#they even got the toe going in the trailer!
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Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)
wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares
Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling
Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon.
But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!
“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.
“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.
Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.
... But not really.
Like, at all.
He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.
Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.
So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.
It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.
It’s just a shirt.
A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.
One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.
It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.
They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.
He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.
The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!
And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.
Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.
The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.
It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.
Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.
He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.
“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.
“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”
He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.
The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.
He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.
“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.
“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”
He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.
And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.
“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.
Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.
He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.
And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.
It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.
It’s perfect.
Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.
Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.
And kissed.
And kissed some more.
Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.
It’s just the he –
“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and –
His eyes blow wide in an instant.
And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.
Steve loves him?
Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.
All because of one perfect t-shirt.
Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.
“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.
“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.
He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.
Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.
They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.
Like it is already worn in and loved.
He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.
But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.
“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.
He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.
Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.
He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.
But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.
“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”
“You do?” Steve asks.
Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.
And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.
They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.
“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.
“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.
Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.
“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.
He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.
Relaxed.
Loved.
Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.
But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.
It’s good like this.
Calm. Warm.
Soft.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fic#healing steddie#stranger things s4#lily writes a fic#fluff and angst#cw injury#steddie fanfiction
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Ok obviously first thing I will do is find a Viki screen shot solution…but friends even if you have already seen Advance Bravely, please watch Vicki’s trailer…it’s a masterpiece.
The shoulders are indeed not ordinary…
#advance bravely#they even got the toe going in the trailer!#and Femme Fake Boyfriend!#also I realize I never mentioned baby Sister and the fake erectile disfunction to avoid Baby Sister plot point#that’s essentially the beginning
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Eddie “the freak” Munson x cheerleader reader
!! Big Stretch Baby !!
You were probably ruining your reputation by just being in his trailer. You were definitely ruining your reputation by getting fucked by Eddie Munson. The freak of Hawkins High School.
You didn’t know what it was about him, something just drew you in. Maybe it was the way he lived life like it was only him that mattered. Or maybe it was the way he smiled after losing a fight with your boyfriend, with blood staining his teeth and winks sent your way.
It didn’t matter much now, you couldn’t even think with the way his hands were massaging your tits and his hand sliding down your underwear. You squealed and kicked your feet when he pinched your clit, almost as if you were trying to get away.
“Oh no baby, ’m not letting you go that easy.” He remarked as spread open your folds with his index and middle finger.
You looked up at him, chest heaving and eyes glossed over with need. “Been trying to get in this pretty pussy for years, you’re such a fucking tease. Wearing those tiny cheer skirts, been such a slutty lil baby.”
Your back arched into his touch as your hands curled into his bed sheets, face curled in his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans in his neck. He continued fucking his fingers into you, two digits deep inside you, hitting that spongy spot that made you see starts. His thumb rubbing you clit as you spasmed against him.
Just as you were about to cum around him, he pulled away from you, leaving you feeling empty. He looked down at you and saw how you clenched around nothing, making his cock twitch in his jeans.
Eddie almost always went commando, made it easier for him to pull himself out his pants and jerk off to you at cheer practice. He’d pull down his pants and pump up and down his cock until he lost all restraint and came to your tits peeking out your bra and silly little cheer top.
He spins you around so your facing him, slamming his lips against yours. You moan against him, hands trying to figure out where to go. You were such a cute little thing to him, you and your goddamn doe eyes staring at him, hands moving up and down his body, trying to figure out where to place them.
Eddie wanted to ruin you completely and utterly. He wanted to break you down and build you up and replace you with only thoughts of him and mold you into his slutty little plaything. He wanted to train you to get wet even at just the thought of him.
He kisses down your neck while your hands fiddle with his belt buckle and jeans. Your nimble fingers fumble with the zipper, messing up a fee times from nerves and arousal.
His cute baby.
Slipping his jeans down and off completely, you look back up at him, catching sight of his leaking pink tip. Eddie was average sized, maybe 6 or 7 inches. But god! Was his dick girthy. You didn’t even know if you could fit it in your mouth.
Almost as If Eddie could hear your thoughts, he spoke up. “Uh uh Baby, you can taste me another time. Right now I wanna get inside that gorgeous cunt of yours. ‘Know she’s achin for it.”
Eddie pulls your panties to the side and lines up his tip with your opening, tapping it against you as you whine and grind down on to him.
“Shh baby, be patient f’me, know ya got it in you.” Oh he was gonna just ruin you! But that’s exactly what you wanted. He slid inside slowly, groaning at the feeling of your walls fitting to accomatd him. “Biiiig stretch baby, can you handle it?”
You nodded rapidly, already too fucked out to answer. Your tongue was slightly out your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks form how badly you needed to come. He could feel you clenching around him and the slight roll of your hips as you tried to get him to move.
You could feel the slight pain but you didn’t care. You just wanted Eddie! You just wanted him in you and fucking up into you and god the way you could feel your tummy bulging had you curling your toes.
“Fuck baby, you see that? See how deep I’m in you?” As if to prove his statement, he fucked up into you, holding your hips as a handle for him. You let him use you, let him use you like a fucktoy. You just wanted him on you. You wanted it all.
You forgot to answer him in your daze, which he obviously caught. Eddie grabbed your cheeks, pushing them into a pout as he kissed your face. “Look at you, ya dumb thing. Can’t even answer a simple question?” He pushed your hips down onto him so you’d grind down onto him, his tip hitting the perfect spot inside of you.
You could feel the smirk on his lips while he continued kissing you, moving down to your neck, moving your shirt out the way to make space for him.
He couldn’t wait to see you walk into school tomorrow, blushing bought red as your ass cheeks from his hand prints, desperately trying to cover up his hickeys and love bites. The thought made him groan against you, as you panted and held onto his chest trying to get a grip on reality.
“Gonna fuck you dumb baby. Don’t cover up these marks either. Wanna watch your stupid fucking boyfriends face when he sees how much of a slut you are for the freak.”
What a fucking pervert.
#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#stranger things smut#stranger things fic#stranger things fandom#stranger things#stranger things season 4#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson brainrot#eddie munson fem!reader#bimbo!reader
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ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 3]
-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.
-> eddie munson x you (she/her)
-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst
-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]
-> a/n Oh, my god. When I tell y’all that everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I stayed up all night writing and editing just to get it out today, so you don’t have to wait another week when I’m off from work again. Yesterday, I was going to surprise y’all with a back to back upload, but when my laptop died and all of my content got deleted, I needed a pause. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Part 3 of a series I didn’t know would become a series.
[Part 2] Part 3
-> <-
You decide to wake up at five because your eyes wouldn’t stay shut any longer. Ripping the blankets off your body, the cool air nips at your skin. You shove your toes into your slippers. Tripping over your tennis shoes, you rethink how close you are to your desk. Feeling around for the corner, you find the desk and you begin to aim yourself the other way. You yelp when your waist collides into the doorknob and you silently curse to yourself while trying desperately not to wake your family. Shuffling through the dark, you take mini steps to your bathroom.
Closing the door behind you, you flick on bathroom light. Squinting, your eyes adjust and the shock of the bright room dulls. You use the toilet first, before your bladder combusts. While washing your hands, you meet your own face in the mirror.
Mornings weren’t your best look. Your hair mats to one side because you’re a side sleeper. Sometimes when your sick you’ll lay on your back to keep your stomach from getting nauseous. Instead of drying your hands on a towel, you toss them back into your hair to mold and shape what’s on your head. Massaging your scalp, you forget your worries for a moment. You wash your hands of the hair that sticks to your hands, and then you dry them off.
You bounce back from the shower when you twist the hot water handle. Water splashes in your face anyway. Steam breathes into your bathroom and you almost feel suffocated by the hot air. That’s what wakes you up in the morning. You strip, then step inside allowing the beads of hot water to bake your skin. The soap you use is plain and boring. It moisturizes the layers of your skin without leaving a scent behind. You watch the bubbles drain below you.
Leaving the shower is harder to you then getting back in. Your day will begin as soon as you step out. Going to school feels like a chore. Your classes all have projects due by the end of the week or by the end of the month. Then there’s the obvious boy you are trying to avoid. Before you can imagine any lewd situations between yourself and him (and trust that you have plenty), you switch off the water to your shower.
You don’t like washing your face in hot water, so you wait until your dry and you have a towel wrapped around your body. The icy water pricks at your pores. You dry, and you apply a thick layer of moisturizer to your skin.
Finding yourself vulnerable in a towel, and thrown into darkness once again because you have forgotten your clothes in your bedroom, you shimmy across the hallway once again.
When you choose a lotion, you act as though you won’t pick the same option you have been for as long as you can remember. The label reads ‘Fruity.’ Simple enough. Throwing on an extra spritz of perfume to compliment the lotion. You like to spray perfume while you’re bare to ensure the smell sticks to you, rather than your clothes.
Wrapping yourself in your robe, you want to take a peak at the sky. Rain clouds form above. Gray all day. You happen to, also, see that Eddie’s trailer is dark. Wayne Munson’s truck is on, and he’s in the driver’s seat waiting for the engine to warm. He goes to work early, and he stays late. That’s how you got to spend so many days and nights at Eddie’s growing up.
You’d tell your mom that you were spending the night with your friend Robin, and she would cover for you in a heartbeat. She must have known what was going on before you did. Did that even count - if you didn’t know?
You shy away from the window.
Going through your closet, you find an acceptable pair of denim that’s right on your hips and loose at your ankles. The striped sweater you call your favorite will scratch at you skin all day, so you put on a plain shirt on underneath.
If the you from a few months ago, saw you sitting at your desk whipping out all of the tools and the sponges that it took to apply makeup to your skin, you’d shrivel in a corner and cry. You got used to the feeling of the brushes against your skin. The way your face feels with a bit of foundation. And the sticky feeling of mascara pressing on your eyes.
As you finish powdering your nose, your stomach growls. Your hungry.
The sun is beginning to wake, and you’re able to move through the home a bit smoother. You find yourself in the kitchen pawing through the refrigerator. No one has gone grocery shopping in a few weeks, so your options are limited.
You take the box of Honey Comb cereal off the top of the fridge. A bowl off the drying rack will do, and there’s even a spoon next to it. You pluck out your mom’s cigarettes that she “hides” inside the box. She doesn’t count them when she smokes, so you know that you can sneak one into your pocket for later.
After pouring yourself a bowl of cereal, and stealing your mom’s cigarettes, you grab the milk from the fridge. It’s heavy. When you open the milk the rancid sour odor spoils your appetite.
“Jesus!” You curse.
The expiration reads about a week ago. Gross.
You toss the milk.
Even though you’re completely grossed out, you shovel a few bites of dry cereal down your throat. Dipping your head under the sink for a drink of water, you slurp down the crumbs sticking to the sides of your mouth.
By the time you’ve brushed your teeth, your watch reads seven fifteen in the morning. If you head to school now, you’ll be there by seven thirty.
That’s exactly what you do.
The drive is quiet. Most of the town hasn’t woken yet for their day. Shops still have signs in their window that read ‘Closed.’
You’re allowed into the cafeteria with the other early birds once you get to school. Finding a group of girls you’re in home room with, they welcome you for a study session.
“You look so pretty,” Michelle gushes over your makeup.
You smile. “You too. I love your shirt.”
“I got it on sale,” she tells you the name of the store. “We should all go shopping on Saturday.”
“Girls day out!” Lisa snaps her fingers. “Count! Me! In!”
The three of you small chat for a bit, before you dive into your awaiting assignments. They’re there to help you. You reciprocate the action when they want advise.
The school bell rings.
You pack up, and you wave goodbye for now. But, you’ll see them again in just a few moments when you get to class.
Heading to your locker for the first time in months, you have to try the code twice. The third time’s the charm. You take the specimen in your locker between your index and your thumb. Finding the nearest trash can, you throw the moldy sandwich away. At least the smell hadn’t penetrated through the bag yet.
You’re just zipping up your backpack after ridding yourself of about a hundred pounds of unnecessary textbook weight when someone shouts at the end of the hall.
Petty squabbles between students, you’re usually able to ignore. However, as all the noise is headed in your direction, you hear your name in between cursed and yells. A catastrophic tornado blows your way. Your feet are firm to the ground in terror.
Roxie’s purple, and about to blow a blood vessel judging by the vein nearly popping out of her neck. Hot on her trail is petite Indie, who’s begging for Roxie to just listen to her.
“Hey, you!” Roxie jabs her finger in your face.
Indie tumbled over her own feet, “Roxie!”
You check over your shoulder in hopes that someone might be there. No one is there except a few onlookers she’s drawn in her tirade. Now, you’re thinking. Eddie couldn’t have spilt the beans this quickly. Could he?
“Oh, I’m coming for you, bitch,” she snarls.
You’re toast.
Roxie is larger than you in all retrospects, but she’s especially big in muscle. If she’s about to pummel you, then you’ll be knocked over and split in two like a pin and she’s the ball going a hundred miles an hour.
“Can’t we talk this out?” Indie asks through gasps of air.
You stare between them. Indie isn’t after you by the worried expression she holds. Still unsure exactly what Roxie’s prattling on about, you decide to wait before you interject.
“Is there something going on between you and Eddie?” Roxie demands.
See, you knew their relationship wasn’t casual! Still, you did nothing wrong. Yesterday, you didn’t even express to Eddie that you liked him in the first place. You wanted to drop the conversation, and he kept going. This is his fault. Why isn’t he about to get a fist to the face? Who’s to say he hasn’t already? Yikes.
Roxie sucks her tongue to her teeth.
“Uh-,” you’re still loading in the information, and you hesitate to answer right away. “N- no?”
“Is that a question?” Her hot breath hits your nose.
You bring your hands down to your sides because you can’t let her see you trembling like a leaf. If she smells fear, she’ll know she’s won. Her prey is hers for the taking.
You’re tired of this. “Eddie and I have nothing going on. We’re just- just friends.”
You have a hard time saying that, but not for the reasons that Roxie has in mind. You’re not even sure if Eddie wants to be your friend anymore.
“Okay,” she sticks her tongue into the flesh of her jaw, and then says. “How come last night he moaned your name instead of mine?”
Blood rushes to your ears. Your face is on fire, and you’re sure everyone can see so.
Onlookers jeer and whisper amongst themselves. Rumors are already beginning from mouth to mouth; and, hitting ear to ear.
You would also like to understand what she meant by “moaning your name.” Spare the details. Obviously, you knew what happened last night. You wipe the winner’s smirk off your face, before Roxie even notices.
“I don’t know,” you fold your arms across your chest. “Shouldn’t you ask him?”
Roxie squares her shoulders. She clenched her fists until her knuckles are white. Cursing a few more angry words your way, she’s a bull ready to charge. You might as well be wearing all red.
“What’s going on here?!”
Miss Brown sticks her nose into the hallway and notices the crowd of people. Before anyone can do anything rash, she pushes her way into the center of the chaos. With an ostentatious sort of sigh that suggests she’s better than all of you, she starts breaking up the fight.
“Off to class,” Miss Brown shoo’s them.
“Let’s go, Roxie,” Indie grits her teeth.
Roxie eyes you one more time. “Fine. I’ll be seeing you later.”
You gulp.
It’s time to play a new game around school: Hide from Roxie! Winners get the very rewarding prize of not getting their face beat in.
You dart from class to class all morning. A huge target sticks to your back with Roxie aiming for a bullseye. Meanwhile, Eddie is still no where to be found. He’s probably hiding under his sheets at home, full of shame when he mistook your name for hers.
That’s just fine by you. You still didn’t want to see him either. Or, maybe you did. First, to clear the air about you liking him. A little flimsy crush isn’t going to break a friendship, right? You’ll get over it in time. Secondly, you’re sure that him naming you is a big misunderstanding. He just got distracted or something.
After lunch was over, you planned to sneak through Mr Campbell’s empty classroom. He doesn’t have afternoon classes, and you can easily shoot through since there is a door on either side of the hallway.
“Over there!”
Roxie has the cheerleaders involved now. No doubt they want a piece of judge, jury and conviction too.
Colliding into something solid, you topple over onto the tile. You’re swept away in thought and you forget to watch where your going. Mr. Campbell has that skeleton on wheels that he’ll leave just about anywhere. But, you haven’t knocked over that stupid skeleton.
It’s Eddie.
“Oh, God,” you rub your backside.
Eddie gasps, “What are you doing?”
“What am I-,” you snap. “What the hell are you doing? Your girlfriend almost tackled me like linebacker!”
