to use her words,” he sighed before pushing your knees up to your chest, slotting himself between them. “That's okay, I’ll teach you.”
Without warning, and without a second of hesitation, he was ripping the thin lace nearly to shreds and pushing a finger into your warmth, grinning sadistically when your eyes rolled back. His pace was slow and brutal, pulling out all the way before slipping back in in perfect measured strokes, as if he was keeping time in his head to some unknown song devised purely to drive you insane.
“That’s right, take my fingers like a good girl,” he smirked, adding another finger without losing his rhythm. You could feel every ridge and bump of his fingers, the cool metal of his ring touching your spread open warmth made heat flare in your belly as you could barely breathe let alone function with his relentless pace, and each measured thrust of his fingers made your brain grow fuzzier. “Now tell me again what you said baby and I’ll reward you.”
The promise of more had you folding easily as you panted a soft, “Daddy, please,” arching your back and rutting your hips into his perfectly measured thrusts. You were rewarded with Eddie’s teeth sinking into the meat of your thigh, another wave of arousal running through you. Your face burned with shame as you heard the wet sound of his fingers slamming into you.
“You like that, don’t you? You like when daddy’s a little mean, hm?” he teased softly, pulling his fingers all the way out of you, staring at your pussy as it fluttered. “You want me back in there, don’t you baby? Your little hole is desperate to get filled isn’t it?” he asked, making you nod as you bit your lip to stop from begging. “Don’t worry princess, daddy’s got you. Just gimme a second, gotta make sure you’re all ready for me,” he grinned.
“Eddie, please, I need you to—“ you started to beg, but Eddie shushed you with another sharp nip to your inner thigh, pulling an embarrassingly high pitched moan out of you.
“Don’t rush me, angel. I’m a tactile learner, and I need a moment to acquaint myself with my new earmuffs before I ruin that pretty hole of yours, got it?” he said firmly. His casual tone made you clench around nothing, feeling more wetness seep out of you onto your thighs. You nodded, sinking back onto his pillow as you tried to catch your breath.
He hummed happily, sitting back on his heels to look at you again, “I can’t get enough baby, I’m sorry, I just—fuck you’re so pretty,” he rambled, “I don’t understand why you’d ever think you’re anything less than perfection. I mean, shit baby, you’re a fuckin’ goddess. My own personal Aphrodite,” he smiled, kissing the inside of your knee.
His impassioned words made you shiver and squirm, and you could feel your arousal pooling on the sheet under you. You knew Eddie had a way with words, but you never expected him to be able to break through years of self deprecation and insecurities with a few compliments.
But even more so than his words was the way Eddie held you and touched you. His fingers trailed over your stretch marks like they were paint strokes of a priceless work of art, and his mouth moved over your skin as if he was savoring the taste of something expensive. It was addicting to feel so loved and wanted — Eddie was addicting.
Ever since the first time you’d met, you realized he had entirely invaded your mind. You hadn’t spent a single day not thinking of him, always finding a reason to be with him or even just talk to him on the phone. Eddie had you — hook, line, and sinker.
“I love you, Eddie,” you sighed, his hands coming to a stop on your stomach.
The next thing you knew he was hovering inches above your face, his eyes glassy as his guitar pick hit your chin, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it baby, because I���ll really get my hopes up if you do and that would just break my heart if you don’t—“ he started rambling, but you cut him off with a soft hand on his cheek.
“I mean it, Eddie. I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been too scared to say it,” you smiled softly, feeling a tear hit your face. A shred of guilt bubbled in your gut as he stared into his eyes — he had made it clear when he told you he loved you a few weeks prior that he wasn’t expecting you to say it back until you were ready. And you hadn’t been — until now.
“Fuck, princess, I love you. You’re mine now. Mine forever. I’m never letting you go. You look like this and you love me? Never letting anyone take you away from me, baby,” he breathed, crushing his lips to yours firmly. You could taste the tang of your essence on his tongue as it invaded your mouth, his hands pushing under his Hellfire shirt.
He pulled back with a soft smile, kissing the tip of your nose before peeling the shirt off, his eyes going wide as he studied you. You watched his eyes move over every inch of you, no curve or dimple going unseen by him.
“Jesus Christ. I have to be dead. No way in hell God is letting you walk around dripping in pure sin,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. It would have made you giggle if it didn’t make your mouth dry and fanned the flames of desire in your gut.
“Eddie, please,” you sighed, hooking your heels around his waist, pulling him closer to you.
“Gimme a minute, sweetheart. I’m discovering a new religion,” he groaned, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth before sinking back into his position between your spread thighs, “And I’ve found my place of divine worship,” he smirked before burying his face in your cunt.
