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madelynraemunson · 2 months ago

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I LIKE TO THINK OF YOU AS MINE: APARTMENT ONE

a pick your own adventure fic - steve harrington x fem!reader

Your apartment wasn’t just surprisingly nice for Hawkins, it was surprisingly nice considering you paid less than three hundred dollars a month rent - and that was split with your roommate.

It was just outside of town, far enough away from the police station and retirement home that you could play music louder than some would consider sociable and near enough the only pizza place that you didn’t have to pay for delivery when you were too tired to leave the couch. It was an old, renovated warehouse - big windows, old, sliding doors, an elevator that sometimes worked and two bedrooms that could fit in more than a single.

In fact, it was big enough to hold regular parties, with a fridge full of beer and a balcony off of the living room that could hold five whole people and a keg or two. Honestly, the only reason you and your roommate could afford to stay there was because your landlord was using the empty apartment beside you as a grow room. The smell of weed and regular power outages were easy to put up with when your kitchen had an island and your shower worked through the winter months.

It was filled with your things, second hand furniture and vinyls from the knock off record store on Cherry Street, Polaroids filled the refrigerator door and there was a collection of stupid things that littered the shelves and surfaces.

Your trophy from high school that declared you the least able to hold your drink.

A battered copy of Stand By Me that had been taped over seven times and never returned to Family Video.

An impressive array of sunglasses that your roommate lost, purchased, lost and found again.

An obligatory road sign that lived on the wall behind the sofa, screwed precariously into the crumbling brick.

A bong made from questionable materials.

A fish tank with zero fish.

A bedroom door across from your own, the front of it scratched and worn from being nudged open with hands filled with car keys and coffee cups, old boots and impatient feet. It had stickers from bands over the worst scrapes, another road sign that had “for a good time, call Steve Harrington,” written in sharpie in the middle of it. More Polaroids, more than a few of them featuring you. You and Steve when you were both four years old and half naked in the Harrington's backyard one summer, sticky with melted popsicles. Another at graduation, Steve’s arm slung over your shoulder, you laughing at the camera. A party, two years ago, both of you drunk and the whole scene a little blurry, the cameraman just able to catch you both in an armchair amongst a night of chaos, heads together and you on the boy’s lap as he looked up at you through his lashes, listening to whatever it was you had been drunkenly talking about.

You looked like a couple in that one.

You look like a couple in a lot of them.

But you and Steve? A couple? No.

Roommates, yes. Best friends? Yes. Drinking buddies? Absolutely. Platonic movie night partner? Of course.

And have you kissed him before? Sure, maybe, like… five years ago. But you were both drunk and someone dared you - Robin, no, Jonathan? It didn’t matter. You did it and Steve kissed you back and he tasted like lemonade and cheap beer and a little like the weed your landlord had given you and it was only for a second, really.

Definitely less than a minute. No more than three.

And then you never spoke about it again. Ever. And that was fine.

It was really, really fine.

You had more parties, threw more ragers. Collected more Polaroids and Steve lost more sunglasses and you found them again for him weeks later. You both tried to keep the plants that your mom gifted you alive and it was a good week if there was more than a carton of milk in the fridge.

It was an even better week if you made it through without thinking about the time you kissed your best friend over four years ago.

Especially since your boyfriend really didn’t like him.

That wasn’t ideal.

And honestly, you weren’t really sure you liked your boyfriend all that much anymore.

That wasn’t all that ideal either.

Was it?

#tbr

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madelynraemunson · 2 months ago

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up for the challenge

professor!eddie x adult!student!fem!reader

the semester's over. the grades are in. and with nothing left to hold him back, your favorite professor is ready to go from blurring the lines between you two, to making them non-existent.

a/n: long time no see, friends ;) coming in hot! this is inspired by my bb @mediocredreams ' prof eddie au! i hope i did it justice.

cw: p*rn with plot (in true maddy fashion), professor/student dynamic, dom!eddie, sub!reader, established age gap (eddie is probably early 40s, reader is mid 20s), p in v sex (protected), hair-pulling, fingering, orgasm denial, that rough and passionate shittt, briefly mentions drinking

It starts with a pat on the back.

Til it lingers and becomes a shoulder squeeze. And before you know it, your papers are being returned to you, heavily marked with suggestive feedback, allowing just enough real estate for plausible deniability, but also enough room to where the lines start to blur.

“Why do you always do this?” you’d roll your eyes playfully.

And he’d meet you right where you are. “Because I like challenging you.”