Eddie shushes you. “Do you want her to hear? She’s not my girlfriend. I told you it’s casual.”
“Casual?” You want to yell, but you also don’t want her to hear. The last thing you need is for Roxie to see you in the same room as Eddie. “Whatever you have is not casual.”
“I messed up, okay?” He rubs his temple. “Jesus!”
Your chin lifts at the familiar brrring of the school bell. Now, you’re skipping class. You’ll get another hour of detention no matter if you stay here or go to class.
“You’re hiding from her too?” You conclude.
Detention doesn’t matter to Eddie. He just wants to ensure you’re okay. Judging by the way you’re creeping through empty classrooms, you’re doing just about as good as he is.
"I'm not hiding," he jumps when someone's locker slams. "Okay, so maybe I am hiding."
"This is so humiliating," you cry.
Eddie apologizes, “I’m sorry-,”
“You’re sorry?”
You’re grateful that the light in the room is limited. Otherwise, you don’t know if you could have a conversation with him right now. Eddie has these eyes that you could simply drown in.
“It was an accident,” he claims. “You’re the one who said-,”
“I didn’t say anything,” you correct him. “You’re the one with the wild imagination.”
“Wild imagination?!”
“Maybe I do like Jeff, hm? Or- or maybe I’ve come to realize that Gareth is a great guy. Did you think of that?” You stand before him, while he scrunches down into a chair. “Eddie Munson you’re selfish - no, you’re self centered. All about Eddie- it’s Eddie’s world and we’re all just there like puppets on strings.”
“You done?”
“No!” You snap. “Yes.”
“How could you call me self-centered when you’ve been prancing around this place like the rest of the guys don’t exist? Everyone wants to know where you are all the time. Why would I know? Oh, because you’re supposed to be my best friend,” Eddie rubs his hands across his face. “God, when did things get so complicated?”
"When you started calling me one of the guys in middle school, and I just wanted whatever you wanted,” you admit out loud. “Why do you think I changed when Gareth mentioned Roxie? I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Eddie’s unreadable. Although dark, you can see his thoughts bubble and burst.
“It doesn’t matter,” you continue. “You don’t like me like that.”
“Who’s to say that?” Eddie’s voice comes out barely audible.
You shake your head. “Don’t pity me.”
Eddie kicks the stool from under him, “I’m not.”
“Eddie,” you pick at your nails. “What we have is a great friendship. I’m lucky that you’re in my life. I don’t want to risk messing that up. Are- are you okay with that? Are we okay?”
Eddie doesn’t want to leave the air so broken. While the words are spelled out in front of him, he can’t find a way to bring them out.
“We’re okay,” he says.
-> <-
Flicking a green bean on his plate with a fork, Eddie can’t be bothered to bring the food to his lips. Nothing passes his mouth. He watches the ice crystals on his steak defrost because he doesn’t want Uncle Wayne to worry that he’s messed up dinner, since this is the first one they’ve shared in a while. Wayne told his boss that he wanted to be home tonight for Eddie, and here he is.
“You’re not eating?” His uncle points out because Wayne has eaten half of his meal, and he worries that Eddie is appearing a bit gray and slender.
Eddie replies. “I ate a lot at school.”
“In the years that you’ve been under my roof, you haven’t stopped eating,” Wayne lowers his head to meet his nephew’s eye. “Try again.”
Eddie pushes the microwaved dinner aside. A low hum comes from the television, and he’s not even sure what’s on. Someone’s bobbing around like a baboon trying to make a woman smile. Yet another attempt from Wayne to make Eddie relive his childhood, he guesses.
“That girl your seeing isn’t pregnant is she?” Wayne presses when Eddie won’t talk. “Eddie Munson, I’ve told you to use a condom-,”
“No,” he cocks his head to rethink. “No, she’s not.”
Even if Roxie was pregnant, she’d get an abortion and make Eddie pay for it. Actually, he still owes her for the condoms.
Eddie wants to be done with women for a while. But, there is still this pinching on his ears that reminds him you’re still there. He’s actually wearing a pair of your studs that you forgot at his house one day. Since Eddie is prone to losing just about everything, he’s decided to wear them so they don’t get lost. No one even notices except for him. They hide behind his hair.
“Look,” Eddie wets his lips. “If I tell you, then you have to promise me you won’t do that weird ‘oooh’ thing you do. Got it?”
Wayne claps his hands together. Say no more. He’s solved the case! That little lady across the park has had her eye on him since the day Eddie moved in. Wayne really likes her. ‘Thinks she’s a great ball of sunshine that can keep Eddie under control. He’s been just waiting for Eddie to wake up and smell the coffee!
“Really?” Wayne excites.
Eddie exhales. “Don’t-,”
“Wait,” he lectures. “You’re not seeing both of them are you? Eddie Munson that is wrong, and I won’t tolerate that behavior. I taught you better.”
“No-,”
“Seriously, boy. Wear a condom. It’s not just for you, but her too you know?”
“Wayne-,”
“You can’t be spreading your butter on everyone’s toast.”
“Wayne!”
“I knew it,” he blabs on. “Ever since I caught you two brushing each other’s teeth. Oh, I saw this coming - I did!”
That incident happened once, and Wayne would never let Eddie live that down.
You smoke one joint.
After sitting in his room complaining of boredom, you tell Eddie you had never brushed someone else’s teeth before. He hadn’t either. You wanted to try. But, Eddie would only let you if the offer went both ways. Wayne burst in when you were scrubbing his tongue. You splattered toothpaste all over the mirror, while Eddie tried to keep you from squirming so he could scrub your teeth.
“You need to learn how to knock,” Eddie tries sailing with the conversation his old man is going on about.
Wayne challenges. “You know there’s no closed doors when you have girls over, Eddie.”
“Oh, my God.”
Reliving the memory, Eddie wants to make more with you. Cooking. You’ll cook. He’ll burn food. You’ll tell him he’s doing a wonderful job anyway because you’re too sweet to tell him to get out before he burns the house down. Eddie visions that you’ll teach him a better way to organize his clothes. You’ve already tried to show him how to fold, but Eddie only lasted a week doing your method before going back to shoving the clothes in whatever drawer is the least bit full. He’ll now admit that he only let you teach him because he wanted you close. He wants you close. Always.
It’s not just domestic stuff he sees. He wants to take you on a date. Many dates. He wants to take you out of Hawkins, even if it’s for just a day. He misses your laugh. Seeing you cry today broke him. Knowing that you’ve changed everything for him, and he didn’t notice. Because at the core of all the makeup and the hair, he guesses, that he just didn’t care. He loves all the extra, don’t get him wrong, but all he can see is you.
“What are you going to do, boy?” Wayne wonders.
Eddie replies in a question, “What if everything goes wrong? I- I can’t lose her, Wayne.”
“Son-,”
“What if I just turn out like him? Like my father?”
Eddie’s lip quivers, as he bites back the tears he’s been holding onto for years. Not a day goes by does he not miss his father, even if the years weren’t kind to him. His father is locked away somewhere in State, but he hasn’t visited. They’ll take one look at Eddie and they’ll try to lock him away too.
“That’s not you, Eddie,” Wayne opens his arms. “Come here.”
Eddie drops his head onto his uncle’s shoulder. Tears slide down his cheek and across his chin.
“Deep breaths,” he rubs his hand across Eddie’s back.
He doesn’t cry for long, and Wayne wipes his tears when he’s calmer. This isn’t a usual interaction between them, but neither of them care. Wayne takes away a stray eyelash from Eddie’s cheek.
“You like this girl?” Wayne says as a fact more than a question.
Eddie nods.
“You have to try,” he insists.
“Yeah, okay,” his nephew agrees.
Wayne and Eddie end their conversation there. Eddie eventually eats (after microwaving the food because he could have broken teeth on that steak), and the show that his uncle makes him watch isn’t half bad. Their night comes to a close when his uncle snores.
Mouth agape, head tipped over and his feet propped up, Wayne would be out for the night.
Eddie tucks his uncle’s toes beneath the blanket Wayne was hugging. Tip toeing his way into the kitchen, he puts both forks into the sink along with their drinking glasses. The TV dinners find home in the trash can. While Eddie left the television on to lull his uncle in his sleep, Eddie flicks off the living room and the kitchen lights. He sneaks off to his bedroom, the only bedroom in the trailer. Wayne gave up the space for Eddie to grow into.
Eddie finds that sleep won’t do.
You project onto his ceiling like a film about his life. There you are. Every new milestone. Eddie didn’t think about just how many times you were there for him. His birthdays come to mind, even the ones he didn’t want to be there for because he doesn’t always feel like he deserves to be celebrated. You’d sneak off to get him a beer when his uncle was distracted with all the other kids invited.
When you kept him from going outside, while Wayne drove up in his brand new van that was a gift for Eddie when he got his license. Wayne took on extra hours just for him. That might just have been the night his heart beat a little faster for you. Watching you perform songs in your living room in that ridiculous feather boa and sunglasses, Eddie’s drawn to laugh at the memory of you out of tune and off key. You didn’t care. The hair brush you swore was a microphone was just not working that night. You’re much better performer in the shower, you’d said.
Eddie sits up in bed, and he can see that your bedroom light is still on. Your curtains are drawn, but your silhouette dances about. Bouncing up and down will sometimes get rid of your last bit of energy, Eddie’s witnessed your routine first hand. Your wild, and Eddie finds this fascinating.
When your silhouette disappears, but the light remains, Eddie concludes that you’re reading a chapter book. You told Eddie to try reading sometime because that’s what helped you get to sleep. He bought his first book that very same day.
The Lord of the Rings was your suggestion. Not that he hadn’t found it first, but he wasn’t about to point it out. Eddie sees the book hidden under a lighter he used last night.
Smoking seemed obvious to him. He couldn’t sleep, so he would light up. With Wayne home, though, Eddie didn’t want the smell getting to him. He’s pretty sure Wayne knows he smokes by now, and he doesn’t care. Eddie isn’t a reckless smoker by any means, and he keeps to himself. If Wayne found out he was selling, that would be a different story.
Never the less, Eddie reads page after page of the same book he’s been fascinated by for weeks. He immerses himself into the books wishing he could be the hero, rather than the one who runs in the face of danger.
Eddie hears your front door open and close. This interests him and tips his head up. Tossing the book aside like he’s suddenly been hypnotized, he looks through his window.
You’re on the porch in thin pajamas and a robe. A lit cigarette slots between your fingers. You only smoke when you’re stressed. Pacing back and forth, Eddie understands that you’re talking to yourself. He just can’t make out the words.
This is creepy. Eddie shuts his window, and sinks back in bed. Leaving you alone - leaving you alone.
The words in his book blur into blobs of unrecognizable text. All he can see right now is you on that porch. You’re alone - and you’re probably cold. He has a blanket that he could offer. Maybe he could- no, he is leaving you alone.
Eddie wants to untangle the knot he has in his belly. He even tries to convince himself that he’s still hungry. But, he knows he won’t eat. You’re there. Even if you were caked in mud, you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world to him. Actually, he has seen you caked in mud before. You were definitely hot then too.
Oh, God. What was he doing?
Pulling open his closet now, Eddie finds a jacket to slip on over his pajamas. He takes an extra blanket with him. It’s a bit torn up, but the blanket is clean. Wayne washed the blanket a couple of days ago, along with Eddie’s sheets which he claimed he could smell from across town. Eddie was not that dirty. It was the weed - but, er - don’t ask about the stains. He doesn’t know what they are or where they came from. Seriously, don’t ask.
Wayne is still snoring in the living room. He mutters in his sleep when Eddie opens the front door, and he doesn’t see Wayne stir once the door shuts.
His uncle stretches, and wakes up enough to take a leak in his bathroom. By the time he returns to the living room, he catches a glimpse from the window in the living room. His boy is with you on your porch making you smile and making you blush.
Wayne doesn’t need to spy. He’s seen this movie before when his brother made moves on his girl. It’d be a few more years until Eddie is born, but the picture is already there.
“Atta boy,” Wayne cheers to himself.
Eddie’s sitting with you, and sharing a cigarette. You’re not sleeping either. Dried black makeup you haven’t smudged off is stuck under your eyes. He wants to swipe it away, but he doesn’t know if he should.
“Is your mom in tonight?” Eddie asks.
You shake your head. “No, but my dad is such a deep sleeper. He’s nothing to worry about.”
Eddie worries about your dad catching him there with his only daughter, then your mom who likes to call you both “crazy kids.” Your dad is stern. Overprotective. He’s jokes about having a gun locked away somewhere, but Eddie still has no idea if he is joking. You won’t tell him because truthfully you don’t know.
“What’s got you up?” Eddie brings the blanket closer to you because he sees your shoulders dance.
You shake your head blowing out smoke to the left where Eddie isn’t.
Eddie takes a drag from the cigarette after he says, “I don’t think I’ve been all that honest with you.”
He reads your face.
“Not like that,” he can’t look at you, so he counts the floorboards of your porch. “I said we’re okay, but I don’t think we are.”
Your heart skips in your chest. “What do you mean?”
While Eddie might not be able to look at you, your eyes are all on him. In the moonlight, he’s like this shiny thing. You can’t put your thoughts into words, but he’s carved by the shine of the moon. He might hide his face with his hair, but when he hunches over you relax a bit.
You haven’t been able to put yourself in bed. Knowing that Eddie was there had wrecked your mind. You’re itching to be near him.
The whole day you thought about nothing, but him. How unsatisfied you are with your earlier conversation. You thought being the one to take charge in the conversation, and assert yourself, might make the blow easier. Truthfully, it hurt even worse.
You spent the evening sobbing in your room like a baby. Friends. You signed your name at the bottom of that contract. But, then, you thought about the day you’ll find a nice boy that will like you back. You’ll get married. You’ll get a house. Everything will be okay. But, as you thought about your life, your mind wondered about Eddie. What happens when he finds a girl? He’ll have a wife and he’ll have a house too.
You’ll be at that wedding. Sitting in a chair that’s not too close to the front, but also not all the way in the back. The band sits in front of you. They might not be able to pronounce the brand name, but their check cashes on their suits. All of your friends are his friends.
Eddie’s fiancé is faceless, but her gown is breathtaking. They’ll say ‘I do.’
You’ll cry along with them, but the tears you shed are ones you let out at a funeral. Are you just supposed to sit there and pretend like you don’t want to throw up?
Because that’s not you standing at the alter.
That’s some chick he’s met on the road while he tours with the band. Sure she’s great. But, the sight sickens you. Maybe that means your selfish, but you can’t do this. You can’t see Eddie with another woman. You refuse to see it because Eddie’s always been with you.
“I’m sorry?” You’ve spaced out while Eddie is speaking.
He begins to say, “please don’t make me repeat myself.”
Throwing the cigarette to the ground, you stamp out the flame. You wrap your hands around his neck, and you pull him forward. Eddie's lips meet yours in an awaited embrace. Longing and passionate. His hands burrow into your hair pulling you ever closer. The tender touch of his fingers fall to your waist to tell you he's not going anywhere.
You can't be sure which one of you pull away first. But, when your eyes open you breathe a sigh of relief. Eddie is still there, and he's about as hot in the face as you feel. You let out a breathy laugh, and he hides his grin behind his hair.
It doesn't take long for him to ask,
"Can I take you out sometime?"
And, of course, you say. "Yes!"
-> <-
tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia @sofaritsalrightt @thisisktrying @somethingvicked @sebastiansstanswhore
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson preference#eddie munson imagine#angst#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fluff#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things preference#stranger things fic
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back on my steddie bullshit fr
Thinking about hope(ful)less romantic Steve driving to Eddie's trailer in the pouring rain to finally confess his love after months of dancing around each other and almost-confessions that crumble on the tips of their tongues before they can become anything real.
Steve finds himself pacing around the ground floor of a house that's too big and too quiet, thinking about a guy who should never, ever have taken up as much of his brain as he currently does. It's a Friday night, and Eddie's most likely out at a gig, or at a bar, or doing nerd shit. He's most likely doing anything but thinking about Steve. And yet here Steve is, entirely preoccupied with the reckless marvel that is Eddie Munson.
Fuck it.
It's been four months since Vecna, and everyone seems to be okay again. It's been long enough that it wouldn't be weird for Steve to make a move, right?
