#hopper wc

[eggfeather]

hopper

[lemnnshark]

"Hopper is a yellow tom."

[rosemist50]

Part 2 of Riverstar's Home cats! Again, small spoiler warning for some discussion below the cut.

To start out with, we have Cleo and her mate Casper, and their kits Hunter and Scout. The marking on Casper's back is meant to look like a ghost. Also I tried to make Hunter look like Hunter from TOH, but I don't think it worked super well. Next are Hopper and Scooby, two cats who joined the Cats of the Park, and then Sparrow, Grub, and Snail. Sparrow and Grub were in Slash's group, but joined the Cats of the Park, and Snail was in Slash's group and stayed a rogue.

[exocynraku]

[ds-angel1]

Bunny - brotherly love

cw: SMUT(18+), incest, piv sex, dubcon, hand job, finger sucking, nipple/titties play, reader being pervy and sneaking into Rafe´s room while he´s sleeping, age gap(18 and 25), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!!

wc: ~ 1,6k

a/n: first post and first fic, pls dont cancel me... yay

You knew it was vile, you knew it was dark and twisted.

You tried to stop—oh, how you tried--wrestling with shadows in your mind, drowning your thoughts in the shallow pools of distraction.

But they rose like whispers through the flood, unyielding, unrelenting. No, it didn’t work. It never did.

You still bit your lip every time he was shirtless. Your chest still flushed every time he was in your near vicinity. You still imagined him every time you reached your nimble fingers into your cotton panties.

Rafe.

Your brother.

It all started because of a simple joke. One that your friends made.

“Stop, oh my god, your brother is so hot, I’d let him hit so hard,” your best friend giggled as she munched on the popcorn you had cooked up for all 4 of you for movie night.

“Oh, hell yes!” Interjected another of your friends, her voice enthusiastic, “I would let him hit even if I was his sister!”

The living room erupted in giggles before they disappeared and the girls surrounding you focused their attention on the movie again.

Your attention stayed on the topic prior though. On him. Like any human mind would, your thoughts conjured up a realistic third-person image of your big brother fucking you. But what your mind did that not any human mind would do, was like the idea. Your eyes stared at the floor as you pictured the feeling, the view, the sounds. You clenched your thighs and bit your bottom lip—

“Hey, watcha nerds doin’?” He asked with a smirk as he appeared from behind, clad in only sweatpants.

You felt your cheeks flush at the realization of what you had been fantasizing about.

“Nothing, just watching a movie,” you muttered.

“Gee, no need to be so cold, bunny,” he laughed as he ruffled your hair. Bunny was a nickname he came up with for you. When you were 3 years old you just loved hopping around so 10-year-old Rafe decided to call you Bunny. It stuck. He perpetually calls you Bunny even now, 15 years later when you wouldn’t call yourself much of a hopper.

You had always been close. He was a great big brother, protective, and kind, always played with you when your parents were too busy. When you had a nightmare as a kid, you wouldn’t come rushing to your parent’s room, no, you´d sprinted to Rafe’s.

Innocent nights where he comforted you to sleep in his bed. But now you were imagining being in his bed again, but not him comforting you; him fucking you relentlessly. Nothing innocent about that.

Right now you were tossing and turning in your pink, fluffy sheets. You had rutted against a pillow for almost an hour, trying to block out his face but it just kept coming, then you rubbed your aching clothed core for what seemed like an eternity but the need and desperation never subsided.

The need and desperation for your brother.

When you threw your head to the side and saw that the purple, flower-decorated clock on your wall read 2 A.M., you just couldn’t take it anymore. You threw your blanket off of your body, yanking your legs to the side of your bed and then your body to stand.

With as much sneakiness and smoothness as you could conjure up, you slipped out of your bedroom, the patter of your feet fon the firm grey carpet in the hall sounding like church bells in your ears.

Right before the end of the hall, you turned your body left, finding yourself face to face with Rafe’s room. “KEEP OUT” stood in bold messy letters on a burgundy sign hung on the door.

Your parents never really paid much attention to it and just stormed in whenever they wanted. He was a 25-year-old still living with his parents, who could blame them for ignoring his rules?

Your fingers played with the hem of your nightgown nervously before you lifted one of your hands to slowly push down the door handle and crack the door open.

The small creak that came from the wood moving made you cringe in fear. Once the space was wide enough for you to fit, you entered his room.

There he was, lying sprawled out on his black satin bed cover, hair unruly and spiked. His body lay wide and stretched out on the mattress, his boxers the only thing covering him. His blanket lay on the ground as it seemed to always after he slept, even as a kid he did backflips and dances in his slumber.

The thoughts in your mind that screamed that this was wrong were drowned out by the sight of the slight bulge in his boxers.

You knew it was wrong. So so wrong. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You climbed onto the bed, crawling towards where he lay. He looked cute like this, snoring ever so slightly and a tiny bit of drool accumulating in the corner of his mouth.

Anxiously you moved on top of him, making sure to not let a single fiber of your legs or arms touch him.

After you had hyped yourself up enough to do it, you leaned back, letting your ass hit his thighs in a gentle fluid motion and your hands find his chest.

A moment of silence overtook the room and once you were sure he was still asleep you started moving again. Your hands found their way to his boxers, gripping the elastic band at the top and then without a single bit of haste pulling it down. Your hips lifted off of him and you dragged the plaid material all the way down to his shins and calves.

He stirred a bit, the cold air hitting his now bare crotch waking him a bit but he quickly settled into sleep again.

When you were extremely sure he was out cold again you finally let your eyes travel down. His half-hard cock, pretty and pink, barely at its full length and potential, and yet still managed to make you softly whimper out loud.

With a shaky hand, you reached forward, wrapping your small fingers around his thick base and pumping a few times. You weren’t a stranger to this, but this felt different. And no, not because he was your brother and it felt wrong. No, it felt right. Perfect.

A groan fell from his lips and he twisted his upper body, eyes squeezing shut even more tightly. At the sudden noise and movement, you immediately pulled your hand back, eyes widening in fear and worry.

In a desperate attempt to flee the scene, you kneeled up fully, accidentally brushing one of your plush tights against his tip.

It seemed that that was the only sensation left to wake him as a moment later you found yourself staring straight into your brother’s icy blue eyes.

His gaze left yours as he gained consciousness, pupils flicking around and taking in everything.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He whisper-shouted, confusion, anger and something else you hoped was desire present on his features.

“Um…” Your brain was frozen, all you could do was stare at him in horror as you knelt over him.

“You’re my fucking sister! And you’re 18! We could get fucking arrested! Me especially, you—“ he cut off before he could finish that thought as he saw your eyes watering.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he half ordered, half reassured, “Bunny, it’s gonna be okay. This never happened, okay? Go back to your room and—“ yet again he didn’t finish his sentence. This time it was because he had gripped your hips, hoping to lift you off of him, but instead, he accidentally brushed your nightdress up a bit and revealed your naked sex to him.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, “God, Bunny…”

Nothing happened for a few seconds, silence and stillness taking over the bedroom. Then without warning he grasped your hips even tighter and sank you onto his thick, throbbing cock, causing you to moan and whimper out loudly.

Quickly, Rafe’s hand shot up, stuffing three fingers into your mouth to shut you up.

“Shh, Bunny, don’t want mommy and daddy hearing you now, do we?” His voice whispered sharply between heavy panted breaths.

You rolled your hips, gagging on his fingers as they roughly probed down your throat.

“Fuck, such a little slut for your big brother, huh Bunny?” He tantalized, hissing as you started bouncing up and down on his cock.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, his blunt tip hitting that perfect spot on your cervix every damn time. When he forced your dress down your shoulders and took one of your rosy pink buds into his mouth you felt as if your eyes could do a whole 360-degree spin.

You were sure the scene looked vulgar, a big brother letting his barely legal sister ride him, his mouth vigorously sucking, nipping, and lavishing her nipples, his fingers in her mouth to shut her up, drool running down the corners of her mouth and right into his own at your breasts. It was disgusting. Perfect.

It wasn’t long before you were choking and sputtering around his fingers that you were going to come, snapping your hips up and down faster and faster.

“Come for me, Bunny, be a good little sister, and come for your big brother.”

His words pushed you to your limit, clenching around his pipe unbelievably tight and coming. The feeling of your wet warmth snug around him made him quickly follow, shooting his load into you.

After a few more rolls of your hips, you had both come down from your highs and Rafe had removed his digits from your mouth. The room was filled with breathless pants and quiet shuffling now and then.

Finally, Rafe spoke up, his voice silent yet it spoke volumes of what he was feeling.

“Fuck.”

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Bed Hopper

Bsf!James Potter x Bsf!Reader

Summary: After creating a tradition of cuddling James before bed, you'd think you'd have the path down by now.

Wc: 1k

Cw: Nothing really, reader is asleep for most of this. Just fluff.

It was late, the boys' dorm. Peter’s soft snores filled the room and remained the only audible sound. James was half-asleep in his bed, waiting for you. He wouldn’t admit that was why he hadn’t fallen asleep yet- he’d convinced himself he was just restless- but the second he heard the soft creak of the dormitory door, his heart leapt like a Quidditch snitch.

You shuffled in, rubbing your eyes and muttering something incoherent about Marlene snoring too loud in your own dorm. Your steps were quiet, soft enough to wake none of the other boys. None except James, whose heart was thudding in anticipation.

But then, to his growing horror, he watched as you padded straight past his bed and crawled into Sirius’s.

His jaw dropped.

Sirius, who had been sprawled out half-asleep, cracked one eye open, taking a moment to register your form now curled up against his side. Then, with the unmistakable glint of mischief in his grey eyes, he smirked.

“Well, well, well,” Sirius whispered, just loud enough for James to hear. “Looks like I’ve been promoted to favorite pillow.”

James shot up, his duvet falling to his lap as he gawked at the scene. “What the-! Oi, what’re you doing?”

“Me?” Sirius replied innocently, though his smirk widened as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not doing anything, mate. She climbed in all on her own. Guess I’m just irresistibly comfortable.”

“Sirius,” James growled, shoving his glasses on his face and throwing back his blankets. He was out of bed in an instant, standing over Sirius with a look that would’ve been intimidating if not for the undeniable flush creeping up his neck. “You know that’s not- she’s just-”

“What? Sleeping? She looks bloody adorable, doesn’t she?” Sirius teased, lightly brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cooing sweetly when your nose briefly scrunched up at the contact. “Reckon I could get used to this.”

