#he’s literally so smug all the time about dating The Eddie Munson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katyawriteswhump · 4 months

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364 days later (Steddie holiday drabble)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31 prompt, New Year's Eve/Resolutions I AM SO SAD IT IS NEARLY OVER!!!!

When Steve is hurt on New Year’s Eve, he discovers there’s only one person he can truly go home to.

WC: 918 Rating: T CW: off-screen/pre-fic violence including domestic violence. Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff. Established steddie.

Also part of my steve whump fic series (mainly steddie) on ao3

***

“I hadn’t a clue where else to go,” says Steve, an odd tremor in his voice.

Steve hadn’t knocked, hadn’t announced his arrival. Eddie simply opened the trailer door and found him. God knows how long he’s been standing at the bottom of the steps, cradling one arm in the other. It’s dark, but it’s screamingly obvious something’s wrong. Steve’s hair is kinda ruffled for starters.

“I mean, yeah, we have a date later,” Steve rambles, “being New Years Eve and all that crap, and… uh…”

Holy shit! Eddie jumps down to him, freaking out big-time. Blood smears one side of Steve’s face, his lip is bruised, and his harsh breaths cloud the icy air. Eddie wants to hug him tight; instead, he briefly clams up, super-terrified. He’s never seen anybody so robust appear so… brittle.

Gently, he cups the uninjured side of Steve’s face, curves an arm around him. “What the hell happened?”

“I did it, man. Finally. My dad… I, um…”

“Your dad did this?”

“He wishes,” Steve says, snarky.

Eddie seriously can’t fathom whether he’s lying: “Who else, man?”

“Got jumped leaving work, and I… I…” Steve’s wretched laugh crumbles into an even more wretched whimper. Eddie catches him, as his knees buckle.

“Okay, big guy, I gotcha.”

He bundles him inside, sits him on the couch. Steve stares spacily, hugs his arm, rocks himself.

Momentarily, Eddie literally flaps. Then he grabs a chilled beer from the fridge, douses a clean cloth in water. He coaxes Steve into holding the can against his swollen wrist, while Eddie dabs the blood from his face.

“Gonna sting,” warns Eddie. Steve hisses. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“It’s fine. Christ, I’m okay.”

“Not buying that BS today. Not sorry.”

Eddie frowns, concentrating hard. The cut, fortunately, has clotted already. He binds Steve’s wrist with a make-shift bandage. Steve mutters about getting kicked a LOT, when he was curled on the ground, shielding his face. Eddie feels sick, soothingly shushes Steve’s gasps of pain. Possibly as much to comfort himself as Steve. “Look, we should get you to the Med—"

“No way. I’ll fix… Listen, I finally did it,” repeats Steve, as his eyes flutter closed.

“Yeah? Did what exactly, Babe?”

“Carried out my New Year’s resolution.”

***

Steve barely recalls how he got here.

He’d driven around aimlessly. His wrist hurt so bad that he goddamn cried, too far gone to give a shit. He couldn’t think; he was drowning, sucked deep into thick, suffocating waters. Some crazy inner compass drew him to the one place he could pull for the surface.

He found himself outside Eddie’s trailer. Standing there stupidly, hurting and shivering. Not even yelling to be let in. Now, he’s inside and getting warm with Eddie, who asks again what happened.

Crap, does Steve even know?

He honestly couldn’t ID his attackers. Sorta knew why he was attacked, being guilty of so much these days—hanging with geeks, being a king that lost his crown, not to mention his boyfriend being Eddie ‘spawn-of-satan’ Munson.

Then his Dad.

The look he’d given Steve, when Steve arrived home bruised and bloodied.

“He didn’t need to say it,” says Steve, head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “It was written all over his smug-ass face. You deserve this.”

He’d yelled his butt off about Steve making trouble. Shoved Steve around a bit, knowing he was in no shape to fight back.

“I told him to stick it. Left with basically nothing. Okay, the car, though that technically belongs to him, and… Shit, where am I gonna go?”

His tardy reality check hits like a baseball bat to the gut. Huddled against Eddie, he’s shaking, breaths hitching, hating himself for it. Eddie wraps his other arm across Steve and holds him.