Before Steve can really consider what it is he's about to do, he has his keys in hand and he's heading out towards his car. He doesn't even realize it was raining until he steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. And there's not much thought that goes into any of it, really. It's instinctive, the way Steve knows the route to Eddie's place by now. Regardless of the thrashing of his heart, there's an easy kind of familiarity in the sodden streets and jutting roads. Steve's windshield wipers are working double time, fending off the sheets of rain that pile down amidst the humidity of late July; it'd been a cloudless day until the sun set. But like the heaviness of Steve's heart, the clouds had begun to weigh themselves down with water, waiting for the moment where the heft of it all became too much.
Steve hadn't quite beaten those clouds to the punch.
He arrives at Eddie's with really no recollection of how he'd gotten there, only that he needed to see him and nothing was going to get in his way. Eddie's already sitting out on the porch when he pulls up. The dusty ground is darker, saturated with fat, relentless raindrops. Eddie sits on the steps of his trailer, only just covered by the awning. The toes of his sneakers shine with wetness.
"Why are you out here?" Steve asks, clambering out of his car. It's all he can think to say. It's not the words he wants to purge, not the things that have been itching in his throat every time they've been alone together for the last however-many weeks. But it's what comes out.
"Wanted to hear the rain," Eddie responds, a cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. It's a simple enough response. Shouldn't warrant a reaction. Only, Steve's standing a few yards away, dampening by the moment, and he needs to just get it out.
"I need to- I gotta talk to you," Steve stutters, drifting closer. Eddie's eyes narrow.
"About what?" he asks, clearly skeptical.
"About you. Or, me. Us. I- shit, I used to be good at this." Steve raises a hand to swipe over his mouth: it comes away wet. He's fucking soaked, standing defenceless against the onslaught from above. Eddie flicks the cigarette and the butt lands at the base of the steps. He hinges upright, dropping down a step until the raindrops begin to splatter onto his curls, landing like spits of silver against the glow of the street lamps overhead.
"Good at what?" Eddie calls through the low rumble of the rain.
"Good at- I dunno, confessions? I told Nancy how I felt about her no problem. Robin was a little tougher, but I still got through that, but with you," Steve gushes, entirely unsure as to where he's going with this, "I just can't seem to find the words."
For an impossible amount of time, Eddie stares. His pretty features seem to go through about a half dozen emotions before he settles on something that Steve's soul recognizes as pity. He prepares himself for inevitable rejection.
"You're telling me you can't find the words?" Eddie asks, incredulous, "Dude, i'm a songwriter, a fucking wordsmith, and I've been drawing a blank on you for months!"
Steve squints, a little at a loss.
"What?" he asks, feels stupid for not getting it straight away.
"Steve, I should be able to write songs about the guy I love, right?"
"Well- Yeah- I- Wait, what?" Steve starts before Eddie's words catch up. The rain's growing heavier, beginning to sting his cheeks a little, but he's fixed to the spot, not daring to move any closer. It's Eddie that draws nearer, dropping down the final steps until they're on even footing.
"If you hadn't- If you didn't come over here tonight, I was gonna- I was gonna come to you. I had this whole fuckin' speech planned out - I'm pretty sure it was stupid, honestly, but I wrote it anyway, because I have all these goddamn feelings about you, Steve. And I couldn't find a way to make them sound like anything other than what they are." Eddie's waves are flattening by the second, darkening under the weight of the water falling from above. Steve's heart pounds against his ribs, threatens to break free altogether.
"But I- I came here to- You're- Eddie?"
"Fuck sake, Steve. I'm-"
"Wait." Steve interrupts him, his brain catching up all at once, overfilling and spilling over. "Wait, just let me- Can I say what I was gonna say?"
Eddie folds his arms around himself, chilled by the rain despite the thick warmth of summer around them.
"Sure. Shoot."
Steve heaves in a breath.
"Okay. Eddie. I've been thinking, and you and me, we're good, right? Like, for each other." A droplet of rain catches between Steve's lashes, forcing him to blink it away. Eddie's slim figure remains in front of him, proving that this is real, this isn't some hallucination, some daydream borne of an idle brain. "I think you and me could be something good. Great, even. And I- I- I think I- I know you maybe said it already, and I shouldn't even be-" Eddie strides forward, closing the space between them in a breathless moment. Steve's breath catches in his throat. Eddie's dark eyes dart frantically between Steve's own, so round and wide and beautiful. Steve's so in love with him. "Eddie, I'm- I think I've... fallen in love with you." Steve skates his palms over Eddie's biceps, up and over his shoulders, until he's cradling the sides of Eddie's neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm in love with you."
Where they're so closely matched in height, Steve's eyes are crossing just to keep his gaze focused on Eddie, who's looking more like the proverbial deer in headlights right now.
"Shit, Harrington," Eddie breathes, and Steve feels it warm against his rain-chilled lips, "took you long enough."
It's a kiss that follows, soft and hesitant, like Steve would do anything but lean into it, like he's anything but head over heels, absolutely and embarrassingly in love. it's a kiss, and it's wet and a little too cold, a little too out in the open, but Steve wouldn't change it for anything.
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you thought it would be all sweetness??? nooo u got to have a little miscommunication angst before anyone gets any hickies. but they will. in time >:)
part one. part two. this is a part three :)
Steve blames it all on the clock.
That stupid cuckoo clock on the wall of the Munson trailer. It's an absolute horror of interior design that would make Steve’s mom shiver if she ever laid eyes on it. It’s probably why Eddie loves it — and the god-awful cuckoo! noise it makes when it goes off.
Because the moment Eddie utters that delightful question, asking for a hickie, the nerve of him, Steve loves it — and Steve is more than ready to oblige him — the stupid clock goes off.
It gives them both a fright, Steve more than Eddie. He gives a whole-body twitch that shifts them both, his head snapping to the wall, a breath forced out of his lungs at the sight of the mustard-coloured bird. Shit. Stupid fuckin’ clock, Steve thinks.
But it seems to break the trance over the room. The sweet tension of their shared closeness is sucked out of the room in an instant. Steve is suddenly aware of the time the popping out bird is announcing. It’s late. Far later than Steve intended to stay over, especially considering work tomorrow.
Without meaning to, the prickle under Steve’s skin rolls through his body. It steals away the comfort that he usually feels with Eddie, tenseness filling his body. Steve hates it — hates how he can’t stop himself from tensing up beneath Eddie.
Eddie notices. He's quick to to retract himself from Steve, pushing up and back, giving Steve his space. He sits beside Steve on the couch, still close. Not close enough to touch.
It helps. The rigidness of Steve's body relaxes just a bit but Steve doesn’t want that. He wants Eddie back on him. Wants his hands gripping Steve’s side. His breath fanning over Steve’s face, cheeks cherry red and pupils blown wide. Steve doesn’t say any of that and he sure is shit isn't brave enough to ask for it.
Instead, he croaks, “It’s late.”
Steve reluctantly pushes himself up from his slumped position, eyes already searching for his scattered shoes. He misses the way Eddie’s face falls, the way he tries to tug his hair in front of his face to hide the hurt. It takes another second to school his expression.
Steve hears a cough and then Eddie agrees with a murmur. “Yeah, sure.”
The words ache. No part of Steve is relieved to have Eddie agree with him. He’s not sure what he wanted; for Eddie to egg him to stay just a little while longer? To prove that their kisses hadn’t been a heat of the moment impulsivity? There's nothing to prove they weren't.
No, it was Steve who said he had to go. It is late. But then again maybe, Eddie wanted him to leave. But, no— Eddie just asked for a hickie, he wouldn’t—
“Don’t you have work early tomorrow?” Steve’s spiral cuts short at Eddie’s voice, tinged with… irritation?
O-kay. Now Steve’s not sure what to think. What had been the source of immense joy because Steve had asked for a kiss and Eddie said yes is suddenly… tilted.
The beginnings of embarrassment begin to cling to Steve like a thick fog. He’s done it again. Been overly eager. Asked for too much, too soon— fuck, that had been Eddie’s first kiss too.
“Yeah,” Steve replies, standing and shoving his foot into the one shoe he can find. He spies the other one under the table and wiggles it out with his toe. He can’t find in it to look at Eddie, not just yet. “Yeah, uh, I should get going.”
It’s all wrong. Steve shouldn’t be leaving — not on these terms. Not when he can’t look at Eddie for fear of what he’ll find. Regret? Steve’s not sure if he could face Eddie again, not if there’s even a trace of it on his face. It would feel like Halloween all over again, a bludgeon on Steve’s too-soft heart. It’ll crumble, he just knows it.
Steve wants to stay. He really wants to. He wants to ask for another kiss, ask for a dozen more kisses. Wants to give the hickie Eddie asked so nicely for and receive one back; matching love bites, like a gentler version of their matching twisted scars adorning their sides.
But he’s always asking for more. Steve always needs more. It’s greedy. It’s embarrassing how much he wants it, how he’s already gotten patient touches from Eddie but it’s not enough. Eddie had sounded a pinch annoyed — even aggravated at Steve.
It doesn't cross his mind that it might be for any other reason. Really, Steve thinks he’s doing Eddie a favour.
“Um,” Steve clears his throat, takes the wobble out of his words. Nods to himself and chances a glimpse at Eddie. The older is staring down at his lap, locks of hair trapped between twitchy fingers. They should talk about it. Steve’s not brave enough to risk his heart tonight.
“Well, g’night.” He says quietly, letting himself out the trailer door. He closes it behind him gently, shoes tapping against the stairs on the way down. It feels wrong, it feels wrong — but it would be selfish to turn back.
He repeats the sentiment over and over, raspy whispers beneath his breath as he climbs into his car. It would be selfish. The engine turns over and he hesitates for just a moment, hoping to catch a silhouette in the kitchen window. It’s empty. Of course, it’s empty.
Of course, Eddie is not chancing for a glance at him on his way out because Steve just asked for more and more and more, and he took Eddie’s first kiss and then— He whispers it to himself again. It would be selfish to turn back.
When he thinks about it on the drive home, Steve’s sure it all comes back to that stupid fucking clock.
-
Eddie stares in the mirror.
He’s not sure why he was so convinced there would be some radical change in him upon popping his make-out cherry but… well, here he was. Staring in the mirror like he had this morning. Except 10 hours earlier, he had been unkissed.
Tonight, the difference shows. His lips are rosier than usual, a swell to them given by hasty sweet kisses. It’s the only evidence of his spit-sharing moment of passion with Steve on the couch. The rosy colour is already beginning to fade.
Eddie sinks his teeth in. He doesn’t want the only physical proof that he even got to kiss Steve to be gone so soon. Even if that fact seems terribly bitter now.
“What the shit did you do, Munson?” He murmurs to himself in the tiny bathroom mirror.
It’s got toothpaste specks splayed across it. Eddie stares past them. Stares into his own face, reading every change in his features as emotions inside him churn. It’s heading for a distraught expression, the upturn of his brows and quiver in his lips giving him away. He always was a crier. Eddie really wishes he wasn’t.
“Idiot!” He pairs the word with a bang on the wall beside the mirror, frustration leaking out. The toothbrush on the sink shudders in its cup with a clink.
Eddie hates the welling in his eyes. He hates that he ruined the first fuckin’ good thing to happen to him in this town. Loathes that he drives away the first person who actually knows him and still wants to kiss him.
Well, wanted to kiss him.
Eddie’s pretty sure Steve scampering out of the trailer is more than a big enough sign. It’s a blazingly bright neon sign — light up words that say ‘This was a mistake!’
Except, it hadn’t felt at all like a mistake to Eddie. It had felt wonderful, better than anything he had thought, the soft curve of Steve’s lips, the grip on his hands on Eddie’s face, the heat in his face, the— Eddie growls, wiping his hand down his face to shake the thoughts. Too good to be true was what it was.
It’s because of what he said. Of what he asked for. It had to be that. But— but Steve had looked eager and almost excited and then the stupid clock had gone off, scaring the shit out of them both. Maybe it was then that Eddie’s words had sunk in and Steve realised what he’d gotten into— and who he’d gotten into it with.
“You had to ask for more, huh?” Eddie scolds himself angrily, wiping his cheeks harshly when a tear streaks free. Another follows, just as fast. Eddie wipes roughly at his face to clear them. Doesn’t care about the streaks of red he leaves on his cheeks. Another trembling reprimand comes out. “You just had to push it, huh? You fuckin’ idiot.”
Eddie can’t stand his reflection anymore. He tears his gaze away as he spins and heads straight for his room.
The button on his stereo is sticky and it takes a few forceful clicks to turn it on, but when he does, he cranks it. It’s loud enough he’ll surely wake some neighbours. Eddie can’t find it in him to care, not even when the neighbours dog starts off with its incessant barking. Anything to stop hearing himself cry.
-
“Something’s up with Eddie.” is the first thing Robin says when she comes in the front door.
Steve’s mid-yawn when she does, a result of a night of tossing and turning, and he somehow manages a strange choke at her words. In a haste to shut his mouth, he chomps on his fingers covering his mouth — then hisses, pulling it away from his face. He ignores Robin’s perplexed expression, shoving the hand deep in his pocket. His ears feel a tad hotter.
“What? Why? What makes you think that?” Steve asks the questions in rapid succession. Very chill, he chides himself. At this rate, Robin would have him all figured out 10 minutes into their shift.
And it’s not like— well, Robin’s advice is usually great. A bit cut-throat, sure. She doesn’t have a problem trodding on his feelings on her way to tell him the hard truth. Usually, it’s fine. Steve could probably do with a bit of ego-bruising.
Today, he’s… It’s different. That’s what Steve tells himself. This thing with Eddie, he wants to fix it himself. And with too much meddling from Robin’s advice, even if it was with the best intentions, might mix things up too much. It’s hard enough keeping his half-baked apology that’s been brewing since last night in proper order in his mind.
Thankfully, Robin doesn’t comment on his odd demeanor. She just bustles into the back room — there are a couple sounds of her dumping her stuff. When she comes back out the front, she’s fixing her Family Video vest. It looks perfectly straight to Steve.
He checks his own — it’s sitting askew, part of the collar flipped over. He hastily fixes it, running his hands down the front to smooth it a bit.
“Just,” Robin starts, talking as she sits in front of the computer, beginning to take a crack at the admin she managed. She likes doing things as she talks, Steve knows. Helps keep her from letting words run away from her.
Steve’s thankful for it now because she isn’t looking at him when she says, “I think he might have had a bad nightmare last night, or something of that sort. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off — you know how I am with trying to read people, Steve. I’m not good at it! But when I saw him, he just seemed…”
Robin seems to take an extra moment to deliberate her word choice. Steve’s really glad she’s still facing the computer so she can’t see the myriad of emotions that show on his face.
“…Off.” is the word she decides on.
Which means bad. Steve feels like he’s swallowed a stone. It sinks deep into his stomach. It burns, sour and scorned, twisting up his gut. It means Eddie is bad — it means disappointment, means he regretted it. That Steve had been right; that he’d been too eager, too soon. Too much.
Right. Of course, this happens again. Really, Steve had brought it on himself by asking for so much. It had been one thing to ask for a hug — who actually has to do that? — and then to expect he might get Eddie to kiss him too? What a overstep. Christ, he's an idiot.
“That’s not…” He hears himself say, still lost in his thoughts. It's only when Robin turns on the stool, brows raised, that Steve realises he hasn’t finished his sentence. “Good. That’s not good. To hear.”
Steve turns and starts shuffling around the films on the returns cart, picking them up at random. He stares at a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’ in his hands, a new release, and forces out a causal question.
“What made you think that?” He asks, shoving the film into an empty slot, like he was arranging them. He’s relieved when Robin’s clicking on the keyboard resumes, along with a dramatic sigh.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be trusted to read anyone’s emotions correctly at any given time, honestly. Remember that old lady? I thought she was being sweet that whole time and then you told me she was being rude! And I couldn’t even tell…”
Robin’s ramble is comforting and helpful to Steve in a way he didn’t know they could be. He presses the cart out, finally getting a move on with it, but delivers a quick nod to Robin when she’s looking to let her know he’s still tuned in. He listens to her get distracted by another topic and leaves Eddie’s name in the dust. It’s a silent relief.
It’s a task to multi-task, listening and devising a plan, but Steve has all shift to find the balance. It’s sometime between finishing re-stocking the action section and starting the romance that Steve decides he should apologise. He should go over today and apologise.
Eddie’s a big boy but Steve’s fairly certain now, if he regretted it, Eddie had probably felt obliged to kiss him back. Probably hadn’t minded the first kiss but- but— Something sticks in his brain; it was Eddie’s first kiss.