It becomes a dance, this little secret of yours. The sneaky glances during lecture. The double entendres of, "I like how determined you are" and "Looking forward to seeing you next week". The extended office hours disguised as mentorship, only for him to barely acknowledge you when class is in session.

You two have been intimate in every way possible except sexually. It’s electrifying. Professor Munson's got his craft — and you — all mapped out. Which is why he waits until you are no longer his student to begin his pursuit.

Layla's Tavern?

It isn't out of the ordinary for professors to go out to eat with their pupils. But doing so at a rooftop bar in the metropolis — alone and strategically away from campus?

Oh yeah. He’s done his research. Just as you knew he would.

You reply almost instantly.

I'll be there. 6pm?

“You were so wrong for that,” you say between giggles. “I thought about it for a whole week.”

You and Professor Munson are on the rooftop of Layla’s Tavern, a couple drinks in and laughing like cheeky, rebellious teenagers. You’re shoulder to shoulder, debriefing the semester while the patio heater casts warmth over you both.

It all felt so liberating, finally being able to say out loud what your eyes have been whispering for months.

“Hey, no pitchforks now,” Professor Munson says with a chuckle. He tosses his hands in the air. “The rubric clearly stated three academic articles — two of them peer-reviewed — and all published within the last five years. Your third one was SIX.”

You reject Munson's theatrical surrender, grabbing his large hands and pressing them back onto the booth. He smiles mischievously into you, enabling this quiet, deliberate moment of affection — a crack in the dam that would’ve held firm just a few months earlier. His eyes stay locked on yours as your hands hover above his lap.

“Ugh,” you gaze up at him through beady, flirtatious eyes. "Why do you always have to follow the rules?"

“I don’t always follow them,” he shakes his head in amusement. “Sometimes there are exceptions.”

You feel yourself flush as blood rushes to your face. It’s then that you start to wonder if it’s even the heater doing the warming. After all, his dark brown eyes and sultry stare have never failed to melt you into a puddle before. Amongst other things.

He bumps you with his knee.

"You ready to head out?"

Aged cigars and smoked whiskey greet you at Professor Munson's high-end condo.

You find yourself perched politely on his leather couch as he sifts through his vinyls — aged and seductively rugged, much like himself — set on cultivating the best mood possible for the occasion.

You both knew what you came here for. But there was still a need for feigned naiveity, a scripted buffer to preserve the illusion of its organic unfolding, despite how carefully orchestrated this all was.

"You do your class eval yet?"

"I did," you smile.

"Oh yeah?” he smirks, settling beside you with practiced ease. “How'd I do?"

You eye him up and down, tugging a heavy and restrained sigh out of him as he primally traces your gaze.

The thrill of it all feels like mid-semester still; but with a lot less limitations.

"10 out of 10.”

"BO-RING," he roars.

"What?!" you stumble back in shock.

"C'mon,” he cackles. “If I could do ONE thing better, what would you like me to do?"

"I can't think of anything!" you offer a smiley pout, the soft pitch of your voice getting higher with every syllable. "Your class is fine the way it is."

"Seriously? I don't believe that."

Now you’re challenging him.

"Tell me why you care so much, Munson."

You find yourself tracing his stubble with your delicate fingers, simply out of adoration, and he watches this like a favorite film that he forgot existed.

Munson shifts in his seat, matching this energy by reeling you closer to him by your waist, with nothing left but his conditioned restraint to hold him back. But the dam is straining now, against the pressure of this rising flood.

"I care," he says in the deepest register you've ever heard from him, his hand settling on your knee, "Cuz I'm always striving to better my craft."

He exhales, breath low and calibrated, as if a single breath alone might just set off the very desire threatening to unravel him. The desire of unraveling you. You and those beady doe eyes, that perky bust, and that mouth designed for sin. You, with that laugh and your barely-appropriate skirts. You and those not-so-accidental touches during didactic that made getting caught look like the objective. Munson’s eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back, clinging to control by the tiniest thread.

"Well,” you inch closer to him. “I don't think it can get any better than this."

And the floodgates have opened. With his impulse control gone awry, Munson initiates his long awaited leap into you.

"Mm."

It all happens so quick, so naturally, that before you know it your soft lips are pressed against his, submitting to his passionate tongue as he cups your face and lowers you onto the couch.

“Fuck.”

His stiff, growing bulge probes at your stomach as you moan into his touch, palming him needily as he glides his thick fingers across your folds.

And he does this as he’s kissing your jawline softly, smiling into you as he savors the scent of your floral body oil, a fragrance that brings him back to the butterflies — the new, profound excitement of syllabus week.