Simply holds him.

And yeah, he calms a little.

“Seriously, don’t sweat it,” says Eddie. “You can stay here till you’ve figured stuff out. Forever, if you need.”

Steve glances up, swipes angrily across his damp cheekbone. “Uh, earth to Eddie? Wayne?”

“He’ll cuss under his breath. And love the heck out of you. Already does. What’s one more overgrown brat?”

“C’mon, he’ll—"

“Look, I’m genuinely blown away. It’s New Year’s Eve and you’ve already nailed your resolution.”

Steve buries his face again, and… Woah! He’s laughing. Eddie’s kickass painkillers are working, or… Screw it, life never sucks so bad when he’s with Eddie.

“Leaving home was last year’s resolution,” he mumbles toward Eddie’s armpit.

“Oh.” Eddie plants a soft kiss on Steve’s hair.

“Yeeeeah. I’m only, like, 364 days late.”

***

Eddie’s still freaking that he should get Steve better help. However, Steve is a dead weight against him, knee curled in Eddie’s lap, and refuses to budge from the circle of Eddie’s arms.

New Year ticks by, lost in a gentle, lingering kiss. Eddie ghosts his thumb, featherlight, down the uninjured side of Steve’s face. Steve scrunches his good hand tightly in Eddie’s hair, deepening the kiss more passionately than—given Steve’s bruises—Eddie dares.

“Happy New Year, Babe,” whispers Eddie, when they break apart. A sneaky smile plays on Steve’s lips. “What?”

“I hit a winning streak,” says Steve, “I’ve smashed this year’s resolution already.”

“Huh?”

“Do I really have to spell it out, dipshit?”

Fixing deep in Steve’s eyes, Eddie’s grin spreads slowly. Dammit, this was going down as the worst and best New Year ever, and sure as heck the most shamefully sappy:

Oh, I get it. Falling in love.

“Back at ya,” he says, and tumbles forward into another kiss.

#steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

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Out of Touch In Harmony

SUMMARY: in which Eddie and his arch-nemesis smoke a couple of joints and talk about how much they (don't) hate each other. then proceed to suck face. WARNINGS: A whole lot of banter and misunderstandings. some fluff with a liddlebito spice. NOTE: the random thought that turned into +4k words. i tried to leave the timeline vast enough for drabbles and other stuff in case this becomes a series or something. i was also high the entire time I wrote this, and seeing as how I just finished like 5 mins ago, there are definitely gonna be mistakes because i am still indeed trippin. i'll fix it later though. also don't steal my shit i guess.

masterlist

You could feel the tension sloshing throughout the classroom, threatening to burst through the door and flood the halls.

English class with Ms. O’Donnell wouldn’t be considered entertaining to literally anyone in the entire world and truthfully it’s neither the subject nor the teacher (she’s too fucking expired to be as much of an old crone as she is) that keeps a smug smirk plastered on your face.

It’s the dumb ass super senior two rows back, one seat over.

You weren’t like the others. No, you hadn’t judged Eddie Munson based on reputation only. To you, he had the chance to prove he wasn’t a freak or a loser. And that’s were you went wrong. Unfortunately, that stupid little crush you had on him in the fourth grade when he was the only one to compliment your (admittedly) atrocious hair cut (which you still gave your mom a hard time about to this very day) clouded your judgement. He was two grades ahead of you, and your little self had been heartbroken when he moved onto high school, while you stayed in middle school.

You were completely fucking flabbergasted when you finally followed and saw he began to develop the sense of style he had currently, shit, you hadn’t even thought it was weird. It was hot and most certainly an awakening. You were meant for a different crowd, though. Joined Cheer as a freshman, and quietly pined for him. Then you found out he had a crush on Chrissy Cunningham sophomore year, so naturally you hated him.

That bitch Erin hadn’t been able to shut the hell up about it in the locker room. And Chrissy, the endearing little chick, found it cute. Not cute enough to date him, thank god, but cute nonetheless. Plus, you didn’t like how he ripped on other people’s interests just because some (okay, most, but not all!) didn’t like his. It hadn’t been too big of a deal until it had been your table that was the focus of one of his Public Lunch Announcements. You’d been so embarrassed, especially after seeing the way he smirked as he soaked the sudden emotion up, proud of the fact that he’d humiliated you.