“Don’t you dare,” James hissed, his fists clenching at his sides.

Meanwhile, you, blissfully unaware of the brewing chaos, let out a soft sigh, burrowing further into Sirius’s chest. James’s glare darkened, and Sirius, the devil that he was, had to bite back a laugh.

“What’s the matter, Prongs?” Sirius drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Jealous?”

“No,” James lied immediately, his voice cracking just enough to betray him.

Sirius arched a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “Right, so you won’t mind if she stays here, then? I mean, I wouldn’t want to wake her up. Poor thing looks exhausted.”

James’s hazel eyes darted to you, still sound asleep, your fingers curled loosely against Sirius’s jumper. His stomach twisted at the sight, a wave of something hot and uncomfortable washing over him.

“Sirius,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Move.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said with a dramatic sigh, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “But don’t blame me when she wakes up and wonders why you’re the one who smells like me.”

James ignored him, carefully sliding his arms under you and lifting you effortlessly from Sirius’s bed. You stirred slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy confusion.

“James?” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he murmured, his voice soft as he carried you back to his own bed. “Go back to sleep, love.”

You hummed in response, your head lolling against his chest as you drifted off again. James settled you onto his bed, tucking the blankets around you before climbing in beside you, his heart still pounding in his ears- it was almost deafening.

“You alright there, Prongs?” Sirius called from his bed, his voice laced with amusement.

“Shut it, Pads,” James muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. His attention was already back on you, your face peaceful in sleep as you curled against him like you always did.

And just like that, the jealousy melted away, replaced with the familiar warmth that came with having you close. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his chest aching with something too big to name.

Sirius gave one last parting shot before settling down himself. “Merlin Prongs, you've got it bad.”

James barely heard Sirius’s last quip, his ears buzzing with the sound of your soft, even breaths. His glasses had slipped down his nose as he lay back, the dim light of the room casting a golden glow across your face. Every little detail of you- your slightly parted lips, the way your hair tickled his arm, the weight of you pressed against his side- flooded his senses, overwhelming him with a wave of tenderness so fierce it almost hurt.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the pounding in his chest. Merlin, Sirius was right. He did have it bad. But it wasn’t something new; James had felt it for what felt like forever, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial.

But now, as you nuzzled closer in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent against his chest, the feeling clawed its way to the surface. It wasn’t just affection; it was something bigger, something didn't want to name but had always known was there.

James swallowed hard, his arm tightening around you instinctively as if holding you any closer might somehow ease the ache in his chest. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse. How could something so simple- so innocent- feel so utterly consuming?

He tried to remind himself that you were his friend, his best friend, and nothing more. That’s all it had ever been. That’s all it could be. But the thought felt hollow now, especially with you curled up against him like you belonged there.

“Prongs, you still with us over there?” Sirius’s voice broke through the haze, quieter this time but still teasing.

James didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head in a gesture so soft it felt almost ghosting. His heart gave a painful lurch as he pulled back, his hazel eyes lingering on your face.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, more to himself than to Sirius. “I’m here.”

But as he lay there, watching over you with a look that could only be described as lovesick, he knew deep down that wasn’t entirely true. Because some part of him- some overwhelming, unrelenting part- was completely, hopelessly, irrevocably yours. And that part of him? That part wasn’t coming back.

[urhoneycombwitch]

common tongue of you lovin' me

Eddie Munson x Reader loverboy smut of the touchstarved variety.

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

cw: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

wc: 2.5k 

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake. 

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.  

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night. 

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.  

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his. 

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim. 

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly. 

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.  

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first. 

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening. 

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up. 

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing. 

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him. 

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy. 

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat. 

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release. 

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths. 

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?” 

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck. 

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me 

[yasministration]

Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, Officer - Jim Hopper

summary: Eddie and gf!reader get busted by Hopper. Hopper "drives" reader home... warnings: age gap, cheating, smut, perv hopper wc: 2.1k+

The image of Eddie Munson with a blunt between his fingers had become an almost regular occurrence for Hopper, their usual game of cat and mouse, however the chief of police hadn't been expecting this sight when he flashed his light through the window of Munson's old van. Perched on Eddie's lap in the driver's seat, skirt ridden up high enough to show your bare ass underneath, lips tangled in a messy kiss with Eddie's hand disappearing under your skirt, his other holding the flaming joint. Hopper's perfect little neighbour who lived with her parents in the house just across from his. Smiling politely with the sweetest "Good morning Chief Hopper!" every goddamn morning as you left the house for university.

Eddie's lips quickly separated from yours when the beam of light from Hopper's flashlight entered his field of vision, the smile leaving his features when he saw the older man looking right at him. The moment your lips detached from your boyfriend's, you threw your head back, mouth opening in a loud moan as he curled his fingers inside you just right. You didn't realise that you'd been loud enough to alert the Hawking chief of police about the activities taking place in the driver's seat.

"Fuck! Shit!" Your head snapped back towards Eddie when his fingers quickly slipped out of your wet entrance, gaze fixed on the older man on the other side of the window. You didn't have time to question Eddie before he was putting out the joint and shoving it in the compartment on his door. You scanned your surroundings, mouth falling agape at the sight of the police officer, embarrassingly tugging your denim skirt down the swell of your ass, and closing your spread legs as best you could in the position you were in. Two knocks on the car window had Eddie rolling down the window with a nervous smile, saying "Hey Hop!" The officer didn't play along, eyebrows furrowing as he barked out the order "Get out of the car."

Gulping nervously, you let Eddie open the door, quickly scrambling off him, high heels wobbling on the crunchy autumn leaves, your boyfriend immediately following. You stared with wide eyes as Hopper's eyes examined the scene. His nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of weed, hand diving into the side compartment without hesitation to pull out the joint. "You carrying any more on you Munson?" Eddie shook his head hurriedly from next to you and you winced at the obvious lie. When Hopper's eyes landed on you, you knew your face had said too much. His intimidating stare had you instantly looking down at your feet, avoiding eye-contact. "Your girlfriend's face says otherwise, arms out for me."

"Fuck." Eddie whispered from next to you, obeying Hopper's order to let the man pat him down. "What's in this pocket?" The policeman interrogated, pulling out the sachet of weed and rolling paper from Eddie's pocket. "Please don't arrest me Hop, you know me man!" Eddie begged, throwing his hands up in surrender. Hopper huffed, hand coming up to rub his forehead in thought. "This is your last warning Munson. I catch you one more time and I'll be cuffing you, okay?" Eddie nodded eagerly, feet glued in place. "This is the only time I'm letting you off. Now get in the car and drive off." Eddie grinned widely and you bit back a smile, beginning to walk around to the passenger's side.

"You stay right here y/n, I'm driving you home." Your face dropped completely, spinning around on your heels to face the chief as Eddie stopped in his tracks. "I know your parents pretty well. You think they'll be happy with this?" It was now your turn to shake your head, putting on your best doe eyes for him as you begged "No, you can't tell them, please Chief!" "They know about your good for nothing boyfriend?" Shaking your head once more, you frowned at the man's scoff. "Get going kid." He said once more, turning his attention back to your boyfriend. Eddie hesitated, looking back and forth between Hopper and your smaller figure, glancing at the man in worry before scurrying into his van, starting the engine, and sparing you one last glimpse before driving away.

When the sound of Eddie's van was out of earshot, you took two steps towards Hopper, clasping your two hands around his forearm. "Please Hopper, don't tell my parents!" He hummed, gazing intensely down at you. "You know, I'm surprised. I always thought you were a good girl." Unconsciously, your thighs squeezed tightly at the familiar words, and you suddenly remembered what you'd been doing before Hopper interrupted you. Fuck, you wish you'd gotten off before he did. If you focused hard enough, you could probably still feel Eddie's thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

When you looked back up at Hopper, it was clear that he had caught the movement, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. You gulped, seeing the look in Hopper's eyes change, and bit your lip to stop yourself from grinning as you formed a plan in your head. Your fingers moved against his forearm, caressing him softly, and you made show to squeeze your thighs once more, putting on the most desperate tone in your voice when you said "Please, I can't go home to my parents like this. What if... What if they hear me?"

Hopper's eyes shot wide open, imagining you in your bedroom after bringing you home, not bothering to take off your skirt before hiding under the covers and sliding your fingers down your body, finishing what your boyfriend had started. He can picture your flexible back arching, eyes shutting as you bite your lip trying to hide your moans, his name accidentally slipping out of your mouth instead of your boyfriend's when you finally finish all over your fingers. And suddenly, Hopper can feel his trousers beginning to tighten, but he cannot let you know you've won him over so quickly. You need to think he's the one in charge.

"Bad girls deserve to be humiliated, whether that be in front of their parents of not. Whose fault is it you snuck out here to have sex with a boy who couldn't make you finish fast enough?" Hopper knew he was crossing a line, knew that if he'd shown up probably a minute late he'd have found you with your orgasm covering Eddie's long fingers. But he hadn't, and he planned on using that to his advantage. You felt your face heating up in degradation at his comment, licking your lips as one of your hands moved to trail up the Chief's chest. "But here I am now with a man who could make me finish. Or, I'm assuming he could." When Hopper didn't answer you, you decided to push just a little further, adding "Could you, Mr. Hopper?"

Your heart was beating adamantly fast at Hopper's silence. He lowered his head closer to yours with a scowl on his face, whispering "That's Chief Hopper to you." His hands tightly gripped your hips, walking forward until your back hit the cold steel of his car. "Now get naked." He spat. You felt the blood drain from your face. Yes, you were getting what you wanted, but you'd expected the chief of Hawkins to have the decency of taking you in the back of his fancy police car, not in the open forest. You gulped as you pulled your skirt down your legs, kicking it off your ankles. Eddie would probably find your panties in his van at some point, you assumed. Pulling the cozy jumper above your head, you shivered at the cool breeze, undoing your bra as your nipples hardened from the cold.