It makes Steve feel worse. It doesn’t matter, really, Steve should say sorry for all of it. God, he’s such an idiot.
By the time he’s clocked out, it’s all set in place. He’s got a dozen different apologies running in a loop in his head, reciting the words in time with his anxious tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not a long drive out to Forest Hills Trailer Park. The drive is well-known now. Steve tries hard not to wallow in what he might be losing today. What he lost because he’d been too greedy with want.
The sight of a brown van parked roadside yanks him from his thoughts. Eddie’s van. Steve’s stomach turns, nerves gnawing faster. He slows, trying to catch eye of the other boy as he rolls to a stop behind the van. The sun is beginning to dip closer to the horizon, the temperature going with it.
At the same time, they see each other; Eddie’s head popping around the raised hood to see who had stopped, right as Steve pops his door. Eddie retreats in an instant. Steve's chest grows a bit tighter.
Gravel crunches underfoot as Steve takes a few wary steps closer. It doesn’t take more than a couple before Eddie calls out. He doesn’t bother poking his head out again.
“Go away, Steve.”
Steve swallows thickly. Yeah, okay, he deserves that. He deserves probably worse than that. But more importantly than that, Eddie deserves to hear this. And Steve... needs to not lose Eddie.
“Can I… can we talk?” Steve asks, taking a couple steps closer. A car whizzes by on the road, hidden from Steve's view behind the van. He still keeps his distance, hovering. His hands clench nervously at his sides. Steve shoves them deep in his jean pockets, wiping the sweat off them as he goes.
“What part of ‘Go away’ isn’t clear enough for you?” Eddie snarks back. He still doesn't stick his head out, still won’t look at Steve. It stings.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve starts, another instinctive step forward taken. “I-I just, I shouldn’t have left like I did last night. I wanted to apologise.”
There’s a clattering from behind the hood like Eddie’s dropped a tool. He swears. Steve wants to take another step, wants to see Eddie — wants to read every emotion and apologise for causing any of the ugly ones.
“Well, apology accepted,” Eddie responds. There’s a bite in his words. His next words are grumblier, quieter. “And message fuckin’ received.”
What?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That—” Finally, Eddie steps away from the van, rounding the hood to march up to Steve. His arms cross over his chest, a wrinkle set between his brows that pull his face into a glare. Robin was right; he is off. This isn’t normal Eddie. Fuck, Steve had fucked up bad.
“That means message received, Steve.” Eddie seethes. He uncrosses his arms to gesture wildly. Steve misses the wobble in his bottom lip. “Message received loud and clear! I get it!”
And all Steve wants to ask is: get what? He doesn’t ask that. He should know what. That would be an idiotic question, would make Eddie more irritated. Lord knows, Steve has been enough of a fool in the last day. So, he doesn’t ask.
“Look, I just…” Steve starts, words a bit weak. They die in his throat as he tries to recall a single apology he had practiced all day and comes up empty. “I’m just- I just wanted—look, I’m sorry I took your first kiss!”
It’s not exactly what he means to say, but Steve certainly is sorry for it. Eddie’s expression wavers, some anger slipping away. Confusion takes its place.
“What?” Eddie says with a tone of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”
“And I’m sorry I kept… kept asking for more.” Steve continues on, pulling on the thread inside him, connected to the terrible stone he swallowed earlier. He tugs it. Hopes pulling it will unravel the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.
Steve scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know, okay? I know that I can be a lot.” He sighs and drops his hands.
“But I didn’t mean to… shit,” He wrenches his eyes open. Eddie’s a bit wide-eyed now, brown eyes watching him intently. Steve doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, can’t tell if it’s good or worse. He continues, soft words scraping out his throat.
“I didn’t mean to be like that with you.”
Eddie searches Steve’s face, eyes darting and wild. He licks his lips. His hands are in motion, fingers twisting rings, quick and fast. It’s a nervous action.
“What do you mean by ‘like that?’” Eddie asks, voice gentler. It's lost its snarl from before.
Steve blinks, a scrape of teeth worrying his bottom lip. He murmurs his admittance lowly, just one word, “Selfish.”
Eddie doesn’t try to hide his surprise; it ripples across his face in a wave. Confusion melts away into something closer to, Steve hopes desperately, relief. Steve can feel his own heart thudding hard inside his chest — can feel the beat it skips when Eddie steps closer.
“Steve?” Eddie says, sounding unlike himself. Steve’s never heard his voice that small. He nods, wordlessly. Eddie searches his face once more — wide brown eyes scanning and devouring. Steve can’t help but do the same.
He drinks in the details of Eddie’s face; the soft scruff along his top lip, the darkness of his lashes and the way they kiss in the corner that Steve adores. The pink of his lips. The familiar ache to kiss Eddie surges up within him, still as violent and strong as it had been the night before.
Steve should really stop looking at Eddie’s lips. He’s supposed to be apologising. He drags his eyes up and meets Eddie’s gaze full-on, prepared for whatever he might say. Except, he’s not expecting him at all to say;
“Can I... try this again?” It comes out a ragged breath, Eddie's scared eyes conveying the weight behind his words.
And this time Steve doesn't even need to ask what because he knows. Because Eddie's hands are reaching up and holding either side of Steve's face so gently. Steve can't recall a time he's ever been held so softly. His own hands come up slowly, draping around Eddie's wrists to hold them, to keep them there.
Eddie's thumb traces. It draws a sweet line of that familiar fire beneath Steve's skin along til it's settled on Steve's bottom lip, resting. The blood under Eddie's thumb thrums, gloriously warm, aching with want. Yes. Steve thinks. Yes, yes, yes.
"Yes, please." Steve breathes, so sincere the words comes out as a kiss against Eddie's thumb.
So, Eddie kisses him.
now with a part four !
tags below! sry if i tagged u and u didn't want it just tagging everyone who replied <3
@they-reap-what-we-sow @impeachy @anaibis @resident-gay-bitch @ediewentmissing @newtstabber @original-cypher @invisibleflame812 @hunterbow04 @leather-and-freckles @dracoswifeandlokispet @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @lfaewrites @sundead @call-me-big-eyes @the-redthread @goblinmanifesto @etaka @bishopextractions @ketterfuck @persephone13 @beckkthewreck @maya-custodios-dionach @autumnal-dawn @yourstrulyjoko @gleefully-macabre @princess-eddie @savory-babby
#EHEHE SORRY I CANT RESIST A LITTLE BIT OF MISCOM ANGST#MORE SWEETNESS COMING THO!!!#on god eddie needs his hickie#and im gonna GIVE HIM ONE#AND SO MUCH LOVE!!!!!!#BEST BOYS NEED TO BE HAPPY IN LOVE!!!!#maybe one more part :)#i had only one more idea for the can i's and i BET u can guess what it might be <3#and it needs to draw back to touch cos that was the POINT of this fic originally#IM ALL BOUT PARALLELS BABEY#hope u find this delicious#gay ppl in my phone... this for u#can't wait to write the relieved kisses w the 'YOU THOUGHT WHAT???'#they're such goobers <3#steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#can i series#HOW MANY CAN I'S CAN U SPOT THIS TIME !!!#ruby writes steddie#steddie angst#steddie fluff#uhhhh don't flop challenge#or do flop. i can't control the masses#hopefully this hits the brainrot just right
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a depressed and drunk johnny cage in his trailer on his birthday and we decide to surprise him. Us being a good bestfriend bake him a cute little cake with happy birthday spelt out in frosting and get permission to go deliver it to him.
what’s he supposed to do when he’s drunk and a cute little thing like us does something so sweet? sure it’s his birthday, but he thinks you deserve a gift and he ends up fucking you in his trailer.
love ya 💙💙💙
ARF ARF BARK BARK GRRR WOOF
johnny cage > happy bithday
you surprise your best friend on his birthday. he returns the favor.
warnings: smut ofc, he's drunk (i knowwww he's a canon recovering alcoholic BEAR WITH MEEE) SUB JOHNNY NATION RISE UP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i kinda made him beg like a dog icl so hes kinda ooc oops
notes: INTENTIONAL MISSPELT TITLE!!! and this fic kicked my ASS. it took me like a week to get the courage to finish this holy fucking shit.
word count: 2.8k
[ masterlist ]
• you and johnny went far back. you had ties in the filming industry though you weren't on screen yourself. this drew you two together, even before you careers blossomed.
• you worked next door to his production, and you recall johnny expressing to you his annoyance for having to work on his birthday. he sounded... more miserable than usual, and it left a weird pit in your stomach.
• during your break, you ran into a nearby supermarket and purchased all the equipment you'd need: cake mix, frosting, sprinkles, and two numerical candles that spelled out 30. it took blood sweat in tears for you to bake this cake in record time, and decorating may have not been your strong suit but the purple frosting and gold lettering turned out... decent. hey, it's edible nonetheless!
• tip-toeing your way to his trailer, you were sure he had to be inside. you even double checked with his staff, and he was on an extended break while filming. standing at the door, you knock a couple times, and a stuffy, groaning voice responds.
• "m'busy," you know it's johnny's voice but it sounded far sadder than anticipated. hopefully the cake would cheer him up?
• you reply with his name through the crack in the door, and there's some shuffling before the door swings open. you don't even have time to wait or process the situation before johnny tugs you into his trailer by your arm. your face darkens slightly when you notice his flushed face and parted lips. his hair was messy, and the smell of alcohol poured from his mouth. the top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, giving you a peek of his bare chest. any other situation, you'd be head over heels, but his appearance concerned you.
• "are you drunk?" you ask with a hint of bewilderment, and johnny can only wipe his eyes and nod weakly, giving you a lopsided grin that unfortunately makes you feel weak in the knees. you swore to god to never act on this little crush, since he was a celebrity and all, and you knew better than to put your genuinely good friendship at risk.
• "you made me a cake?" johnny's gentle, almost tearful voice tore away any anger that began to bubble up and replaced it with warmth. you nod and hold it out to him, and the faint candlelight flickers against his skin beautifully. he was so soft when he was drunk at times, and only you got to see this warmer side compared to his typical cocky ways.
• "it's... not my best work," you shrug sheepishly, looking down at the cake. when you look back up, you notice johnny's lashes are wet as they flutter, looking down at the cake with you. he sniffs, and wipes his eyes quickly.
• "you spelled it wrong." his smile doesn't falter but the tears threaten to spill.
• "what?"
• "doll... look," johnny's finger trails the iced words. "you forgot the R."
• oh, shit. you did. the cake reads HAPPY BITHDAY JOHNNY in the most confident gold lettering. the time crunch must've made your proofreading not too accurate. you blush and try to move the cake away from view, sliding it onto his vanity.
• as you were about to sputter useless apologies and try to move on, johnny takes a step closer and fully embraces your body in his large arms, his form completely overtaking yours and trapping you in his grasp. johnny's head buries itself in the crook of your neck as he squeezes tight, nearly knocking the wind out of you.
• on instinct, your arms try to wrap around his body, gripping his shirt tightly. johnny mutters something incoherent, his drunken ramblings a key trait of his state.
• "you're so sweet to me," he mumbles tearfully, peppering kisses along your neck. sure, he was affectionate typically, but he was kissing your neck. he was drunk, but... your heart fluttered.
• "hey, hey..." you rub his back soothingly, hoping maybe you could stop him from attacking your neck in hopes it'll cool your rising heat. "because you're my best friend."
• he whines into your neck, presumably in appreciation of your words. your neck begins to have a faint smell of alcohol.
• "such a sweet girl..." he doesn't stop. his hands wander to your lower back, pulling you in harder. this worries you, deeply.
• "johnny," your voice is warning as they find their place on his broad shoulders. "easy, easy, you're drunk."
• "whassat matter," he bites down into your flesh, making you yelp in shock. "mean so much to me."
• when his hands find their way to your ass, kneading at the flesh, you shove him away with furrowed brows. "you don't want this," you warn him, fighting every single urge to not pounce on him in that moment. "this is... really, really stupid, i mean, it's just a birthday-"
• johnny shuts you up quickly with a kiss, slamming his face against yours so hard you feel the clack of his teeth. his face cups yours, borderline squeezing your cheeks as his lips dance with yours. when he finally pulls away, a string of saliva connects your lips and it sends you weak in the knees.
• "doll," he huffs, wiping his mouth. "birthday or not, i've wanted you for so long." he's breathless and nearly incoherent, like this was his only shot at what he truly wanted. johnny was infamous for admitting shit when drunk, so you knew that this was true for the most part. this was only reinforced when he suddenly dropped to his knees, level with your stomach as he placed fluttering kisses along the front of your shirt.
• "please, i..." he pressed his face into the fabric, fists bunching up around the back. "i'll make you feel real good, if you let me..." his hand snakes under your shirt, rubbing circles in the flesh of your waist as he looks up with pleading eyes. your hand moves downward, raking gently through his hair.
• "you really want this?" you ask gently, toying with his hair. "no going back."
• his lips brush against your stomach as he teeters between kissing the skin and speaking against it. "i want you so bad, doll."
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
• all it took was your permission, and johnny was on you in seconds. he backed you into his vanity, sending various items clattering to the ground. he fit so snug between your thighs, settling there to make out with you. perhaps he didn't even notice, but he was gently rutting into you as your lips connected, expelling desperate whimpers down your throat that only fueled your long-time desire. his cock could just barely make out the dip between your folds, but he pressed a little harder and made you gasp when your clit received unexpected attention.
• johnny pulls you in by the waistband of your pants, pressing your bodies impossibly closer as he panted in your ear. "let me taste you," he begged in a low whisper as he hooked his thumbs under the fabric. "i'll be good, i'll be so good."
• jesus, it seemed he wanted to eat you out more than you wanted to be eaten out. you'd never seen this flavor of eagerness in a man and it admittedly took you some strength to not giggle at how johnny fucking cage of all people became a lost, drunken puppy between your legs.
• "go on, pretty boy," you pant as your lips brush. the smell of alcohol brings you back to reality for only a moment.
• johnny decided that words took too much effort and instead dropped to his knees before you, shoulders holding up the weight of your plush thighs as he parted them hungrily to not waste a second more.
• the poor man forgets to even remove your pants before he's pressing his nose onto your heat, eyelashes fluttering as his heart swells with adoration. your scent, your heaving chest, your pretty thighs weighing his shoulders down, it was all too much. his pants feel a size too tight as his boner strains against his slacks.
• you get his brain going by jumping your hips up to get your pants past your ass, letting him pull them down the rest of the way. he throws them far, far away and latches himself again onto your pussy, now only divided by the fabric.
• "you were so eager before," you groan, thrusting forward slightly to put more pressure. "take them off."
• "no," he mutters against your panties, the vibrations making you jolt. "want this to last." his tongue flattens, drawing a long stripe up the fabric. when your panties stick to your pussy, it makes out the shape and he groans at the tease.
• "hold on," he places your thighs back down, trying to calm his breathing and flushed face. "i... i need this first. please." he unbuckles himself and pulls his slacks down to his thighs, giving you a view of his rock solid boner. it honestly looked painful, and you felt pity even if he looked adorable like this. his eyes were downward, fidgeting with his loose belt in shame. he chuckles breathily. "it's so hard, it hurts."
• "that's..." you struggle to find words when your mouth goes dry staring at his thick imprint. "that's alright." your voice was flat, trying to hide your desperation at his need to ask for permission. he didn't need to ask.
• johnny swallows thickly and lets his pants drop, followed by his boxers. his cock was blushed and seeping with precum, twitching once when he looked back up at you. he lets out a small moan, getting far ahead of himself as he positions his hips against yours. he gasps when the contact is made, stuttering his hips ever so slightly. johnny's hands find your thighs again, squeezing down hard to ground himself to not cum immediately. sober and platonic interactions were already far too much for his raging desire for you, so actually getting what he craved was beyond overstimulating.
• you were sick of waiting, so you snake your arms to rest atop his shoulders, hands raking through his undercut. you grip down slightly and he bites his lower lip in response, eyebrows knitting together as his wet eyes burn through yours. you glide your cunt along his throbbing dick and he jolts forward, resting his damp forehead against your shoulder.
• johnny understands you're just as eager as him and begins to thrust into your damp panties, but quickly decides it won't give him what he needs, so he hooks them with his thumb and stretches them aside. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes are glossed over and all he can fixate on is your pleasure.
• his tip notches between your folds and settles nicely, earning a hiss from the both of you from the warmth. johnny bucks forward eagerly, sliding himself up and down seamlessly due to how soaked you were. your folds hug his cock in just the right way, and you feel yourself already feeling heavenly every time your sensitive clit bumps against his tip.