You didn’t join the of hierarchy of popularity though until senior year. Freshman year was spent pining (and then hating) in quiet after him and being plain, sophomore year was spent more or less the same except your body proportions didn’t match your face, junior year you were almost there and losing the meek-ness that anchored you down from ever reaching confidence. You’d managed to squeeze Volleyball and Softball into your schedule. You’d also easily managed to maintain straight A’s (we don’t talk about how you’ve barely made it to Algebra 2 and that math is the subject you had to actively sweat your vagina off studying to pass) which pleases the parent (ensuring a bit more freedom), and then your cheer coach Connie announced that you and Judy would be taking over as Co-Captains since Alizae and Carmen graduated. Of course, Chrissy managed to become the most popular girl in school, but you still managed to obtain a validating amount of respect, and everyone says 'hi' to you first now.

Except Eddie. No, you two hadn't acknowledged each other’s existence except in instances to cause the other as much public embarrassment as they could in a single sitting.

You still maintained the latest victory after sticking some gum to the beginnings of a stream of toilet paper and managing to smush it against his dirty reeboks under the guise of kicking his shoe in class. He’d made it to his next class before he noticed what the looks were about. People usually had the decency to save the laughter for lunch, he should’ve caught on sooner.

He had failed senior year. Twice. Another thing you liked to use against him when you two got particularly nasty with each other.

It was a genuine hateship, one that had never managed to meet this amount of tension until this particular class. While you’d had the Senior Citizen for other classes before, the teachers mostly lectured. O’Donnell asked questions. Which gave you so many chances to embarrass him in front of the whole class by correcting his dumbass answers with as much snark as you could.

This time he couldn’t provide an example of a hyperbole and you’d offered up the solution. Sure, it was in relation to his embarrassing life and everyone laughed, but he hadn’t appreciated it.

You could feel the heat of his stare the rest of the class, but by the time lunch had ended, you’d forgotten about each other’s existence. He’d gone off to do stuff for hellfire and probably sell or whatever else it is he does, and you went to cheer.

Practice had ended earlier than normal when coach Connie hurt her hip and started crying over losing her youth. Sensing the oncoming breakdown, the team had encouraged her to just call it a night, which is how you found yourself on the wooden bench some ways into the woods behind the school.

With your schedule, you didn’t get as much downtime as you’d like this early in the day. Very disheartening, considering the sun was about an hour from sunset. So you’d thought you might just give yourself some time to yourself rather than go spend it with your friends. Besides, you had a nice joint to keep you company and your walkman.

You were about halfway done with the joint and you lowered your headset to swap out the tape when you heard a branch snap behind and nearly had a heart attack, twisting around to actually find someone sitting behind you.

You gasped, a hand rushing up in attempt to calm the organ through your clothes somehow, relief flooding you when you realized it was just Eddie.

He had that stupid smirk plastered on his face, probably got a thrill from scaring you. “Hey-,” it only widens as you settle enough to relax in a huff. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, spitfire.” There’s nothing nice about it.

It’s definitely the weed allowing you to be this cordial, because you find yourself saying, “It’s fine. Never thought I’d be happy to see your face. You, as opposed to like Jason Voorhees or some other killer.”

Eddie squints at you, slight disbelief on his face before it morphs into something resembling realization as he gives the air a good sniff, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” He pushes himself dramatically back from the table, taking a few steps back all the while his expression takes on mock shock. “Spitfire…Spitfire, are you high?”

You can’t help the slow smile that you find your lips pulling up into, you give a pathetic attempt at hiding it before you give in. “Yeah. Uh, I am. Why is that surprising, you seem shocked.”

He stares at you, grin softening while he tongues his canine. You realize, thanks to your delayed sense of any self preservation, that his gaze is focused on you. Like hyper focused on you. Oh, shit. He had you when you were unable to defend yourself from an insult.

Then he just chuckles, gaze flickering to the ground and then back to you as he flicks his wrists before crossing his arms over his chest. “Nah, I just guess I never entertained the idea that you might smoke. Anything other than a cigar, anyways.”

