#Falling Down (1993) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rustedhearts · 6 months

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on the mat (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: steve tries to teach you a few boxing lessons in the ring, but ends up (re)learning a thing or two about you instead.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ main masterlist

tags: the return of casually dominant!steve; play fighting? i guess?; smut (fingering); slight humiliation kink?; finger sucking.

october 24th, 1993

The gym sat in a stiff, sticky heat. A palpable humidity settled in your body, bloating with exertion and frustration and just a little too much humiliation for your liking. Beneath a pair of padded, pink leather boxing gloves, your fingers were sore and tired, slick with sweat from hours confined. They sat now balled up on your hips, chest rising and falling in heavy huffs beneath a soaked-thin sports bra.

And there Steve stood across the ring, shiny and pink-less, grinning like he'd been given a lollypop. Your eyes narrowed into slits, lips drying with thirst. A burn gathered in your chest a few minutes ago, and now every inhale felt like sucking on fire.

"Ah, come on, angel," he cooed, shaking his hand out of one glove to free his fingers and push back his drenched hair. "You're doin' so good."

Somehow, a few hours ago, Steve roped you into training with him. He'd been begging to teach you how to properly box since you started dating, and somehow, he finally convinced you. It was just as exhausting and demanding as you thought it would be, and now you were dripping buckets and making a fool of yourself in front of the man you loved. It was tiresome and humiliating, and you wanted it to be over the minute it started.

"Then I say we call it a day," you huffed.

Wiggling his swollen hand back into the weathered gloves, Steve shook his head and cocked a sideways grin. "I don't think so, sweetheart—"

"Steve," you whined, foot stomping. "Come onnnn."

His shoulders quaked with laughter, and the pinched glare you had on your face morphed into a weepy pout. Steve pulled at the laces of his glove with his teeth until they were well enough taut to stay put, sneakers scuffing over the mat as he headed your way.

The gym was closed on Sundays, so you had the place entirely to yourself—it was easy for Steve to pull strings and get his way. With the amount of championships he'd won over the past few years, Steve could get away with just about anything these days. Endorsements and companies hoping for brand deals kissed his ass just for a chance at conversation. So, if Steve Harrington wanted a private gym for a training session with his girlfriend, he'd get it.

But that left you entirely at his mercy.

Steve brought his puffy, gloved fists to your arms, tugging you close. Lip jutted and eyes down-pointed, you opted to huff and puff at the ground instead of meeting his eye like you knew he wanted. He brought a fist to your chin, kicking it up gently.

"Sweetheart," he chuckled. "C'mon, don't be a baby."

"M' not bein' a baby," you grumbled, jerking your chin away.

Another smile toyed on his lips. "No?"

"No."

Steve replaced his touch under your chin, urging your head back where he wanted. His touch smelled like leather and the salty musk of sweat, and every spent and frazzled nerve in your body sparked with arousal like severed wires in an electric rainstorm. You inhaled sharply, following his guiding touch until you caught sight of his strong chin.

"Gimme a kiss, angel."

The roll of your eyes was entirely theatrical, because the gruff sound of his voice rumbling through you had you squirming. But it was so easy to give into Steve—sometimes, you liked to make him wait a little. Sometimes, you wanted his voice to drop from that soft, fluffy coo and dip into something dark and firm.

Steve bent his neck, leaning toward your mouth. You turned your head. In your periphery, the delicacy of his features congealed like spoiled milk—narrowed brows and hard eyes. The yellow spotlights above the ring blazed down like sunlight, singing your skin with unforgivable heat.

"Hey." Steve flicked your head back with his glove against your cheek. "Give me. A kiss."

You fell into his touch, but when you inched forward on the tops of your new Reeboks, your mouth merely grazed. Brushed against his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. When you sank back to your height, Steve's chuckle was sharp and huffed through his nose. He dropped his hand from your face and stepped back.

"Back in position."

Groaning, you let your arms drop limply at your sides. "Steve—"

"Now," he barked, voice clanging off the walls like metal.

You jolted, trudging toward the center of the ring with a grumpy, nonsensical grumble of disagreement. Steve shook his head as he headed toward the corner, pulling at the laces of his gloves with his teeth until they smacked against the mat. He fumbled in his gym bag, pulling out the flat pads meant for throwing jabs. When they were snug around his hands, he stood to his full height and sauntered toward you.

