#stranger things four

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Eddie Munson x Reader • Eddie is stressed out and hasn’t been able to make himself come while jerking off. Luckily, his best friend (you!) is there to help ♥️

If your friendship with Eddie hadn’t been so…comfortable…then maybe the question you asked him would have come across as strange. But the two of you had known each other forever, and felt safe discussing anything and everything. So when Eddie confided in you that he was feeling completely burned out and stressed from drama with one of his band mates, you naturally wanted to help.

“It’s just-.” Eddie stretched his arms over his head, lying back on the sofa beside you. “-It’s really got me down, (y/n). I hate conflict, you know? And especially with someone who’s a part of the band.”

You nodded understandingly as Eddie continued. “I don’t think I’ve been this stressed-ever. I can’t even jerk off anymore, which is just absolutely unfair.” Eddie laughed, but you could tell he was trying to play off something that was genuinely troubling him.

“So, you can’t come?” you asked, and Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I get hard and everything, but when I get close, it just-.” He blew a little raspberry. “Gone.”

“Well maybe I can help?” you offered. Eddie’s eyebrows raised. “You mean like…help?” He waved a hand below his waist. “With this?”

“Mm-hmm,” you replied. “If you’d be okay with it. And, if you’re not, that’s cool-.” You shook your head. “I realize this is something we’ve never done before, so if the idea is gross, just forget I ever-.”

“-No,” Eddie interrupted, his voice softer. “It’s not gross. Not at all. Actually…” Eddie shrugged, his lips turning upward. “It sounds kind of nice...”

A silence settled between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eddie scooted just a little closer, till his knee was touching yours. “So, how would we do this?” he asked. You could tell he was nervous, and you were, too. But the nervousness held a kind of sweetness, an innocence that only friends as close as you and Eddie could share. Maybe this situation would have been dirty, or taboo in any context other than the bond you and Eddie shared. But as it was, all things considered, the idea of helping your best friend get off didn’t seem weird at all…

“I guess we could start with a kiss?” you suggested, before breaking into a giggle. Eddie did as well, because the whole situation was a little surreal. “Um, okay,” he grinned, leaning in and placing his hand on your cheek. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, of giggly hesitation and noses bumping…but then, when Eddie’s lips pressed soft and warm to yours, the giggles and hesitation ended immediately.

Clumsy movements were replaced with delicate gestures, tongues gently exploring a world that felt both familiar, and brand new. Eddie’s fingers curled inside your hair, a nod of dominance that was so subtle, you would have missed it if it hadn’t stirred a heat between your legs. Eddie shifted his weight on the couch, his knee against yours nudging your legs apart slightly. His thumb massaged soft circles along your cheek, fingers coiled in your hair, his tongue gently wrestling with yours.

You took Eddie by the wrist and guided his hand lower, till he was palming your breast. He groped your soft skin with an intensity that had your nipple poking through the fabric of your shirt to meet Eddie’s palm. He groaned into your kiss as he felt your nipple hardening under his touch. The heat between your legs had shifted to an ache, a bittersweet pain that you tried to soothe by clenching your thighs together. The pressure wasn’t enough; you knew you’d need to come in order for the ache to go away.

As if proving just how in sync the two of you were, Eddie asked “can I touch you?” And you nodded your consent as Eddie’s fingers left your tit in exchange for the warm space between your thighs. He cupped his fingers together and slid them beneath your pussy, cradling your sex in his palm. He was massaging you through your clothes, but it felt so good you’d swear Eddie was touching your skin. His kiss moved to your neck, softly sucking between his lips as his mouth traveled over your shoulder.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you breathed, your voice like a prayer. He grinned against your shoulder, his mouth open and teeth lightly pressed to your skin. Eddie’s tongue swept a long and languid stroke up your neck and around the curve of your chin, his hand continuing to work between your thighs. You bucked your hips upward, humping against the heel of Eddie’s palm. The friction through your jeans added to the intensity. “That’s right, (y/n),” Eddie purred against your cheek. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

And Eddie was right. The aching tension between your legs reached its peak, your climax shattering through you in waves. Eddie never stopped massaging your cunt throughout your orgasm, letting you rut into the base of his palm. You came down softly from your high, your skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. Eddie was smiling at you warmly as he removed his hand from between your legs. “Feel better?” he asked, but you didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pushed Eddie back against the couch, making him chuckle in surprise. As before, his laughter died quickly the instant your hand closed over the outline of his erection bulging in his jeans.

Eddie drew in a sharp breath as you groped his cock through his pants. It had been awhile since anyone had touched him; Eddie needed this. His toes were curling in his socks as you massaged him, pretty little grunts spilling from his lips. You curved your palm around the outline of Eddie’s cock, rubbing from his base to his tip with a firm, steady pressure. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the back of the couch as you worked him.

Eddie lifted his hips so he could rub upward into the curve of your hand. You knew Eddie was close when his eyebrows pulled together, and the sounds he was making rapidly changed from grunts to a string of curses. Eddie’s cock pulsed against your palm, a wet patch blooming in the crotch of his jeans. You watched Eddie’s cum darken the fabric, his hands balled into fists by his sides, the veins in his neck strained.

When his cock stopped twitching and his body relaxed, Eddie was panting and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Feel better?” you asked playfully, echoing his words from before. Eddie tugged you in for a kiss, grinning against your lips. “Shut up,” he chuckled, before pulling you back onto the couch for cuddles…

[yellowcrowindustry]

Based on this that I found on Pinterest

[mysticmunson]

first base; eddie munson

prompt: going steady with eddie munson meant a lot of thing, but you couldn't have guessed his version of first base.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: perverted, filming sex, teasing including name-calling, domination and submission, fuck machines, let me know if i missed anything :)

an: sooooo this was written in one sitting after seeing the amazing @mypoisonedvine drabble, and it's a top tier kink for me so i figured i'd take a stab at it :p feedback is always appreciated

“You want me to do what?”

Going steady with Eddie Munson meant a lot of things. It included going to his band's concerts, learning more about Dungeons and Dragons than you ever thought you would, and dealing with his outlandish personality. All these things made you like him even more.

The decision to take it slow wasn’t a vocalized one, but you guys had been together for about 3 months and hadn’t had sex yet, with a lot of just making out and fondling that lead to frustration on each end. 

While you knew Eddie had a bit of a perverted mind, you had come across his stash of magazine cut outs and a few pornos, but this wasn’t something you were expecting, not opposed to though.

“Does that sound fun to you or…” He questioned, sitting on the bed, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes. You stood still as the question rang through for a moment, “Was wondering if I could tie you up and toy fuck you, maybe even film it?”

It was almost like he thought you wouldn’t hear despite being a mere foot away, but you couldn’t lie, the thought was enticing. 

“Okay.”

A twisted grin decorated his face as he stood, grabbing you to push you on the bed. You watched as he grabbed the pair of handcuffs from his wall, whistling absentmindedly as he opened his closet pulling out an odd machine with a dildo attached.

“Don’t even worry about it, this is like my version of first base.” He beamed, but you rolled his eyes at his comment, in what world would this be first base.

“Eddie! What the-” The words fell off as you sat up, shocked at his gadget that he was positioning at the end of the bed, “Where did you even get this?”

“I got real bored in shop class.” He remarked, watching you wince against his sheets, licking his lips already.

“You’re such a perv.” You whispered, his hand coming to your head to lean back, planting a sloppy kiss on your forehead.

“But I’m your perv.” 

Once he helped get your clothes off, the first time fully seeing you naked, he groaned. You laid on the bed as he put cuffs on your hands to his bed frame, stretching you out. Your body was on fire with nerves at this exposure still foreign to your relationship, but even he could see how wet you were getting. 

“Be a good girl and I won’t have to tie your feet down.” He taunted, grasping his new video camera with his left hand, sauntering towards you. You remembered how excited he was to get that, had he been planning this for a while?

His eyes turned soft as his face went closer to yours, kissing you gently, “Let me know if it’s too much, okay? Say the word ‘grapefruit’.”

You nodded, giving him one last peck before he stood up straight, strutting to the end of his mattress. You were all spread for him, the plastic cock just a few centimeters from your wet pussy, he was a bit jealous the material object was getting some before he did. 

His finger flicked the machine on, beginning with long and slow strokes, a gasp falling from your mouth at the intrusion. The camera beeped as he turned it on, focusing on where you connected to his old project. 

“You’re fucking dripping already, look at that.” He gawked, seeing how the toy shined when it would leave you. You whimpered at his words, forcing your eyes open to watch the fully clothed man shove the lens near you.

He backed up, using his right hand to turn it up a notch, watching it bounce faster. He smirked at your already withering demeanor. You were always put together around everyone, but he knew by the end of this, you wouldn’t have an ounce of composure.

“Such a good girl for me, hm? Letting me play with you before we even have sex?” He cooed, trailing the recorder up your frame before he cupped your cheek. You attempted to look away from the red light, but he kept his palm firm.

“Tell me, sweetheart. What does it feel like?” He interrogated, hand leaving your face to palm the growing erection under his jeans. The toy was then upped a notch by Eddie, camera still near your face as you inhaled sharply.

“It feels good, thank you.” You stuttered as it hit your deepest point with a loud moan. He went back to the foot of the bed, turning it up again as you whined, feeling your legs jitter. You could feel his gaze on you along with the silver camera, documenting your every move. 

You threw your head back as the plastic tip prodded at a certain angle, wetness trailing down your lips. His finger danced across your navel before combing through your tuft of hair, yanking gently to make you jolt. He laughed at your reaction, pulling on the coarse hair again to hear your pained whine.

“Look at that cunt, you’re taking it so well. Almost want a taste.” He declared, using his free hand to push your thighs further apart, feet planted on the opposite sides of his lower mattress. 

“Please” You begged, clit throbbing at the idea of his mouth anywhere near you. You had spent night after night imagining Eddie destroying you to tears, fucking you gently then hard, but you couldn’t have guessed that the little pervert wanted to see you fucked by a dildo first.

“Is that what you want? Want my mouth?” He was met with a drawn out cry before inching closer, stopping right above your throbbing bud. He breathed hot air onto it, making you shiver with anticipation and tug at the metal holding your hands up. 

He put his tongue flat against where you needed him most, holding the camera at an awkward placement to get your face in frame as you weeped tearlessly. Managing to reach his other hand beside him, he turned it up two more notches, pulling away to see it thrusting in and out at an intense speed. 

He sucked your bundle of nerves, letting his spit help him glide across the already silky skin. The toy occasionally grazed his skin as he adjusted his mouth, making him wish he had extra hands to stroke his cock at the sight.

He rose to watch you convulse, giving an insincere pout as he watched your hip flick up in the air. 

“You still need your clit played with, baby?” He cooed without an ounce of compassion, just pure arrogance as he watched your eyes haze with need. You nodded quickly, spreading your legs even further by bending them at the knees. 

Mimicking your moan as he rubbed your clit, exaggerating his face to further embarrass you, shoving the camera closer to your flushed face. 

“You’re so greedy, you can’t just accept getting fucked, can you?” He taunted, keeping his fingers at the same speed as the toy, the coil in your lower stomach blossoming. The way he was speaking to you should have made you angry, but it only made you more soaked.

He pulled his fingers up and slid them in your mouth, watching you suck them. He moaned, the same hand going to palm himself through his pants again. 

“Eddie.” You cried, watching himself grasp his cock made your mouth water, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Awe, you wanna see my dick?” He teased, unbuckling with one hand and shoving his pants down. Once his length was in your sight, your back arched as you got closer. 