You wince, but giggle knowing he’s referring to your projected air of sophistication compared to his. “Don’t even put that thought in my head, just the thought of a cigar tastes terrible to me.”

He laughs along with you, slowly making his way closer. “No cigars, noted."

You’re feeling relaxed, plus you know no one is around so you decided to offer a moment of truce. “Would you care for a temporary olive branch? Olive joint?”

Eddie scoffs and mumbles, “Would I care for a…” But he trails off, gaze feeling heavier as the those stupid big beautiful eyes stare at you. You can feel yourself beginning to react, how every single one of your nerves seem to be coming slowly back to life. Why did you feel like something was happening? “Yeah. Yeah, I’d care for an olive joint.” He closes the distance between you two, keeping an arms length away (his arm).

You had no idea touching fingers could feel as good as it does when his brush yours as they take the joint. You glance up at him to find him still watching you, then he moves to sit on the bench next to you, elbows leaned back against the table as he wraps his surprisingly plump for a dude’s lips around the filter and inhales. He exhales slow, the smoke wafting around you two, and pulls it away to eye it. “You make this?”

“Yup.”

“Nice craftsmanship.” It sounds genuine, which pleases you again for that mystery reason,

“Thanks, I spent an hour on it.”

He lets out a low whistle, looking thoroughly amused from you to the joint. “If you’re trying to impress me, spitfire, consider it a job well done. You craft instead of roll, so I’m guessing you don’t get to smoke often?”

You rest your elbows on before answering. “No, I smoke pretty often.”

“So then you don’t smoke often and get to enjoy it?”

“That’s right.”

“Pity.”

You spend the next 15 minutes passing it back and forth before it’s done. Eddie tosses it and rubs it into the dirt with his shoe before producing another one from seemingly nowhere. “Guess it’s my turn to extend the olive joint.”

It’s stupid, but you grin wide, trying to ignore the way his stare keeps flickering back over to you while he takes the first hit.

You take that moment to really look at him. How pretty his hair was, your fingers twitched, just itching to play with the waves. You wonder how soft it would feel, twirling around your fingers, would it be easy to run your hands through? How would it feel like, pressed up against your neck, or with thebottom half framing your face if he was on top? And those eyes, should be illegal for a man with a smile like his to also have eyes that beautiful. So intense, but so telling. That’s how you could always tell when you managed to push his buttons. Those eyes wouldn’t let him hide a thing.

Jesus. So much for being over Eddie Munson. The attraction you had nail gunned to the back of your head all those years ago came back much faster than you’d been able to learn how to ignore it.

You hoped like hell it was just the weed.

You couldn’t sit in silence anymore. “Why didn’t you try?” You ask, taking the joint as he offers it.

Eddie sort of gets this far off look in his eyes, and you know he’s aware of what you’re talking about, trying to decide if he’s going to play dumb or answer your question. It almost surprises you, “First time, I guess I was rebelling or some shit like that. Just didn’t care all that much, wasn’t too big of a deal for me. Second time, I got a little too comfortable. Thought I knew enough shit to scrape away with the bare minimum, but Ms. O’Donnell changing her final was a move I failed to anticipate.”

“Didn’t roll high enough to survive, huh?”

You noticed how he suddenly went stiff, turning to you slowly. “What did you just say?”

Oh, god. You were trying not to break the peace by saying something nice and relative to his interests but you’d probably fucked it up. Was that not how it worked?

“Isn’t that a thing?” He just stares at you, leaving your panic to heighten slightly and you flounder. “In D&D? Dungeons and Dragons? The game you play?”

He finally put you out of your misery, lips curling up into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. God, he’s so cute. “Yes, it’s a thing. In D&D. Dungeons and Dragons. The game I play.”

You let out a sigh of relief, ignoring his chuckles. “God, Eddie. You almost ruined my high!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to know any terminology, let alone use it accurately.” You go back to sitting side by side.

“Good, that’s what you get for judging people.” You pulled your cardigan a little tighter around you and you dropped the stub to the ground. The sun was dipping low, barely visible behind the tree line.

“Now, wait just a minute. You’re trying to tell me not to judge anyone?” He sounded incredulous and you did not appreciate that.