Hands began roaming your body, landing on your hips to quickly spin you around, and pushing you forward so you bent over the hood of the shiny police car. Hopper's hands trailed upwards, sneaking around your torso to find your tits, groping them and tugging harshly at your sensitive nipples. You moaned softly, legs spreading on instinct before a calloused hand was spanking the soft flesh of your ass. Crying out in surprise, you looked over your shoulder to look at Hopper's face, watching at he observed your head-to-toe reactions. "Please Chief" You whimpered, pushing your ass back into his hips, glancing as his eyes shut, thrusting his hips into you as a response. "Want you cock. Please." You begged again, hand roaming behind you to hook onto his belt hoops, pulling him closer to you.

"How fucking needy. This is what happens when you get with someone your own age. Doesn't fucking satisfy you enough, so you end up a slut, begging to be fucked by the Chief of Police." His words were enough to make you moan, but not enough to make you forget about being completely naked in the woods. You sighed impatiently, finally turning back around to face Hopper and throwing yourself onto him, arms wrapping over his shoulders to pull him into your, slamming your lips against his in a desperate kiss. Hopper gasped, arms immediately wrapping around your waist in return, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as he forced his tongue in your mouth, pushing your body back against his car.

Using the support of the car behind you, you hooked a leg over his hip, pushing your hips out to grind against Hopper's boner desperately. "Fuck." He whispered between kisses, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue against yours. Both his hands moved down to your thighs, pushing his body against yours as he lifted you up without warning, prompting you to wrap your legs against his torso, giving you perfect friction against the tent in his trousers. The rough fabric of his pants had you whining into the kiss, rutting your hips harder against him as you began craving your orgasm.

Pulling away from the kiss, Hopper put a hand on your bare hip, pushing your pelvis away from his as he cursed loudly. "Calm down, let me - fuck." He pressed you harder against the car, balancing you with one arm as his other hand made work to free his dick from his trousers. Eagerly, you helped, taking over and pushing his boxers down to take his heavy cock in your hands. "Fuck, put it in, put it in." You mumbled, allowing Hopper to lift you up higher as you manoeuvred his cock between your folds and into your tight hole. "Oh my god!" You cried, arms wrapping around Hopper's shoulder's once more as he began bouncing you up and down his cock, humping upwards into you to meet your movements.

Digging you face into the crook of the older man's neck, you began leaving kisses there, switching between sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin to distract you from coming too early. Indeed, Eddie had nearly driven you to your orgasm, but Hopper's giant cock was bringing you there much quicker. You clit rubbed against the pubic hair near Hopper's balls, adding just the little bit of friction you needed. Failing to hold back any longer, you bucked your hips forward, grinding down on Hopper's cock as your legs tightened around his torso, screaming out a moan as your orgasm over took you, body shaking in Hopper's arms.

Cunt clamping down on Hopper's cock, you heard him beginning to curse, thrusts becoming more rapid and inconsistent as he lost his rhythm, his cock burying itself so deep inside you, you could practically feel him grazing your cervix. With a loud grunt, Hopper's movements completely stilled, emptying his thick load inside you. You breathed heavily, running a hand through Hopper's hair, pressing soft kisses on his cheek and jaw before the man pulled away from you, one hand reaching up to squeeze your face, his lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. "Shit." Hopper mumbled as he pulled out of you. You cringed, feeling your thighs get sticky as his cum dripped out of your entrance, legs untangling to stand up properly.

You waited as Hopper gathered your clothes, helping you put your jumper on before diving into his car in search of tissues to wipe his mess off you. He pulled your skirt up your hips, patting your butt a couple of times when he finally turned opened the passenger's door for you. Hopping into the driver's seat, he turned on the engine, beginning the drive home. "Um, Hopper, this isn't the way to my house." You peered at the man, whose hand was searching in his pocket for his wallet before finally tossing it at you.

"I'm driving you to a pharmacy. How much does plan B cost?"

[mandalhoerian]

(1) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Ferrying passengers and cargo between the mainland and the outlying islands is your family's livelihood. Life at sea holds its surprises, yet the routines remain reassuring — docking and departing, tourist antics, more docking and departing...

And there's the seal of course — the local celebrity trailing the ferry each day as though he's on the payroll. You think it might have been brought about by giving into his every whim and accidentally becoming his favorite person to be around in the process. But who would’ve guessed the truth, that he's actually a selkie who's spent years shadowing you, believing himself to be escorting his chosen bride all along?

genre: fluff, comedy | wc: 4K | read on ao3

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note: this is inspired by the giggly leg-kick inducing selkie raf fanart here by @/beechu-beechu!!!! i adore this raf to the moon and back, and all the seal videos i've watched (crybaby learns to swim) has prepared me for this moment. i hope you'll stick around for this very un-edited mini-series!

Your chest tightens pleasantly as you breathe in deep draughts of briny air, mist clinging to your tongue and lips, sharp and salty, anticipation of yet another day with your marine friend nudging your footsteps faster over slick cobblestones that echo softly against the buildings that line the street. Dawn hasn’t quite shaken off the night, draping everything in gauzy shadows, stretching slender fingers of soft gold across the rooftops, making you feel the gentle bite of the morning chill grazing your skin in a tingle of needles against your cheeks.

Ahead, the harbor emerges from the last traces of darkness, boats bobbing lazily against moorings that creak and groan like old friends in conversation as dockworkers shuffle around, silhouettes bent under cargo, and in comfortable and hushed chatting somehow overtaken by the screams of seagulls. Among them, your family's ferry waits patiently at its berth, outline illuminated by the muted brilliance of the rising sun — a scene so delicately composed you think it might’ve been painted by Edward Hopper himself each and every time you witness it.

“Hey hey, Elias!” you call, raising a hand to greet the old fisherman, his weather-creased face somehow aging a couple more years while he picks through a tangle of nets with focus.

He lifts his head, eyes crinkling fondly beneath his salt-stained cap. “Ah, mornin’, lass!"

"Brought something with me today. I want to see if it helps with the bait bucket problem."

"Boy is addicted to easy pickings, I doubt that. Wee nyaff owes me half a season’s catch by now.” Elias's rumbling chuckles have warmth rumbling through your chest. “Can’t fault him for his good taste in company when he has treats delivered to his doorstep, though.”

“Nice try,” you say, your tone mock-stern, a smile tugging insistently at the corner of your mouth. “But flattery’s not buying you extra coffee today.”

His laughter echoes briefly before it’s swallowed by the soft slosh of water beneath the docks, and he peers out across the idly rolling tide, affection blending with mild irritation as his fingers start working faster.

"That's fine," he says. "Having you back is enough. My poor boat needed a break from all that terrorizing."

You laugh at that with an embarrassed, heavy heart.

Six months have melted away since you traded your graduation cap for the familiar sight of gulls wheeling above the docks. You’d returned home carrying equal parts eagerness and obligation, drawn back into your father’s orbit, hoping, perhaps, to ease some of the burdens he’d never openly admit were weighing him down.

Leaving for university felt like stepping aboard a departing train, thrilling and dizzying as it rattled toward a glittering unknown named the future. City life was a constant hum you were ill-prepared for — nights brimming with noise, friendships blazing bright but fleeting as sparks — but somewhere along the way, that excitement quietly dimmed, and in its absence grew a tender longing, whisper-soft, for a simpler past, back when your world was defined by the comforting cadence of the ferry schedule and the friendly bustle of seasonal visitors.

So, under the spotlight of shame, coming home felt oddly disjointed at first, as though stepping back into a photograph that had stubbornly refused to fade, preserved, untouched by time — the docks still busy at dawn, fishermen hauling in their catches, schoolkids racing, backpacks swinging wildly, the scent of fresh bread spilling from the bakery door at exactly eight sharp every morning. Life moved here in steady, predictable rhythms, each beat familiar enough to lull you into comfort, yet somehow magnifying a subtle, restless niggling deep within your chest.

Because beneath the comforting yet burdensome familiarity that's a bed of nails at night, you can't shake the quiet sensation that returning was more retreat than progress.

You feel it most keenly when whispers trail in your wake, pointed glances exchanged between curious neighbors whose mouths curve around your name like a secret. They wonder aloud — in voices just low enough to feign politeness — about how university might have shaped you, or perhaps, more poignantly, left you unchanged.

You can feel their quiet amusement, the delight in the idea of the girl who once dreamed beyond the island now anchored firmly back in place, tethered once more to the ferry ropes and her father’s stubborn pride.

Not that Dad would ever breathe a word of needing assistance. Pride is his quiet strength and silent curse, a barrier more solid than the island's rocky coastline. You'd notice him sometimes, catching fleeting moments when he believes no one was watching — rubbing the weariness from his shoulders after hefting crates heavier than he’d admit, wincing just a little as his knees protest bending to secure the moorings, lips pressing into a thin, shaky line. It makes your heart twist like a wet rag, knowing his stubbornness masked vulnerability, and you'd resolved, quietly yet firmly, that your presence would stay constant until further notice.

Besides, the arrangement came with undeniable perks — a roof overhead without rent’s shadow hanging over your head, meals rich with nostalgia’s comforting flavor, and the cradle-like sway and creak of deck boards beneath your feet. It's more than enough compensation, more than fair payment, for the small surrender of uncertain ambitions to the nonjudgmental embrace of home.

By nonjudgmental you mean the weight of being allowed to take time in figuring your stuff out inbetween all the nausea-inducing sessions of admitting to yourself you're absolutely lost and don't have the slightest idea what you're going to do next.

So, yeah. Things are going great.

Still, despite everything, there’s at least one soul whose very presence smooths away any lingering doubts you had about returning home.

Well — perhaps not exactly a person.

There he is, your seal companion of years, lounging right there on the loading ramp as though he's claimed ownership of the whole harbor, proudly blocking Dad’s path as usual.

Today, Raf’s gray coat catches the clementine of the morning sun like liquid bronze, sleek fur glistening wetly, shimmering with subtle gold beneath droplets of seawater, and tiny flecks of fish scales cling stubbornly to his whiskers, the glittering remnants of his breakfast. You try your hardest to summon a stern mask of reprimand to your face — someone needs to teach this cheeky little shit some manners before either you or Dad dive headfirst into the sea because of Raf's sunbathing spot choices — but one glance into his wide, guileless eyes instantly dissolves your resolve into warm-hearted resignation.

With a mock-exasperated sigh, you lean down, scratching softly beneath his chin and tracing scratching circles in the thick fur around his neck, and Raf immediately responds, rolling onto his side and enthusiastically clapping his flippers together like an actor performing a rehearsed trick. You feel like he's Pavlov-ed you into yielding to his desires by rewarding you with cuteness, and burst into laughter, the sound rippling sweetly across the bay.

"Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie," you coo softly in a sing-song voice that's the usual ritualistic greeting you have for him, smile brightening as you reveal a small stash of dried salmon you'd slipped into your bag. "I didn't forget my promise."

Raf perks up immediately, twisting himself with a delighted wriggle that ends with his tail thumping happily against the ramp, peering upward, eyes large and pleading, more expressive than any puppy’s. A heartbeat later, he's flopped dramatically onto his side, one flipper thrust skyward in hopeful invitation, and your cheeks ache from the persistent grin stretching across your face, but that hardly matters.

For a few joyful minutes, you're lost in a game of enthusiastic 'handshakes,' finishing with good, thorough tummy scritches before starting to feed him.

"Keep spoiling the damn thing, and he'll forget how to fish altogether," Dad grumbles affectionately as he passes by, hoisting another heavy crate bound for one of the smaller islands. You resist the urge to tease him about who’s really spoiling whom around here — considering how easily he gives in to your own puppy eyes — and instead settle for an innocent shrug, shaking the salmon bag, unaware of Raf following the notion with his neck elongating impossibly due to his unbelievable flexibility.

"Aww, come on. Look at that irresistible face! You can't help but want to give him whatever he wants!"

"Mm'begh, egg, ggeaaaghh," snorts Raf, wiggling under your pets, and even Dad is amused enough to pause and raise his eyebrows at the silly seal before moving along.

After a minute of playful petting, you pull yourself upright and stretch, wondering how many fish in the ocean smell this fresh and clean. The scent alone reminds you of childhood summer vacations splashing around, blissfully ignorant of any underlying responsibilities or cares.

"Get your fat cat off the ramp before he trips one of us up."

On cue, Raf slaps a fin theatrically against his rounded belly, releasing a snuffling grunt that sounds suspiciously like a tiny piglet rather than a seal: "Mmpppshh."

"Don't listen to him," you reassure Raf solemnly, as though comforting a wounded toddler. "You’re not fat. You're just… well-built. Big bones."

Your half-serious tone earns you several enthusiastic thwaps of Raf’s wet flippers against your calves, making you laugh despite your best efforts to feign sternness. "UUUUAAAAAAGH!!!"

With an exaggerated sigh, you give in, bending down for another pat. "Alright, easy there, handsome. Time to get to work."

Yet Raf, predictably, sees this only as an invitation for more attention, rolling onto his back once again, flippers splayed wide, belly fully exposed in expectation of being cradled like a newborn. Maybe he just wants another belly rub. Or maybe he senses how much you cherish these little interactions, savoring the warmth of mutual affection like it's as essential as breathing. It certainly seems to keep him lively and robust — after all, you’re with him far more than anyone else. There are countless days spent sharing scraps from lunch, swimming side-by-side from island to island, or teaching him new tricks as thinly-veiled excuses for play. Even Dad has remarked (with a teasing grin that you pointedly ignore) that Raf seems more like your best friend than anyone else in town.

And really, what's the harm? Spoiling a seal who clearly enjoys your company hardly counts as indulgent. It's simply mutual happiness, a comforting addiction you've willingly embraced: the velvety smoothness of dark-gray fur beneath your fingers, the hidden strength of his sleek body, the endearing little huff he gives when your windbreaker tickles his sensitive whiskers. All of it — absolutely addictive.

"You know exactly how unfair this is," you finally giggle softly, deciding to have mercy on your heart (and Raf’s belly) for now. "Come on, buddy."

"Ppppfffrrrshh."

With a playful little bounce, Raf balances briefly on his foreflippers, wobbling theatrically before launching himself gracefully off the ramp into the calm water below, sending a silvery plume everywhere, and he surfaces once, twice, three times — each pretty leap arching through the dawn-tinted waves, always teasing, never coming nearer than a safe distance of about ten feet from where you stand as he glides easily in lazy circles around the ferry’s bow, waiting patiently for you to climb aboard.

Slowly, the bleary-eyed commuters begin filing onto the ferry, faces etched with lingering dreams and shoulders hunched beneath the invisible weight of daily responsibilities, and you greet each with energetic warmth to start off the day, offering an amiable nod and a reassuring smile as they pass.

"Coffee’s fresh if you need it, other beverage options and food are available as well in the passenger cabin's buffet," you inform, trying to be a comforting balm to their early-morning weariness. Relief flashes briefly across some tired eyes as you watch people go in and out with hands that tighten gratefully around steaming cups, savoring the warmth like precious embers that ward off the chill.

The tourists follow closely behind after your usuals, pouring aboard in a cheerful wave of bright-eyed excitement as they clutch tightly to their guidebooks, maps, and expensive cameras, animated chatter in various foreign languages floods the deck and shoos away the remnants of the sleepy calm, their infectious enthusiasm cascading over you, a vibrant hum that makes even the most mundane tasks feel fresh and lively.

A woman leans eagerly across the railing, eyes searching for something in the water, but doesn't break any safety rules. She must be a seasoned traveler. "Will we see the famous seal today?"

You cast her a self-satisfied glance, nodding knowingly toward the shimmering expanse of the harbor. "I'd say the odds are pretty high, given he's basically imprinted on this ferry," you promise, and as though summoned by your certainty, Raf’s sleek form breaches the gentle swell, fur catching the sunlight in an iridescent cascade. "Right on cue — there's our local star."

A wave of delighted murmurs and gasps ripples across the deck, the enthusiastic click of cameras rising like an orchestra chef's signal as Raf begins his performance, slicing effortlessly between waves and drawing dramatic curves through the water, slowing his movements deliberately to let the ferry glide past before starting his 'warm-up laps' again. Tourists are absolutely losing it over getting to see something like this up close, every splash and proud bob of his glossy head eliciting cheers and applause that would scare every single sea animal around the perimeter. But not Raf. He's used to it by now.

"So, everyone — meet Raf!" you call out above the enthusiastic chatter, pointing with a flourish toward the glossy head bobbing in the waves. "He's friendly enough, so don't panic if he hops aboard for a visit. But keep your distance — not because he'll bite, mind you, but because he'll bruise your ego when he pretends you don't exist. He enjoys your admiration strictly from afar. He's a star like that."

A cheerful chorus of laughter, aww-ing and agreement rings out in response.

Taking advantage of the good mood, you repeat the safery regulations and warnings before you busy yourself assisting passengers, guiding them to their seats and helping stow bags in the compartments tucked beneath. You have to announce the route the ferry will take and how long the stops will be, and then, the ferry is pulling smoothly away from the docks, leaving the harbor behind and setting course over waters shimmering brilliantly beneath the sun.

Several adventurous tourists stake out prime spots along the ferry's edge, though many soon retreat inward, driven away by sharp gusts whipping their hair into tangles and peppering their faces with chilly, sharp salt spray. You stroll leisurely between the seats, pausing here and there for pleasant banter about the scenery, local delicacies, or family holidays gone awry, keeping the conversations is easy and light, and you're met with appreciative nods and smiles.

Out across the waves, sunlight dances like scattered jewels, creating diamond-dust illusions whenever a gust scatters spray towards the sky. Every now and then, Raf's sleek form slices effortlessly through the glittering waves, drawing joyful gasps and delighted pointing from your captivated audience.

To anyone coming aboard for the first time, Raf gives every impression of being charming, approachable — even sociable. A casual observer might assume he’s perfectly at ease with human company, considering how effortlessly he weaves himself into the daily bustle around the ferry, acting every bit the seasoned local soaking up attention. At first, you’d happily fallen for the same illusion, even rejoicing a bit at the idea that he was genuinely warming up to people when he started making regular appearances.

Reality, however, quickly proved less rosy. That endearing exterior was, and still is, hiding a nasty streak you could swear was deliberate, because Raf seems to delight in luring people in, coaxing them into thinking they've made a furry new friend — only to abruptly turn aloof, snubbing them with the ease of a ghoster. It’s as if he takes twisted pleasure in watching visitors wilt in disappointment, and so you've learned to offer friendly yet firm warnings upfront: admire him, laugh at his antics, but don't get too cozy or you’re bound to wind up nursing a heartbreak.

Suddenly, there are gasps among the crowd.

Well, mostly screams at first, before turning into delighted giggles.

"Look, over there!" A child shrieks with uncontainable excitement, sprinting eagerly toward the railing at the ferry’s side deck.

Your head snaps up immediately, and a laugh escapes you before you can suppress it. You didn't think your overly confident companion could still manage to surprise you after so many months spent sharing the sea.

Raf has flopped his way onto the ferry once again. Like he belongs, the cocky little shit. Raf glides gracelessly across the deck, flippers waving with dramatic flair — almost comically bird-like — until gravity decisively interrupts his attempted elegance. His slick body careens straight into a pole, skidding downward with a recoiling thud and ending the journey facedown right beside your boots.

"Oh, so gracious of you to rejoin us, Your Majesty," you tease affectionately, nudging him with your toe. "Seems like you get lazier with every trip. Keep hitching rides like this and we'll have to start charging you."

A squeaky little noise slips from Raf's throat, quickly followed by a sneeze-snort that's frankly too adorable to handle. You can't help yourself — you adore every silly, ridiculous part of this creature with those impossibly round, innocent eyes.

A couple kids swarm over as soon as they gather confidence to approach him. "Can we pet him?"

Look at that. Like clockwork.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his back, fingers gliding down his sleek, slippery fur from head to tail, quietly rewarding him for tolerating the children's excitement. "Alright, Raf is a little jumpy sometimes, so we can only pet him one at a time, okay guys? Remember, slow and gentle. Don't spook him."

One boy bravely kneels, gingerly scratching beneath Raf’s chin, giggling when Raf playfully nudges him with an almost haughty flick of his nose. Another child, more timid, holds out her palm for Raf to sniff and squeals when Raf leans forward to bump her inconspicuously enough to topple her onto her backside. The first wave of curious kids gets the others clustering around when they see there's nothing to be afraid of, and soon enough, squeals are louder than the ferry itself as parents linger close by, protective yet smiling fondly at the playful interactions between their children and the beloved seal.

You know Raf better than anyone, how he's around people — the cautious way he approaches, simultaneously wary and irresistibly curious, how those large, ink-dark eyes study every new movement with intent fascination, watchful yet hesitant as hands reach toward his glossy fur. It speaks volumes about his trust in you that he tolerates curious bombardments of attention every day, only flinching or skittering backward when a visitor's gesture becomes too swift or unpredictable for comfort, just as he's doing right now with these children (whom he's generally more tolerating towards.)