It bobbed against him as he turned up the device again, making your orgasm feel on the tip of your tongue. You began babbling incoherent pleas as he stroked himself, watching the precum gather at his tip.

He walked to you wordlessly and spat in your mouth, “Are you gonna come, all because I’m jerking off? You’re so pathetic, tell the camera, tell it how you're just a pathetic slut.” He commanded, shoving it in your face as you forced your eyes to stay open.

“I’m a pathetic slut, I’m a pathetic slut.” You quivered, body shaking as you approached your finish. Your mind began to get cloudy as it cusped, but you yelled as he turned it up even higher. You could hear his laughter at your distraught state, making you finally orgasm. But it felt different, it was more wet than you had ever experienced on your own. 

He set the device upon the machine, getting your whole body into frame

“Look at you,” He growled, yanking your hair up so you looked into the lens, “You fucking soaked my bedsheets, squirted, all cause you’re such a whore who can’t control herself. I do something nice and you do this.” 

You wept as the speed maintained its intense pace, the lewd noise of the fake balls hitting your soaked skin filled the room. He reached his hand down to smack your clit, watching as your release shot up at the friction. 

“What? Can you not handle it?” He scoffed, grinning nonetheless as he saw tears come down your cheeks, “Awe, crying about it? Just a dumb baby?”

You agreed, aches cascading against your frame at the overstimulation, “I’m a dumb baby.”

Pleased by your response, he stood again, backing out of the frame and getting off. He bit his lip as you squirmed from pleasure and pain, he felt his own finish reaching, making him pause. He glanced at your swollen cunt, watching it clench, knowing you were almost there.

“Alright, pretty girl, let it out.” He encouraged, turning the knob up all the way as you screamed, chest heaving at the pace. He quickened the hand on his cock, mimicking the intensity he was witnessing, muttering random words. 

The band snapped as white ropes covered his hand with a moan making you finish again while bawling, seeing his release slip to the floor. Taking a moment to clear his brain, he was snapped out by your yelp. He shut off the camera and then the machine, pulling you off and placing you in his lap. 

Sitting across, he tucked you in his chest and rocked you with soft hushing. Your body buzzed with the aftershocks, feeling so empty after being so full. 

“You did so good, I’m so proud of you.” He praised, stroking your hair as you thanked him, looking up to kiss him. 

Remaining seated until you calmed down, he eventually got you dressed and put all his equipment away. You insisted you could walk, but he carried you to the couch to rest while he changed the sheets.

“I didn’t even know I could do that.” You divulged while he placed the soaked bedding in the washer, he smirked and slammed the door shut to start it.

“I’m just that good.” He boasted, flopping next to you and pulling you in his lap. 

“You’re still a perv though.”

“Yeah, but I’m your perv.”

an: oooo this makes me nervous to post lol, enjoy weirdos, dont judge

@steeldaisies @meaganjm @masterofmunson @downbythebay4 @wicked-wordy-witchy-witch @femalefilmaker @wiltedwonderland @yourthebrokengirl @jessyballet @iheartyouyou @gloryekaterina @missscarlettangel @variety-fangirl @wigglywoos59 @imsuchafriggensimp @thegirlblogstuff @lovelyladymayyy @strawwberrry @ktjmac @dovesnrosesnreblogs @fknemily @spn-obession @diaryofthedoll  @imagine-all-the-imagines

[stevesbipanic]

I like to think Lucas clocked Steve and Eddie dating first because that sweet boy is a hopeless romantic and he would've seen those two being gooey with each other so quick.

[indouloureux]

love me forever, eddie my love

eddie munson x reader

summary: early mornings, whispers prosed into promises of evermore, eddie takes care of your tired soul, all while indulging in the love you give to him.

word count: 3, 555

warnings: SMALL DESCRIPTIONS OF SMUT (MINORS DNI, OR SKIP THE ITALIZED PART), nudity but no nsfw, fluff, slight angst at the end, eating cereal horribly, and a shit ton of fluff

a/n: rushed bc i wanted to write him again. i PROMISE i'm posting that mcu!peter next then steve harrington. hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

There’s a peaceful wave of melody when it comes to birds chirping in the early morning outside the trailer. The warm sun filters through the thin blinds, lending a liberating glow in the Tartarean aspect of his chamber. The duvet is soft against your bare skin, wrapped around your tangled limbs on the bed created for things holy and unholy – a bed for the angel and the devil.

The smell of his hair evades you. Fresh, cigarettes and apples, and you. A leg over his and a leg over yours as an unconscious sign of trust and comfort between two divine lovers. Both arms around your tired frame as an act of protection and salubrious possession; and slumbering lips on the crowd of your head as a saying of reverential devotion.

A sacred moment hours after a wicked affair—

Your face dug deep on the bed, ass up and back arched as his comforting hand caressed your waist and sweaty back, hips slamming against yours while his cock dug deep inside your puffy cunt. All wet and sticky from mixed arousals.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he’d growl, his hair sticking to his neck and face. “Taking my cock, huh? Greedy fucking girl,” a spank on your ass, reverberating against his torso. You moan loudly, clutching the sheets beneath you. His balls pound on your clit, the head of his dick bulging on your navel at each animalistic thrust.

You push yourself back to him in sync of his fucking, his other hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair and pull your head up. He leans down and kisses up your back to your neck, turning your face to kiss your swollen lips.

All while his hips continue to slam into yours. Until his cum paints your insides white and yours sheathing his cock. He moans and so do you, loud and harmonic in this burning bedroom—

—where his heart’s got a wild sovereignty on yours. A rather calumnious festival, heard not seen by neighbors. But neither of you care, because it’s not like anyone cares about the both of you anyway; it’s all just their selfish wants.

Beside you, he groans, moving to his back but keeping an arm beneath your neck as he rubs his eyes with his forearm. You blink a couple of times, eyesight adjusting to the sun-lit bedroom of your boyfriend. His biceps flex, chest risen to an exhale of being waken, face scrunched into a cute stretch.

Then he faces you again, wrapping his arm around your waist where his fingers reach the ends of your hair and twirls it around his ring-clad limbs.

He sees your half-lidded eyes and smiles. “Good morning,”

“Good morning, Eddie,” you smile. You admire way the skin around his face crinkles when he smiles, deep lines of serenity. With an aching hand do you reach up to push his bangs away from his forehead, now lacking the previous sweat from last night.  Eddie stares at you with a soft smile and wide doe eyes staring deep into your equivocal soul. Post-sex glow fits him well, makes him look innocent and cherubic beneath your sinning touch.

“Post-sex glow fits you well,” he murmurs, voice doused in lethargy. So maybe you too. The hand around your waist comes up to cup your face, left cheek carried by his rough palm.

Eddie can’t resist kissing you. And he does – begins his pathway to your forehead, creeping his soft lips on both your eyelids until they drag down to your creased cheeks to which formed from a silly smile; the bridge of your nose to the tip of your nose in a cute tempo, until he takes your top lips into his in a gradual kiss, like he’s savoring the moment.

You break away in a soft click, lips tasting of him. “Thank you,” your hand comes up to hold his wrist, feeling his calm pulse beneath your thumb. You kiss him again, just because.

“Jus’ basic knowledge, sweetheart,” Eddie wraps his leg around yours, closer, soft cock grazing your navel. “You look good post-anything. Pre-anything. You look beautiful anytime.”

“Flirt,” you turn your head away, his hand coming up to rest on top of your face. He feels the warmth on your face and giggles at your flustered reaction. His fingers dig a bit on the side of your face, like he’s puncturing them with his short nails. “Eddie,”

“Whaaat?” Eddie shakes your head, doesn’t stop until you look at him. You give him a look, the hand coming up behind his head, the other still beneath you“Not my fault you get to shy easily,”

You moan petulantly, creeping closer to dig your head on his chest. Eddie laughs, the un-metal like music vibrating on his chest and comforts your sleepy daze. He hugs you tightly. “‘M hungry, Eds.”

“In a minute, babe,” you feel his nose on your hairline, and you hear him smell your hair. “I’m still enjoying this. You smell so amazing. Like – like a baby, or something. It’s so amazing.”

You run a hand down his hair, fingers carding down until you untangle them. “You can smell me later when you give me food, Edward.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Laughing, you push your face away from his naked chest and prop yourself up on one arm. Your body still feels sore, and even propping yourself up took a lot of energy. Your arm shakes, struggles to hold your head up, but anything to look down on Eddie and see him look up at you with those forever curious eyes.

“Still sore?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you find yourself doing the same. “Can see your arm shaking. You must be so tired.”

“Yeah. Well you try getting fucked from behind like an animal, babe,” you roll your eyes. Eddie chuckles again, hand coming down to massage your naked bicep. “We used a condom last night, right?”

Eddie glances behind him, comes back with frightened eyes. “Um,”

“Eddie?!”

“I’m kidding,” his face softens, blocks his face from your hand that’s come to playfully strike his arm. “‘Course I used a condom. If I didn’t, you’d probably have a little Munson right in your stomach.”

You let your head fall on the pillow. “It’s too soon.”

“Yeah. We still got that Corroded Coffin world tour to do. A baby’s gonna stop us from doing that,” but Eddie’s hand comes up and down your waist to your stomach, as if caressing a non-existent bump.

“I can’t jump up and down with a baby in my stomach, y’know?” Eddie scrunches his nose at you. “It’s gonna fall down my vagina.”

He shudders in disgust. “Gross.”

Eddie digs his face onto the crook of your neck. You can feel the exhale of his nose against your flesh. His morning hugs, in your opinions, are the best of all his hugs – tired but motivated by your presence, tight in a way that says he’s never letting you go, sweet in a way that says he adores you more than anything else in this world. It’s the type of hug that makes you feel safe, comforted, especially in moments where you feel like a rock’s pulling you down to the bottom of the ocean.

Especially then.

In his arms is of a benevolent sanctuary. Providing you the love you crave for, the attention you deserve. Being in his abode is a well enough sign that you’re so much more to him.

In that blissful hug, he pulls away just to look at you again. Eddie’s hand comes down to soothe your thigh. “I think I forgot to clean you up last night,”

“We fell asleep right after, bub,” you say. “We’re actually still both sticky. It’s gross and we need to shower, to be honest.”

“We’ll shower later. I’ll wipe you down first,” he gives your forehead a quick kiss before he’s pushing the covers off his body. Sitting up, his back stretches to rid the sleep of his body, until they muster up the energy to stand him up to the ground. He picks out a new pair of briefs off the cabinet nearby and wears them quickly.

Eddie catches you eyeing his dick and smiles teasingly. “Tsk tsk. It’s eight in the morning and you’re staring at a dick, (y/n)? Perv.”

You gasp. “Oh, I’m the perv? Who was the one who kept rubbing their hard-on on my ass because I was wearing a skirt, huh? Feel that babe? I’m so hard and horny for you! Forget your stupid homework.”  You mock his voice, deeper than his usual.

“In my defense, that skirt was like, halfway down your ass.”

“It’s because I was bending.”

“Still!” He bends to pick up your underwear, dangles them in front of you. “Cute panties, babe. It kind of represents me, with the cute little devils and shit.”

“Eds, you chose those,” you sit up and rest on the headboard, covering the duvet around you. He rummages more to pick out new undergarments and tosses them to you, pulling two other shirts but keeps them folded on top of the cabinet. “Remember when you ripped mine off?”

“It was kind of sexy, though, admit it,” he winks. “Wait, don’t put them on, give me a second.”