“Are you implying I’m judgmental?” Your arms crossed just under your chest, and you caught the quick glance down he made. He seemed embarrassed about it.

“Implying? No. Stating? Yes.” Your mouth drops open in shock, and he continues. “C’mon, I know the score, Spitfire. I don’t exactly meet the criteria for normal or Christian around here. You took one look at me, and knew I was a bad apple.”

The Christian comment has you biting back a smile. “I did no such thing. I remember you from long before you were even a headbanger. Back when you could strike a match on that head of yours.”

He stands up at that, pacing a little in front of you before facing you with that shy look on his face and his arms crossed. “You remember me?”

Did he remember you?

“Yeah,” You don’t even bother to hold off with some teasing. “Yeah, how could I forget the first boy who ever lied to me to spare my feelings?”

His smile is so soft now, and it’s making that feeling in your stomach long for him again. “I really did like your haircut.”

You squint, slightly suspicious but he said it so softly. “You’re lying.”

He shakes his head, brown waves framing his face. “No. I thought you looked cool.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Fourth grade you would have fainted. “Huh. Guess it’s my turn to be surprised.”

It’s quiet for a few beats.

“Sooo, is there a reason why you decided you were gonna be a bitch to me in a high school?” He’s smiling when he says it, so you know he’s still being playful.

“You had it coming! I never thought you were a freak, or any weirder than any other teenage boy finding out who he is, anyways. I actually…” Why does it feel like you’re offering the villain in your life a huge chance to kill you? “…kind of admired you. Despite how hard everyone ragged on you, you just never conformed. And you didn’t just take their shit either, you gave it back.” Then you think about that day in the cafeteria, when you’d been on the other end of that.

“Sometimes, to people who don’t necessarily deserve it, too. Like my Sophomore year, when you told the whole school to take a good look at us because they were witnessing overachievers who would amount to nothing but a couple of retail salesmen in the making. Future Failures of America.” You avoid looking at him as you stare down at the pitiful little nub of a joint on the damp dirt.

If you were looking at him, you’d see him wince, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Senior Year number one. Rebel who doesn’t care about anything phase. Always finds a way to continuously come back and kick me in the ass.”

Yeah, it hurts but some part of you, the embarrassed part probably, found it silly that you’d hung on to that grudge for this long.

“The part that really bugs me is how I’m pretty sure you were right.” You don’t see the way his face contorts into a deep frown. “I’m an overachiever, I get the good grades, I play sports, I cheer, and I’ll be happy to do the college thing, but then what? I get an overpriced degree for what? I have no drive to do anything. I don’t want some boring job, I don’t want to be trapped in a nine to five, I don’t want to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or have any big career goals. It’s sounds nice at first, but the amount of depression that comes with realizing your life is just something you’re good at and not something you love is not for me. I just want to be happy.” Because that’s definitely not what you’re experiencing right now. No, that’s an existential crisis for you later. Not you now.

There’s no sadness in your voice, why would there be? You’re just stating facts.

“That doesn’t make you a failure,” He’s crowding closer to you, pulling off his jacket and denim vest to place over your lap. You hadn’t even noticed you were shivering, the thigh highs and leg warmers not enough to keep you warm. “That just makes you human. You don’t have to have your whole life planned out. Plenty of people don’t and stumble onto their thing. Like Ozzy. He dropped out, went through a ton of jobs, and found his calling. I don’t think he was necessarily searching for it, but he found it. One of the world’s greatest fucking rockstars. Wouldn’t have happened if he tried to plan his life out.”

“Or if he hadn’t been traumatized.”

“That, too. The point is, you’re doing just fine. Better than fine actually. Better than anyone else in this shitty town.”

You finally raise you gaze to meet his and the warmth in his eyes nearly takes your breath away.

You don’t know what to say, you’re on good terms with the former bane of your school hour existence. You give him a small smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome. Hey—I have a question.”

“I might have an answer.”

“Where do you get your weed?”

“From you.” You squirm a little, unable to stop yourself from giving up your secrets.