• "fuck, doll," he hisses into the skin of your neck, placing open mouth kisses. "i want to last, you're - ngh - making it so hard... so hard..." he trails off, groaning when you slip and make his tip kiss the entrance of your cunt, making his knees buckle. "'m gonna cum just from this... god, you're so beautiful, beautiful girl-" his praises become increasingly more high pitched and you can tell by the way he begins to stutter his hips that he's close, unable to last long and it's driving him wild.
• johnny wasn't ever this needy, ever this pathetic. you reduced the cocky a-lister to a near-sobbing mess as he slips across your cunt, finding a momentum difficult from how slippery the entire scene has become. his cock is soaked, dripping down his leg due to your arousal.
• just as your orgasm builds up, as does his, johnny pulls away and lowers himself, gripping the flesh of your ass to pull your hips to his mouth. now thoroughly soaked and clenching around nothing, your cunt is desperate for a release that johnny happily provides, latching onto your clit, and shoving two fingers deep in your hole. he flattens his tongue, shaking his head slightly and flicking your clit relentlessly.
• your orgasm rides up on you rapidly, overwhelmed by the direct pleasure and how filled you were from two of his long fingers alone. wanting to lurch forward as your body trembles, johnny uses his other hand to sit flatly on your stomach, pushing you up against the mirror of the vanity and forcing you to take his lapping and fingering.
• johnny couldn't stand to have your pleasure soak his cock, shockingly. he needed, needed to taste the mess you were making for him or he just might die. you shake, trying to writhe and twitch as your orgasm fights you in waves. loud moans are pulled from your throat with each pulse of pleasure. your arousal soaks johnny's face, effectively soaking his nose and chin as he devours all you have to offer. he matched your moans with high-pitched whimpers, brows knitting together as his eyes clench shut. he was in heaven just as much as you were.
• he continues to lap at you until you force him away by his hair, his mouth becoming borderline painful as he eats you out through your orgasm. you giggle, as it slightly tickles. johnny looks... well, still drunk, but now a new kind. pussydrunk? lovedrunk? either way, the glossy look on his face suits him.
• as your chest heaves, attempting to recollect yourself, everything about the situation comes back to reality. you just grinded against your best friend. your best friend made you cum from his mouth.
• "what's that look?" johnny asks, wiping his mouth with his forearm. his eyes are glittering with delight.
• "nothing," you shrug, his grin contagious. "you did good, johnny."
• "yeah?" he seems proud of himself, glancing downward for a moment. he squeezes your thighs lovingly, placing a gentle kiss on them before finally standing up.
• "yeah." just as you respond, you look down to his cock, wondering if maybe he'd need some help getting there, too. it seemed only fair, that is, until you notice it's semi-hard and soaked. you sit up and lean forward, looking past your legs and onto his trailer floor. cum is splattered onto the flooring, some of it dripping down his thigh. "you came from giving head?"
• "how could i not have?" johnny's sheepish at your observation, but owns up to it quickly as he tucks it back into his slacks. "you're incredible." his face is tinted pink.
• "you're too sweet," you giggle, and johnny helps you down from the vanity as your legs wobble. giving up on finding wherever the hell your pants went, johnny leaves for a moment and returns with a pair of pajama pants, presumably a pair he kept in the trailer for his princess naps.
• "look who's talking... hey, speaking of sweet," johnny laughs, rubbing his hands together. "you and me wash up, and we have some cake, yeah?"
• "i like that plan," as you jump into the pants. johnny visibly tenses up seeing your breasts bounce from the jump, and he can't ignore the way your thighs and ass jiggle. "where did i put it, anyway?"
• you both look around the trailer for a moment, the memory of placing the cake down hazy among the rest of the event. you let out a small gasp, realizing that the cake was on the vanity, the one you got fucked out on... or rather, it was. the cake was splattered on the floor, frosting spread out and depressingly smeared anywhere it could reach. you frown, and johnny hovers behind you as you both look over the mess.
• "that sucks," johnny sighs, but his voice sounds uplifting. "that's alright, i ate something better."
• "don't be gross," you giggle, swatting at his form behind you. "that was perfectly good cake."
• "we can make another," johnny offers. "together. and i'll make sure you spell it right this time." his arms wrap around your middle, pulling you in close and breathing in the scent of your hair. the sweat, perfume and natural smell you carried always drove him wild, but he was now comfortable enough to bury himself in it. you lean into his touch, sighing as the heat from your bodies provides the perfect comfort.
• "happy birthday, johnny," you mumble softly, rocking back and forth in his arms. johnny responds into your hair, his voice breathy and warm.
• "thank you, doll."
#mortal kombat#mortal kombat x reader#johnny cage#mk1#johnny cage x reader#johnny cage smut#mortal kombat smut#marley writes ☆
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Trailer park Steve AU part 25
part 1 | part 24 | ao3
cw: throwing up, recreational alcohol & drug use
“Well, thank fuck I didn’t wear the Reeboks,” Eddie laughs.
Steve groans 'Jesus,' because he doesn't know what else there is to say to that. Eddie came out of nowhere. Materialized like some kind of freaky wizard. And that would— that would be on brand, wouldn’t it?
Eddie the magician. Eddie the shapeshifter.
Maybe Eddie is Misty? Would explain why she left him all those dead rats when he first—
“Oh, fuck.” His stomach rolls at the thought, a hot-cold-nasty-sick shiver down his spine, and he bends forward to retch again. Hits the grass this time at least, right between Eddie’s boots; groans and spits drool into the dirt. Eddie smooths a hand between his shoulder blades, which is nice, even if everything else about this totally blows.
“Godddd,” he moans when the dry heaving stops. He lifts his head to apologize and nearly tips himself into the mess he just made.
“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey; easy,” Eddie shushes, steadying him with both hands. Warm palms against his biceps; firm grip.
“S’nice.”
“Yeah?” Eddie grins, private and soft. "Alright, arms up."
"Mmh?"
"Up! Come on, sweetheart, up you get." He loops Steve’s arms around his neck, wearing him like a cape. Steve giggles into his fluffy curls, nuzzles his nose into them because they're warm and Eddie smells nice, and time does that weird drunk thing where Steve slow blinks and suddenly they're a hundred yards away.
Edge of the creek, downstream from the falls where the water’s just a thin squiggle cut through smooth, mossy stone. Eddie's got Steve facedown across his lap, gathering up his hair and making a headband with his hands, and he's apologizing in advance for Steve-doesn't-know-what.
"Big breath," Eddie warns him, and then he dips Steve's face in the icy stream like he's battering fried chicken in a goddamn egg wash. Two quick dunks, the cold ripping through Steve's nerves; it's all finger-licking fucked.
"What the hell?!" Steve splutters when Eddie lifts him up, rolls him onto his back and smiles down at him.
"Mornin', sunshine!"
"Jesus Christ!"
Eddie's laughing at him hard. "Sorry, big boy. Had to wake you up somehow."
He brushes Steve's bangs off his face, and Steve pants up at him, wide awake now. Trembling. In the dark, Eddie's eyes look nearly black. Two inkpots full of moonlight.
“'M awake," Steve mumbles to distract himself from the sudden kick-throb behind his ribs. "Sorry I barfed on your shoes."
“Ah, comes with the territory.” Eddie kicks his legs out, rinsing the toes of his boots off in the stream. “Drug dealer, remember? Seen a lot worse than this at parties, sweetheart, I can promise you that."
Steve blinks at him. Still feels syrupy and slow like he's wading through mud. Sweetheart. The word's a fog machine in his mind. Hazy warmth; candy clouds. "If... If you're a drug dealer, then... should've woken me up with drugs."
"Oh?"
"Mhmm. Jus' rude not to, really."
Eddie's lips quirk. His eyes are soft, his fingers combing through Steve's hair, and Steve's head is still in his lap, even though it probably shouldn't be. "If you want coke..." he murmurs, his voice a low, fond rumble, "you can just ask for it."
"Yeah?"
"Sure, Stevie."
Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie reaches into his jacket, pulls out a little baggie and holds it up in question. Steve gulps; nods.
Fuck yeah. He hasn't had coke in forever.
Eddie pours the smallest amount onto the back of one hand, licks the thumb of his other and presses it into the pile, coating it in white powder. He brings it up to Steve's mouth and rests it right against his lip — barest hint of pressure; not hovering, not pushing in. "Well, go on," he smirks.
Steve makes a questioning sound that comes out like a whine, a high, nasal thing in the back of his throat. His cock stirs in his jeans.
"Ask me," Eddie whispers.
"Can I have it?" Steve asks. He can feel Eddie's thumb against his lips as he speaks; has to stop himself from flicking out his tongue to get a taste. "Please?"
"Fuck," Eddie hisses between his teeth. "Yeah, baby." He presses into the meat of Steve's bottom lip; drags it down, exposes skin that's wet and warm. Dances over it with the pad of his thumb — the inside of Steve's lip, his gums, his tongue.
There's no mistaking the sound Steve makes for anything but a moan, throaty and deep as he sucks Eddie's thumb deeper into his mouth; hollows his cheeks, makes Eddie gasp. Makes him twitch his hips up under Steve, and it's good, and Steve feels like there are live wires where his veins used to be, the rush of the coke and Eddie's hands and Eddie's noises in his good ear, and—
"Hey!" someone shouts across the field. Eddie moves like he's been shot at, flinching away from Steve entirely, a hand pressed over his lap as he turns to see who's coming.
Steve lifts his head to look. His mouth is buzzing, lips full and flushed like he's been kissing someone. Kissing Eddie. God, he wants to. Wants to hike him up the falls, shove him hard against a tree.
But he can't. Because Jason Carver's here now.
Great.
—
part 26
gonna do the tag lists in separate reblogs from now on (with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content), comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)
#trailer park steve au#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#my writing#my fic#cw: alcohol#cw: drugs
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Okay . What about pedro × reader
Hear me out ...
They are dating for a few months but keeping it a secret the reader is also an actress and in her new movie her Co star is into her and with the interviews everyone is talking about in in social media . So pedro gets jealous and show up at her work ... maybe they fight or idk . I'm not sure about the ending
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader
Summary: Pedro’s jealous of one of your co-stars
Warnings: a tiny bit of angst because I didn’t feel like doing a lot, and allusion to smut
A/n: why do yall like jealous Pedro so much!?
Pedro was not a jealous man, he knew you were his, just like he was yours.
He didn't mind the stares you'd attract from other men, he didn't mind the shameless flirting everyone always directed your way, and he didn't even mind having to see you kiss other men on screen... but there's a limit to everything.
He'd stumbled by accident in the comment section of your most recent post, a picture with the cast of the new movie you were shooting, and god if he wished he hadn't.
He meant to write a cute comment, because even though nobody knew about you two, nobody ever seemed to notice the borderline flirty words he'd leave under your pictures, and now he understood why.
He wasn't completely oblivious to the online conspiracies about you and Andrew, you had told him about it, about all the edits and fans and ships or whatever, however, there was a small detail you had forgotten to inform him about: the guy obviously liked you.
And who could blame him right?
Pedro. He could fucking blame him.
It didn't take long before he was furiously stalking his own girlfriend's Instagram.
you look stunning darling
Darling? When the fuck did he start calling you that?
I think I just had a heart attack
Oh, fuck off
And that wasn't even the worst part. Fuck no. The worst part was the fucking videos. the interviews. The way his eyes never left your fucking body. The way he touched your hand and lingered just enough for him to notice. the way he didn't even try to hide his pathetic attempts at flirting even when he knew he was being fucking filmed.
By the time Pedro shut his phone, he was ready to go have a “talk” with this guy
But first, he needed to see you. Now.
__ __ __
"God please if it's Gary tell him that I don't need to practice that scene again, I got it." you rolled your eyes as you instructed your assistant to open the trailer's door after hearing a knock.
"sure thing, but I don't think he can be so easily persuad-" her voice trailed off as she took in the man in front of her.
"Hi" she smiled at Pedro "It's-it's not Gary" she shot you a look.
"what, who is it?" you asked, momentarily forgetting the lipstick in your hand as you got up.
"Pedro?"
"hi sweetheart"
"what are you doing here?" you couldn't hide your confusion.
"Just wanted to see you," he said, entering the trailer.
"Oh," you smiled, before glancing at your assistant "I'm sorry Ana, could you give us a moment?"
"no problem, but remember you need to be on set in '15"
"yes ma'am" You joked, giving her a pretend salute.
She chuckled as she closed the door behind her.
"they have you on a tight schedule huh?" Pedro murmured, wasting no time before wrapping his arms around your back, forcing you flush against him.
"they do" you nodded, standing on your toes "So you're not gonna get what you came all this way for" you taunted, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.
He grunted, unsatisfied, and pulled you back for another kiss. This one much hungrier.
"Is that what you think I only think about?"
"well you don't make much of a case for yourself" you laughed softly.
"that's your fault" he breathed "If you weren't the most stunning woman on earth maybe I wouldn't be so all over you"
"maybe" you shrugged, lazily drawing patterns on his chest "Maybe not"
"I need to talk to you," he said, suddenly more serious.
A cloud of dread dropped onto you.
"oh," you murmured, taking a step back "about what?"
He looked around the place before finding your eyes again.
"I want to tell everyone"
You frowned
"I want to tell people we're together"
You were taken aback.
He was always the one opposed to it. He didn't want you to get caught in all the drama and gossip inevitably heading your way, no matter how many times you told him you didn't care.
"What?" you smiled "Why- I mean why now?"
"I want everyone to know you're mine. And I'm yours" he said " including Andrew"
You shot him a look "Andrew?"
"You didn't tell me he's obsessed with you"
"what? He's not"
"he is baby,"
"how would you even know?"
"I saw it"
"When? You've never met him"
"I saw the comments, and the interviews, and the videos"
"And you think just because in an interview he did what? made me laugh, he likes me?" you scoffed "That's ridiculous Pedro"
"I don't want to tell everyone we're together just because you're jealous of a guy I work with,"
"that's not why I want to tell sweetheart" he reassured you, taking a step towards you " I want everyone to know just how much I love you, that's why. And if that means that guys like Andrew will back off... even better"
"He's not into me" you insisted
A sly smile pulled at his lips "God baby, you really have no idea what you do to men, do you?"
"He's not into me."
"Sure" he mocked "and tell me, when was the last time he didn't do something you asked him?" He asked, moving some hair out of your face.
An almost comical silence spread through the room.
"That's what I thought" he nodded, using his fingers to raise your chin.
"Maybe he's just polite"
He leaned closer, his mouth ghosting yours "Or maybe he's just in love with my girl" he breathed a moment before kissing you deeply, one hand to the back of your neck and one to your ass.
"so what do you say?" he asked once you parted "You ready to tell the world?"
"Only if you are"
"oh you have no idea" he murmured, suddenly picking you up and pinning you against a wall.
A small gasp fled your lips, but he silenced it with a kiss.
"Pedro..." you warned him, tightening your legs' grip on his waist.
"they can wait" he read your mind "You're the start after all"
You couldn't help but laugh at that.
"you're a bad influence" you breathed, causing a smirk to land on his lips as he kissed your neck.
"sweetheart?" he suddenly asked
"Yeah?" you murmured, already out of breath.
"Whose trailer is next to this one?"
You paused a moment, pondering your options.
"Andrew's" you finally spoke, going for the truth “Why?”
By the look of it, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Baby,I think you know why”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x actress!reader#pedro pascal x fem reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller#the last of us#tlou#the mandalorian#javier peña#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal smut#fluff#daddy pascal#pedro pascal blurb#pedro pascal imagine#pedrohub#Pedro Pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedrito#pedro pascal one shot#Jelous!pedro pascal
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Was having thoughts earlier about surprising Eddie naked in his room with just his guitar covering you (a la Jenny in Forest Gump)
No but this could be so cute or super dirty but I’m in a big ol soft mood. (Also another ask I missed apparently! God damn!)
Fast and dirty (aka I didn’t read this back!)
Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
Arranging yourself just so, trying to figure out how to drape yourself around it without flashing him a nipple since it’s such an angular body. He’s going to go crazy for it regardless but you have a vision in your mind for it and you want it just right.
You even tidied up his room for him, and that’s not something you’ve ever done, you just needed flat surfaces for the little glass votive candles you bought at the dollar store. Romance, but sexy romance. He’s been working so hard, you’re Eddie, ever since Wayne got him a job at the plant. He’s working seconds while his Uncle works thirds but it’s just as long and he deserves a little surprise.