He disappears outside his bedroom for a few seconds before he comes back with a washcloth in his hand. Eddie crawls to the bed, the bedsprings squeaking from his weight. And while he quietly asks for you to remove the cover off, his hand gently holds your ankle and spreads your legs apart.

“Baby, you’re still swollen,” he murmurs. Eddie kisses your knee and drags the cloth on the inside of your thigh. “Was I too rough last night, sweets?”

“A bit, yeah,” you wince when he presses a bit harder on your cunt, a kiss on your thigh as an apology. “But I – I liked it. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, bet you did,” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He drags the cloth up to your navel, to your stomach where he meticulously wipes ever part, even to your exposed chest, bathing you with a simple rag. But he doesn’t wipe your face, instead encasing your small head between his large fingers and looks at you.

His eyes dance on every ridge of your face. Gentle eyes that know him for who he truly is, ones that have seen him in his happiest, in his lowest, when he’s mad. Gentle eyes that look at him as if he’s worth something. Lips that whisper the sweetest thing at nights when, and even when he doesn’t need it, makes him feel sufficient in this cruel world. Lips that he begs to kiss every minute and every second of the day to let everyone know that you’re the angel in his dark world.

Eddie sits up and takes a shirt from behind him – large, black with the DIO logo on the top. “Hands up,” he instructs you. Slowly, you oblige. He slips the shirt on easily, and gives your nose a feather light kiss before he discards the rag inside the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of new jeans – black and ripped, pale knees exposed through the broken threads. Eddie’s also got a new pair of underwear, yours, in the other hand is a box of Honeycomb and two bottles of Yoo-hoo. He sets the cereal aside, hands pulling on your ankles and slips your feet in both holes before he pulls them up for you.

“I can wear them by myself, y’know,” you wave your foot around his face.

“I prefer doing it for you, gorgeous,” he blows a kiss at you. Eddie picks the Honeycomb from the ground and offers you, where you gladly took like a hungry child. He watches you chew on them, a large cluster shoved inside your mouth, only to be watered down by the chocolate drink – a thing you picked up from eating breakfast almost every morning with your boyfriend. “Slow down. You’ll choke,”

He wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb, cleaning it off by sucking the milk off his skin. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you joke, mouthful of damp Honeycomb.

“Ah?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at you before he takes the box from your hands. He shoves a large amount inside his mouth like a hypocrite, drowns the dry breakfast with chocolate milk just like you did. “You don’t get more, then.”

“Hey, I’m kidding!” you reach forward to helplessly grab the box off his hands. You expect him to wrestle with you, but he knows you’re tired still and offers you the box. “I’ll eat slow this time,”

With a smile, he gives you the box and stands up. Eddie struts his way to the guitar on his mirror, taking it off and slinging it around him; it must have been his short attention span that he’s suddenly decided to play his guitar early in the morning. You smile while chewing, and he points at you as if you were at one of his shows, dedicating whatever song he plays.

Motörhead’s Love Me Forever’s first verse plays, the lack of amplifier making it sound like an acoustic. Eddie looks down on his hands that switch between chords complicated for you, bobbing his head on each tempo.

“Love me forever or not at all

End of our tether, backs to the wall,”

Though his primary genre is metal, Eddie's voice is that of a dulcet resonance. Pitch flawless at any octave; Eddie can lull you with any made-up lullaby at any insomniac night with a hand massaging your scalp, pulling you closer to his body. It’s your own personal harp – your own music. And if you could, you’d like to keep him to yourself forever.

“Give me your hand, don’t you ever ask why

Promise me nothing, live ‘till we die,”

Eddie sits beside you, red guitar on his lap, and urges you to straddle his knees. Just enough where his hands can still pluck on the strings. Your bare thighs scrape on his knees as you sit on them, clad only in his shirt and a pair of panties that you left long ago. Your hands play with his hair, his eye lined to your nose so he’s looking up at you with his pretty eyes, an admiring twinkle in them as they stare into yours.

“Everything changes, it’s all the same,” you sing with him, voice coalescing perfectly as your fingers coif his hair. Eddie leans close and kisses you chastely, lets you sing the next line alone in the quiet room. “Everyone guilty, no one to blame,”

“Every way out brings you back to the start, everyone dies to break someone’s heart,” with bangs parted in the middle, you press your lips on his forehead. Eddie closes his eyes and hums in satisfaction, a hand leaving his guitar to place itself on your back to prevent you from falling.

You admire his tattoos – five bats, a puppet – like Master of Puppets by Metallica – and other black tattoos that signify Eddie. Your fingers kiss the permanent art, eyes worshiping the inked skin.

You pull away to squish his face between your hands, cheeks pushed together that his lips are puckered. Eddie widens his eyes at you. “You’re clingier than usual,” you confess.

“What? You don’t like it?” his eyes fall into an umbra of disquiet, but tries to fool you with the squished smile. “Little Elf does not accept the Dungeon Master’s devotion? His heart’s demolished!”

Eddie teases you in his usual DM voice, deep and supposedly haunting. But you laugh and shake your head, placing your hands on his shoulders. “This is about yesterday, isn’t it?”

It dawns on you, just seconds ago, that your boyfriend doesn’t usually indulge in sweeter moments other than cleaning you up and offering you breakfast, but never before singing you a song early in the morning.

It must have been because of what happened – Hawkins’s students muttering freak under their breath whenever he’d passed by, which he disregards as something he’s already used to but really you both know it hurts him, tattooing it in his mind as a taunt and an insult that’ll forever taunt him.

Yesterday was no different, however, took a masked toll on him. Freak muttered by at least four kids, less than the usual, and he remains unbothered. Until he heard that some asshat from the Basketball team plans on making the move on you, and that they’d prefer him than a freak for some girl like you.

And he thinks, sadly, that you might have thought the same. And so he’s trying his best to be better – sweeter – for you. Just like what he thought you wanted. Because the guilt’s eating him up alive, wrapping it around his neck to keep him still and gnawing on his flesh. So here he is, playing a song for you in the morning with all his might, and the heartwarming smile on your face eases the tension in his chest.

That was, until, you brought it up.

“What are you talking about?” you lean back a bit as he removes his guitar and onto the bed beside him. Eddie acts casual, pretends he’s got no idea what you’re saying. “Why what happened yesterday? Did someone hurt you?”

“We go to the same school, Eds. We hear the same gossip.” You clarify. “I know you heard it. About McKinney planning on asking me out. And how people say-”

“That he’s better fitting for you?” he finishes. “Yeah I heard it. Guilty,” he chuckles dryly, avoiding your eyes in shame. “Y’know, they’re kind of right.”

You remove your hands from him, instead on his thighs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s a normal guy. In the basketball team, friends with popular guys, good looking,” He lists them off with three fingers, raising his eyebrows at each declaration. You take Eddie’s hand into yours and pull it down.

“Are you saying you don’t…fit, with me?”

Your small voice breaks his heart, no doubt, but he only thinks he’s stating the truth. “I mean, am I not? I’m a freak, (y/n). I’ve – I have always been. You’re special, unlike anybody else, and yet here you are with me, Hawkins High’s legendary freak.”

“Eddie, I don’t care,” You pull on his fingers, twirling the rings around as a comforting manner. “You think I would have dated you if I thought you were some psycho?”

“Babe, I said freak, not psycho. Those are two different things-”

“Semantics!”

“They’re-” he laughs, a wheeze. “They’re not semantics-”

“I don’t care, Eddie.” You take his face into your hands, palms small but face fitting well like a key to a lock. “I don’t care. What even made you think this way?”

Baneful overthinking. Realization. Normal Eddie Munson stuff. “Because I am a freak,” he takes your hands off, but places his own on your waist to keep you in place. “And I just think you deserve so much better.”

“What, you think I want to be with those pretentious assholes?” you scoff. “They’re so boring, Eddie. I’d be miserable the entire time I’m with them. They’re basic, they’re two-faced. I don’t want to be with them.”

Eddie chuckles. “That’s mean.”

“Well they’re mean, and I can be meaner,” you raise your eyebrows. “You know I can be meaner, Eddie.”

He remembers. You can be meaner. And as much as that laughable memory paints a smile on his face, it’s the least of what he’s thinking right now. “But do you actually think that I’m a freak? Just because I’m the leader of this club? Or – or I listen to metal or I’ve got long hair, or I sell drugs?”

“What, you wanna be like them?” you push his hair away out of his face. “I mean, being a freak is the best, Eddie. You’ve got personality. You’re way awesome than Jason Carver and his pale ass. It’s what makes you…you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up and taking his hand with you. “You’re my Eddie, Eddie.”

Eddie takes your waist into his hand, the other taking your hand to rest on his shoulder. And while he raises your other joint fingers, he finds himself resting his forehead against yours with closed eyes.

“Eddie I love you so,” he smiles at your voice, like a harp sitting on a cloud in heaven that pulls him up from hell. He kisses your joint hands, on your knuckle. “Eddie please write one more line,”

He spins you around, tugs you back to his chest where your temple rests on a tattoo right above his left chest. He kisses the top of your head, like earlier, and hums along with you.

“Tell me your love is still only mine. Please Eddie don’t make me wait too long.”

In the middle of his small bedroom, swaying to your voice and eternal music inside your tethered minds, he unveils your soul then like he always does and loves it in forbearance. The moment an insignia from the quiet prosed promises you made to each other but kept to yourselves:

“I love you,” he whispers. “I promise to love you forever.”

banner by @/lauras-collection

[eiddets]

ride

eddie munson x reader fic (nsfw)

summary: you get off on eddie's thigh.

word count: 1792

ratings: explicit

warnings: nsfw, smut, kissing, thigh riding, orgasm denial

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

__________

“You look so pretty like this” Eddie breathes, the words tumbling from his lips as he kisses your neck. You whimper, arching up into the touch as you pant, already overstimulated by his movements. He pins you against the wall, hand stroking your hip gently as he nips at the skin that lay there, a bruise sure to form. “Eddie” you gasp, hands finding their way to his hair as you pull, hard , and he groans, smiling against your neck. He pulls away, mischief glinting in his eyes as he leads you over to his bed, plopping you onto his thighs. You grin down at him, leaning in for a kiss when he stops you, smirking devilishly. You look at him quizzically when he grabs your hips, thumbing at the fabric of your pants. “Take these off” he murmurs and you flush, looking down at the bed. He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at the man, and you search his lust-ridden eyes for an answer. His pupils are fully blown, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs slowly, swallowing thickly. “Now” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod meekly, getting up and off his thighs, shimmying out of your pants. He pats his thighs and you sit, blushing. You feel exposed in nothing but your t-shirt and underwear, flushing a deep shade of pink underneath his gaze. “There we go” Eddie smirks, planting his hands on your waist. His hands drift up slightly and you shiver, his cold metal rings feeling like ice against your skin. “Want do you want me to do?” You murmur, gazing at the man and he smiles, baring his teeth. “I want you to…” Eddie trails off, running a hand up your inner thigh. Your eyes flutter shut, your heart beating dangerously fast in your chest as his hands move inward, barely touching the spot you need him the most.

“Get yourself off. On me” Eddie says, grinning darkly and you feel yourself growing redder, his words causing your stomach to flutter. “You what ?” you whisper and he pats his thigh, once more, signaling you to shift to it. You get the memo, spreading yourself over his thigh and stifle a moan, as your underwear makes contact with his jeans. He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, and whispers in your ear. “I want you to ride my thigh ”

Your jaw drops, gasping slightly at his words. But, you nod frantically, nonetheless, and he grins. Next thing you know, hands find their way to your hips as he slowly begins to guide you back and forth. Your hips stutter against his thigh at the contact, sending heat pooling to your stomach.