You know he thinks you’re lying because he’s doing some hardcore scrutinizing, but the small smile stays on his face, “Pretty sure I’d remember selling to you of all people, Sweetheart.” You’re pretty sure that up until your truce, he wouldn’t have sold you anything other than oregano. The glint in his eyes confirms it.

“It’s your stuff. Judy tells me when she’s gonna meet up with you to buy, I give her money, tell her what I want, and you unknowingly sell it to me. It’s not that complex of a plan.”

He groans, leaning forward to hunch over and rest his palms against the table. “You are breaking all the rules, Spitfire! All. The. Fucking. Rules.”

“I wasn’t about to go to Reefer Rick. I don’t think Rick is even his name. These rules I don’t know about suck, Eddie. Which ones did I even break?” You’re curious now, body very much so aware of how close he is.

You can smell his shampoo, and it pleases you that it’s a surprisingly sweet scent.

“You,” He begins, shoulders shagging like he’s giving into defeat, despite his coy smile, “were not supposed to be so damn cool. You’re not supposed to be sweet either, or even prettier up close. Pisses me off!” He’s grinning like mad at you now, and you’re beaming right back at him even though you’re not entirely sure what’s going on because you had to have imagined him calling you pretty.

“And you’re so fucking witty, too. Fuck, like in English today. What’d you say?” He says rather than asks, and you realize he knows exactly what you said. Memorized it, probably, because he quotes you from earlier except in a nasally, high pitched voice that doesn’t sound at all like you.

“‘You being able to graduate will suffice.’” And you don’t flood with shame, the opposite actually. You warm up inside because something about the grin on his face and the way he’s beaming makes you feel like that had somehow been the right thing to say. “That was so fucking hot. It made me mad.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, tongue peaking out to play with the left corner of your lips. “Wow. Is that all my carefully planned verbal sparring was to you? Foreplay?”

He laughs low, pushing himself up again, this time he moves to linger directly in front of where you sit, but he doesn’t make a move.

Were you missing something?

Was he? Maybe you misread his signs.

Or maybe you didn’t make yourself clear.

“You know, I used to kick myself in the ass in elementary school. I got held back in the third grade for not wanting to shake anyone’s hand, which meant you were two whole grades ahead of me, instead of the much more attainable one. I was gutted when I realized I wasn’t gonna be able to go out of my way to see glimpses of you anymore after your eight grade promotion. Then I got to high school and you got really hot, and I got my glimpses back, but you just had to go and like Chrissy—“

“Chrissy? I didn’t like Chrissy like that.” He interrupts you, making your heartbeat pound in your ears. It was one thing to be brave enough to vomit the truth like you were but now you were gonna have to try and make sense of the word vomit, to a guy you know is very aware that you just admitted your attraction to.

“Erin Miller said she overheard a couple of the guys on the football team giving you a hard time about making eyes at a cheerleader you were interested in. ‘Said it was Chrissy.”

“They said it was Chrissy. You were her partner during that little cheer thing you did at the homecoming pep rally. And you had on an eyepatch.” You remembered that, it was when you started trying your hand at softball. You’d gone to the batting cages the weekend before homecoming and came back home with a black eye that stuck around for a little longer than a month. “They were a little right though, I was definitely making eyes at a cheerleader, just got the wrong one down.”

“Oh. I guess we’re both victims of vast misunderstanding.”

“Guess so.”

He leans down and you lean up to smash your lips together, mouth immediately opening to welcome his tongue when it seeks yours out.

Eddie groans, one hand moving to hold the back of your head and the other moving to rest against your side as he pulls you to the edge of the picnic bench, licking any uncertainty remaining right off your tongue. It’s messy and urgent, but so satisfying given that it’s been years in the making.

He uses his hold on your head to angle the kiss deeper, there’s no doubt he’s in control. You nip at his bottom lip, causing him to gasp and creating a chance for you to explore his mouth instead.

He tastes mostly like weed, but there’s a hint of something underneath that must be Eddie, and you’re desperate to get a better taste.

Eddie’s moan is absolutely obscene as your tongue rolls over his, his grip on your side loosens so he can move his jacket out of the way and slide his hand down to rest on your thigh. The warmth of his hand on your skin makes you feel intoxicated (even more so) and he gives your thigh a good squeeze before tugging it just over his hip. You can feel him hard, and warm pressed up against your covered core. The bulge prodding at you is larger than you would have allowed yourself to expect from him, it’ll be a stretch for sure. Your terry ring shorts make it easy for his jeans to provide some much needed friction.