Occasionally though, someone ends up with an accidental nip — never serious enough to break skin, usually just leaving behind a faint pinkish mark and perhaps a startled expression. But thankfully, these incidents are rare, mostly limited to times when you're not around to ease his nerves and mediate with the person who just wants to pet him and most likely (always) in the wrong about boundaries of a wild animal.

And right now, some time after with the fawning of children and parents taking photos in an unofficial queue, you recognize his signals immediately — the way he blows raspberries and starts shifting restlessly — clear indications he's becoming overwhelmed. As soon as you see him squirming to indicate he'll start galumphing away from the eager crowd any second now, you swiftly intervene, encouraging nearby parents to corral their energetic kids and give him some breathing room.

"Alright, that's enough excitement for this morning!" you call cheerfully, ushering everyone back to their seats. "We'll be reaching our destination soon — please find your places and settle in."

As the passengers reluctantly scatter back to their seats and Raf bounces away to get back into the safety and comfort of the sea without even a glance back at you like he's blaming you for his peril, one woman remains beside you, her eyes lingering appreciatively on Raf as he glides effortlessly back into the waves. "You’ve trained him remarkably well."

That comment leaves an acidic residue in your stomach. You've never thought of Raf as an animal you had to tame into shape, or that he needed to be disciplined like a dog. It isn't about interfering with wildlife and never treating him as a pet either (though you also were very well aware). He simply is a companion you were grateful to have in your life that terms like training have always been demeaning to hear pertaining to him.

"Honestly, Raf is the cleverest sea critter I've ever known," you reply with genuine affection, quickly adding, "Though I wouldn't exactly call it 'training.'"

Her eyebrows lift with mild intrigue. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, nothing formal or complicated. Mostly just treats and encouragement, getting him comfortable around us, making sure human attention is positive for him. Simple stuff," you explain, resting casually against the railing. "He took to accepting snacks from my hand on his own — didn't even have to teach him. He just picked it up naturally, even posing nicely when tourists want photos. Mind you, he used to drive fishermen mad. My friend Elias still swears Raf sabotaged his fishing line out of spite."

Her grin broadens, matching yours, and a strong gust ruffles her blonde pixie cut like fluff from a dandelion caught in the wind. "He sounds ready for the big top. You might just have yourself a circus performer," she jokes lightly. "He seems to put on a real show whenever you're around."

Your smile dims a bit — remembering those early days weren't always so playful. The faint scars on your arm still ache whenever it rains. "I wish," you admit, wrists flexing. "But Raf gets nervous fast and ultimately does his own thing. If he listens to me at all, it’s only because he's comfortable. We grew up together, more or less. Maybe he sees this place as a secondary rookery, I don't know."

She tilts her head in subtle amazement before nodding. "You must really care for him. I’ve never seen someone handle a wild animal so naturally."

"Having his trust is special," you reply earnestly, gaze drifting toward Raf as he circles alongside the ferry, rolling with the waves as though he were just another seabird drifting with the wind. "It's rare to earn that kind of bond with a creature as smart and free-spirited as him. I’m incredibly lucky."

"He really does make one want to believe in selkies," she adds, leaning back against the rail as though preparing for a lengthy conversation.

"Selkies?"

An amused little chuckle answers before words do. "Surely you've heard of them — magical beings said to be able to shapeshift between a seal and human form." Her mouth curves into an odd smile. "It's very sad actually, the stories of the female selkies. They can shed their sealskins at will and take on a human form, but if they lose their coats, they have no choice but to stay ashore forever." She lowers her eyelashes, softening her features. "And even worse — according to lore, some men claim the skins and force the poor women who already have their mates into marriage."

"That's horrible," you reply, swallowing hard. Just thinking of Raf being bound to anyone in such a violent way makes your fists clench instinctively. You may not believe in supernatural fairy tales, but the thought of him being trapped sickens you, even for pretend. "Those men ought to be taken out to sea and keelhauled till their flesh is bloody fish bait."

The image that phrase conjures definitely has her smiling ear-to-ear.

"What about the male selkies? Is the tale genderbent in their case?"

"Well... Selkie men are seducers."

"What?" you almost scream. "That's radically different than—"

"I know," she cuts you off with a reassuring tone. "True to how the society was like back then, they had a lot more freedom. Nothing about coat-stealing or anything. Just women who are unsatisfied in their lives and relationships, also lonely fishermen wives, who summon a selkie lover by shedding seven tears into the sea at high tide on a full moon. And interestingly, those selkie men truly love their human lovers and their offspring. If their genre is romance, the stories of female selkies getting forcefully married are just horror."

"Realism, I guess," you say, trying to wrap your mind around the details.

You briefly picture Raf as one of those legendary beings. Knowing he wouldn't touch any human being with a five foot pole, you imagine it would be nothing short of wishing for a genie in a bottle but summoning a trickster spirit instead.

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddie-spooktober day 3: apples | rated: G | wc: 998

“Wow, he’s really good at that.” Robin remarks as Eddie sloshes back up out of the bucket with yet another apple caught in his grin, “Who'da thunk, huh?”

“Yeah…” Steve breathes, watching Eddie’s hair drip down over his forehead and down his neck, “He’s really good with his mouth.”

Robin chokes on her most recent swig of cider, “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Uh…” Steve feels his face turn hot, “Huh? I didn’t say anything.” He moves to turn away back into the Hoppers’ cabin, an excuse of the bathroom or a new mug of cider ready behind his teeth and Robin on his heels

“Oh no you don’t; you explain yourself this instant Steven Marie Harrington!” She demands, voice much louder than he’d like it to be, “What did you just say about Eddie Munson’s mouth??”

“Nothing that anyone—especially the Eddie in question—needs to hear! Quiet down!” He whispers in a harried tone.

He pulls her into Hopper’s tiny bathroom, snapping the door shut behind him.

“You have a crush on Eddie Munson?! Our Eddie Munson?”

Steve leans back against the door and sighs, letting himself sink to the floor. “Still too loud.” he says, not actually meaning it.

She must’ve been able to tell that he’s trying to stall, so she sinks onto the shallow edge of the tub to wait. One of her knees knocks against the bowl of the toilet, the other against the wall.

“I think I have for a little while now. Since spring break at least.” he confesses, now that he’s in the proper position to do so, here on the bathroom floor.

“You found time to get your first crush on a guy since figuring out you’re bi, and it’s during yet another upside-down related catastrophe.” Robin states rather than asks. “You’re something else, Dingus.”

“Gee, thanks for your support.”

“You have it always, obviously,” she waves him off, “Just surprised that the first I’m hearing about it is when your horny lizard brain tells me for you.”

“It’s been getting really annoying lately.”

“What, having a big gay crush on someone? I feel you.”

“No, lizard brain is being really annoying lately. But yeah, also that.”

Steve’s gaze is stuck on the slightly mis-matched piece of linoleum between his feet, but sees Robin nod her head in his periphery.

Neither say anything for a solid 45 seconds, until: “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Something… eventually… maybe…” he hedges, “Just ‘cause he’s into guys too doesn’t mean he’s into me.”

“Oh yeah, of course he isn’t.”

He rolls his eyes at the sarcasm. “I’m being serious Robin.”

“Me too.”

Steve finally looks up at her.

“Don’t give me that look, I’m being serious about my sarcasm, Steven. Of course Eddie’s into you; you saw how he was flirting with you during the whole Vecna fiasco!” Robin flails her arm around in emphasis, “How he’s been flirting with you ever since.”

“What if that’s not just for me though, he’s annoyingly charming to everyone!”

“He may be charming,” She grimaces (“Hey!”), “But that doesn’t mean he’s out here flirting with anyone!”

“He just feels comfortable with me.”

“Everyone our age knows about Eddie, Steve, and he’s still been his same dorky self with all them. You’re the only one he’s been flirting with nonstop.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again. 

Damn, she’s got a point.

Eddie never calls Jonathan ‘sweetheart’, or Argyle ‘big boy’... he’s heard him say once that Hopper was his first crush when he’d had one too many drinks, but she’s right.. Eddie’s only flirty with him.

Steve suddenly feels all swoopy inside. And it must show on his face somehow, because Robin says “Ew gross, you’re thinking about him aren’t you?”

“No, I’m thinking about Hopper– of course I’m thinking about him!” Steve grins, then pushes him up off the floor. “Okay, okay, I just have to make it through the rest of the day, and I’ll ask him out tomorrow when he comes in to bother us for a free rental at work.”

He looks down at Robin, searching her face for any sign that it isn’t a good plan.

She nods, “Good. Now where are you going to take him?”

The answer to that one was simple, “Movie date at my place.”

Robin snorts, “A bit presumptuous, eh Stevie?”

The floaty feeling in his gut turns into a boulder, “I mean— That’s not what— Obviously I’d love it to—” he cuts himself off for the last time at the smirk on her face. “Oh fuck you.” He shakes his head in fond exasperation as he turns, heading back out of the bathroom.

Robin’s teasing him still when the back door opens and Eddie waltzes in, the round, decorative basket Joyce had been using to put all the apples people fished out of the barrel in his arms and a(nother? The same?) apple lodged in his teeth.

He spots them and puts the basket down on the island, spinning dramatically to lean onto the tabletop to face them.

His hand comes up to grab onto the apple, snapping off a bite and sucking away the juice as he takes it away from his mouth, “Hey Stevie, Birdie,” he says over a mouthful of crunching fruit.

Steve blinks once, then turns to Robin, “I’m not going to survive 'till tomorrow.”

Before she or Eddie can react, Steve is striding across the room and pulling his sodden friend to him in a tart, apple-flavored kiss.

Robin says something about being lookout, but Steve’s too busy feeling Eddie’s mouth on his.

Until Eddie pulls back that is.

“Shit– Eddie, I’m so sorry, I—” Steve stops when Eddie’s finger comes up between them.

Eddie chews once, twice, a third, then swallows down the rest of his bite.

Ah.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes once his mouth is clear. “Now, where were we?” He tosses the apple over his shoulder and descends upon Steve once again.

divider from @saradika-graphics!