The rough fabric of his jeans sends shivers down your spine and you groan desperately, bucking against his thigh. Slowly but surely, you find a steady rhythm and Eddie makes a noise of approval. His hands fall from your waist and he plants them against the bed, leaning back, watching you with an intense gaze in his eyes. You feel small against his gaze and flush, slowing your movements. He lets out a sharp ‘tsk’ grabbing your chin once more, forcing you to look at him. “Did I say you could stop, hm?” he murmurs and you shiver at his languid words, heart thumping in your chest. You shake your head in reply and Eddie sighs, hand trailing down your body and down to your underwear. “Use your words, princess ” Eddie whispers, fiddling with the hem of your waistband. “N-no, Eddie” you gasp, voice barely above a whisper, and Eddie grins. He suddenly stretches the waistband, pulling it taut and snapping it back, causing you to yelp. “Such a good girl” Eddie murmurs, leaning back once more. “Continue” he orders, and with that, your hips begin to move.

You stifle a moan as your hips drag along his jeans, clenching your thighs at the sensation. Your mouth betrays you as a quiet Eddie tumbles from your lips, bucking your hips involuntary. Your clit presses heavily against his jeans, and you can feel every inch of his leg; the way Eddie shifts slightly, the way your underwear feels smooth against your skin. Countless praises arise from Eddie’s mouth as you move faster, growing wet at his words, leaving your underwear (and a patch of his jeans), partially soaked.

Heat pools in your stomach as your thrusts grow erratic, chasing that never-ending orgasm bound to come. “You’re doing so good for me” Eddie praises and you whine, leaning forward and clutching his shoulders. Eddie looks at you with fervor and snatches your hands, forcing them behind your back. Your hands clasp together automatically, a silent compliance in regards to his action. “Fuck” you gasp, hips moving more quickly as your clit brushes against his thigh over and over again. Eddie gazed at your frame, eyes lust-ridden and he wickedly grins, leaning forward and planting his foot on the ground. Before you can question his movement, his thigh abruptly bounces up, sending white-hot pleasure down your spine. You moan wantonly, eyes fluttering shut and your mouth falls open, blinded by the sensation. Stars bounce behind your eyes as you ride his thigh, too lust-drunk to care about the embarrassing noises that fall from your mouth. You feel yourself grow dangerously close, the tension swirling in your gut as you chase your orgasm, but Eddie suddenly reaches forward and grabs your hips, stopping your movements completely.

“What are you doing?” you breathe, looking at Eddie inquisitively. He grins, grinding his thigh up into your underwear, rendering you speechless. “Can’t let the fun end so soon, darling” he drawls, still teasing you with his thigh. “Eddie ” you whine in protest, the fire slowly dying in your stomach as you white-knuckle your hands behind your back. He moves his thigh at a tantalizing pace, bouncing you slightly and you gasp, moaning breathlessly. He moved your hips roughly, setting his own brutalizing slow pace and you murmur curses under your breath. You’ve starved off your orgasm this long and can’t take it any longer. You grind down onto his thigh, setting your own pace and he leans forward, stilling your movements. “Not until I say so” Eddie says darkly and you swallow thickly, a whimper escaping your mouth.

He continues to tease you at a slow pace, hand occasionally dipping between your thighs and applying pressure to your aching mound. You arch into his touch every single time, but it’s not enough. You need it, you need him , to allow the tension to dissipate in your gut as it grows larger and larger. “Please, Eddie” you gasp after a while, hips stuttering against his movements. “M’close” you plead, cheeks flushing red. Eddie sighs, removing his hands from your hips and stilling his movements. He reaches behind your back and un-clasps your shaking hands, bringing them forward. “Well since you asked so nicely my dear, you may continue” he breathes, and you swallow thickly, mesmerized by his words.

You move frantically now, hips sliding and grinding with fervor against his thigh, followed by a chorus of yes yes yes as you chase after the one thing that means the most to you right now. He adjusts your hips, grinding his thigh up and the new angle causes you to spiral, your clit throbbing at the sensation. “Shit ” you breathe, whining as you grow close. Eddie smirks between pants, his controlling demeanor faltering slightly at the sight of you, so needy and desperate for your release. Hands find their way to your hips once more and he helps you, praises tumbling from his lips like hail marys.

His praises send you over the edge; the tension snaps in your stomach and your hips stutter as you come, throwing your head back as you moan. Eddie doesn’t stop his movements, and the combination of his thigh bouncing and hands rocking you back and forth sends you spiraling. You see stars, black spots dancing at the edge of your vision as you let go - it’s electrifying and intoxicating, and you feel weightless.

Your cunt throbs as you fall limp against his chest spent from your orgasm. “You did so well for me, baby” Eddie murmurs, words resonating deep from within his chest. He rubs your back as you come down, breathing heavily. You lay there for a moment, catching your breath as he hums praises, stroking through your hair with his other hand. Eventually, you shift, legs wobbly as you get off him and onto the bed, laying there in utter bliss. Your eyes flutter shut and you feel Eddie get up, shifting around the room.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust as you feel your underwear grow cold. You begin to peel them off of you and toss them into the hamper. The bed dips moments later and he hands you a pair of fresh boxers and a t-shirt. You smile at him, thanking him, and shrug the remainder of your clothes off, throwing the band-tee on and his boxers quickly. He eyes your frame hungrily and you laugh at this, shaking your head. You lay down next to him and he wraps you in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You peer down at his jeans, a wince when you notice a dark patch on his thigh. You flush, now embarrassed, and he laughs, deep and long. “It’s okay darling, I don’t mind” he winks, languidly stroking your arm with his hand. You then notice the bulge in his pants, the outline of his dick ever so present in the clad jeans. You raise an eyebrow, hand slithering down and palming the front of his jeans. He jumps slightly, mouth falling open. “You want me to take care of that?” you say teasingly, hand fiddling with the buttons of his jeans.

He groans as you slip a hand inside his boxers, whimpering slightly. He’s already slick with precum, and as you flick your wrist, thumbing at the slit and he moans, panting slightly.

Eddie leans up and presses a soft kiss against your lips. “How can I refuse?” he grins, looking up at you through his lashes.

You grin back, twisting your hand in a way you know he loves. You are going to have so much fun with this.

[counting-stars-gayly]

Mike is masculine in a feminine way. Will is feminine in a masculine way. No, I won’t elaborate.

[sexybabystevie]

Up to the Gods

Protective Best Friend!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Tags and Warnings: Only Mild Volume 1 Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Self-Sacrifice, Possible Character Death, Slow Build, References to Depression, Vaguely Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Anxiety, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Best Friend!Steve Harrington, Protective!Steve Harrington

Word Count: 9057

Summary: The time you have left to save Max is speeding away, so you come up with a last-minute plan. Your best friend Steve, however, isn't so keen on you following through with it.

A/n: Please read warnings for possible triggers. This is my first time writing for Steve (and writing on this account) so I hope you enjoy! If you want a part two, please let me know, and if you have any feedback at all, then tell me! I love hearing from my readers!

Steve Harrington Masterlist

It had been two hours since Max revealed that her headaches and nightmares had started five days ago, which meant that you now had approximately 17 hours to find a way to save her. 17 hours and 24 minutes, not that you were purposefully counting down the minutes – seconds even – but your anxious mind was running out of things to do that could effectively distract you as you sat on an old, dusty couch in the Wheelers’ basement, so one of the only things you could do was periodically look at the watch on your wrist. 

To everyone else, it was obvious that you were a ball of anxiety. Your left leg was bouncing rapidly against the hardwood floor, one hand at your mouth as your teeth bite your fingernails down to the skin, the other thrumming your fingers against the itchy material of the arm of the couch. Your eyes blankly stared ahead of you, unconsciously boring holes into the back of Dustin Henderson’s head. 

All of the kids sat together on the floor, crowded around Max. The room was silent as everyone was both unsure of what move to make next and was also exhausted after spending yet another day trying to keep Hawkins and its residents safe from the Upside Down’s wrath. However, you were all too on edge to make any attempt to sleep, so the heavy air in the room remained the closest thing to communication among you all.

The smothering quietude and your own nerves made you feel as though you were floating, like you were somewhere far off into space, an astronaut abandoned by their crew, left to swim among the bright stars, instead of a helpless teenager who was about to lose yet another friend. If you were more in touch with your emotions, you might say that it was almost relieving.

About to lose yourself to your murky mind once more, you were brought back to your haunting reality by Steve Harrington’s hand resting on your knee, sending a sense of warmth throughout your body. You tentatively look at your best friend, who you had forgotten was next to you on the Wheelers’ couch, and you can tell that he’s as uncertain as you are from how his hand slightly shakes against your skin and from the way his bottom lip is partially buried in between his teeth. One of your first instincts is to cover his hand with your own, to intertwine your fingers with his in the hopes that maybe it could provide the both of you with a little comfort, but your mind is too tired to even think about dealing with the surge of emotions that would evoke in you.

Suddenly Steve’s hand is feeling too warm – like a blanket that was once comforting but quickly became uncomfortably, suffocatingly hot – and you softly brush his hand away and stand up a little too rapidly. Your head is spinning and you latch a hand out onto the wall so that you don't fall over, eyes closing tightly to try and steady your dizzy head.

“You okay?” The concern in Steve’s voice is more obvious than ever, and you make an effort not to turn around so that you can avoid seeing his face. You don’t want to think about how the inner part of his brows are probably raised, how his lips would be slightly downturned as his eyes would be softly squinted at you, scanning your features before meeting your gaze in an attempt to read you. You don’t want to even entertain the idea of him directing his protective nature towards you, not when everything is going to Hell and poor Max is in grave danger. 

Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself and stand up straight before conjuring the least ridiculous and most believable excuse for you to get up. 

“Yeah.” You nod at the stairs ahead of you, still incessant upon not meeting his gaze. “Just gonna go get some water.”

You only receive a noise in response, something that sounds half like a grunt and half like a hum, and then you slowly climb the stairs to the Wheelers’ ground floor, your knees popping and aching at their sudden movement. 

A dim lamp hanging over the kitchen sink is the only thing lighting your way as you step carefully into the kitchen. Hushed whispers bounce and echo off of the walls, and you’re met with two shadowy figures who are bent over a small table residing on the outskirts of the room. 

A quick glance confirms your beliefs; Robin and Nancy are seated at the little breakfast nook, hunched over with tired eyes and hands grasping coffee cups. It takes them a minute to notice you in the dark atmosphere – you also froze at the sight of them, previously hoping that you wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else – but they welcome you with tense smiles and beckon you over. 

You hold up a hand, signaling that you’ll join them in a moment, and walk over to the cabinets to scavenge for a clean cup. You were going to use the water excuse as a way to avoid talking to other people, both Steve and the two girls, but ironically a glass of cold water seemed pretty good right about now. 

After filling the cup with water from the kitchen sink and taking a few long gulps, the cool water soothing your dry throat more than you expected, you approach the breakfast nook again. 

You sit your glass down on the table and pull out one of the metal chairs, cringing as the sound of the legs against the floor squeal louder than you anticipated. Robin’s face scrunches up at the sound and she instinctively covers her ears while Nancy just flashes you a sympathetic look.

“Sorry,” you mutter, awkwardly taking your seat and running anxious fingers against the fabric of your pants. 

Nancy shakes her head and takes a sip from her coffee cup before speaking.

“It’s alright. My parents went to sleep hours ago, and there’s this weird draft upstairs that pretty much makes it impossible to hear anything that happens down here.” Her eyes glance towards the basement opening. “The only ones we have to worry about waking are ourselves.”