“Fuck.” He hisses, breaking the kiss when you grind your hips forward. “Fuck, I really—I want to—“

You can’t help but pout, lips swollen from the thorough job he’d done. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?”

He leans forward to give you another kiss, this one is sweet but just as passionate. “But, you’re still high. If this is gonna happen, I need it to happen when you’re sober. I need to know you want to do this, You’re just so fucking beautiful and you look so hot in these shorts, and the thigh highs…” He grits out, fingers snaking under them to rest against the warm skin of your thigh, just for a moment, before his hand is retreating. “It’s like all my little fantasies, dirty and not, are coming true. I couldn’t resist. What kind of satanic witchcraft is this?”

You laugh as he presses a long kiss to your forehead, before forcing himself to give you room to hop down. “Just a little something the women in my family have been passing down since Salem. Old recipe, if you will.”

He watches you, smirking before he pulls you into him again. “You’re making it really hard to to be platonic here. You’re not supposed to have a sense of humor, either.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be charming. You’re failing to live up to your reputation, not even half as scary as you try to look.” You retort, not eager to leave the warmth of his embrace.

He pulls back to look down at you, intrigued with your statement. “Sweetheart, you thought I was scary?”

“As scary as you thought I was.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to terrify you like that.” It has the desired effect, you laugh and playfully slap his shoulder.

“Shut up!” Despite the return of your affections for him, the sky is darkening significantly, and your dad is gonna have a heart attack if you’re not home by the time he leaves for his night shift. So, you reluctantly step away, his hands falling back to his sides as you shove your things into your bag.

“I gotta go.”

“I figured as much. Did you drive to school?” He knows you did, he just wants to be able to cover all possible grounds in an attempt to get a couple more minutes with you. He doesn’t care if you’re not gonna fuck.

You feel guilty, completely stupid. You should’ve just made the 45 minute walk to school instead of the 10 minute drive. Selfish. “I did.”

“Damn.”

“What were you doing here, anyways?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone around─” He glances down at his watch. “Now.”

You scoff, but you can feel your cheeks tingle. “And you were still gonna offer to drive me home?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking irresistible in that hellfire shirt. “I’ve got my priorities straight this time. ‘86, baby. I know what I want.”

And the smoldering look he’s giving you has your kneecaps rattling, you gotta go before you risk it all. “Looks like I was wrong, you’re definitely no hyperbole.”

He lets out a loud laugh as you walk backwards, stomach still warm with affection for the super senior.

“See you around, Eddie.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

You can still feel his eyes on you as you make your way out of the woods, wondering if you’re gonna need to find a new arch-enemy or not.

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson #stranger things #Joseph quinn #Joe quinn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things s4 #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff

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auroracalisto · 2 years

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he won't know (literally) — eddie's being a jerk, asking you a question like that. why would you want to do anything in the trailer while his uncle was home? and why did he look so smug about it? he's a little liar, that's why. word count: 1k words tw: gn!reader, talks of nsfw things, pre-established relationship (eddie is your bf), eddie being dramatic as hell, towards the end it hints at nsfw, but no actual nsfw happens a/n: uh oh. another one in the same night. also, this might just be a silly little one shot but i needed it. sorry, not sorry.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Eddie looked up with wide eyes, feigning innocence as he pointed to his chest as if he thought you could have been talking to someone else.

He was the only other person in the damn forest, sitting across from you with a surprised look on his face.

You reached over, shoving his shoulder with a deep frown. Your face was burning. Why did he have to be like this?

"You can't just say shit like that!"

"Say shit like what?"

"Eddie Munson, I swear—"

"—oh yeah?"

You could hear the smirk dripping from his words. You didn't even have to look at him to know, so you didn't, keeping your eyes anywhere but his face as you stood back up. Wood had splintered itself in the seat of your pants, and you quickly brushed it off, hoping the small bits wouldn't impale your palms as you did so. It wouldn't be the first time this stupid picnic table hurt you.