[thefreakandthehair]

snowfall.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles & @steddiemas | prompts: snowfall and cold | wc: 989 | rating: teen & up | tags: mutual requited pining, post-canon, eddie pov, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, winter fluff, smoking weed

Eddie used to love the cold. 

He could layer up tee shirts and jackets with his vest comfortably; could disguise the smoke in his mouth as just his breath in the icy air. But then he nearly died shivering on the frigid, unforgiving ground of the Upside Down and the cold lost its luster. 

Now, as he stands outside of his trailer smoking a tightly rolled joint— he’s a professional, thank you very much— he shivers again. Normally, Eddie would just smoke in the trailer, all the way in the back and blow smoke out of the window, but the kids are over and even Eddie understands that that’s probably not the best idea. Dustin is a blabbermouth and if Claudia or Hopper found out… well, now he shivers for a different reason. 

Smoke coils its way down his chest and he looks up at the sky, staring at the flickering stars and crescent moon. The Upside Down had been an empty, angry place devoid of light, but the real world— his world— is peppered with blinking points of light that only disappear temporarily when they’re obscured by fluffy clouds. For a moment, he closes his eyes and lets his shoulders sag, head dropping with his chin to his chest and the joint still smoking between his fingers. 

It’s fine, he reminds himself. It’s not the same. It’s just December in Indiana. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice interrupts the silence, footsteps crunching over frosty grass and dried leaves. “I was wondering where you went.” 

Eddie clears his throat and slaps on a smile before he turns around. 

“Didn’t wanna hear it from Hopper if I exposed the innocents to Satan’s lettuce, y’know?” He wiggles the joint between his fingers and offers it to Steve. “Wanna share?”

Steve rolls his eyes— a fond gesture, Eddie’s come to learn— and accepts, taking a hit and passing it back. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, a mixture of smoke and breath puffing out like the clouds passing above them. 

“Just got a little…” Eddie trails off and waves his hand, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once, dropping the joint to the ground. It was almost done anyways, he sighs to himself as he stomps it out. 

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose and nods knowingly. It’s far from the first time that Steve’s found Eddie hiding somewhere, collecting himself. Steve’s admitted to the same, that he loves when everyone gets together but it can be a lot all the same. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve agrees, stepping closer and leaning up against the tree, just arms’ distance from Eddie. 

Something symbolic there, Eddie thinks to himself. As close as they’ve gotten, as catastrophically in love with Steve as Eddie’s fallen, he always feels like this: just out of reach. 

Under the translucent glow of the night sky, Eddie tries not to stare at the pink flush of Steve’s cheeks, his nose rosy from the cold. It’s hard not to reach out and close the distance. It’d be so easy— just stretch out a hand and rest his equally chilly palm against Steve’s cheek— but he shoves them into his pockets instead and digs his fingernails into his palms as he curls them into a fist. 

Something cold hits Eddie’s nose, and then another, and another. He looks up to find big, fat snowflakes falling from those puffy clouds, a shower of white, frozen flakes. 

“Oh shit, it’s sno—” Eddie starts, but his words die on his tongue when he looks over at Steve. 

The falling snow loves Steve almost as much as Eddie does, sticking to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair, melting against his cheeks and clinging to his bomber jacket, to his lips as he tilts his head up towards the stars. They part just slightly, just enough for Eddie to lose himself in what it might feel like to kiss him, to press his own lips against Steve’s— perfectly pink, welcoming. 

Steve’s never looked so beautiful and Eddie has never been more in love, never been so worried that his heart might crack a rib. He’d done enough physical therapy for one lifetime, but if this is how he breaks another bone, then so be it. 

“You alright?” Steve asks. 

And maybe it’s the weed, or the magic of the moment, or the precarious levee rupturing that was never going to hold anyways, but Eddie doesn't hesitate, doesn’t even blink.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and I’m so in love with you.”

His lips part and his eyes widen, Eddie freezing in place. Despite the snow, his skin burns with the acknowledgment of what he’s just done.

“Shit, just— y’know what, just ignore me, man. Super strong weed, that’s all. I didn’t, uh—”

Steve steps forward, closing the distance and leaving mere inches between them, just enough for the snow to fall between their jackets. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Yeah, I do. That’s— that’s what you got out of that?” Eddie sputters. 

“Just making sure I heard that right. And the part about being in love with me? You meant that, too?” 

“More than you know.” Eddie swallows and shrugs, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he chews on his bottom lip. 

Steve closes the distance, eyes bright and a smile blooming from one corner of his mouth. He smooths over Eddie’s lip with his thumb and traces his jaw up to his ear, cupping his face like Eddie’s dreamed of for as long as Steve’s existed in his orbit. 

“Well, that’s a relief. Now I finally get to do this,” Steve breathes. 

The snow falls faster over their heads as Steve closes the gap and presses their lips together, soft and warm despite the bone-chilling cold. Steve’s lips slot against Eddie’s, and it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel novel, or unfamiliar. 

With snow beginning to pile up at their feet, Eddie feels like he’s come home. 

[hencheri]

— dirty laundry

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. brother!ten x fem!reader x stepbros!xiaodery

| warnings. incest & stepcest (can be read as you want), slight dubcon, misogyny, manipulation, innocence kink, reader is dumb and lowkey oblivious, brother hopper!reader... yeah.

| wc. 3.3k

don't like it, don't read it. warnings are all identified.

“like that, baby. yeah… like that,” ten whispers softly, guiding your hips over his cock, fingers digging into your flesh. you moan, moving over ten fervently, looking into his eyes like you’re sharing the deepest connection together. your nails rake down his sweaty chest, decorating his skin in long red trails. “doing so good f’me, fuck,” he grits his teeth, pupils rolling back before closing his eyes, savouring the pleasure of your tight walls enveloping his length. 

you only whine in response, feeling your cheeks burn. you languidly roll your hips over his and you keep your mouth agape, each moan you let out breathier than the precedent. both of your naked bodies tangled together feels right, delicously good. it’s raw, it’s rough, it’s intimate. 

ten hasn’t been feeling well today. he’s been in bed all day and you’re always so worried about him. he’s not home as often as you’d like, you spend most of your time texting him, asking him how he’s doing, if everything’s alright. his responses are always positive, but then he gets home and it’s like the fever catches him instantly. 

you’re his sister, so naturally, you take care of him. you make him some soup to gain energy, bring him water, tuck him in bed, and… well, you satisfy his needs. your brother says it’s the best way to get the fever down and you have to admit that he practically always feels better after.  

you’re growing tired as you bounce over his cock, leaning down over his chest to get a better angle. it’s sloppy and a little messy as you feel your wetness dripping down your inner thighs, most of it coating his pelvis. you’re sweaty, ten’s sweaty, and you’re panting, but it feels too good to stop. 

“tennie, it’s…” you take a breath between each word, mind dizzy and clouded. “how… how much longer…?” 

he opens his eyes, his gaze landing on you, thinking how pure your innocence is. so dumb. 

he licks his lips. “just a little more, baby. keep going,” he tells you and you agree without much thought, rutting your hips more desperately against him. “clench aroun’ me,” he asks breathily, watching his little sister fuck herself onto his cock until she becomes a brainless whore. 

you do as he says, doing it a few times and he moans under you, now gripping your hips harder and thrusting up into your pussy, squelching noises echoing in his bedroom. he pounds into you fast and deep, little ‘huh huh huh’s’ coming out of your mouth every time he bottoms out. you cling onto his shoulders, literally drooling on him as he uses your pussy for his own pleasure. 

“oh, shit,” he curses, releasing himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his cum. he slumps back down on the mattress, catching his breath, relishing into the warm feeling of your cunt around his wet cock. 

ten definitely feels better now. his sister’s pussy stuffed with his cum, so full he can feel your tummy blown out, more dripping down your thighs. oh, how easy you are to manipulate. such a pure heart. 

—-

hendery’s mad. frustrated. 

he saw the hickey on your neck earlier when you were cooking in the kitchen. taking care of ten yet once again. it was less than subtle; big and purple, sitting right in the crook of your neck, as if taunting him. 

at that moment, he was annoyed to say the least. all your time is always dedicated to your fucking brother. ten this, ten that. you’re way too close as siblings. inappropriately so. he can’t believe your parents haven’t noticed it yet how enamoured ten is of you. 

but it makes sense, he supposes. ten’s smart enough to hide your weird relationship from your family. he knows it’s wrong. what a freak. 

it’s what he’s telling xiaojun right now; what a bunch of freaks you both are. sibling fuckers. 

“she’s always been too dumb for her own good,” his brother responds, sitting in his gaming chair, eyes stuck to the screen of his computer. he clicks on his mouse, fingers pressing down on the keys of his keyboard. 

hendery scoffs from where he is, slumped on the beanbag in front of xiaojun’s bed. “it’s all she fucking does,” he grumbles, turning around the rubik’s cube in his hands. “be a dumbass whore.”

it’s clear hendery’s very much more than upset with the tone and words he uses, but how can he not be? you spend all of your time on him when he doesn’t even deserve it. it’s so obvious he takes advantage of your kindness and naivete. 

“she’s doing everything for him like he’s a child or something,” he comments, rolling his eyes. xiaojun doesn’t answer, seemingly not as scandalized as his brother is. “what? you don’t think it’s weird?”

“uh, yeah, i do,” he answers distractedly, moving his mouse around. “but it isn’t as big of a deal as you make it seem.”

hendery frowns, scrunching his nose up, offended. “i’m not making it a big deal. it’s just fucked up.”

xiaojun shifts in his seat, pushing his glasses back up in place. “you’re jealous,” he laughs, mocking his brother. 

“what!? no, i’m fucking not,” he denies, but his tone begs to differ. “why would i want to fuck my sister?”

“‘cause she’s hot,” xiaojun answers immediately like it’s obvious. “and she’d let you.”

hendery’s annoyance dissipates, replaced by curiosity. would she really?

“how d’you know?” 

then, xiaojun turns around with a smile on his face. he looks at hendery, what a fucking loser, he actually never thought about it. 

“she’s really easy to convince, y’know?” he smirks. 

“you fucked her, too!?” hendery exclaims, sitting up on the beanbag, realizing what his brother’s implying. “why didn’t you tell me?”

xiaojun shrugs. “thought you were already doing it with how obsessed you are with her,” he snickers, focusing back on his video game. “you’re always talking about her like you want to dick her down.”