You scoff at the thought of anyone being able to sleep when faced with your current predicament. 

“Yeah, everyone’s just about as awake as the two of you are,” you say, gesturing towards the mugs held in the girls’ hands. 

Nancy nods, as if she already expected that answer to a question she hadn’t even meant to pose, and Robin fiddles with the handle of her cup before releasing a short and mirthless laugh. 

“Yeah no, this is Sprite,” she speaks with a sense of urgency which you chalk up to her typically excitable personality. “Coffee makes me so fidgety and anxious that I feel like I have to pee for like three hours after I drink it. Plus, I don’t really like the taste. Even with lots of sugar and creamer and stuff, it tastes too bitter.”

Her words bring an involuntary smile to your face. You just can’t help it; you can’t possibly imagine a more fidgety version of the girl ahead of you. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you quite enjoyed her random ramblings when you, her, and Steve had unbearably long shifts at Family Video. Many boring nights of taking endless inventory were slightly more manageable thanks to her bumbling on about whatever thoughts entered her head.

You had known Robin for months now, thanks to being coworkers and bonding over making fun of Steve and complaining about your boss Keith, and while you weren’t as close to her as you were to Steve, you liked being around her and interacting with her. It was easy to get along with her because she knew about you via the grapevine – also meaning that Steve had talked about you so much that she practically knew everything about you except for your Social Security number – and was quick to bond with you when she found out that the two of you shared a sense of playful snarkiness. You could easily call her your friend, one of the few you had that were actually your age, and you were usually quite comfortable around her, but something in tonight’s air made you hold back from engaging in your normal banter. Maybe it was the looming weight of the situation you all would have to face in less than 24 hours, or maybe it was the other girl who sat at the table with the two of you.

You were shocked as you had watched an unlikely friendship form between Robin and Nancy a few days ago. The two were seemingly incompatible; Robin was energetic, passionate, and could sometimes get carried away quite easily when around others that made her comfortable. She had a cooler, more calculated side as well – one that you had heard about and witnessed briefly during last year’s fall of Starcourt – and was always exceedingly smart and was quick to grasp new topics, something that you oftentimes envied her for. Meanwhile, Nancy Wheeler was quiet and kind, but never was one to waste time on bullshit. She was headstrong and brave when she needed to be, and often was persuasive enough to get others to see things from her perspective. She was a girl who really wanted to be someone and who held the potential to be someone who could do big things, and while Robin was just as capable as she was, she wasn’t as deeply motivated in the same ways that Nancy was. 

But then again, you weren’t as well acquainted with Nancy as you were with Robin, despite knowing the former for longer. 

You had known of Nancy back in high school, your impression of her a good one as you considered her one of the few people in Steve’s original crowd that were tolerable. She never spoke to you, allowing you to fade into the background as the others did, but you still found her more approachable than anyone else. You thought that maybe, if you ever made the effort, she would have spared a glance and a few words for you. 

Your impression, however, was tarnished and faded a little as you met Steve. It was at the Halloween party, back when the two first started having more obvious relationship problems. You watched as Steve stormed out of the party and your curiosity got the better of you, so you followed him. Somehow, at the stroke of a mere miracle, he was hopeless and tipsy enough to spill what had happened to you – all of it. You were shocked and had wondered for a split second if this was some kind of Halloween prank, but that broken and worried look on Steve’s face forced you to believe that this was reality. You tried to provide some comfort, although you weren’t the best at it, and that had just been the beginning of the two of you having some very chance run-ins until you started to hang out willingly, both surprised to find out that the other was actually a pretty decent person.

You were there when Dustin had dragged Steve to his house to find and kill Dart; you were there when Steve found out about Nancy and Jonathan’s unnervingly close company; you were there when Nancy finally broke things off with him and ran off to Jonathan, something that you expected but were nonetheless disheartened to see. You were there as you and Steve became surrogate parents to a group of pre-teens that were left without supervision, and you were part of the reason why your venture into the tunnels beneath Hawkins was successful in burning up the roots of the Upside Down. 

You were there for so much of Steve and Nancy’s breakup, alongside Steve, that things between you and her were still awkward, despite both of you having expressed your acceptance and willingness to move forward from the situation. You had never spoken about it and sometimes wondered if you were the only one who felt it, but it was like a constant thickness in the air and a tenseness that was held in both of your voices whenever you spoke to one another. You had always just assumed that things were too awkward for you two to ever make a true attempt at bonding.

Still, as you sit with her and Robin inside of the shadowy kitchen, you feel like maybe this could be a chance for you to try and work together with them – maybe the three of you can come up with some kind of way to take action to save Max.

You leave your thoughts behind and clear your throat; even if Nancy Wheeler did hold a distaste for you, collaborating to save your redheaded friend was worth far more than holding some petty grudge.

“Have either of you thought of something we can do?” 

You don’t have to specify what you’re talking about; you’re sure that it’s the most prevalent thing on everyone’s minds at this very moment, whether they want it to be or not.

Silence falls between the three of you, and no one has to make a sound for you to know that that is an answer in itself.

“I want to,” Robin reveals, voice steady and sincere, “but it turns out that intercepting a secret Russian message and decoding it is a lot easier than trying to figure out how to take out a cross dimensional wizard guy.” 

You nod in understanding and suddenly feel guilty that she’s been brought into all of this. She’s just a senior in high school; the worst thing she should have to worry about is passing economics class, not wondering if an innocent young girl she knows is going to make it through a fight with some evil being. 

But then again, you think, Max doesn’t deserve this either. 

She’s been through enough the past few years, having unfortunately moved to the biggest literal hellhole in the entire United States and then being promptly thrown into being some kind of hero for it. Not to mention the worst part, which was that she lost her stepbrother Billy during the disaster that was last summer. You had known Billy from high school, and admittedly you weren’t a huge fan of his jerkish behavior, but that didn’t mean that you thought he deserved to die. From how Max had completely retracted herself from others and changed into a totally new, much more gloomy person, you could tell that she wasn’t taking it easily, despite the fact that she revealed on multiple occasions that she hardly even really knew him at all. You couldn’t imagine the thought of losing someone like that and being left to wonder if you could have been closer if only you had made the right steps, and so you always tried your hardest to be there for Max in the little ways, like driving her to school and taking her out for dinner so that you could make sure that she got at least one meal a day. 

The truth was that, in your shenanigans with Steve, the two of you had grown to love and provide for these kids almost more than their own parents. They were witty, snarky, and unabashedly hilarious. Most of the time they seemed to be more capable with their intelligence than even you and Steve, but that just gave you yet another reason to admire them.

It was this bond between all of you that had you so anxious; you couldn’t bear to lose any of them. It was your job as their older-sibling-but-also-parental-figure to protect them and make sure that they were being properly taken care of, and this mishap was not an exception. You had to save Max, if not because of your role as the kids’ caregiver, then because you personally didn’t want to even imagine a life where she was gone and you couldn’t sneak her out to get fast food during her lunch period at school. You had already lost El and Will – you understood why they moved away and were a bit less worried about their wellbeing because you trusted Joyce’s judgment as a mother, but at the same time that didn’t completely resolve the way you dearly missed them – and you knew you wouldn’t be able to cope with really losing one of them.

Just as your thoughts were dangerously close to spiraling into heartbreak territory, a fleeting idea crosses your mind and your eyes widen like saucers. You force yourself back into reality and flicker your gaze between Nancy and Robin, eyes sparkling with hints of hope that causes the two girls to give you a questioning glance.

“I think I might have an idea.” You speak with such excitement that your words tumble out of your mouth and onto the table, blending into one extremely long and warped noise. It takes your companions a few delayed moments to comprehend what you said, but when they do, their faces mimic yours, surprised and auspicious, so you waste no time in continuing your thoughts.

“What if we can distract Vecna?” You’re aware of the way the girls’ faces scrunch up in confusion, but it feels like maybe you’re onto something and you don’t intend on stopping until you’ve shared with the class. “Obviously he’s targeting specific people, but so far he can only actually attack one person at a time, no matter how many he has partial control over. So… what if we can somehow get someone to break into his mind? Like, we send someone in as bait to keep him preoccupied… Kind of as a way to either stall him or maybe attack?”

Robin chews on her bottom lip and her eyes look distant, as if she’s racking her brain for something that could be of help to you, and Nancy furrows her brows in thought and gently shakes her head. 

“The best person who we could send is Eleven, and even if she did have her powers, she’s with the Byers in California.” Nancy seems to be skeptical of your idea – which honestly makes your heart plummet into your stomach – but when she continues speaking, it seems as though maybe she thinks you’re more capable than you realize. “She would be our best shot at taking him down normally, but…” She pauses and looks up at you, meeting your gaze with a small, tiny nod of agreement. “It’s the best plan anyone’s thought of so far.”

You swallow the lump in your throat that had formed previously and nod back at her, taking a deep breath of relief. Whether or not you were liked by Nancy Wheeler wasn’t one of your top priorities, but knowing that she approved of your half-baked idea filled you with an odd sense of pride. 

Robin, however, makes a quiet grunting sound and blinks her eyes several times before looking at you. Before she even utters a word, you can tell that she’s found some sort of hole in your plan.

“Vecna only takes people that he wants, for whatever creepy reason he has. We would have to make sure that this person is of use to him or he will just discard them.” She softly sighs and fidgets her hands around her coffee cup again. “It has to be someone with trauma, and from who the other victims were, it seems like it has to be some pretty shitty trauma. I just don’t know of anyone else that we have here who could possibly be effective bait…”

She gives you a small frown, as if she’s sorry that she’s potentially ruined your one shot at being able to protect Max, but you hadn’t told them everything yet. The truth was that you had someone in mind the minute the idea had fully festered in your head, you just weren’t sure if Nancy and Robin would think you were crazy.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you decide to tell them. After all, like Nancy said, this was your best shot at a plan.

“When I thought of all of this, I had someone in mind. Someone who fits all the criteria and who Vecna might take instead.” As the remaining pieces of the puzzle fit together inside your brain, you leave Nancy and Robin to wonder in anticipation as your feet are rushing towards the basement stairs. You quickly turn around and yell, “Sorry, hold on! I’ll be right back!” before you’re bounding down the steps.

When you reach the basement, you ignore the way that all of the children look over at you, heads tilted as they no doubt question why you were both running down the stairs like a madman and rushing towards the pile of bags and backpacks that’s against a closet door. You can feel Steve’s eyes on your back as you dig through the mountain of everyone’s things – he’s staring hard enough to cut into your very soul – and you feel guilty, as if maybe he can somehow telepathically understand your intentions. Your hands run across the familiar leather of your purse, and you take it before you rush back up the stairs to explain yourself to Robin and Nancy. You don’t acknowledge Steve or the kids, you just stomp right up those steps again and feign ignorance. They won’t react well to your idea; plus, you don’t really have the time to fill them in. You’re limited now, time ticking down to less than 15 hours before Vecna strikes.

As you reach the kitchen again, you approach the countertop next to the sink and set your bag on it. You unzip the main zipper on the purse, widening the opening and plunging your hands into it; it’s too dark to see clearly, even under the lamp above the sink, so you use your fingers to search for that ridged cap that you know is hidden inside. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the two girls leaving their places at the breakfast nook, hesitant yet curiously stepping closer. Your gaze flashes back to your current task at hand, and if you had only paid more attention, then you would have noticed the addition of another set of booted footsteps. 