He’s wanted to bend you over his podium, and fuck you senseless since day one.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," he breathes as your lips part temporarily.

"Oh, I KNOW," you tease. “Professor Munson.”

He looks at you through his hooded, enchanted eyelids.

"You do realize you can call me Eddie..."

"I know that too," you say. "It's just…I've been calling you Professor Munson all semester."

"That's fair," he nods. "Too long of a semester..."

Your breath catches suddenly, causing your lips to separate as Eddie introduces two fingers into your needy cunt, already soaked to the base of his knuckles with your arousal. There’s an immediate braveness with his pacing, steady yet unforgiving, your desire for him trickling onto your soft, black lace panties. Mindful of this, Eddie then eases them down to the hem of your mini dress.

“You don’t need this.” You giggle up at him. “You always used to say that.” “It lands a little differently now, yeah?” he quips, pulsing in further. “So…. much differently,” you muster, attempting a smile towards him. “Very…” he smiles back, his lips curling ever-so-connivingly. “VERY differently.”

Get rid of this. Get rid of that. You don’t need this. You don’t need that.

Eddie Munson — with his unwavering rubric-slash-doctrine — always used to make you work for every inch of praise you earned.

But when that praise came? That seal of approval in the form of a “well done” wink, and a little extra 1:1 time with him? It was a dopamine high you couldn’t help but chase.

And when you finally earned the full credit he’d been dangling in front of you — almost mockingly…like a carrot just out of reach — the payoff became addictive.

Translation: You want it? Better work for it, baby. I know you can. And I know you WILL.

So yeah, it lands differently now. But a part of you wonders if it was the meaning all along.

God, if admin saw this...

"Eddie..." you chant, whimpering into his ear. "Eddie... Eddie... Eddie… Fuck. Fuck, FUCK!"

His pace had quickened and you're a mewling mess beneath him, the profanities he’d normally disapprove of being all that you were shouting.

But he grins widely at this instead (surprisingly), satisfied by the notion that he was able to undo you so intimately, pushing your buttons further by inserting another digit.

Desperately trying to keep yourself contained, you tug at his hair, eyelids closing, brain numbing, your core hot and tight when…

Suddenly, he retreats.

"Why's it look like you wanna cum right now?" Eddie scorns.

You're thrown by the shift in demeanor. A stammering wreck, you rush to your own defense.

"I-I..." blood rushes back to your face. "I don't. Not yet at least."

"Good," he smirks. "Got a lot more where that came from."

Eddie pauses to skim your body, sifting through his mental catalogue of fantasies best suited for this very moment. Suddenly, his gaze ignites.

"Get on top."

Without any extra thought, you reposition yourself to perch upon the very lap you had been fantasizing about all semester. You await Eddie’s cue as he scrambles for a condom, taking this moment to collect yourself and stare around the estate that — indeed — belongs to your former professor.

You’re actually here. You’re actually doing this. This isn’t a one-sided ordeal either. Eddie Munson wants you just the same. Perhaps even more.

The sound of an opening wooden drawer, and snapping of some rubber brings you back. Out on a prowl — and painstakingly erect — Eddie eyes you carnivorously as you take the sight of him in. “Ready for the REAL test?” he winks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you respond coyly.

“You've got it,” he insists, fixing your position so that you were hovering right above him. His voice darkens. “Go on, now… Bounce on it for me.”

There’s no going back after this point. Sinking yourself onto his ruinous shaft, a silent gasp escapes you as you lower yourself onto him. Eddie grunts pleasurably, tossing his head back, slowly snaking himself inside you and pumping in and out of you balls deep, ensuring you felt every nerve of that initial sting, every intentional stroke, every highway of his thick veins, and every bout of praise that had spilled carelessly out of his mouth as he fawned up at your beauty.

“Oh god…” you breathe.

Gauging you intently, Eddie stops when he senses you’ve accommodated him, allowing you to take the reigns any which way you wanted. And to your shock, you could only watch as he reaches for your hands, assertively pinning them behind your back before fastening them in place with the belt that was initially around his trousers. He grins at your subtle uncertainty.

“You've got it,” he repeats, whispering you through it as you whimper softly. “’s nothin’ you can’t handle.”

“You sure?” you bite your lip seductively as you ride, causing him to grow even more inside of you.

“Yeah,” he tuts, his lazy eye devouring you at the sight. “I’ve seen you challenge yourself before. You can do it, sweetheart.”