“shut the fuck up,” hendery groans. 

now knowing that you had sex with another one of your brothers bothers him more. just a little, because if you let xiaojun have his way with you, too, that means you’d probably do the same for hendery. 

but he doesn’t want to fuck you, that’s wrong. it’s fucking weird. 

he glances at xiaojun after a moment of not talking, a smirk still playing on his lips. 

“... what did you do?” 

“a couple of blowjobs.”

“that’s it?” hendery asks, surprised. 

“well, yeah,” xiaojun frowns, staring at his brother from over his shoulder. “i’m not fucking that dirty pussy of hers. ten went there, that’s disgusting,” he laughs and hendery joins in, shaking his head lightly. 

it has him wondering, though. 

maybe he does want to fuck you. 

—-

from the corner of his eye, xiaojun sees you passing by his room. he calls out your name and you’re standing by his door the second after. 

“yes, dejun?” 

he’s looking at his game, the flashing screen casting colourful lights on his face. “i’m kinda hungry right now,” he says and like the caring sister that you are, your expression drops in worry. “would you mind making me something?” 

“of course,” you nod in understanding.

you disappear from his room and he hears you walking up the stairs to the first floor, heading to the kitchen. he almost smirks to himself, the thought of you being so pliant to serve him boosting his ego a little too much. 

a few minutes pass and he’s delighted when you walk into his room with a plate and drink in your hands, placing everything down on his desk. he looks at it briefly before taking a sip of the juice you poured him, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ in return. 

you’re about to leave when xiaojun stops you. “i need help with something else, too…” he trails off, his soft brown eyes looking up at you from where he is seated. your brows are raised, seeming a little surprised, but you stay, willing to help, as always. he pushes his chair away from his desk, creating a space between his legs. “it’s been a long day. classes got me so exhausted and… stressed out, you know?”

“yeah,” you bounce your head, your tone soft and low. sweet, innocent eyes staring at him.

“i’d really need a distraction. you can give me that, right?”

it’s pretty obvious what he’s asking of you, especially with his legs spread out. you slowly realize what he wants and he can see how you clench your thighs, the simple implication of helping him in this way turning you dumb and shamefully aroused. 

“dejun…” you whine, “we can’t do that.”

you glance at his door wide open, the house completely silent apart from the both of you talking and the sound of xiaojun’s game playing in the background. you don’t notice it when he rolls his eyes in annoyance, thinking that a slut like you shouldn’t bother about the consequences of her actions. you’re only good for following orders anyway. 

he reaches out for your wrist, grabbing it and pulling you to him, standing between his legs. he has this sad puppy look on his face, eyebrows knitted together, a pout tugging on his heart-shapped lips. “come on, you don’t want to help me?” he complains, voice whiny. “or do you only do it for ten?” 

you feel the blood creeping up to your cheeks at the mention of you and ten. you shake your head, now embarrassed. “no, of course not…” you look down at your feet, gnawing on your bottom lip. 

xiaojun sighs, about to roll his chair back in front of his desk, but he stops, caught off guard when you drop down to your knees between his legs. you know you’d feel bad if you leave your brother without helping him. 

his mouth is slightly ajar, watching his cock entering and exiting your throat as you bob your head over his lap, his hand holding the back of your skull. he moans everytime you gag around him when he pushes himself deep into your mouth, eyes looking in awe as you drool all over yourself. 

you have the sluttiest little mouth, he thinks, lips fitting perfectly around his dick like a glove. what a sight that he, out of all men, has the privilege to witness. you’re soiled, corrupted to the core, and nobody would ever doubt it. you’re such a sweet, well-mannered girl, why would anyone think you’re a little sex addict who fucks her own brothers? such a pure soul you don’t even realize what you’re doing. 

he enjoys how you splutter around him like a dog, your throat tightening around his cock only increasing his pleasure. tears roll down your cheeks and he thinks you’re the prettiest like that. your little mouth finally serving a purpose other than being awfully annoying.

as your hands lay on his thighs, you clench your fists around his sweatpants, your throat burning and not enough air entering your lungs. you push yourself off of him, and xiaojun doesn’t want you to, but he lets go.

you cough and sniffle, your glossy eyes looking up at him. “gege-” you say, but the name makes xiaojun frown. 

his grip tightens around your hair. “don’t fucking call me that,” he groans, shoving you back down onto his cock. he pulsates into your mouth, and he clearly hears you choke, a feeling of satisfaction filling him. 

he hates it when you use that name on him. ten loves it—that freak loves everything you do anyway—but that doesn’t mean you can run your mouth and call him gege like a teasing whore. 

“deprived slut,” he spits out, “don’t call me stupid names like we’re close or something.” he presses down on your head, keeping you still over his cock, his tip almost kissing the back of your throat, nose touching his pelvis. “you’re just my little slave that does everything i say because she’s too dumb to think for herself. you keep the cute shit for the others, it doesn’t work on me.” his voice is condescending and mean, half-lidded eyes staring at your pathetic form on the floor, busting your knees just to please him. 

“understand?” he snaps and you hum around his cock, your vision blinded by your tears, eyes stinging and throat hurting. 

when xiaojun reaches his high, he cums all over your face, painting you in the mess you created. he dismisses you so quick you don’t even have the time to catch your breath. but at least you helped your brother feel better, right?

—-

hendery eyes glance up from his phone when he hears knocking on his door. “yeah?” it opens a few seconds after and you walk in, holding an empty basket. 

you smile, as sweet as ever. “i’m gonna do the laundry. any dirty clothes i can pick up?” 

he slightly squints his eyes at you, subtle enough for you not to notice. he hums in response and tilts his chin toward a pile of clothes scattered on his desk chair. you happily put them in your basket, bending down to take the pieces that have fallen to the floor. hendery watches you closely, gaze lingering on your body. 

“where’s ten?” he asks, knowing that if he was there, you wouldn’t be taking care of his stuff. 

you straighten your back, turning to him. “he’s back in uni since his break’s over,” you answer, that cute little smile plastered on your face. you seem so disgustingly in love when you talk about him. 

ten studies in a way more prestigious university than hendery and xiaojun do, hence why he’s away most of the time, only coming back to town during his breaks. in reality, you spend so much more time with them than with ten, but your brother always makes sure to make up for his absence when he comes home, monopolizing all your attention. 

but now with the chat he had with xiaojun, hendery thinks this is the moment to finally take what he wants, what is rightfully his. 

“you won’t be so head over heels for him now,” he says, his eyes finding yours. they widen a little, surprised, caught red handed. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about…” you mumble, looking sheepish. 

“sure, you don’t,” he scoffs. he sits up in his bed, bending one leg at the knee, spreading his thighs. you watch the movement, biting down on your lip when you realize you’re staring. “you can give me some attention, too, no?” he suggests. 

“i do, you’re my brother…” you say in a little voice, but that makes him click his tongue. 

“don’t say that kind of bullshit,” he warns, frowning his brows. “i’m not your fucking brother.”

as he gets up, your eyes widen even more, breath accelerating. he steps toward you, and when you’re about to talk back, tell him ‘yes, you are’, he slams his hand over your mouth, shutting you off. 

the basket falls from your grip as he pulls you against him, his dark, angry eyes piercing through you. chills run up your spine, this kind of proximity unusual between the both of you. 

hendery has always been a little irritated in your presence, rolling his eyes at everything you say and calling you dumb the most part of it. and he still does, but now, it’s laced with something else—inappropriate desire. 

“i’m not a fucking freak that wants to fuck his sister, okay?” he hisses, the muscles of his jaw twitching, clenching. “even though i know you’d love that.” he brings you flushed to him and he towers over you, his face hovering above yours. “love to be treated like a little bitch, hm? passed around like a worthless whore.”

he shouldn’t be so turned on by your helpless state, how your eyes look at him so desperately, shaking like a little bunny caught in the jaw of a wolf. 

but he loves it.

he pushes you onto his bed and you let out a gasp, your body bouncing back on the mattress. he grabs your ankles and pulls you toward him near the edge of the bed. he kneels before you and his head finds home between your legs.

“dery,” you call him with a breathy voice, sounding unsure, confused. 

but it’s so obvious what he wants; his gaze is crazed, strands of black hair dangling in front of his eyes, hungry and determined. he wants you. you’re his. 

he tears your shorts and panties off of you, throwing them away on the floor, and with one last look at you, he dives down. 

you moan loudly, a high-pitched sound that makes him groan in response, as his tongue makes contact with your bare pussy, dipping between your folds. he needs to get you as wet as possible because you’ll take his cock and there’s no way for you to avoid this. 

he wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping them from closing around his head, your hands coming down instantly to grip his hair. the way hendery puts his whole mouth on your cunt, the way he licks every part of you, feels gross and quite impatient. you still ask for more, though, grinding your pussy onto his face, your core heating up rapidly, your hole clenching around his tongue. 

you squirm when he unwraps his arm from around your thigh to bring his hand down, his fingers unexpectedly touching your rim, feeling it in circles. his mouth toys with your clit, alternating between sucks and licks while he collects some of your wetness on his digits and spreads it on your tight hole. 

he pushes one finger in which makes you gasp out, arching your back off the mattress, but he continues, eating your pussy like he really means it, like he actually likes you. it’s messy and the slurping sounds are embarrassing, but with how quickly the knot at the pit of your stomach tightens, you don’t have time to think more about the grossness of it all. 

your taste is addictive, your smell, too—he can’t get enough. 

hendery’s almost disappointed when your legs start shaking, your toes curling as you cum into his mouth, jerking your hips upward. you rub your pussy against him, getting down from your high, his tongue gently licking at your clit. when he pulls back, you’re glistening in your arousal, and you’re just begging him to fuck you at this point.

and that’s what he does—ruthless and hard. 

for the next few weeks, hendery comes back for more. in his room, in the bathroom, kitchen, living room—wherever he finds you alone and defenceless, he takes you, and fortunately for him, you show little to no resistance. you love it, love his cock. he always knew it. 

he’s the one having all of your attention now, xiaojun barely gets it, and that’s if he even solicitates it. xiaojun’s not stupid, he knows what his brother is doing. hard to miss when he reeks from sex whenever he comes into his room or when you do a poor job at hiding the hickeys and bruises on your body. 

your parents are as clueless as ever. especially their mom who thinks hendery finally decided to be kind to his sister. how endearing when the reality is so much worse—she’d never suspect it. 

but one thing’s for sure, you won’t be able to fuck like bunnies once ten comes back. things will change and they’re going to get messy.