“What’s going on?” The tentative voice of Steve Harrington finally registers in your mind, but you’re determined now – you have to do whatever you can for these kids – so you say nothing in response and let Nancy and Robin explain for you.

“(Y/N) has an idea,” Nancy relays. “She thinks that maybe someone can distract Vecna from going after Max.”

“Yeah,” Robin cuts in, “and she ran downstairs like crazy to get her bag and hasn’t said a word since.”

As you continue looking through your purse, now opening other side pockets and navigating your fingers throughout them, Steve is nearing closer to you until he’s in the center of all of you, Nancy and Robin further in the back as there are only two or three steps between you and him. He’s about to speak, to ask you if you’re okay, but you mutter “Finally!” under your breath and turn around before he can.

You have a small, accomplished grin on your face as you showcase an orange pill bottle in your hands, the rough, rigid edges of the lid pressed into the skin of your fingertips. 

The two girls just stare at you, blinking with blank, perplexed faces. Nancy narrows her eyes at you – you can imagine her verbally asking you if this is a joke – and Robin just is completely silent, her mouth slightly agape as she seems not to have a single coherent thought. 

It even takes Steve a few minutes to recognize what you’re trying to do, but when he reads the tiny font on the side of the bottle – Paxil – it hits him like a freight truck. He looks at you with gaping eyes, almost in disbelief.

“No,” he says firmly, already shaking his head at you in the same way that he shakes his head at Dustin when he insists that he’s old enough for Steve to teach him how to drive. “Absolutely not. Are you insane?”

You can see Nancy and Robin giving each other tilted glances in your peripheral vision, communicating something to one another only through their eyes, but you ignore it. With Steve’s current disdain present in his narrowed gaze, the last thing you’re worried about is coming fully clean to the two girls behind you.

“We don’t have any other plans, Steve.” Your voice is low and quiet and you flash a brief, uncertain glance towards his face, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact for barely a second. You had hoped to see his features softening – maybe that would mean that he would give you a solid chance to explain – but they don’t. He remains stern and still, like a soldier reporting to their general. 

“Then we find something else. We come up with a new plan.”

“You know it isn’t that easy. We’ve spent hours trying to come up with something, and this–” you shake the bottle in your hand for emphasis, “–is all that we’ve got.” 

You’re beginning to lose your patience. You expected a fight from him, for him to be upset and worried about the implications of your suggestion, but you also thought that he would trust you enough to let you follow through with it. You know it’s risky – anything relating to the Upside Down is – but you know you’re right. You don’t really have much of a choice, but Steve is more stubborn than he’s ever been throughout your lengthy friendship.

Of course, he’s losing his composure as you are, and you feel your throat tighten as he raises his voice at you. 

“Then I’ll think of something!” His voice cracks as it increases in volume and you think that for a single moment you can recognize hints of desperation burrowed into it. Still, you’re too frustrated and tired to even consider dealing with the possibility. 

“Why does it always have to be you?” you ask, body trembling against your will. “Why is it that, when I have an idea, suddenly it’s you who has to come in and try to come up with a better one? Why do you always act like I’m completely incapable of anything when I’ve been around for more than enough of this hellish shit to know what I’m doing?!” 

Steve just rolls his eyes and scoffs as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind – that this reminds you a lot of the entitled way that he acted during his ‘King Steve’ phase in high school – and you push it away before it causes you to become emotional enough to angrily voice that thought.

“Well, maybe when you come up with an idea that isn’t completely stupid, we can go along with that.” His tone is cold and almost uninterested, and it causes you to falter. Your face contorts – mouth twisting downwards and brows rising as your eyes quickly scan over his, searching for a sign that maybe he regretted the words that just spewed lethally from his lips like molten lava spurting from a volcano – before your pain and disorientation forge into rage.

Robin anxiously steps forward and makes you realize that you had fully forgotten about the two other people in the room with you and Steve. She bites her lip as she stands between you both, hands with black painted fingernails holding the two of you away from one another without touching. She takes a long, uneven breath before speaking.

“I know you’re both angry,” she starts, head turning back and forth so that she can maintain eye contact with you both consecutively, “but let’s try to take a deep breath and calm down. Arguing isn’t going to help any of us.”

You close your eyes and do as she instructed, several deep breaths in and out. From the heaving noises you hear in front of you, you can tell that Steve is doing the same.

When your eyes are opened again, you nod at an expectant Robin in order to signify that you’ve gotten yourself handled. She gives you a small, friendly smile prior to shifting her attention to cooling Steve down. After he mirrors your actions to her, she mutters a few hasty ‘okay’s under her breath, as if encouraging herself to continue playing mediator. You don’t blame her for being so frazzled; you and Steve had never fought like this before.

“First,” she says softly, glancing at the orange bottle still gripped tightly in your hand, “what the hell is that?” 

You lift the container in question up and display it in your palm before explaining. 

“It’s an old medication my doctor recommended to me.” You tried to keep your gaze centered on Robin, knowing that any kind of interaction with Steve would probably go sour, but you still see him wince at your words. You try not to think about how it makes your stomach churn. “It was supposed to help with… some things, but it ended up making them worse.”

“Yeah?” Robin nods enthusiastically, probably just satisfied with the fact that you haven’t started arguing with Steve again, but another voice pipes in and interrupts.

“Sorry, but what does this have to do with distracting Vecna?” Nancy takes a step closer to the three of you, leaving her place among the awkward and uninvolved shadows. “You said you had a plan that might work, but I don’t think I’m following what this has to do with that.”

You freeze and look down to your feet. 

This is it. This is when you have to reveal just how reckless and absurd this entire plan of yours is. You knew Steve was right when he said that it was dangerous and stupid – you just didn’t want to admit it. But saying and elaborating on this… that was admitting that this was risky as hell, and you were suddenly worried about how they would react. 

You could see Steve looking at you expectantly, wondering if you were going to say it. Wondering if he was right in what he assumed you were going to do. 

But he already knew he was right, and you did too.

“The medicine gave me severe night terrors and headaches, along with hallucinations.” You meet the calculating eyes of each of your friends and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Consistently.”

The room falls painfully silent as everyone processes your implications. You can practically hear the sounds of the pieces of the puzzle connecting together in their brains, and you try to calm down your hammering heartbeat.

“That’s still not everything,” Nancy says, one brow arched as the other is furrowed against the skin of her forehead. “Chrissy, Fred, Max… They all have one other thing in common with each other that Vecna likes to take advantage of.” She doesn’t have to say it, you already know exactly what it is she’s talking about, but she does anyway. Ever the detective, was Nancy Wheeler. “Trauma.”

Everything is silent again, but this time it’s filled with a deeper heaviness, as if the air itself is carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders. Steve’s brown eyes are bouncing between you and the other two girls – he knows something that they don’t – but you can’t read him. His face is flashing through emotions like a parent snapping thousands of photos at their child’s kindergarten graduation, and you have a feeling that Robin and Nancy might be coming to the realization that there’s much more to this endeavor that they aren’t yet aware of. 

Everyone’s eyes are on someone else’s; Nancy’s flipping between looking at you and Steve, Robin’s watching her, and Steve is staring at you with the intensity of a military grade, high-beam flashlight. Your own gaze fixates among all of your companions, feeling like a deer caught in between the headlights of three different cars at once.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Steve’s whisper bounces off of the walls until it reaches your ears, and while he seems much more calm and collected than he was prior, the fact that he still doubts you – still doesn’t see just why you’re so adamant about this – causes frustration to bubble up into your veins.

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“Not when it’s the only way!” Your voice wavers despite how loud it is and your lip quivers between your teeth while your chest fills with an ache that you can only describe as pure desperation.

Your outburst shuts everyone up, too stunned and concerned and perplexed to muster up their voices. Quietude covers the room like a fresh fallen snow, freezing time and extending it all at once, and you can’t decide whether you hate this awkwardness that keeps hold of your tongues or if you want to relish within it. 

The tension of the room is broken by the creaking of the stairs and your head shoots around rapidly, worried that you had completely screwed up by waking Nancy’s family. The last thing you wanted was to be on anyone’s bad side, especially the people who were so kindly giving you a place to stay as the world was becoming a living nightmare.

However, Karen and Ted Wheeler didn’t stomp downstairs with fuzzy slippers and lavish robes on, roaring and ready to lecture you about respectfulness and noise levels before ultimately deciding to kick you from their home. No; in fact, the culprits behind the case of the squeaky staircase happened to be a set of three heads that were peeping around the edge of the wall, carefully looking at you with widened eyes and fretful frowns. 

With one shared glance between them, Robin grabbed Nancy’s hand and led her towards the children, rounding Max, Dustin, and Lucas back down the steps with reassuring whispers and gentle, guiding palms resting against their shoulders. Through the echoed sound of descending footsteps, you hear the kids grumble various words of protest, insistent upon their worry for you and Steve. Regardless of how upset you are, you feel your heart swell momentarily.

Only half of your group remains, leaving you and Steve in a silence that’s both more awkward than before and more comfortable. Being around him never failed in making you feel as if you were safe and accepted for who you truly were, but the absence of Robin and Nancy also meant talking about the inevitable. It wasn’t as if you really had any other choice, so – argument or not – you ultimately just want to get this over with. 

“I don’t know what you think I’m trying to do, but I’m not trying to senselessly put myself in danger.” 

Steve’s mouth opens, as if he’s already prepared to speak in protest of you, but you hold up a hand and stop him before he can. 

“Just listen to me, okay? For just a minute?” you ask, sighing into the gap betwixt the two of you. 

Luckily he nods, an almost sheepish look crossing over his features, like maybe he’s starting to realize that you might have some kind of end goal here that doesn’t have to do with getting yourself killed. 

You feel a tiny bit of guilt when you see how his lips downturn slightly, and you try to lighten the mood a little.

“I promise I’m not crazy.” You send him a genuine, playful smile – the kind that are as familiar to him as the strands of hair on his head – and he chuckles in response. 

He smiles fondly and shakes his head at the ground in front of your feet. “Yeah, that’s not true.”

You release air you didn’t know you were holding in and softly giggle with him; it isn’t even really funny, you both just need something to get rid of some of the tension that’s still clouding the room like smoke. The moment ends all too soon, though, and he looks at you with eyes that are painfully expectant. 

Swallowing a nervous lump in your throat, you begin, “I know it seems unnecessary and stupid to you, but I meant it when I said that I don’t think this is dumb.” You can see the uncertainty flickering through his warm, brown eyes, but you continue on anyway. “If it can save them, then it’s worth the risk.”

He’s completely still while he processes your words. You can see his eyes swap through emotions under his furrowed brows; he’s fully and wholly unsure of what exactly to say and how exactly to feel. 

He sighs and runs his hands anxiously through his hair, and after a few more conflicting facial expressions, he caves.

“This is important to you,” he starts, establishing direct eye contact in the soft way that he does whenever he’s about to tell you something that he knows you don’t want to hear, “and I get it. I mean, I’d do anything to keep the kids safe too, but I just don’t think this is–”

“–Steve.” You harshly interrupt him, knowing in advance how his sentence is going to end, knowing that he’s once again tossing your idea to the side. You want to be angry, to argue and scream and shout at the tops of your lungs, but you just don’t have the energy, so you settle for showing how you truly feel – exhausted. 

“Why don’t you trust me? We’ve been best friends for years and you always do this,” you start, annoyed and angry and confused, but most of all, just so sick of this. “When we were going underneath that farmland to set those vines from the Upside Down on fire, you made me stand back with Dustin ‘so I had someone to protect me.’” Your hands make sarcastic air quotes as you recall his exact words.