So you keep bouncing, all while he calls you “gorgeous” and “stunning” through it. But the euphoric minutes slowly begin to feel like hours, your legs wobbling like jelly, though you’re determined to stick it through.

But Eddie’s watching… studying you. And no matter how much you try to hide it, he sees through you more than you realize.

You’re tired – and spoiled – and he knows it.

"So used to being a pillow princess, aren't you?" he tsks as you ride him needily. "Gonna have to work for THIS one, my dear.”

He watches with the smuggest look on his face, taking note of just how blissfully your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ride him out. You’re tempted to use his chest for leverage with your palm, but he gives his belt a tug, tightening how snug they felt around your wrists.

“She loooves a challenge,” he observes, pupils nearly blown from how pussy drunk he had become. He is but a slave to your moans. "Both inside the classroom and out, don’t you baby?"

You illicit a high-pitched grunt in confirmation, knuckles white against the confinement of his grasp, fixated on delaying your climax for as long as possible while your pussy encloses itself around his perfect cock.

Is it really a ‘power-play’ if you both knew the rules and still chose to break them? If the tension was mutual, electric, and stimulating in every sense? You didn’t just provoke him — you matched his energy, and well, neither of you retreated. Off limits, yes. But the door was always unlocked.

God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. He’s ruining you.

"Don't wanna fucking stop," you whine. "Feels too good."

Eddie chuckles at this, amused and impressed by how far you’re willing to go to get to your reward.

“Yeah? I feel that good?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“I‘m sure I do.”

He draws it on for a while longer, just before you’re about to tap yourself out when he continues to speak.

“Alright. Move your hands.”

He’s released the belt now at this point, and once again you can only watch as Eddie begins to take control.

Once more, before you could register it, Eddie’s effortlessly flipped you onto your back, manually arching your spine with a moderate press to your lower hips. You beam up at him with lust, and he responds with a firm smack to your ass, before proceeding to tease your folds with the head of his greedy cock.

The challenge is everything you wanted. He’s deeper — and somehow feels fuller — when he rails you from the back, causing you to see stars from just the first few pummeling thrusts.

“Holy FUCK!”

Eddie chuckles — low and knowing — at the way your composure slips as he ruthlessly fucks himself into you, hips pistoning themselves into your ravaged cunt while your slick echoes off the walls of his glass house. You’ve reached a new threshold now.

“More,” you beg. “More, E-Eddie. Just don’t fucking stop!”

Eddie digs his thumbs into the small of your back for leverage, the exhilarating wet smacks of your bodies crashing into one another incentivizing him further. With a free hand, he gets a loaded grip of your hair, twisting it in his grasp before yanking your gaze upwards towards the ceiling, continuously — effortlessly — drilling you into the couch.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now," he grunts. "Been needing you like this ever since class started."

How can a man — who’s barely even touched you as til now — who only just now began exploring the hidden crevices of your body — already know EXACTLY what to do?

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your, pornographic cries sloppy, his thrusts even sloppier.

“Wanna cum, Eddie. I need to.”

"I know, I know," he soothes you, the cockiness of his tone slightly patronizing. “You can cum now sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

Just as promised, Eddie catches you when you allow yourself to surrender. His arms wrap around you instinctively, grounding you to the aftershocks. He rubs gentle circles along your arm, lips brushing against your shoulder in soft, repetitive kisses. Eddie then tenderly tucks loose strands of hair away from your damp, flushed face, murmuring quiet reassurances as you melt into him.

“Gooood girl,” he softly chuckles one last time. “That’s my good girl.”

You’re practically skipping around his abode afterwards, given the fact that Eddie essentially wined, dined, and fucked you right into summer break. As you help him tidy up, your ex-professor is back to his regular, joking self.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he tuts, issuing you a teasing, triumphant elbow.

“Not bad at all,” you giggle.

You shyly toss your clothes back on as he proceeds to give the area a proper wipe down. He sneaks another quick glance your way.

“If you wanna shower, you can use the bathroom upstairs,” Eddie offers. “I can get you some fresh towels and a t-shirt too if you’d like.”

“Cool,” you blush. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He blushes at this too, elated with how well his informal name melts onto your tongue. You glide your way back over to him, mind heavy with a proposal you’ve been rehearsing for weeks on end.

"So," you smile angelically. "Heard you're gonna be off for two whole months!"

earth toned divider from @saradika-graphics bow divider from @strangergraphics

taglist: @mediocredreams , @airandyeah bc they knew what i had up my sleeve hehehehe

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