You get to the trailer just as Wayne is leaving and he deftly avoids looking at your handful of plastic bags or the overnight one slung on your shoulder. It’s none of his business what happens when he’s out of the house between you two, just gives you smile while he holds the door open for you. Tells you to stay out of trouble. Tells you to not light the curtains on fire.
An hour, tops, before Eddie stomps into the trailer so you work fast and almost forget to strip when you sit on the bed with the guitar. A little bit of a foolish feeling like you’ve never been naked in this room before. Hell, Eddie even has a picture shoved in his wallet of you lying under his sweetheart. His ideal centerfold is what he’d said when you’d turned bashful.
You notice the time and turn off the lamp so you can perch on his bed in the candlelight. Again with that foolish feeling when he’s a few minutes behind and you sit in silence for just a little too long, almost long enough to turn around and look out the window except you can hear the storm door creak and the key turn in the lock. Anticipation as he goes through his routine of coming home; dropping his keys and his coat, kicking off his boots and throwing his overshirt directly into the washer.
“Hello?” He sing songs down the hallway while the fridge opens and closes, the tinkling of a bottle cap hitting the countertop making you curl your toes.
“Down here.”
He must notice the lack of light under his door so he opens it slowly. A tentative turn of the handle before he pushes it in with a light tap. His curls precede him when he tilts his head in and you can already see the smile curled into his cheeks. “Well this is romantic.”
“Yeah I can do that sometimes.”
Finally he takes a full step in while taking a sip of his beer but he stops all his movement when his eyes adjust in the disappearing sunlight and soft glow from your candles. The bottle pops away from his mouth and you giggle at his wide eyes roving over you. He keeps glancing down at your legs, crossed at the knee and bouncing slightly with your nerves. You try not to grip the guitar too tight but it’s a lifeline right now while he digests the scene in front of him.
“What’s this for?” He asks quietly, hands hanging at his sides, beer forgotten.
“Well, I thought you could teach me a few chords?”
“Teach you-!” His voice cracks in his surprise and he laughs quietly behind his hand he holds to his lips. “You want me to teach you a few chords while your…doing all this.”
“Unless you don’t want to.” There’s hesitation now because he seems to only be laughing and you’re not sure if thinks this is absurd after a long days work or if he’s finding the effort funny.
“No!” He starts finally. Jolts to put his beer down on the dresser and holds a hand up. “No this is perfect.” He pads over to the bed before toeing off his socks and kneeling next to you, a palm finding your cheek to cradle it. “This is gonna keep me totally focused.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah see,” he swings his other knee onto the bed and shuffles till he’s behind you, that palm sliding down off your cheek to brush back your hair over your shoulder, “I can hold your hands over the strings. Like this.” He hooks his chin on your shoulder and stares at the dark space between you and the body of his guitar. His hands cover yours and he lines them up finger for finger so he can pull your hand up and down the neck, slowly, suggestively. His juvenile humor makes you laugh but it also sets your belly afire with want.
“So what are you gonna teach me first, Mr. Munson?”
“Call me Eddie, please.”
“Okay Eddie. What chord?” You cheese at him, playing into his bit.
“I think you should start with a D chord.” For all his suppressed giggles and blushing cheeks he does press three fingers into yours for the right chord. “It’s a good one.”
“Feels like a stretch.” You turn your head to look at him still staring at your cleavage pressed into the red and black body.
“Yeah, but you’ll learn to like it.” He drags his gaze up to settle on your lips. “Here, stay like that.” He moves his hand off your on the frets so he can pull your hair back from your neck. “Then strum with this hand-ah, not so fast. Slower.”
“Jesus, Eddie.” You chuckle at him and his innuendos.
“What? You gotta go slow, baby.” The tip of his nose runs along your neck before his lips do, just a ghost of a touch while you gently bounce your hand on the strings. “See?” A firmer press of his lips now. He smells like coffee and metal, heat from under his layers that mixes with his waning cologne. He drops his other hand from yours to sneak it around your side so his fingertips graze the bottom swell of your breast. “You make her sound better than I ever did.” Mumbled into your skin and the space you’ve created while your head lolls to the side. A single note played softly over and over while he envelopes you slowly. One hand inching up further to palm at your chest, the other grasping and crawling over your thigh and seeking out the heat between them.
You stall for a moment when his fingers brush your mound but he clicks his tongue at you.
“If I’m distracting you, I can stop.”
“No!” A sharp hit of the strings while you get back into the monotony of it and Eddie’s fingers continue their journeys. He coaxes your knees apart before settling behind you and pulling you back into his chest. The guitar shifts and your chest is hit with cooler air but his palm covers one tit, rolling your hardening nipple under his calloused hand.
“Keep it up.” He pulls your knee up before letting his hand glide down your inner thigh and only coming to stop when he can dip a finger into your wet heat. Both of you gasp but you loose the thread of concentration and suddenly his touch is missing. “I’m serious.” His smile is evident in his voice, his mirth brimming at you being at his mercy. “Keep going and I’ll make it worth your while.” He helps you rearrange your fingers before he’s drawn back to your warmth, fingers gliding aimlessly through your folds while you try to keep your mind on the right path. The tip of his fingers flick up over your clit in small burst that stay just out of reach of any real pleasure. Nothing that will last or make your eyes roll but they make your leg jump with every brush against that bundle.
“I’ll have you playing Slayer by the end of the night if I keep this up.” He’s so casual behind you and all you can do is nod. Laugh through your nose and nuzzle the back of your head into his collarbone; slump down further into his fingers that are finding their purpose now. Gentle prodding at your entrance that you breathily encourage and Eddie joyously teases before dipping in and finally making your eyes roll back. The steady strum of the guitar sounds softer now but you couldn’t really care especially when his teeth find your earlobe. Heavy breathing in your ear while he works his fingers in and out, curled up to find that spot that makes you go taut with pleasure.
Your grip on the guitar is loosening, barely a sound coming from it now that he’s got you pinned under both hands. “Eddie I-“
“Don’t drop her.” A swift pinch of your nipple makes you yelp and hold it back up against your torso, if only for a moment before you turn to butter in his lap. “I’m cutting you some slack here, gorgeous.” He grinds the heel of his palm down against you and you try to roll your hips into his hand, a circle of delight that has you almost forgetting what this whole thing started as. There’s a catch when Eddie adjust to curl over your shoulder and every graze of his fingers along your insides makes your vision go white.
“Eddie, fuck!”
“Yeah?” It just drives him harder, those dimples a threat to your sanity when he starts abusing his newfound toy. “Right there?” He asks even though he knows just by the way you buckle against him. The hand at your chest holds you to him like a vice and he pushes you further towards the edge. One well placed wet kiss against your cheek and a heavy drag of his fingers and your tightrope snaps, plummets you off the face of the earth for a few silent moments while Eddie lets you ride off the aftershocks on his hand.
In your bliss you feel him pry your fingers off the neck of his guitar and he swings it away to lean it on the dresser. “You didn’t let her drop. Good job.” A kiss pressed to your sweaty forehead.
“I can listen.”
“Not very well. You stopped playing.” He pulls his undershirt over his head and starts working on his belt. “I don’t know if you got the full understanding of exactly how you should play a D chord.” His grin is salacious while you stretch out on his bed, waiting for him to finish his joke. “And while you might be my favorite student, you need to learn some better studying habits.” He points a mocking finger in your direction.
“And how should I go about that?” You watch him stand and shed the remainder of his clothes. “You’re a terrible distraction Eddie.”
He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, mischief in his eyes while he plays with the ends of your hair, a smile and a laugh directly softly at you. “I think I have the perfect tool to help you.”
#asks!#My Fic#Eddie Munson Fic#Eddie Munson Fluff#Eddie Munson Smut#Eddie Munson x Reader#is this what you were looking for? I hope so#if not my bad I got carried away
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I’m begging for more Golden Retriever Girlfriend with either Steve or Eddie- scraped knees? Doesn’t even notice, just too excited to tell their boyfriend about the butterfly they saw on their way over to see them…
I chose Eddie again cos I like him ♡ gn!reader | 1k words
The walk to Eddie's house is long but not boring. The trailer homes are dispersed over long stretches of green grass, so sometimes you see bugs. Mostly caterpillars, sometimes spiders, snails and slugs, ants, crickets if you're quiet enough.
Today, two butterflies. They swing through the air beautifully as if orbiting the other, pure white with wings as unremarkable and delicate as tulip petals.
They're distracting. You follow them for a short while until they fly too far to see and hurry the rest of the way to Eddie's home, rushing on toes up the steps into his trailer.
"Eddie?" you ask into the empty living room.
The bathroom door opens but he doesn't emerge. "In here."
You stride over and peer inside. He's spitting toothpaste foam down the sink, his hair in a tie, his eyes still droopy with fatigue.
"You get up way too early, you know that? I don't know how you can already have walked here when I got up five minutes ago."
"The weather's great," you say easily, pushing into the small bathroom though you shouldn't to wipe sleep from the corners of his eyes.
He bats your hand away. "Stop."
You stop and frown for the five seconds that you feel scolded until he grabs your fingers to give you a quick reassuring squeeze.
He drops your hand in favour of washing his face, cupping hot water in his hands to scrub at his nose roughly. You ramble mildly about the journey here.
"They were dancing, Eddie. I've never seen anything like it. They were really pretty..." you detail, distracted by his face, his lashes heavy with wetness.
He dries off with a towel. You reach around to the back of his head to pull his hair tie free and he sets his hands over your waist, a casual proximity as you run your hands through his curls. You're careful. You know how prone to tangles he is.
"I can feel you looking at my face," you say, trying not to breathe too heavily.
"Sure am, sweetheart."
You feel as radiant as a marigold under his appreciative gaze. "There. Perfect again," you mumble.
"Thanks."
You nod and move out of his reach, back into the cooler space of his living room. You do a little spin as you go, an unbearable amount of happiness in your chest as you pose in front of the couch, one hand at your hip and the other pointing at your still-tired boyfriend where he follows you.
"We have the whole day! What are we gonna do first?" you ask.
"Baby, what the fuck have you done?"
The smile slips off your face. He sounds mad enough to startle you and you drop your hands. "What?" you ask weakly.
His eyes flit from your face to your knees and he gestures to them. He looks wide awake. "You're bleeding. Sit down." When you don't move he takes your shoulders into stern hands and guides you backward. "Sit down! Jesus, sit."
You drop onto the couch and look down at your knees, surprised to see them all bloody and scratched. When you'd slipped on leaf litter walking down the main road into the park you'd assumed everything was fine despite the stinging pain, and by the time you'd seen the butterflies you'd forgotten altogether.
"When did you do that?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I forgot," you say, eyes blinking owlishly at his fierce expression.
Eddie spins on his heel to dig through a kitchen cabinet for his first aid kit, popping it open by the sink. "Piece of shit kit," he mutters, piling foil wrapped bandages into his hand.
He looks less formidable as he kneels on the floor between your knees, thumb probing the edge of your grazes one then the other, very gentle.
"You didn't tell me what happened," he says quietly, eyes on your knees as he sprays a small bottle of disinfectant over your knees with no warning and you flinch.
"Shit, I'm sorry," he says.
You blink back tears. "Stings," you say, giggling wetly.
He wipes your grazes with precise, almost calculated movements. One hurts worse than the other. "Sorry," he says again as he drops the bloodied wipes to the floor and rips a sterile packing open with his teeth – which is all types of wrong – and unrolls a length of white bandages.
"Hold the gauze, honey," he says.
You move your hands as he instructs, wondering if he's ever called you honey before. You're still deciding by the time he finishes, his hands in twin position just below your knees.
You brush your bandages together and smile. "They're white. Like the butterflies."
"Is that why you fell? Watching the butterflies?" he asks, sounding curious.
You laugh and weave your fingers into the soft hair at the back of his neck, dropping your face down. "I'm not that stupid. It was all the fallen leaves by the turning."
He smiles and clasps your wrists. "You're not stupid at all."
He doesn't give you time to argue as he stands and cleans the small mess he'd made fixing your bloody knees. You stand too, always trying to follow him despite limited places to go. Eddie's more than used to it by now.
"For future reference," he says, a certain roughness to his tone. "Don't wait ten minutes to tell me the next time you split your knees."
"Sorry."
He throws an arm over your shoulder and tugs you into his side, giving you a good shake. "Stop. I'm serious, stop. Be sorry about how you've been here twenty minutes and haven't asked for a kiss yet."
"I wanted to, but you got all scary about my legs!"
"I can be scarier."
"No you can't."
"No, I can't."
You share what feels like an especially private smile despite being on your own and drop your head into his shoulder. He rests his cheek atop your crown.
"You had blood down to your ankle," he murmurs. "You scared me."
"Can I have a kiss now?" you ask.
"You'll have to let me think about it," he bluffs, already leaning in.
#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader blurb#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#x reader
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the boy is mine (leah’s edition)
my little slice of input for @carolmunson’s writing challenge 🩵
cw: best friend!eddie x fem!reader, kissing, a couple flirty comments, nothing else really just fluff! (1.9k)
prompt rules: the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer. props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook. dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order): "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" // "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true." // “and you like that?" // "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."
Your heart is thrumming excitedly in your chest before you’ve even thrown your car into park. The sun is just starting to set, blanketing the trailer park in a cozy golden hue. The air is sweet when you step out of your vehicle, and you take a deep inhale to calm your giddy body.
You don’t need to be inside the trailer to hear Eddie’s guitar. The melodic sound of his acoustic’s strings dance in the summer evening’s breeze, carried right out of his window and into your waiting ears. You smile to yourself, looking down at where your sneakers flatten the grass with each step you take. Climbing the front steps and nearly knocking, then deciding you never need to knock at Eddie’s, you swing open the trailer’s door with a gentle pull. There’s a squeak of its rusting hinge, a sound you’ve grown entirely used to, and it protests once more as you close the door behind you just like you knew it would.
“Ed?” you call out, toeing off your shoes in the doorway.
He doesn’t hear you, which doesn’t surprise you. Knowing him, he’s completely lost in whatever song he’s trying to learn. If you’re lucky he’ll have actually remembered your plans tonight, and you won’t walk in on him butt-naked or something.
The trailer is bathed in warm lighting, the lingering scent of a cigarette hanging in the air. You trail down the hallway, fingers fidgeting with each other as you go. His door is already open a crack, but you give a gentle knock anyways.
The smile he gives you when you appear in his room is radiant, his eyes so fond and eager to see you. He sits cross-legged on his bed, hair pulled loosely off of his face. He looks beautiful, as he always does.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you, a pet name you’ll never tire of hearing from his lips. “Sorry, I promise I didn’t forget you were coming, I just kind of got distracted playing—”
“It’s okay, Ed,” you cut him off, sitting on the floor at his feet. Your chin rests on his knee, looking up at him. “What’re you practicing?”
“Well, uh,” he starts, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s new. Something I wrote.”
“Oh?” you perk up, curiosity peaked.
“I haven’t perfected it yet, though. Honestly I’m not sure if it’s even any good,” he continues, his face reddening slightly. You notice him reach out to grab the notebook that sits beside him, holding it protectively. That’s his lyric book, you know it is, because he usually lets you flip through it whenever you like.
“Hey, don’t be like that. You’re good at songwriting, Eddie.”
“You just say that cause you’re my best friend, ‘n you have to,” he rolls his eyes, smiling fondly at you despite it.
“That’s not even true!” you defend. “I mean, yes I am your best friend, but no I’m not saying it because I have to.”
You look at him so earnestly, your voice so sincere, it nearly makes him crumble. You stare at each other for a moment, something hanging in the air between you, before he clears his throat.
“You, uh, you want anything to drink? It’s been hot as tits out there all day,” he says, standing up and laying his guitar flat on his mattress.
“Did Wayne make any more of that lemonade?” you ask, looking up at him hopefully.
He laughs, a bright little sound. “Yeah. Knew you’d want some, so I asked him to make another batch. C‘mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take.
He hoists you up from your spot on the carpet, not letting go of your hand on your journey to the kitchen. You can’t help but yearn for the warmth back when he eventually lets go, opening the fridge and pulling out the pitcher. Perching yourself on the countertop, you watch as he rummages around for glasses.