“Back then I just thought that you thought I was incapable because you didn’t know me that well, because we hadn’t known each other for very long... But you still do it. You wanted me to stay with Dustin and Erica instead of driving back to Starcourt with you and Robin so that we could help Eleven. When you were first translating that secret Russian code, you tried keeping it a secret from me for days before Robin finally told me, and when we got stuck in the Russian base underneath the mall, you let Erica – an actual ten year old – help out more than you let me.”

Your breathing staggers and you clench your fists so tightly that your fingernails dig into your palms. You feel tears threaten to fall from your lids and down your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you bring your gaze to settle on his. 

“You treat me like a child.” Voice strained, eyes watery, and chest drumming with anxiety and hurt, you feel as though your friendship with Steve could be ruined by what you say. And yet you don’t stop; you’ve gone too far into your feelings to leave the rest of it unsaid. “You treat me like a helpless, useless child. A child who has no freedoms and purpose, because, hell, even any other kid around has more value during these kinds of things than I do.”

You hold your stance firmly as Steve says nothing, just staring at you without any apparent emotion. The worry and apprehension from before is gone, and all he has left in front of you is himself. An unreadable version of himself. You don’t know what you expected, but this ambiguity is almost heartbreaking; from your perspective, it really didn’t seem like he cared about a single word you had just said.

Minutes pass and there’s still nothing; no words from Steve and no emotions from him either. You purse your lips together and squeeze your eyes shut; if this is how it’s going to be, you only have one last thing to say.

When you open your eyes again, you ignore the stray tear that cascades down the hill of your cheek. 

“I just wanted to help. That’s all I ever wanted to do.” Your voice is an unintentional whisper, which isn’t that surprising since you wouldn’t consciously trust yourself not to quiver either. “And I want to keep the kids safe. That would be my way of helping… So please, Steve. Just let me go through with my shitty plan so that we can buy Max some time.”

To your unwavering disappointment, Steve heaves a sigh and somberly shakes his head at you. You can’t tell if the ghosts of teardrops that you see at his lashline make it worse or not.

“You don’t understand.” He speaks softly and tranquilly, which is more than you expected from him, but it still doesn’t resolve things between you. It still doesn’t make you feel any less useless.

“Then make me understand!” you beg, voice crumbling under the pressure of its own volume. “If I don’t understand then just tell me!”

Steve’s gaze snaps to yours and stays there, his mouth pressed and trembling against his teeth that are chewing on the inside of his lower lip. While you assumed that he would be more angry, more defensive, as he’s standing in front of you now, he just looks like a sad, young boy who is petrified at the thought of losing his best friend.

“I can’t just sit here and let you take those meds because you know that it’ll do much worse than give you nightmares and headaches,” he reveals, tone hushed and fervent. “It’s dangerous because you’re at risk by putting yourself in the hands of a bloodthirsty villain from another dimension, and you’re at the risk of your own hands.”

You shake your head quickly, ready to disprove his point.

“I’ve been doing better, Steve. I haven’t done anything like that or had thoughts like that in months, I can–”

“No,” he says sternly, using the voice that you know means no more negotiation, and then his hand snatches the bottle of pills out of your hand. You’re fuming as you realize that he intends on trying to use intimidation to get you to cower, but your rage falls a little when you watch a tear fall from his pleading eyes. The combination of guilt and panic that you see in them makes your brain completely disregard how his knuckles turn white at how much force he’s using to grip the orange bottle, makes you forget that he even took the bottle from you in the first place. Finally seeing how this is all really affecting him, you let your anger fall away.

“I watched as you started to hate yourself more and more every day. I waited when you kept ditching our movie nights and our parties with the kids because you thought that you deserved to isolate yourself.” He pauses, face contorted in nothing but agony and dread. “I watched my best friend turn into someone that I didn’t even recognize anymore, and I can’t… I can’t do that again.”

He grunts to try and cover up the way he’s sniffling up his unfallen tears, and you feel your heart collapse into your stomach. You knew that he hadn’t reacted well when all of this went down, but to this extent..? You believed him, though, at such a vulnerable state it was disrespectful to even suggest otherwise. Plus, if your roles had been reversed, you would have felt as frantic and hopeless as he did.

Your throat tightens as you start to realize that maybe you’ve both been unfair to one another. That maybe you both should have been more honest instead of resorting to angrily upholding your pride. 

“Steve, I–” You try to apologize, to explain yourself – you’re not really sure exactly what all it is that you’re trying to do, but you feel the need to fix this somehow. After seeing Steve like this, you’re certain you’d do anything to reassure and comfort him, but he misinterprets your resignation for defiance and doesn’t give you the chance.

“No!” There’s something raw in his voice, in the way that he’s almost too quick to snap his face to look at yours, and it’s as if the words that have been spewing from his mouth have been shards of glass, slicing the insides of his throat until he’s hoarse and drowning in his own blood. 

“I don’t care, okay? Whatever argument you have against me is nothing because I won’t let you go back and relive that night in the hospital again.” He tries to be authoritative with his tone but it fails, and suddenly everything he’s saying is sounding more like a set of desperate pleas than a nonnegotiable demand. “I won’t sit there and be some useless bystander again while you’re barely hanging on to a thread of life.”

Steve opens his mouth and then halfway closes it, eyes flickering and features conflicted. He wants to say more; you know what he wants to say, but you also know that even he – as clueless as he sometimes can be – understands not to cross that line. Not to shout at you about your past turmoil like it’s your fault, because he’s fully aware of the fact that it isn’t. 

He also keeps his tongue bitten for your own dignity, to keep the kids and your few friends from hearing about this without you being ready, and regardless of how your current relationship with him is fairing, you find yourself mentally thanking him for holding back. 

You make a move to close the smothering space between you two, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbing your thumb along the edge of his collarbone. Surprisingly, he relaxes into it like he would any other time, when you weren’t in the middle of an argument that could potentially mess up everything.

“Steve,” you say his name slowly, sickeningly sweet as it tumbles from your lips, as if you’re trying to tell him so much with just his name – ‘I understand,’ ‘I forgive you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and something else that you’re not quite ready to admit to yourself that feels like falling and flying all at once. 

You don’t say anything then, knowing that what you’ll have to say won’t be what he wants to hear, so instead you keep your eyes on his, praying that somehow your thoughts can telepathically connect to him like they do when Vickie walks into Family Video, a sweet smile on her face as she asks Robin about her movie preferences. With pouted lips and brows tilted upward in concern, you hope that he gets it.

Minutes pass, and then you see the first sign of acquiescence – his face eases a little as his eyebrows straighten. It’s hardly anything and it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but it was enough for you to know that his insistence was starting to crumble.

“It’s for the kids,” you whisper, gaze floundering all over his face so you can monitor each feature that changes. You could say more – that these kids were thrown into the mouth of Hell at the ripe age of 12, bearing witness to more destruction, death, and heartache than anyone should ever have to – but you don’t have to. Steve already knows; it’s part of why he does all that he can for them. “I would do anything to protect those kids.”

Without a single beat passing, Steve replies, “And I would do anything to protect you.” 

It’s quiet, hushed and whispered into the room as if it’s a secret for only you to hear, although anyone else could see it with their own two eyes, plain as day. It’s soft and warm and ever-comforting, like when you wash your sheets and immediately cover yourself in them when they first get out of the dryer, shrouded in familiarity and the steady feeling of returning home during the holidays, the promise of a warm meal and your own bed no matter where you roam, forever there and forever yours. 

And suddenly everything makes a little more sense. The uncharacteristic stubbornness from Steve, the anger and hesitance and fear that radiated from his disposition; because that’s what it really was – fear. The looming sense of doom that filled the boy’s head and heart at the thought of you going against Vecna alone.

It was a fear that ran deeper than any he had felt before – even when the Russians under Starcourt had taken you hostage to try and strip you of your information and pride – amplified by swirling thoughts of your hand brushing against his as you sorted movies at work, the sound of your shared footsteps and giggles as you hid in the back room of Scoops Ahoy to sneak far too many ‘free samples’ of ice cream, and the feeling of you pressed against him – crying and breathing and safe – after you reunited as the smell of fire filled both of your lungs. 

You and he, alike, had come to self-realization, but uncertainty and a different kind of fear had kept you from acting upon it. Unsure of one another, of where you stood among the thin line between best friends and something more, until now. Until you heard it in his voice, in that same little admission that was an enigma just for you, and you just knew without him even saying it. You knew.

Your arms are around him in an instant, grasping at the soft cotton of his t-shirt and burying yourself into him. His eyes close as he pulls you impossibly closer, hands at your shoulders and his lips soft against your forehead in an eternal kiss. Warmth floods throughout you, filling your chest until it feels like it might be exploding, filling your lungs until breathing is a little easier, a little harder. 

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and tingly, “not even for a second. Not even partially.” He doesn’t have to add in the next part, you already know and he does too, but he does it anyway, a murmur that you can barely make out against the white noise of the Wheelers’ loud refrigerator. “Don’t you get it?”

And you do. 

You don’t have to look up to see the fondness in his eyes or to watch the way that a small tear rolls down his cheek and lands on the top of your head. You don’t have to hear him say it because his fingers tighten around your shoulders and he takes a long, deep breath; you can practically hear him repeating a mantra in his mind – You’re here, you’re here, you’re here…

Overwhelmed with emotions – far too many of them – your own eyes start to water again and you move yourself to rest your nose and mouth across his shoulder, both at an attempt to ground yourself and because teardrop stains on the shoulder of his shirt would be less uncomfortable than having them against his chest, not that you thought he would mind at all. 

You steadily inhale the fabric of his t-shirt and the smell that can only be described as him, an intoxicating mixture of sweet patchouli and faint vanilla that has an inkling of his floral-scented laundry detergent. 

You’re both doing the same thing: breathing and living and holding one another up and together, like the roots of two trees that have been intertwined for decades, now having to branch into one after the wake of a tornadic storm. You’re in the middle of your own thunderstorm now, with everything around you spinning and yelling and uncertain and tumultuous; all you have and all you want is one another, to stay as tightly interwoven as you’ve always been, so you clasp your bodies together in hopes that it will see you through the eye of the hurricane.

You hold each other until you’re slightly sweating and your bodies are beginning to grow stiff, but you never falter, hopelessly devoted to each other like the sun and the moon, lovers forever in pursuit of their counterpart without ever touching, but without ever receding either.

You’re sure he can feel it in your touch – or in your gaze or your words like you could see it in him – but you want to say something anyway, so you whisper, “I know,” with your lips close to the smooth skin of his arm. You want to push the thin cloth away and preach it into his bare flesh, over and over again so that he remembers it forever, but you don’t because it won’t save you.

It won’t save Max. As much as you might want them to, the feelings and fears that Steve holds for you – that you hold for him – are not capable of turning into soldiers that can defeat Vecna and the Upside Down. So far, there’s only one person who you both know that’s ready – as ready as you can be for battle with a great unknown – and who might have a shot, and that’s you.

But, like everything else that remains comfortably unspoken but not unacknowledged between the two of you, Steve knows this too. 

“I have to do this,” you mumble, feeling the most regret that you had the entire night, “for them.”

Steve doesn’t argue this time. He swallows the lump in his throat and wills his few tears away, aware that this is your choice to make – not that there really is much of a choice to make. With one last overbearing inhale against your forehead, as if he’s branding the scent of you and the very sensation of you into his brain forever, he slides something into your jacket pocket that rattles as it lands – the orange pill bottle – and ignores the very crushing of his heart as he gives the fate of his most beloved person up to the gods.