The sounds he was making bordered on obscene, but you weren’t much better. The high pitched breathy whines leaving your mouth would have made you embarrassed a few hours ago, but now, you couldn’t feel anything but love and desire. It wrapped around you, filling you with a warmth that only Eddie could provide.
The way he devoured you was different — the first time was fueled by a desire to tease, but this was ravenous. His eyes were rolled back as he lapped at your cunt messily, grunts and moans coming out of his mouth. His arm pinned your hips to the mattress, not letting you move an inch as his free hand toyed with your nipples lazily. The feeling of the cold chain on his wrist pressing into your soft tummy and the cold metal buckle of his watch on your hipbone kept you grounded.
“Don’t fight me, angel, let me make you feel good,” he slurred into your pussy, eyes half closed as he pulled back. “Gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good,” he sighed, slipping his fingers back into your cunt with a moan, the cold of his metal rings meeting your cunt made you flinch. “See, I belong in here, she opens up for me so sweetly. Squeezin’ me so tight like she never wants to let me go. Made for me, princess. You were made for me, little bunny. I always knew you were, but now I know for sure.”
It was almost embarrassing how fast your orgasm was coming, but you could feel it building quickly. “Fuck, daddy, please,” you cried out, grabbing his forearm where it sat across your hipbones.
“That’s right baby, cum for me. Give me your blessing,” he smirked, his fingers crooking upwards, slamming into the spot that only he seemed to be able to find, and you came apart with a scream.
You felt like you couldn’t breathe let alone think, your whole body being ripped at the seams and put back together again and again, galaxies appearing in your vision and you almost understood what Eddie was talking about. You couldn’t form coherent words as you were blinded by your orgasm, only managing to mumble out a broken, “Please don’t leave,” through the tears.
“My sweet crybaby, I’m not going anywhere. I’m keeping you forever. No one will ever compare to you,” he whispered in your ear, continuing to work his fingers inside you. “Do you think you can take more, sweet girl? Or are you done for today—“
“No! Please, Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” you sobbed, nails digging into his shoulders, “I just need a second, that’s all. I want you, please.”
“Shit baby, you don’t need to beg,” Eddie laughed, kissing your forehead before pulling his fingers out of you with a groan. Through bleary eyes you could see Eddie take his fingers into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he sucked them clean with a moan, “Fuck, angel. I’ll never get enough of how you taste. So sweet, and all for me.”
The sheer possessiveness in Eddie’s voice made you melt, a shiver running through you as he stared into your eyes, the warm brown a tiny ring around the dark black irises blown wide. “Please, Eddie, I want you to fuck me,” you pleaded, grabbing his hands.
“If you insist, baby,” he cooed gently, rolling onto his back next to you. You heard the clink of his belt coming undone, the handcuff buckle that made your head spin giving way under his dexterous fingers. You hadn’t realized you were transfixed by him, the way his fingers moved to unbutton his pants and drag the zipper down slowly before unceremoniously shoving his jeans and boxers down his long, lean legs, making you clench your thighs together with a whine. His cock sprang free and slapped against his stomach, tip already leaking.
“See something you like, princess?” he asked, making you nod wordlessly, “Good, because I’ve been painfully hard since I saw you in the bathroom, and truthfully I don’t know how long I’m gonna last baby. Your pussy tastes too good, and you’re just too damn beautiful.”
You moaned again, throwing your head back onto his pillow, choosing to ignore his chuckle as he sat between your open legs. You hummed happily feeling him part your pussy lips gently, gasping as you felt the tip of his cock drag through your folds, jolting when you felt the wet bead of pre cum on your clit. “Don’t be mean,” you pouted, opening your eyes to see Eddie smirking down at you.
“My sweet bunny, this isn’t mean,” he laughed, shaking his head, “But you like it a little mean, don’t you?”
You opened your mouth to argue with him, the words caught in your throat with a choke as the head of his cock pushed into your opening, a deep groan taking its place, “Fuck, Eddie.”
“While I do love hearing you moan my name, I rather enjoy the name you lovingly bestowed upon me,” he grinned, inching his hips forward another fraction of an inch before stopping. “Say it again, and I’ll give you what you want, princess.”
You gave in instantly, a warbley, “Please, daddy, I’ll do anything,”coming out of your mouth. The delicious burn of his thick cock splitting you open was more than you had imagined. You knew he’d be a stretch, he’d barely fit in your throat and you knew none of the toys you had hidden in your nightstand were as thick as he was.