Wordlessly, Steve assumed a firm stance and held out the pads out in front of him, biceps veined and bulging. His eyes bored into you over the top of the black leather, void and heavily-lidded. You sighed, arms limp and buzzing.

You lifted your right fist and let it tap the left pad weakly. It barely made a sound. Steve shook his head again, slow and steady, but still he didn't admonish you. You tried again with the left fist, tapping just a little harder on the right pad.

"Pathetic."

Your eyes snapped over, breath hitching. "What?"

Steve hadn't moved an inch, breath sure and steady. "I said, pathetic."

Your stomach grappled, a new wave of heat singing your cheeks. “I-I’m not—“

“So hit me like you fucking mean it.”

Though foggy with exhaustion and void of any semblance of desire to put any sort of effort into this, the way Steve’s voice sliced around his command made your insides surge. Pathetic.

You’d show him pathetic.

It shot out before you could truly control it: your first careening into the pad, striking Steve’s hand with vigor. The smack was sharp and acute, and delight burst his pupil to dilation.

Your fist buzzed in the glove, slick with sweat and swollen from work, but it felt…good. It felt good to hit, and it felt good to watch pride swell in Steve’s gaze because of something you’d done.

His lips parted to speak, breath short and clipped with intention to speak, but you beat him to it. Another hit to the glove—a swift jab, knocking him off kilter. He wavered a moment, then steadied. His eyes bored into you like he’d just seen you for the first time. And maybe he had.

You tore at the velcro of your gloves with your teeth, shaking the leather off. Every part of your body felt like it was convulsing. You could barely see straight, and everything came with a haloed glow. You shuffled back toward the edge of the ring.

“Where y’ goin’, angel?” Steve asked, inching forward.

Huffing, you tossed your gloves on the mat and glared at him. “To change. I want to go home.”

Steve took another step forward, following every move backward like the pair of you were tethered together. “We’re not done here.”

Hands on your hips, you sliced him with a look meant to kill. “Yes, we are.”

You turned then, eyes set on the locker room door across the gym. You barely got a toe toward the edge of the ring before Steve had you by the arm. Somehow, the pads were on the floor again, and Steve’s most lethal weapons were out to play.

“Hey! Steve, don’t—“

You pushed him. He tugged you closer. You gaped at him, at his display of audacity. You pushed again, a firm palm to a firmer chest. He let go. You turned again, but this time, he had you by the waist. Anchoring you, pulling you back. You planted your heels and resisted with all your might, grunting and mewling for release. But Steve’s hold was inescapable.

It tugged you to the mat, weighing you down until the pair of you slipped and ended flat in the ring. A pair of limbs scrambling and tangling, knotting together between huffs and groans. He flipped you over onto your back, and you kicked at his hips with the heels of your feet until it gave you an inch up. Twisting and churning, clawing with your hands. What the hell were you doing? You had no idea, but your body was on fire and you couldn’t breathe—and it all felt so good.

With all the writhing and tumbling, you found your way toward the edge of the ring. You wrapped your fingers around the lowest rope, teeth gritted with exertion as you pulled. But Steve was down on you, heavy and full of cords of taut muscle that you were no match for. And even without the weight of him, he still had his hands.

“Nah, nah,” he huffed, a chuckle airing through his nose as he watched your fingers tremble around the rope. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Your hand slammed against the mat, caged in his own crushing your fingers in his palm. It was then that you decided to give up on your fight. Pinned by his body, inhaling his exhales, licking beads of sweat as they dripped into your mouth. His hair coiled over his brow, tickling his lashes. His upper lip snarled into a smile, and with his big, hulking form between your legs, you suddenly forgot all about how tired you were and just why you ever wanted to get away.

Like Steve said, you weren’t going anywhere.

Keeping you stationary with his hand around your wrist, kept above your head and off the side, Steve made quick work of the ties on your shorts. Pulling their knot loose, yanking the band down your hips. He pressed the pad of two fingers into your damp, sticky panties over your crotch, and when you shuddered in a gasp, he chuckled again.