“I ran out of like, nice cups. Is this okay?” he asks, presenting you with a red plastic cup with a Care Bear on it. Somehow, after coming to this trailer weekly for over a year now, you’d never seen this.
You snort, accepting the now-filled plastic kid’s cup. You rotate it in your hands, marveling at it. “I didn’t take you for a Care Bears type-a guy,” you wiggle your eyebrows, taking a sip of the sweet and sour liquid.
“Oh, fuck off,” he says, though there isn’t a hint of anger in his tone. He smiles while he says it, pouring his own lemonade into a coffee mug.
“Listen, I’m just saying. They’re very like, sunshine and rainbows! Happiness and love!” you say, pitching your voice higher and waving your hands as you speak.
“Okay? And?”
“And you like that? Forgive me for being taken aback that you, Edward Munson, lord of all things dark and off-putting, are a Care Bears enjoyer.”
That glorious laugh leaves him once more as he moves to stand beside you, his back pressing against the counter and his side brushing against your thigh. You flush at the contact, trying to keep your composure.
“Okay, well, first of all,” he starts, looking at you with a tilt of his head. “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There’s literally a bear called Grumpy Bear. Y’know, he’s got the rain cloud? He’s always like, super pissed and mopey.”
“One angry bear doesn’t take away from the overall happiness of the show,” you inform him, earning a scoff from him. “And, the bear on this cup is literally Tenderheart Bear. You own a cup with the leader of the happy bears on it.”
“What’s wrong with Tenderheart Bear?” he asks, holding a hand over his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded. “He initiates all of the new bears, makes them feel welcome. Tenderheart Bear is to Care-A-Lot what I am to Hellfire.”
You laugh, nearly spitting your lemonade all over the kitchen floor. “I know you did not just use that analogy.”
“Oh, I so did,” he says, raising his eyebrows so they’re hidden behind his bangs. Setting his cup down, he moves to stand between your thighs, palms gripping the counter on either side of you; caging you in. “And if you don’t stop dissing the Care Bears, we’re gonna have a problem.”
You’re probably meant to laugh, to shove him away or keep mocking him or just anything that keeps the mood playful. But instead your focus goes entirely to the warmth of his body pressed right up against yours. Your lips part, attempting to get words out but failing, your gaze moving between his gorgeous brown eyes to his mouth and back again.
He scoots in a little bit closer, you feel it, and you watch the way his tongue wets his lips. His eyes don’t leave your face, neither of you saying a damn thing as that unspoken something once again hangs between you.
He speaks suddenly, then, his cheeks pink. “You know, uh. You know that song I was working on?”
You nod, still utterly unable to pull words from your brain.
“It’s about you.”
Your eyes soften, your heart pounding inside your chest. “What?” you ask gently, seeking out more.
“It’s about you. I wrote a song about you. Because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, every second of every day. And not in the way friends think about each other, this is like, so totally breaching the lines of friendship—” he rambles, no longer making eye contact, gesturing with his hands as he goes on.
“Eddie,” you interrupt, yet he keeps talking. You giggle to yourself, speaking louder this time. “Eddie!”
He stops. He almost looks… scared? Like if he stops talking, if he leaves room for you to respond, you’ll make fun of him or get mad or leave. Or all three.
“I think about you, like, every second of every day.”
“Not in the way that… friends do…?” he asks, his eyes so full of hope it makes you want to scoop him up and never let him go.
“Not in the way that friends do. Definitely not in the way that friends do. I wore this top today hoping you’d think my tits look good in it, so,” you joke, admitting some of your own vulnerability to take the pressure off of him.
And he laughs, softly at first, then a booming, wonderful sound. “Your tits do look good in that top. I thought that the second you walked in,” he grins, covering his eyes with his fingers, peeking through two of them.
You start to laugh with him, until tears are coming out of your eyes, your foreheads pressed together. His hands reach up to cup your face, noses touching.
You smile, getting out the last of your giggles as your lips nearly brush so many times. Up close he’s prettier than ever, you can’t even count how many times you’d wished you could pull him this close and kiss him breathless.
He makes your dreams come true when his mouth meets yours, so tender and warm as your lips move together. It feels like your heart stops for a moment, only to immediately restart when his fingers card themselves through your hair, deepening the kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and he takes the hint, scooping you off of the counter and walking you over to the couch. Your head rests on the plush throw pillow, the one you know to be embroidered by one of the neighbors who has a little thing for Wayne.
His weight presses on top of you, your body dipping into the cushions beneath you. It feels surreal, kissing your best friend. It also feels right, like maybe you should’ve been doing it all along. You can hear the crickets chirping in the grass outside, the ambient summer sounds waltzing in through the window. It all makes you feel so safe, being here with him on this cozy evening. There’s no doubt in your mind that this is where you should be. That this is how things should be.
His tongue parts your lips, slipping into your mouth as a content sigh escapes you. Your hands tug his hair out of its ponytail before your fingers tangle themselves in his curls, swirling your tongue around his. He tastes like vanilla frosting, a guilty pleasure food that he’ll eat by the spoonful when no one’s looking. You know he’s always got a tub in the pantry, and it makes you smile into the kiss to think about him indulging in his secret snack.
When he finally pulls back for air, his eyes hold so much adoration. You both just stare at each other for a moment before bursting into what feels like your millionth fit of giggles.
“Eddie?” you say finally, your voice soft.
“Yeah, sweets?”
“Can I hear that song? I don’t care if it’s not done yet. It’ll be perfect, no matter what.”
“Yeah. I’ll play it for you. Come on,” he says, pressing one last peck to your lips before he’s dragging you back to his room.
You grab your forgotten cup of lemonade on the way, smirking to yourself as you do. “I’m totally telling Dustin about your Care Bear Hellfire thing, by the way.”
“No you are not!”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction
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Steddie Upside-down AU Part 14
Part 1 Part 13
Even with rationing, it doesn’t seem to take long for the water to start running dry. Days, maybe, but it’s hard to say without a clock. The red of the sky never fluctuates. It’s red. Red, red, read. Steve’s starting to hate the color.
They’ve slept three times, but Steve suspects the boredom of rotting in the Munson’s trailer might be getting to them. There’s only so many games of truth or dare you can play until you start to drift.
So, water’s been getting low. The crease between Eddie’s brows has grown deeper each time he takes a furtive swig.
“We should go get water,” he says.
Steve doesn’t want to go out there. His shoulder still aches, sharp agony turned dull. It’s black around the edges, flesh turning necrotic. He hasn’t let Eddie see it since that first day; doesn’t want to needlessly frighten him.
“Steve?”
Steve heaves a sigh before heading to the door where he left his sneakers. “Maybe grab a few shirts to filter that shit again?”
Eddie follows him, plopping down to tug his boots on while Steve shimmies his own shoes on leaning against the door, one foot at a time.
“I was thinking we’d just take it back here and filter it in the bathroom,” Eddie says, yanking his laces tight. “Seems safer to do it with a locked door between us and anything trying to eat us.”
Steve thinks of his own house and the monster that got inside. Remembers the way the lock clicked on the door to the back porch. Had they locked the front? Did it matter, when that thing had knocked down his front door like it was made of tissue paper? He keeps his mouth shut.
“Good thinking.”
They go. It’s not a long trip, except how all trips feel long when there’s ash falling from the sky, and a shotgun clutched tightly enough to make your fingers numb, and Eddie Munson biting his lip to keep quiet at your side.
Steve feels woozy, like he used to during his brief stint in middle school wrestling. Coach would tell him to drop a certain weight and he would, counting calories at lunch with Carol, both ignoring Tommy’s snide comments. He’d only lasted a year. Didn’t like the uniforms, or the weight limits, or the violence.
He feels just the same now, only worse. He knows you’re supposed to eat sugar after you donate at the blood drive. Steve donated a lot of his own blood to that thing’s claws and hasn’t eaten anything at all.
The quarry looks just as the same as last time – bloody. They form an efficient assembly line – Steve plucking lids of bottles and passing them to Eddie where he’s standing with his toes in the water. Eddie fills them as Steve prepares the next bottle, taking the filled one back and replacing the lid before doing it all over again. It moves quicker without the need to sift.
It still feels like too long by the time they’ve packed all the bottles away.
It’s quiet on the way up the incline. Quiet through town. It’s quiet all the way up until they hear the sound of pounding feet.
Steve hears it first. He reaches out, snagging Eddie’s elbow, as the sound of steps move closer.
“Wha–” Eddie starts.
“Shut up,” Steve hisses.
They’re on the path heading toward the trailer park, just before the pavement turns to gravel and the trailers come into view. The forest looms on their right. That’s where the sound is coming from.
It sounds like a person. It can’t be that thing – it had moved silently except the vocalizations from its mouth. But, what if it’s a trick? What if it’s a trap? What if he and Eddie have both cracked and there’s nothing there at all?
He shoves Eddie a step behind him, the other boy stays alarmingly quiet as Steve raises his shotgun and puts his finger on the trigger, scope trained on the noise coming toward them through the woods, ignores the way his hands are shaking.
What bursts through the trees isn’t what they could have ever expected. It’s a kid with a tragic bowl cut. He’s got a dirty flannel with a garish red and yellow vest thrown over it. The knees of his ratty jeans are covered in dirt, his palms scraped, like his foot had caught on a few roots in his mad dash away from something Steve doesn’t even want to think about.
His pupils are pinpricks, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as he looks from Eddie to Steve, who still has his finger on the trigger. Pointing at a kid. He drops his grip on the trigger, slowly lowering the shotgun even though all he wants to do is drop it, kick it as far away as possible, and hold up his empty hands as a show of how dangerous he’s not.
It's a fucking kid. He can’t be older than thirteen.
“It was behind me,” the kid says.
Eddie sucks in a harsh breath behind Steve, and he knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. Bloody claws, and petaled mouths that open to display rows of teeth in gleaming, concentric circles.
“Shit,” Steve says, “Go go go!” He turns to jog down the path, picking up his pace when he hears two sets of footsteps following in his wake.
He reaches the door first, and yanks it open just as he hears it – an inhuman shriek. It’s indescribable. And unmistakable.
When he turns back, Eddie and the kid have just come into view. He gestures them wildly to speed up, to get through the door, to fucking run.
It unfolds in front of him like a dream: the way Eddie’s dragging the kid by his arm, feet moving fast enough to blur even as it feels like they’re not making any headway at all. The way the shriek grows louder.
When they finally make it to the Munson trailer, they fall through the threshold, tripping over the rug at the entryway. Steve closing the tissue paper door behind them. He stands, braced for impact, gun raised and pointing at the closed front door.
The shriek grows louder, and louder, and louder, until it peters off. Fades away. Like the thing had found new prey to terrorize. It takes long minutes of tense silence for Steve to lower the shotgun, turn to the other two huddled behind him.
Eddie has his arms up, as if he can shield the kid from that thing should it huff and puff its way through the matchstick front door. Hell, maybe he can. But, at Steve’s lowered gun, he drops heavily to the couch, slamming his forehead to his hands, fingers gripped into his hair hard enough that it has to hurt.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve asks, looking at the kid. It comes out harsher than he means it to. The kid flinches, takes a startled step back toward Eddie.
“What Harrington means,” Eddie says, raising his head just enough to glare at Steve, “is are you okay?”
The kid sniffles, turning toward Eddie. His fists are balled at his sides even as he nods. “I’m fine,” the kid says, voice shaking enough to give his lie away.
“And what’s your name?” Eddie asks.
“Will,” he says, fingers loosening, shoulders falling. “Will Byers.”
Eddie gasps theatrically. “Not any relation to the great Jonathan Byers?”
For the first time, the kid smiles. It makes him look even younger. Steve’s stomach churns. “He’s my brother,” Will says, smiling shyly down at Eddie.
Steve has a hazy memory of a boy with an equally tragic bowl cut, disappearing into the hallways of the high school, sinking into the bleachers of sporting events, face hidden behind a camera. He wonders if that’s Will’s brother. If he’s missing him.
“And how did you get here, Will?” Steve asks, carefully modulating his voice. Keeping it even. Keeping it low. Will flinches, but he doesn’t step back again. Eddie still glares at Steve from behind the kid’s head.
“The Demogorgon,” Will says, “It got me.”
Part 15
#steddie upsidedown au#steddie fic#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#my fic#i accidentally deleted half this part and had to write it AGAIN which was infuriating
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someday soon
for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is having hope for the future'
rated t | 1,237 words | cw: ptsd, injury recovery, negative view of self (Steve) | tags: angst with a happy ending, getting together, hurt/comfort, falling in love
💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
Steve ignored his bat bites for too long.
That's what all the doctors and nurses said when he'd been rushed into the ER by Robin, panicked when he passed out and woke up with very little memory of what they'd done that day.
She assumed it was the concussions catching up to him, but it turned out to be a hell of an infection. The infection had spread from the worst bite on his side to his hip and down his leg. They caught it in time to save the leg, but it would be weak for months, if not years, and he'd need to do physical therapy to keep the muscle dense enough to walk.
Everyone was pissed at him, but mostly just happy he was finally getting taken care of. That was a difficult thing for him.
Eddie joked that it was his turn to keep him company in the hospital now, but Steve wasn't up for jokes. Not when he'd become such a burden. Not when he was pulling attention from things and people that actually needed it. He was using up resources that were already barely available for people much worse off than him.
When he was finally fever-free, showing signs of improvement, and promising to keep taking the antibiotics for two more weeks, he was set free. Eddie and Robin brought him to Eddie's trailer to ensure he would actually take care of himself, and he didn't have the heart to argue with either of them.
He felt ridiculous, every single time he got stuck on the couch because his leg was too numb to stand, every time Wayne would grab whatever thing he couldn't quite reach from the top shelf of the cabinet because he couldn't stand on both of his tip toes, whenever Eddie would half-carry him to the shower and wait by the door in case he fell on his bad days. It was all so stupid. He was stupid.
He spent his days doing what he was supposed to, but only the bare minimum. He did the exercises, but only alone in Eddie's room while he was busy at work or picking up Steve's slack. He took the meds when he was in pain instead of "suffering in silence" like Robin told him to. He packed Wayne's lunches for work as a thank you for letting him stay even though Wayne always insisted he didn't need to do anything to deserve a roof over his head and people to care.
He ignored the stupid churning in his stomach that started when he thought about what would happen when Eddie brought him back to his empty house. He ignored the butterflies every time Eddie got home while he was faking sleep on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was by his feet. He ignored the way his heart fluttered every time Eddie would make him the tea he secretly liked instead of the coffee he normally forced himself to drink.
He pretended that the love that grew in his chest was made up, that Eddie was only doing what any friend would do.
Steve only let his imagination run away with him on the nights when Eddie was at Hellfire late, when he was curled up in Eddie's bed at Eddie's insistence that he sleep there. He let himself picture a future like this: waiting up for Eddie to get home from work or a show, curled up with a pillow that smelled like him against his chest, wearing a t-shirt that had holes from being worn too much, and the mixtape Eddie made for Steve playing low in the background.
It was a perfect future.
He fell asleep to the thought of Eddie's arms around him, holding him because he wanted to, not because he had to.
He woke up to Eddie's arms around him, the dark and silent room around him making him panic until Eddie's grip tightened and he pulled him closer.
"You awake?" Eddie whispered against the top of his head.
"Yeah." Steve didn't pull away, couldn't make himself even though the alarms were going off in his brain telling him to put space between them before Eddie realized what this meant to him. "When'd you get back?"
"Hour ago maybe. Didn't mean to run so late, sorry," Eddie's fingers were tracing patterns up and down his spine.
"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Steve let himself have this moment. He nudged his face further into Eddie's shirt, smiling at the warmth of his chest. "You sleep at all yet?"
"No, I was busy."
Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"
"Watching you."
Steve turned his head so he was looking up at him. "Watching me sleep? Why the hell were you doing that?"
He should probably sound more upset, maybe more concerned about being watched while he was unconscious. But a pretty big part of him was fine with it, wanted it, hoped it meant more to Eddie too.
"The corner of your mouth twitches a lot in your sleep, did you know that? And when you're in pain or having a nightmare, it stops. Sometimes I just watch to make sure you're sleeping okay," he answered simply. "Been at least a few nights since you've had any nightmares right?"
Steve nodded, speechless at the fact that Eddie had noticed something like that.
"You curl the blanket in your hand when you sleep, too. Or my shirt. Sometimes your own shirt if you can't find anything else," Eddie continued.
Steve felt his fingers loosen in Eddie's shirt, not having noticed the way they'd been holding on for dear life this entire time.