"What do you swear?" he asked, tilting his head curiously as he watched you. "You can't just say that and not give me more."

"I swear I'll kill you," you said, nonchalantly stuffing your hands in your pockets. Or at least, you thought you were nonchalant about it. You could just tell by the look on Eddie's face that you totally weren't.

Why was he looking at you like that?

Had you always been this nervous around Eddie?

Oh, god. You wished he would stop.

"Oh yeah? Is that a promise?"

"Uh, yeah, I mean—wait, no!"

Eddie lost himself in a fit of giggles as he stood up, leaning over the table to get closer to you. His hands rested on the top, a grin plastered on his face.

"C'mon, angel. Let's go back to my place. My uncle won't know."

"Eddie, stop it!"

It seemed like you had been saying that a lot recently. He always knew just how to get you all riled up.

"Shit, y/n," he said with a laugh. "I guess to answer your question that you so lovingly shouted in my face, yeah, I'm pretty much out of my fucking mind."

He grinned, coming around to stand in front of you, his fingers wiggling in your face. His hands moved to rest on your shoulders for just a moment, his right one drawing back to point at you.

"But you," he said, jabbing his finger against the denim jacket you wore (that you had stolen from him only moments before). "You are the fool who dates this crazy person."

He leaned forward and kissed your lips. "I won't ask again," he said. "But seriously. My uncle won't know."

"And why do you say that?" you asked, scoffing.

"'Cause he's out for the weekend. He literally isn't home."

You let out a curt laugh, unable to stop yourself. "Why didn't you lead with that, asshole? I thought you meant your uncle was home! Why do you have to be this way?" you asked, your hands gently reaching forward and grasping his teeshirt.

"I wanted to see how embarrassed you'd get," he said, leaning forward and playfully nipping at your lips. "Mission accomplished, angel."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, that smug grin still evident as he stared down at you. "So what do you say?"

"Eddie Munson, I swear to—"

"—come oonnnn, I promise I changed my sheets."

"Good god, Eddie!"

A laugh escaped you and he smiled, even more, pecking both of your cheeks.

"So whaddya say?"

You smiled faintly up at him, leaning into his chest. "Hmm, what if I said no?"

He began to pout.

"I'm not going to," you rolled your eyes as you spoke. "But what if I did?"

He shrugged. "We could watch a movie. Or you could get your sorry ass back to your house," he said, sticking his tongue out at you in the process.

"Oh, wow, you've wounded me, Munson," you said. You pulled away from him, sticking your tongue right back out at him.

He quickly reached forward, pinching the soft skin of your neck before he took off running towards his trailer, not even giving you a second to comprehend what just happened.

"Ed—Eddie! Wait!"

"Come on slow poke!" he shouted back at you. "We don't have all day, you know!"

"You are such an asshole!"

"So do you want to, or not?!"

Nope, what you said earlier was a promise. You were so totally going to kill him. But maybe not right now. You were too busy running after him, only catching up to him because he stopped halfway after nearly tripping over a giant root in the middle of the pathway.

You shoved his shoulder once more and he looked up at you with a laugh.

"Come on, sweetness," he said, reaching forward and taking your hand. "I'll cook for you, later, too."

"What, ravioli?"

He faked a gasp, hand over his chest like you had just insulted his grandmother's famous ravioli recipe. Sorry, no, Chef Boyardee's recipe.

"I have cereal, too, you know," he said, wagging his finger in your face.

You quickly reached out, grabbing it and holding onto it as the two of you walked.

"Cereal it is, big guy."

He looked back as the two of you walked, unable to help himself from smiling. He had always been parts of himself around others, but around you, he was unapologetically everything he knew he could be.

He probably could have led off with the fact that his uncle wasn't home for the weekend, but where was the fun in that when he could see just how flustered you would get under his watchful gaze?

Excitement buzzed inside of him. Any time with you was just as amazing as the last time. Your smile, your soft giggles any time you would make eye contact. He couldn't wait to get you underneath him, and neither could you, despite how frustrated he just made you.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #joe quinn #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things x reader #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #reader #imagine #gender neutral #one shot #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #gender neutral reader insert #gn!reader

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