“God, you’re just so good for me, sweetheart,” he groaned, rewarding your obedience by pushing himself forward slowly, your velvety walls opening up for him. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, silently slipping down the sides of your cheeks, disappearing into your hair. “I love you, my little crybaby,” he cooed, “I know you like it when I’m mean, so don’t try to lie to me. And I’m only gonna ask you this once. Do you want me to be nice, or do you want me to fuck you how I feel my girl needs to be fucked?” You couldn’t do anything but nod dumbly, making him laugh. “I thought so. It’s okay baby, let daddy take care of you.”
With that, he pushed himself all the way in, stealing the air from your lungs and whatever remaining thoughts you had as he did. You lost control of the moans coming out of your mouth, each one more strangled and desperate than the last, and you couldn’t think of anything but Eddie — the way he felt on top of you, the dark black ink that marked his chest, the toe curling pressure of his cock forcing its way into you, and the light catching the sparkly red pick he always kept around his neck swaying back and forth with the time of his thrusts.
But what consumed you was Eddie’s moans. The deep, guttural, raspy moans that sounded like music as they poured out of his throat, veins protruding from his bared neck as the ends of his frizzy hair tickled your skin. You wanted to sink your teeth into the pale expanse, marking him as yours for everyone to see, your mouth nearly watering at the idea.
“I’m not gonna last baby,” he groaned, sounding strained as he squeezed your joined hands, pressed firmly against the mattress, “Where do you want me to cum, sweetheart?”
“Inside,” you whined out, clenching around him at the thought of it as your legs tightened around his waist, locking him against you. The loud, desperate moan that came out of him seared itself into your brain as his hips stuttered to a stop, his pelvis pressed against yours as you felt his cock pulsing inside you, along with the warmth of his cum flooding into you. You didn’t fight the moan of your own at the sensation, feeling your skin tingle with sweat as you teetered on the brink of a third orgasm.
“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself,” he panted, his hips jolting every few seconds making you yelp when he ground down onto your sensitive clit, “You can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to lose it angel,” he sighed, pulling out of you with a hiss.
You whined loudly, catching his attention as you reached out for him, your hands burying in his hair as your arms wrapped around his neck.
“What do you need, sweet pea?” he asked, kissing the tears off your cheeks, “Do you need to cum again or are you too overstimulated?” he questioned softly. You couldn’t find the words to respond, only coming up with another desperate whine and a roll of your hips against his softening cock. He grinned victoriously, “That’s my dumb little baby, bein’ so desperate for me even though it hurts so good, doesn’t it?” You nodded solemnly, more tears leaking out of your eyes as you did. “I’ve got you, don’t worry princess.”
His fingers on your clit brought spots to your vision, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as you gasped and writhed against him, unable to focus on anything but the sensation of his fingers on you, and the look of absolute love and devotion in his eyes. “Kiss me,” you gasped.
The next thing you knew, his tongue was in your mouth and your body was convulsing against his hold, the rings on his fingers biting into your skin as he squeezed you impossibly closer to him with one hand and the other rubbed quick, harsh circles on your sensitive clit.
You went boneless against him, fully spent as you came down from your third high. You vaguely registered Eddie’s body moving off the bed and the sound of water running before his hands — his annoyingly pretty, devastatingly talented hands, were rubbing circles into the skin of your inner thighs with a soft washcloth before throwing it somewhere and settling himself beside you.
“You doing okay there, honey?” he asked, kissing your cheek as he maneuvered you into his lap, head resting on his chest as you laid between his open legs. “Did I go too hard?” You shook your head, giving him a soft, dazed smile.
“You were perfect Eddie,” you sighed, letting yourself relax against him, kissing the spider tattoo on his chest making him shiver and laugh.
“No, you got it wrong baby, you are perfect. Jesus Christ, letting me cum inside you and taking three orgasms like a goddamn champ? I swear you were fuckin’ made for me,” Eddie sighed dreamily, making you laugh. After a few moments of silence, he tensed and began stuttering, “I-uh-do have to ask though. A-are you, like, you know—“
“Yes, babe, I am on the pill. We don’t need any little Munson’s showing up before we even graduate,” you laughed, his body sagging in relief.
“Oh fuck, Jesus, you’re the best. I love you so fuckin’ much it should be criminal,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head.
“I love you too, Eddie.”
You sat in silence for a moment, before Eddie groaned, “Seriously though, princess. I’m gonna need you to buy a pair of shorts like, immediately. But you can not wear them to school because I will have to bend you over a desk and fuck you in front of everyone so they all know you’re mine.”
“I mean… I should still have my scoops ahoy uniform from last summer at my house? I could bring it next time—“
Eddie slunk out from under you, on his feet and pulling on his jeans before you could blink. You stared at him, mouth open as he gathered your discarded clothes and threw them to you, “Nope we’re gonna go get it now, because I need to see this.”
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