[novacorpsrecruit]

“Must’ve Been Some Dragon”

M | wc 815 | CW: implied child abuse

@steddieangstyaugust Day 15: Childhood

“Must’ve been some dragon.”

Steve looked up across Eddie’s hospital bed at Wayne Munson. They have been sitting by Eddie’s bedside for almost 10 hours, and this was the first words Wayne has spoken.

“I’m sorry?” Steve asked, readjusting in his seat to look more towards Wayne. Wayne gestured at Eddie’s bandaged body. He was worse for wear. Lost a lot of blood. Steve spent way too long doing chest compressions before they could get his heart beating again. Steve still had Eddie’s dried blood on his fingernails.

“Must have been some dragon,” Wayne repeated. “He — uh — used to come over, scraped or bruised. Said it was a dragon. A dragon gave him those bruises or a dragon scraped his knee.” Wayne’s hand hovered over Eddie’s bandaged arm, wanting to touch him, but not wanting to cause any further harm. “Ego,” He settled his touch on Eddie’s bare hand. “Some dragon.”

Steve let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. It was some dragon.” Steve couldn’t help but turn his attention back to Eddie, peacefully still. “He was brave against the it. The dragon.”

“He always is,” Wayne said, his thumb running across the back of Eddie’s hand.

🐉 ⚔️

Steve was jolted awake. The body next to him — his boyfriend — jerked up, jostling Steve off his chest. Eddie inhaled sharply, burying his face into his hands, body shaking.

“Hey, hey,” Steve whispered, sitting up, his hand rubbing gentle circles on Eddie’s back. “Hey, you’re safe. We’re okay.”

Eddie jostled his head, nodding of some sorts. His head still buried in his hands, his breath still uneven. Steve leaned into Eddie, his head against his shoulder.

“We’re okay,” Steve said.

“W-we’re okay,” Eddie repeated, his breath still shaky.

Steve rubbed circles into Eddie’s back, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s bare shoulder. “Was it the bats?”

Eddie shook his head. “It was — uh — a dragon,” Eddie admitted. He leaned against Steve’s touch, closing his eyes and let out a soft sigh. “I haven’t — I haven’t had that nightmare since I was a kid.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Eddie shook his head, turning to bury himself in Steve’s arms. Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie, holding him securely. “It’s fine. It’s in the past. Don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

“The dragon?” Steve asked softly.

Eddie nodded.

“I’ll protect you,” Steve promised. “No matter the size of dragon, I’ll protect you from it.”

Eddie leaned back to look at Steve. “Any dragon?”

“Any dragon that dares to step in the Munson Kingdom,” Steve said. “I’ll fight for your honor.”

Eddie let out a wet laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s lips before leaning back into him. “My knight in shining armor.”

Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head, holding him tightly as they both fell back asleep, free from dragons.

🐉 ⚔️

Steve was in the middle of getting ready for his shift at Family Video when there was pounding at the door. Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Eddie, I swear to god,” he half shouted. Not sure if Eddie could even hear him. He made his way through the Munson’s new trailer — a 2-bedroom that Steve practically moved into, sharing Eddie’s space. “If you forgot your key again —“

Steve opened the front door. A man, slightly taller than him. Bigger too, but not bigger than Hopper. Dark hair, familiar brown eyes, and a soft grin that felt … wrong.

Steve instantly knew who this was.

“I’m looking for Wayne or Eddie,” Ricky Munson said, Steve assumed as politely as he could. Which wasn’t much.

“Wrong house,” Steve said, pushing the door shut. Ricky’s hand shot out, stopping the door. He pushed it open, keeping his arm stretched out.

“I think I’m at the right house,” Ricky said slowly. “You seen my son or brother lately?”

Steve’s eyes dropped to the arm in front of him, holding the door open. To the ink on Ricky’s forearm. A dragon tattoo on his right arm.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Little Eddie coming to Wayne, bruised and battered by a dragon.

Eddie having nightmares about a dragon hurting him.

And Steve, who promised Eddie that he would protect him from dragons. Of any kind.

Steve reached beside the door, feeling the handle of his nail bat fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.

“Heard a lot about you, Ricky,” Steve said, stepping back, pulling the nail bat behind him. “They’ll be home shortly if you want to come in.”

Ricky gave a sly grin, one that looked innocent at face value but felt slimy. Ricky took the first step into the Munson’s trailer. Steve tightened his grip on his nail bat.

Any dragon, he told Eddie.

Any dragon that dares to step into the Munson kingdom.

Especially the dragon that haunted his childhood.

[exocynraku]

riverstars home spoilers below /// (NOT under cut, 4 images) .

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and these are the last of the new cats!!!

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riverstars home spoilers above /// (NOT under cut, 4 images)

[eternal-sunflowers]

Enlighten Me

AO3 | written for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event - prompt school's out for summer | rating: g | wc: 997 | cw: none | tags: post-s4, everyone lives, steve pov, pre-steddie, platonic stobin, besties eddie and robin and steve, eddie munson is a flirt, just mostly fluff and banter

“You know, I kind of wish it had fallen into the void like most of the town did.” Eddie grumbles, sitting on the trunk of the bimmer, crutches leaned against the side of the car.

“Oh, absolutely. That would’ve saved me from Mr. Denson’s bullshit chem final.” Robin sighs, legs crossed beneath her where she’s sat beside Eddie.

“Hey, at least you passed Dickhead Denson’s final, Buckley.”

“You did too!” 

“I didn’t pass shit and we all know it.” Eddie falls onto his back with a thump that makes Steve wince, but Eddie waves him off. “They just took pity on me after three tries and, oh, I don’t know, forming a witch hunt after me.”

Robin throws her head back and groans loud enough that several people milling about the lot turn toward them. Steve glares at the gawkers where he’s leaned against the side of the car until they all turn away.

“There was no pity involved, you piece of shit. You had the grades before the spring break from hell. All Hopper did was,” Robin wrings her hands in her lap, cocks her head, “kindly tell them that you had clearly shown your intellectual prowess enough to get your diploma.”

Eddie chuckles. “Hopper? Kindly? Yeah, next time you wanna lie to my face, Buckley, choose better adjectives.”

“Munson, I swear–”

“I just can’t believe they still forced finals on everyone after everything.” Steve squints against the setting sun, arms crossed across his chest. “You’d think the town, I don’t know, splitting open and, like, a quarter of the student body just,” he throws his hands up, makes a poof gesture, “disappearing would make them waive the rest of the year, or whatever, for everyone.”

“You have far too much faith in the American education system, my dear Stevie.” Eddie laments. 

They fall into silence, staring at the school that they’d spent far too many years, and, for Steve, far too much Upside Down related bullshit, in. People are slowly drifting out to their cars, laughing, hugging, talking about summer plans, which Steve finds kind of laughable himself considering summer in Hawkins has never been anything to celebrate, and even less so now with the state of everything. He watches as the cars pull away one by one, until all that’s left are the three of them and a few displaced graduation caps and tassels across the lot.

Steve turns to look at Eddie, the setting sun casting him in a beautiful shade of orange. “You did earn your diploma, by the way, Eddie.”

“Oh, don’t you go lyin’ to me too, now, sweetheart.”

Robin laughs. “Oh, yeah, he’s not. I think he’s basically incapable. He’s like, so bad, it’s honestly hilarious. There was one time, Jessica Randal came in asking him on a date and–”

Steve slams his hand across her mouth. “Robin!”

Eddie perks up, props up on his elbows. “Oh? Do tell, Buckley. What did our dear Stevie do when faced with the visage of Jessica Randal?” 

“I will buy you both your celebration dinners if you shut up right now and never bring this up again.” Steve spits out, glaring at both of them in the process. 

“Is my, what was it, ‘intellectual prowess,’ only worth a singular dinner, sweetheart?” Eddie hums. “I don’t know, this Jessica Randal story seems to be worth a bit more than that.”

Steve sighs. “What do you want, Eddie?”

“From you? Oh, Stevie, you have no idea.” Eddie chuckles, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. Steve tracks the movement almost subconsciously, watches as the oranges and yellows of the sunset glisten across Eddie’s lips, making them, like, goddamn sparkle, or some shit. Eddie chuckles, catches his eye.

Steve swallows thickly, tries to will back some of his former confidence in his response. “Ye–yeah? Care to enlighten me?” Yep, super confident there, Steve. Good job.

Eddie’s eyes glint as he pulls himself up to sitting. He leans forward, snakes a finger through Steve’s belt loop, and tugs slightly. “Oh, I’ll enlighten you any night of the week, big boy.”

Just then, Steve feels something hot and wet on his hand, followed by teeth sharp enough to make him jump back with a yelp. “What the hell?”

Robin wipes her mouth off on her gown. “Can you two not obnoxiously flirt in front of me? At least let me rack in that free post-grad dinner first.” She jumps down, walks over and opens the passenger door, chucks her graduation cap and gown into the floorboard.

“Uh, wh– flirting?” Steve stammers, looking between them. Robin stares back unimpressed. Eddie smirks.

“Yes, Steve, flirting, which you two can do over dinner, because if you don’t put food in me right now, I think I might explode. Why is graduation so long?” Robin slumps into the car, slamming the door behind her.

“Don’t slam the fucking door just because you’re mad at graduation!” Steve yells. Robin flips him off through the window. 

Eddie laughs, grabs his crutches, and drops down to the ground. Steve helps him to the back door, moves to open it, but Eddie stops him. Steve lifts his brow in question. 

Eddie leans forward and hesitantly kisses Steve on the cheek. “In case it wasn’t clear, I am 100% flirting with you, sweetheart. Have been, in fact. You gonna do somethin’ about it?” Eddie pulls back, a shaky grin to his face as he opens the door and slides into the backseat, crutches tossed into the floorboard with his cap and gown. Robin and Eddie immediately launch into a debate over where Steve should take them to celebrate.

Steve shuts the back door, a dazed look to his eye as he moves to the driver’s door and slides into the car. As he leaves the lot, Hawkins High nothing more than a memory, he catches Eddie’s eye in the rearview mirror and smiles. 

Maybe there’s some things worth getting excited for this summer, after all.

tags: @sunshine-daydreams0809 @saramelaniemoon

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

thanks for reading :))