Eddie's hand covered his, squeezing something that felt like reassurance and love right into his skin.
"You're not the same Steve you used to be, but you still worry about what people think. You can just be you. Just be Steve. I promise the Steve you are is the Steve we love," Eddie smiled down at him.
"I-" Steve took a breath. "I just don't wanna ruin it all."
"Stevie, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head. "You couldn't ruin it. When are you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that we're all stickin' this out with you?"
"But you don't have to."
"No, we don't." Eddie squeezed his hand again. "But we do. And we will."
"Even if I'm always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Recovering. Having nightmares. Scared. Robin says I might be depressed? I'm probably gonna limp forever."
"Stevie, look at me," Eddie said, tilting his face back towards him. Steve hadn't even realized he'd turned away so much. "I love you. Okay?"
"You do?"
"Do you think I notice what other people's lips do when they're sleeping?"
Steve snorted. "No, I guess not."
"I love you and sometimes that might mean I have to deal with your shit, but I want to, okay? It won't always be this much shit. I can hold your hand through it," Eddie smiled. "Now, you should go back to sleep."
"You didn't kiss me yet," Steve said around a yawn.
"We've got plenty of time for it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."
Steve believed him.
He knew it would still be shit. He knew he wouldn't always believe what Eddie said. He knew he'd still feel like a burden.
But they had time to wade through it together.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddielovemonth#love is having hope for the future#angst with a happy ending#established relationship#hurt/comfort#injury recovery#ptsd
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Bathroom
Eddie Munson x female!reader
An unserious moment becomes serious talking about love.
Warnings: peeing (NOT watersports, you quite literally just pee in front of each other), fluff
The trailer door slams open as you rush inside. You and Eddie had been stuck in traffic- thanks construction. What normally would have been an hour drive back from Indy took three.
And you had to pee. There was no place to stop after the last city, and you didn't have to go then. The usually empty roads to Hawkins were flooded with people going on detours. You couldn't even pull over and just go in the country due to the amount of people.
You rushed to the bathroom and shut the door. Your bladder was screaming at you. The chill of the toilet seat didn't even bother you as you sat down.
You were about to go when the door popped open and Eddie strolled in. "Move your legs i gotta go too," Eddie said unzipping his jeans. Your mouth dropped in shock for a second," What? No!" Eddie scoffed," I won't pee on you. I've got great aim."
You crossed your arms," Eddie, my thighs are too big. This bathroom is so tiny, I wouldn't even be able to spread my legs enough."
Eddie opens his mouth to argue but you speak again," Just go in the shower." Eddie gasps and throws a hand against his chest," Weren't you the one who said not to go in the shower? The hypocrisy!"
You roll your eyes," We aren't currently showering Eds, the shower is to get clean-" "You can pee and then get clean! You're in the shower and cleaning already!"
Your bladder screams in protest again," Eddie just wait for me to pee and then you can. Or you can use the shower."
Eddie grumbles but turns towards the shower. Theres a moment of silence between you both before you both start going. Eddie is the only person you would feel comfortable going in front of.
The relief your bladder feels is immediate. You hang your head for a second as you sigh, your hands clasped in front of you. The feeling of a hand on your head causes you to glance up. Eddie's eyes lock with yours as you both continue to go.
"What?" You narrow your eyes at him. "Just was thinking," Eddie starts but you cut him off," Eyes on the stream!" Eddie's vision darts back to where his stream had inched closer to the edge of the tub. "Whoops." "Great aim huh?" You chuckle, grabbing his hand off your head and holding it in yours.
Eddie smiled slightly," You thought i had good aim last night." You both chuckle as he squeezes your hand slightly," Nah I was just thinking. For better or worse yeah? Sickness and in health? We should add those who pee together stay together or something."
Both of your streams come to an end as you stare at Eddie. Your heart beats faster suddenly. Eddie tucks himself back in his jeans as you clear your throat. "You wanna marry me?" You ask quietly. You had hoped but...
Eddie's head snaps over to you," You didn't know?" You shrug as you grab toilet paper. "Hold on- shit!" Eddie stubs his toe against the sink as he quickly turns it on to wash his hands. You clean up as he scrubs soap quickly over his hands. He rinses it off as you stand back up, pulling your pants up. He haphazardly dries his hands on a towel and grabs your face in his hands.
You can still feel some water and soap on his hands drip down your cheeks. "Baby," Eddie's brown eyes stare into yours, " I love you. So much. I thought I made that clear, but if you have a single doubt then I havent done my job well. I. Love. You."
Eddie nods once before kissing your forehead," I would do anything. Even the gross things. Like letting you pop my pimples. Or rubbing your back as you throw up. Or holding your hand while you poop."
You wrinkle your nose," Ew. You've never held my hand while I pooped before." Eddie nods gravely," I would be willing to suffer thro-" you slap his arm in mock offense as he breaks down in laughter, causing you to join in.
Eddie grins at you," Yeah, no seriously. I would do anything for you. I would fight Vecna again- which was probably the worst thing I've been through. But I would do it again, willingly, for you. In the worst of times to the best of times, I want to be with you. You already own my heart and I would carve it out of my chest and hand it to you. My heart beats for you."
You smile at Eddie and pull him in for a hug," And I love you. I love you with my whole heart, mind, and soul. Every fiber of my being screams my love for you. "
You lean into his hold, swaying slightly as he hugs you. "I love you so much," Eddie mumbles. You pull back to look at him," Did we just say our vows in a bathroom?" Eddie barks out a laugh," I think we did."
Eddie grins at you and removes a ring from his hand," I'll get you a real one later, but uh since we already said our vows. Figure i should ask if ya wanna marry me." "Yeah, I guess I'll marry you," you feign nonchalance as you excitedly grab the ring and slide it on your hand.
You both laugh slightly, the love radiating from you two. You shake your head and grin, because only Eddie Munson would propose in a bathroom. And only you would say yes.
#Is this gross i find it sweet anyways hi#This is based on a convo me and a friend had once “those who poop together stay together”#I dont think this counts as a piss kink but then I was like shit what if it did fjshsksk#Anyways Eddie would absolutely propose in a bathroom he is 100% the type to do it casually as the moment arises#Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson x reader#Eddie Munson/reader#Eddie Munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#Eddie Munson/you#Eddie Munson fluff#Jade is Talking#Stranger Things#Yes this is the post I was thinking of when I said wait what do people consider gross cause this isn't gross to me but
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How about a scenario where Eddie and his shy best friend are messing about in his trailer and he gives them a tap on the ass in passing but immediately stops when he hears them moan in response. Shenanigans ensue... 😈
warnings: spanking (i mean... obviously...) plus a pussy spank, fingering, virgin reader, some daddy kink
Other kids used to make fun of you for being so quiet, for freezing up when you were spoken to by someone and didn't know what to say. "What's the problem, cat got your tongue?" they'd say. That was how you got your nickname, the one Eddie gave you all the way back then: kitty. That was back when he had buzzed hair and a front tooth still missing-- and you were just happy to have a friend.
A lot had changed since then-- you got a bit less shy, he got a lot more hair-- but he still called you 'kitty'. Another thing that had changed is how it made you feel when he called you that.
"C'mon, kitty, just gimme it!" he whined, trying to reach for the pack of Marlboros in your hand. And gosh, it made you really want to give in-- but you'd promised him you'd help him quit, which is why you'd quickly confiscated the pack you found stashed in his couch cushions. "Just one smoke! I'm cutting back!"
"No way!" you stuck your tongue out as you kicked him away. Of course, he was so much stronger than you; he was able to grab you and pull you into him, bringing the pack in reach as you tried to squirm away. "Ugh, I hate you!"
"You love me," he rolled his eyes. He let you go and you jumped up off of the couch, dusting yourself off as he laid back on the couch and looked up at you.
"Whatever," you deflected quickly, glancing at the kitchenette. "You, uh, want a beer? I'm having one."
"Sure," he decided.
And for some unknowable reason, when you turned to go get them, he gave you one hard smack on the ass, just above where your shorts cut off.
Your hand went over your mouth, but it was far too late to catch the sound that came out of it... a moan, loud and needy and desperate. You spun around, hoping he hadn't heard it, but, well, his expression gave away that he definitely had. His eyes went wide for a second, before a grin cracked across his face. "No..." he whispered, narrowing his eyes at you. "Not a good girl like you, not my innocent little kitty."
You had to clench your thighs together. "Ed..."
"You liked that?" he noticed, and you bit your lip but nodded. "Shit... I hit you harder than I meant to, I was gonna apologize-- but... you made such a pretty noise..."
Your cheeks were so warm. You were warm between your legs, too; and deep in your gut.
"I wanna hear it again," he admitted-- even his face was pinker now. "Is that bad?"
You shook your head. "Is it bad that I want you to hit me again?"
"U-uh, no, it's not," he assured, though his voice cracked halfway through. He sat up on the couch, clearing his throat. "If you... if you wanted, you could... lay across my lap. And I'll give you a few more."
You hesitated, because you could hardly believe this was really happening.
"It's okay if you don't!" he blurted out, raising his hands up. "I mean, it's just an idea. We don't have to-- and, uh, nothing has to... happen if we do. Just a little friendly spanking, right?"
You shivered a little, and nodded, before wordlessly bending down and laying yourself across his legs. You rested your cheek on the threadbare sofa cushion, fluttering your eyes shut. "I want it," you breathed, "I want you to."
"Oh," he sighed, making your heart twist. "Okay... then... I will."
The first one was soft-- way too soft, but it still made you turn your forehead down into the couch and arch your back, trying to beg him for more.
"That wasn't right, was it?" he noticed. "You need it a little harder."
It was just an observation, but it made your toes curl inside your socks. He hit you again, closer to the right intensity, and you moaned softly.
"That's better," he groaned, "you sound, um... you sound really good. Can you get a little louder for me?"
I can do anything you want. "Just hit me a little harder, and I will."
He chuckled a bit, and you were worried you'd said something wrong, but then he gave you nice, hard smack right on the thickest part of the curve of your ass. "Is that better, kitty?"
You nodded, afraid if you tried to say anything that you'd make a fool of yourself. He hit you again, again, back and forth between each cheek-- you made a higher-pitched noise when there was a sudden impact on the back of one of your thighs.
"You feel how hard I am, right?" he grunted. "I got rock fuckin' hard in a second after you moaned like that, kitty..."
And you could feel it, his erection on your hip; sometimes you imagined that you could feel it throb, but you couldn't tell for sure if it was real.
"I... I'm gonna pull your shorts down, okay?" he whispered, and you nodded. His fingers hooked under the fabric, the cool metal of his rings dragging across your skin as he exposed your ass-- he let out a quick sigh as he rubbed your butt through your panties. "White cotton-- should've known, god, you're such a good girl, kitty..."
You whined and wiggled your hips, desperate for any friction on your aching pussy. "Y-you can take them off, too, Eddie..."
"Really?" he sighed. As you nodded, he hummed and slipped just one finger into the elastic waistband, slowly revealing your bare skin.
It was so fucking hot, just having him undress you like this; your poor hole was clenching on nothing, your head was totally empty-- you weren't even thinking about how insane this all was.
You were so wet that he had to peel the fabric off of your pussy, and he groaned through his teeth as he did it. "O-oh my god, kitty... look at your... your-- Jesus Christ..."
He surprised you completely with the hardest spank yet; you sobbed, but spread your legs as best you could with your shorts and panties dropped around your ankles.
"You know," he grunted between more and more hits, "if I do it hard enough--" he hit you again and you had to literally bite your tongue to stop from crying his name-- "there'll be a nice big welt in the shape of my hand."
You could feel his rings-- you could feel his fucking rings, there were tears on your face and you'd never been so desperate for anything in your entire life.
"Would you like that?" he asked.
"Yes!" you shouted. "God, do that, Eddie, please?"
He hit you over and over in one spot, until your legs were shaking. Yes, it hurt, and you couldn't help but cry from the pain now, but it was so good, even though it felt like the sting was penetrating so deep into your skin that it would just come out the other side or something.
Just when you thought you knew what was coming next-- more of this-- he gave you a random slap right on your pussy. Your scream was short and broken, and your whole body shivered for a second. "Daddy," you said before you could stop yourself.
"Fuck," he choked out, "fuck-- fuck, kitty, are you serious? I thought you were... I thought you were a virgin."
You didn't say anything, relishing your much-needed break and panting as you hid your face and tightened your grip on the sofa.
"You are?" he realized. "God, kitty, how?"
Because I only ever wanted you. But you didn't say that. You didn't say anything.
"Just nod if you want me to hit you there again," he offered, "shake your head if you want me to go back to what I was doing before. A-and just... hold up your hand and give me a peace sign if you want me to stop."
You shook your head. He didn't get back to it right away, though-- he rubbed his hand over your sore skin first, making you whimper and wiggle around a bit. His jeans were a little rough on your bare skin, but it was just the right amount of pressure; when he hit you, finally, you rocked your hips forward with it, again, again, again...
"Oh, fuck, are you humping my leg?" he noticed, and gave you a hard smack to the thigh that made you yelp. "Bad kitty. You know you should wait for Daddy to help you with that."
Your eyes rolled back in your head; you weren't sure how much more of this you could take. Not the pain-- the pleasure. You'd touched yourself plenty before but you'd never felt like this, you'd never been so needy before.
"Tell me I can touch you," he gasped, "fuck, please..."
As you nodded, you felt his fingertip slide over your cunt, landing right on your swollen clit in less than a second. He toyed with it, and you were so raw everywhere that it was already almost too much. You instinctively tried to move away, but his other hand grabbed your shoulder and held you down.
"Want me to make you come?" he asked. "Say it."
"Make me come, Daddy," you breathed.
Then there were two fingers on your bud, pushing down just hard enough to make your legs quiver, rubbing fast circles that kept your mouth open in a constant stream of moans and curses. "My god," he groaned as he watched you, "so fuckin' cute... you have the cutest pussy, babe. Look so good stretched out on my dick."
Yeah, bet it would feel good too-- bet I'd come in half a second if you fucked me now. But you didn't say that. "I'm yours," you said instead.
"God," he groaned, "don't-- don't say that, if you don't mean it..."
"No, Eddie," you whined, pushing back against his touch-- you were seconds away, you were right on the edge and he'd barely touched you. You moved your legs around and you felt that your wetness had already dripped down your thighs, making them slick and tacky. "Been yours for so long."
"F-fuck, say it again, then," he hissed through his teeth-- his hips were rocking against you too, his cock rubbing on your side through his jeans.
"Yours, yours," you chanted, and it was already starting-- you felt your whole channel flutter, your nails literally tore right through that old sofa cushion, and you came. You'd made a little patch under your face from your tears, and it was warm and damp on your cheek as you pressed into it. You wanted to muffle yourself, you were getting so loud-- but he stopped you by grabbing your hair and pulling your head back. "Eddie!" you shouted.
"Fuck, kitty, m'so-- fuck!" he stammered. "W-wanna feel you inside, wanna feel you coming, please?"
"Yes," you sobbed weakly, another wave hitting you right as he pushed his two fingers into your hole.
He made a low noise, and you felt his cock rub up against you again-- okay, it had to be throbbing this time, you could even...
Oh. You could feel his jeans getting wet: he was coming... he was coming in his pants, and it was so hot you could cry. Conveniently, you were already crying. But in a good way.
You were coming down at the same time, your pussy starting to finally relax after apparently trying to squeeze his fingers until they bruised; his chest heaved as he caught his breath, you knew because you looked back at him over your shoulder. His eyes were shut, and when he suddenly relaxed, you felt his fingers slip out of you. You missed the fullness, but it made it easier to focus on all the tingling you were feeling all over now.
He opened his eyes, and his gaze met yours as he brought the fingers to his lips and licked them clean-- all while smiling at you, the goddamned menace.
"Eddie..." you breathed.
"Can I give you a hug?" he asked.
"A hug? After that?" you laughed.
"Well, yeah," he sighed, pulling you up to be face to face with him. You nodded, and he smiled as he wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face against his neck, and you could feel his racing pulse. "You did so good, kitty."
"Y-you too," you whispered, "that was... I really liked that. Can we do that again?"
"Yeah," he laughed, "why don't you come over tomorrow?"
"I meant after I get a sip of water," you explained.
"Fuck," he choked, "you're... Jesus, kitty."
"Am I still a virgin?" you wondered aloud.
"Well, if you are, you're not gonna be much longer," he promised.
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