“God, you still like it so tough, huh?” He pressed a little harder, rubbed small circles into your clothed nub.

His breath tickled your face with every word spat out. “Pretend you’re so sweet and shy. But you, honey…you like to be fucked. Mean.”

The rubbing burned against the friction of your damp panty fabric and Steve’s fingers. His touch stung, like it always did. And the light in his eyes was one of fiery delight and wonderment. Absolute desire, lapping its forked, devil tongue between the pair of you. You released a sweeping breath, face creased with anguishing pleasure.

Steve rummaged the surface of your face, glowing like a jewel with salty dampness. You rose and fell with such shallow, struggled breaths that he was certain you’d run out of air.

He fell down on his arm a little, nose brushing your nose. “Tell me,” he whispered, voice an echo in your fuzzy, sloshing thoughts. “Tell me you like me mean.”

You choked, air catching in your throat. Right in the middle, where your heart sat waiting, and pulsing. “I-I…I…”

His lip curled again, nose scrunching to follow the crude expression of a growl. “I think you love it, don’t you? C’mon, tell me you love it.”

Oh, the sound of his voice, sweetened with mockery and seasoned with humiliation. He rubbed a little faster, enjoying the tremble of your thighs. Your body was rippling.

“I-I,” you gasped, fingers curling into a fist above your head. “I…Oh, Steve—p-please!”

“Tell me you love it,” he bit, teeth snapping at your mouth.

“Oh,” you howled, bucking into his touch. He pushed the cotton aside and let his fingers breach the bare warmth, and now you were certainly a puddly mess. He prodded at your hole with a spongy touch.

“You love it,” he coaxed, the sound of his voice nearly hypnotic now.

Convincing you, telling you, promising you. You loved it.

“I love it!”

With your confession, he plunged in. His fingers buried themselves inside you until he caught resistance, watching you jerk upward and hold tight, breath bubbled in your throat and swollen in your chest. The veins in your neck scraped their way toward your jaw, protruding without air. He curled his fingers just a little, watched you twist a little to the left. Like some sort of woman possessed.

He gently rocked his fingers in and out, each time nudging that little spot inside you that grew sore and hungry. You caught your breath when he kissed your mouth, releasing it between his lips sealed over yours.

“I love it,” you murmured again, vision spotted and streaked. “I do, I do, I do.”

He clamped your babbles with more wet kisses. Silent reassurances. Gentle and full-mouthed, absent of tongue and just breath, transferred between one pair of lips to the other. Your chin tipped upward to follow them, chasing after more pecks. Steve pulled away just far enough to find amusement in your suffering.

"You'll get a kiss," he murmured, too soft for his cruelty. "When you gimme what I want."

And when you cinched your brows together with feigned confusion, Steve tipped his head a little toward the light haloing behind him, beaconing from the gunmetal roof. The slightest arch of a brow, the knowing narrow of a pair of whiskey-colored eyes flecked with sage.

"You know what I want," he rasped.

Heart hammering hard against your ribs, flesh singing with stimulation, bones droning with desire—all you could manage was a nod.

He wanted what he always wanted—all of you.

One more gentle prod, fingers goading against the swollen, fleshy tissue pulsing deep inside you. One more kiss to the underside of your jaw, lips cradling the pulse point below your right ear. One more squeeze of your wrist in his big hand, thumb into a mass of uneasy muscle fluttering with life punctured by the teeth of his love.

Orgasmic euphoria erupted into bursts of color. Crimson red like the blood Steve shed. Cognac brown like the bits of his eyes illuminated only in direct light. Black as the color of his love, bruised without mercy.

Tiny, pitiful whimpers pipped out of you in short successions. Steve quieted them with more kisses, just as promised. He slipped his fingers from your quivering cunt with caution, parted lips gliding wetly across your cheek from their place on your mouth, smearing hot breaths and spit.

"Open," he whispered, though when his fingers came to your lips, they were already ajar and releasing pants.

You sucked them clean, blinking blearily as he fell into your neck, equally as spent by his exertions. His fingers coasted down your arm as they left your wrist, releasing your binds. You shivered absently when they slid against your ribs, pressing into the curve of your waist.

"I still wanna fuck," Steve huffed, nosing at your neck where the perfume you applied hours ago faded with sweat. "But gotta lie down first."

Giggling, you kissed the wetness of his hairline etched above his temple lazily. "Me too."

"Well yeah, I rocked your world."

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oneforthemunny · 7 months

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I'd imagine that every time Halloween rolls around, Rockstar!Eddie and Nepo Baby are on the cover of at least one magazine with a spooky Halloween photoshoot. I'm seeing a werewolf eating (out) a fair maiden. Or a pregnant Nepo Baby tied to a table and a Rockstar!Eddie getting ready to sacrifice her. Or them recreating a scene from the biggest horror movie of the year.

Only over the years, as the kids accumulate, it goes from Playboy to Parade. And instead of tits with fang punctures, you've got a line of tots in skeleton pajamas.

(This was originally meant to be a blurb prompt and I got carried away so now I think it's more just a Spooky Thought I had to share with you. Whatever, Happy First Day of Fall! 😂)

oneforthemunny's spooky stories: rockstar!eddie x reader's time warp

or how halloween looks through the years for rockstar!eddie and nepo baby!reader :) ps pics below are for inspo that i used not specific more of just how the photos looked or what the idea was based off of!

October 31st, 1992

“Look at you.” Eddie grinned, dimples and shining eyes when they rolled over your frame. “My bride.”

That you were, both in and out of costume. It was the only recognizable part of yourself right now, your engagement ring. Your skin had been tinged a pale green, the SFX artist made your ‘gashes’ and ‘stitches’ look far too real for your liking. Tonight, you were the bride of Frankenstein, instead of Munson.

“Look at you.” You pouted, eyes rolling over his costume. Not Frankenstein, but… a vampire? “What-What are you wearing?” You huff, throwing an arm out at his costume. “We’re supposed to be Frankenstein and-”

“-Technically, it’s Frankenstein’s monster.” Eddie grinned, fake fangs making his smile more sinister looking. “I had a last minute change. Dracula and Bride of Frankenstein together? That’s scandalous. So much better, baby, believe me. No one’s done this before.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the torn white dress to cover yourself. “When did you change your mind? While I was in makeup for six hours?”

Eddie laughed, hands running down your skin. “I like your hair.” He muttered. “Think you should do this more often. Pretty metal look for you, baby.”

“Yeah?” You hum, running a hand lightly over the electrified updo. “Too bad it’s a wig. Maybe I’ll keep it. Put it in the dungeon for you, when you want to get really weird and freaky.”

“I always wanna get really weird and freaky with you.” Eddie growled, a low rasp in his tone that had your knees shaking. His lips ducked down towards yours, the fake blood around his mouth making your stomach turn.

“No,” You shake your head. “Get these pictures first, then you can kiss me. I’m not sitting in makeup again, Munson, my ass was falling asleep. I was sitting there for so long.”

“I can help you with that.” Eddie growled, a playful smack to your barely covered backside that had you shrilling, glaring at him through white contacts.

October 31st, 1993

“You can barely even see the bump.” You huff, cradling your bare stomach in the mirror. “It just looks like I’m bloated.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Eddie shook his head, inked hands cradling your torso. “You look so pretty.”

Your lips settle in a pout, turning to the side, pushing your stomach out further in the pink, frilly lingerie from the 60’s. The sheer robe tied at your collarbones, flowing over your frame beautifully, parting so your belly could poke out. It wasn’t the pregnancy announcement you expected to have, but a fun one, regardless. One that would leave a shocking impression when it was sent to the press.

Eddie’s ‘costume’ hung around his waist, arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. You grinned at the green, scaly suit- designed to subtly resemble Creature From The Black Lagoon’s monster.

You smirked to yourself, looking at Eddie through the mirror. “My parents are going to hate this.” You grin, nearly proud. It made Eddie’s heart skip.

“Good.” Eddie snorted with an eye roll. “Not their baby. Not their choice.” He shrugged, hands roaming protectively over your soft, stretched skin. “Victor shouldn’t hate it too much, right? It’s a movie reference, at least.”

You laughed lightly. “True, and I’m… more covered than last time, right?” You grin, smoothing your hand over your exposed skin.

“Definitely, much more reserved than last time.” Eddie grinned, chin hooking over your shoulder. “We have to be more appropriate, Button, now that we’re going to be parents.” Eddie mocked your father’s posh, droning tone, quoting what Victor nagged about over the last brunch you had together- a month ago when you told them you were expecting.

Eddie’s lips pursed at the pinch still unfaltering in your brows, hands still smoothing over your belly. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie rasped, hand cradling your jaw gently, pulling your eyes to meet his. Those soft eyes that made your heart skip a beat every time you found yourself in their gaze.

“Fuck ‘em, alright? This isn’t their baby, it’s our baby.” Eddie muttered. “You wanna do this? We don’t have to. I’ll tell them all to go fuck off if you want me to. Or we can do something different. Do the Mummy things if you want to. Just say the word. Your call-”

“Ed.” The smile he’d been looking for graced your face finally. “I still want to do the photos. I’m just… I’m having a moment. I’m hormonal, and-and I’m just having a moment.”

Eddie grinned, plush lips pressing a kiss to your nose. “Have a moment. You look hot, though.”

“Thanks.” You muttered, eyes fluttering to look up at him through the strip of false lashes. “Not bloated?”

Eddie snorted. “Definitely not. Very pregnant. Very, very hot.”

October 31st, 1994

“Ed, is she looking?” You say through a smile, eyes still trained on the camera.

“No, she keeps looking at you.” Eddie huffed, lowering the camera. “Looking at your webs.”

No crew this time, oh no, Eddie wanted to do it all on his own. The set up wasn’t elaborate, but your costume was. The Black Widow, finished with webs that attached to your dress, hung around you for the perfect dramatic effect Eddie was looking for. In your arms, your little itsy bitsy spider, Persephone.

“Sephy,” Eddie cooed. “Fuck, babe, where’s the rattle thing? The lamb?”

“I grabbed it. Look behind you.” You nodded, cradling Persephone closely, her little hands reaching for you and pulling the fake spider arms with her. “You’re just a pretty little spider, aren’t you? The cutest little spider!”

“Found it!” The camera bounced on Eddie’s chest, shooting you a dimpled grin that had you flushing. “Look at me, Sephy! Look at Daddy!”

You fixed her in your arms, cradling her to your side. “Is she looking?”

“Yes, she is!” Eddie lilted in that babbling baby talk that had your heart swelling. “Look at my little spider. That’s so good, look at Daddy!”

“You sure you don’t want to be in this one?” You asked, hoisting Sephy up higher into your arms, swaying her lightly.

“Nah,” Eddie shook his head, looking down at the camera, pulling out the film. “Just wanna look at you, baby.” He winked.

October 31st, 1999

“Kensie,” You coo, looking down at the red faced four year old, desperately trying to keep her from tearing off her ears, two fuzzy clips that mimicked a cute werewolf. “We just need to take a couple of photos, and then we can change and go Trick-or-Treating, I promise.”

“I wanna go no-o-ow!” Kensie wailed, a piercing sob that had you cringing, the twins stirring in their black bassinet prop.

“Kensington,” Eddie grit, adjusting Persephone’s cape. “Trick-or-Treating hasn’t even started. There’s nothing out there right now. No candy.”

You glared at him lightly, though Kensie’s sniffles did ease. “No?” She asked, head tilting to the side sweetly.

Eddie shook his head, green painted frown softening lightly. “No, baby. Doesn’t start until six. We have plenty of time.”

“Better quit frowning, baby.” You hum, tapping your finger on Eddie’s creasing forehead paint.

This year's theme was a take on the classic, creepy show from the 60’s. What better way to celebrate your still growing family than this? Everyone else was favoring the Addams Family this year, but not the Munson’s- Munster’s.

“Are you ready, Mrs. Munson?” Phil asked, looking up from his camera at you.

You nodded, fixing your dress while you stood next to Eddie, one hand on the bassinet. “You think they can tell?” You grit through your smile, your dress snug when you turn towards him.

“No.” Eddie gritted back, eyes flickering down to your abdomen, just starting to swell with baby number five. “You look good, baby, always do.”

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