[yendts]

take me back to the summer when everyone was in love with him and i got to watch edits of the same 6 scenes over and over again

[strangertheories]

Hawkins went from from the pride parade to the black parade real fast

[wendydoodles]

scribble of the puppy eyes

[yellowcrowindustry]

Here to spread my “Mike is the little spoon” agenda 🩷

[yesimwriting]

Movie Club

UPDATE: Chapter Two  

A/N this is my stranger things era!! 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: There’s just something about the girl that comes into the video rental store every Wednesday evening. Too bad that ‘something’ makes all of that ‘be yourself’ game he has fly out the window until Robin gives him the push he needs. 

Warnings: canon level mentions of violence/eeriness, minor season 4 episode 1 spoilers, (maybe bleeds into episode 2 a little if you squint), mentions of death, fem!reader

----

Narrator’s POV 

The bell attached to the door that customers walk in and out of rings. Steve’s posture instinctually straightens as his head sharply turns in that direction. His job at Hawkins’ Family Video store isn’t one that demands this much attention, especially on a Wednesday afternoon, but this is the one time of week he knows he’s going to see her. 

Wednesday at a little after 5:00, depending on the time that cheer practice ends. She always walks in, the skirt of her uniform swaying as she flashes an even smile towards the counter. Some Wednesdays she approaches the front of the store before even browsing, grinning ear to ear with some story to tell Steve. These are the weeks that make every instinct he has melt out of his body. Then there are the Wednesdays in which she wanders the aisles, waiting for Steve to play the role of star employee, ready to help a customer find the perfect film. Those weeks steal the suave from his body, all coherent thoughts disappearing the moment they’re enclosed between aisles of VHS tapes. 

Okay...maybe it’s not about what happens on Wednesdays. Maybe it’s just her. Who is he kidding? Of course it’s her. He knows it, Robin knows it (and won’t let him forget it)...and of course, even Dustin’s managed to figure it out. Steve can still remember the Wednesday Dustin decided to stop by Family Video and how Robin took all of two seconds to explain why Steve was so jumpy. 

“It’s not her,” Robin hums, “Still too early.”

Steve sighs, forcing his eyes to drop to the floor. “I don’t--” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Robin turns away from the stack of new videos she’s supposed to be organizing. “She comes in every Wednesday around 5:00, and until you see her you’re a jumpy mess. Then you turn into an even worse mess.” 

He’s defeated. There’s no way to pretend that he isn’t overly aware of the time. “We’re friends,” he admits, “I like catching up with her.” 

“You mean you like when she comes in here, catches you up on everything in her life, and you stand there, like an idiot, either trying to string together a coherent sentence or figure out how to stop talking.”

Steve frowns. There’s not a good way to defend himself from the truth. “It is not like--”

“Come on, Steve, we’ve been here before.” Robin crosses her arms against her chest. “What happened to that ‘be yourself’, multiple dates a week attitude? What happened to wanting to find someone you actually felt something for?” She’s right, like always. Steve can’t quite react. “What--you finally figure out what you want and all of that goes out the window?” 

“It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it like, Harrington?” She raises an eyebrow, angling her head to the side in a way that reminds him a little too much of their Scoops Ahoy days.

He takes a deep breath, wishing there was a clock in front of him. What time is it? There’s a good chance she’ll walk in while they’re still talking about it. “It’s just...” Steve pauses, struggling to find the words, “It’s complicated, okay?” 

“Complicated?” Robin repeats, over pronouncing each syllable. “Being a girl that wants to ask out another girl is complicated. Being a guy that likes a girl who is always flirting with him is not. It is the exact opposite of complicated.” 

Steve blinks. “You think she’s flirting with me?” 

Robin groans, rolling her eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes! No cheerleader wants to spend this much of her senior year watching movies, and no girl with her grades has that much time to spare.”

“That’s exactly why it’s complicated,” Steve blurts out. “Her GPA’s basically perfect and she’s a part of so many extra curriculars, I don’t even know how she has time to have a conversation with me. There’s no way she she won’t go to some fancy school that’s hundreds of miles away.” 

Steve expects some kind of pity to soften Robin, but her stare never wavers. “Wow...now that is complicated, it’s not like there’s still a month until the school year ends and then an entire summer for you two to establish a real relationship that would have to end the second she goes to college because no one ever invented something called a phone.” Robin draws her eyebrows together in mock thought. “And it’s not like she’d ever come back to Hawkins to at the very least visit her family, and friends, and maybe even the loser that works at Family Video that won’t just ask her out already.” 

Robin won’t let this go until Steve admits the one thing he’s always fighting to not think about. “She comes in every Wednesday, and returns the video every morning on her way to school. That means she watches them on Wednesday nights--not Fridays, Saturdays, or even Sundays. Wednesday night is her movie night.” 

“I think we’ve established that.” 

Steve presses his lips together, something in his stomach twisting. He has only one argument left, but something about using it doesn’t feel right. Opening his mouth feels like preparing to lose a molar. “The only kind of people that have regular, without fail, standing, middle of the week movie nights are people in relationships.” He takes a deep breath. “There’s no way someone like her doesn’t already have a boyfriend, anyway. So just--just forget it, okay? We have our Wednesday routine, and it’s--”

“Better than nothing?” Robin finishes, a tinge of sympathy finally coloring her attitude. Steve stays silent, part of him wishing he would have just put. up with some teasing. “Steve, I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, and I don’t know if other guys like her.” Robin blinks, reconsidering her words. “Actually--I know other guys like her, but either way, that doesn’t matter. The way she looks at you, the way she talks to you--she likes you.” 

With his back against the counter, Steve pauses, trying not to consider Robin’s words. Is she right? Could there be more to their weekly banter as he pretends to not know where the newest videos are? He opens his mouth, still unsure on what to say. 

“Y/n.” Robin breaks eye contact. She’s staring at something past Steve’s shoulder. He must have been so lost in thought he didn’t hear the bell. 

Steve attempts to turn smoothly, but the way he twists is awkward. He sticks out his arm to stop himself from falling. Y/n is staring at Robin, a little confused as to why Robin just shouted out her name. 

“Y/n,” Robin continues, “You--you’re um-a little early.”

Y/n draws her eyebrows together, a little confused by Robin’s energy. It’s not like the two have never interacted, but that much enthusiasm over her appearance isn’t adding up. “Yeah, the freshmen cheerleaders caught onto the routine way faster than usual, so coach let us out little early. I think she’s going easy on us because...well, you know.” 

Something dark clouds her face and Steve instantly feels something twist in his stomach. Y/n is talking about Chrissy. Right now, Hawkins is grappling for answers, and Steve knows more than most. He knows that the police’s prime suspect is just as confused as the rest of them and all he did was witness it. Guilt roots itself in his chest and he’s not sure why. Even if he could tell Y/n what he knows, it wouldn’t help. It would force her into a world of danger and bring more questions than answer. 

“You two were friends, right?” Steve manages, voice low. “You mentioned her in a couple stories.” 

Y/n nods once absentmindedly. “Yeah, and I just--I keep replaying our last conversation. I was going to have some people over, and when I asked Chrissy she turned me down even though I told her I’d invite that guy she’s been trying to set me up with for weeks.” 

His mind shouldn’t go where it does, but Steve can’t help it. A boy--another boy that Y/n invited into what was clearly a party but she’s pretending it wasn’t. Did she still invite him after Chrissy said no? And Chrissy said no--that has to be weird, right? That’s something that he should tell Dustin. Robin elbows him from beneath the check out counter, making him realize another point he shouldn’t have dismissed so quickly. If her friend has been trying to set Y/n up for weeks, that not only means that she doesn’t have a boyfriend, it means that she doesn’t want one. Or, at least, she doesn’t want whatever high school superstar Chrissy was trying to set her up with. 

It’s no secret that Steve’s done the popular in high school thing. Even if someone doesn’t feel like they have time for a relationship, they date. No one doesn’t date for no reason. Does she like someone? 

“Something was wrong, and I just keep thinking that if I had pressed a little more, maybe Chrissy would have told me, and--”

“You can’t blame yourself for something like that.” He wishes there was a way he could tell her how much it’s not her fault. Chrissy wasn’t a victim in the way that Y/n thinks. “Bad things have been happening in Hawkins for awhile.” 

Y/n nods again, unconvinced. “Yeah.” Her hands move forward, smoothing the skirt of her uniform. “I’m going to try to find a copy of Pretty in Pink.” There’s something stiff about Y’n’s dismissal. “It feels weird to be watching a movie, but my sister has been begging to see it since it came out.” 

Without another word, Y/n turns down the romantic comedy section. As soon as she’s no long visible, Robin lets her eyes go wide. 

“Her sister,” Robin whispers, “Her movie nights are with her sister, she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and she’s been turning down guys for weeks.” 

Steve’s stomach has never somersaulted this much in his life. He tries to swallow but his mouth has gone try. “She’s--” 

Robin reaches over to the pile of long forgotten returned movies. She holds up the tape she was looking for. Pretty in Pink. “Go,” she waves him over, handing him the VHS.

Okay...now or never, right? 

----

Y/n’s POV 

Am I in the mood to watch a romantic comedy? It doesn’t matter. Nothing about what I want to do feels like it matters. Everything makes me feel guilty. Each class I take, each game I go to, is something that Chrissy didn’t get to do. Everything I do is something she’s never going to get to do. 

Not only did she die, she experienced something brutal. In fifth period, her boyfriend told me the police officers didn’t even let her parents see Chrissy’s face. Who could have done something that terrible to her? That freak Eddie in that Hellfire cult, is what Chrissy’s boyfriend said. 

I’m not sure I believe him. Sure, he’s been held back for as long as I can remember and whatever his friend group does makes like no sense to me, but being a little weird doesn’t make someone a murderer. Besides, my physics teacher assigned him as my lab partner. I’ve talked to him. He’s eccentric, a little loud, and in no way a friend of mine, but he’s not like those guys on the news. I really doubt he’s some kind of beginner Ted Bundy, and until there’s actual evidence, I don’t think I should be scared of him. I’m not going to go out of my way to wave at him in the halls, but I’m not hoping for his arrest either. 

I just want answers...and to find this movie so that I can get home. It feels weird to do something so mundane, but my sister knew Chrissy, and she’s freaked out. The last thing she needs is a stray from routine, especially since I worked so hard to make sure we spend some time together my senior year. That’s a good excuse, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a part of my adamance is the excuse to regularly see the guy that always has the Wednesday afternoon shift. 

That weird fluttering feeling in my stomach that I feel whenever I see Steve Harrington is the one part of me that hasn’t changed throughout high school. None of my current friends ever acknowledge this, but the start of high school was nowhere near as easy as the end of it. I may be a cheerleading co-captain that’s definitely going to be nominated from prom queen now, but freshman year me used to spend free period making friends with the librarians. I’ve changed so much, and yet I can’t let go of Steve Harrington. 

It’s ridiculous. Sure, he’s nice to me now, but it’s because I run into him at work. I also don’t doubt the fact that 17-year-old me is a lot less of an awkward weirdo than I was when we were in the same chemistry class. Ugh...I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Chrissy’s dead and my sister is waiting for me at home. 

I take my time scanning the movies in the romance aisle, a part of me hoping that Steve might come over here. He’s normally always coming up to me in order to either help me find movies or recommend something. It’s just a part of his job, but I can’t help the way the extra opportunity to talk to him makes me feel.

My eyes are still looking over film titles on the third shelf when I feel it again. Cold sweat against my neck and the palms of my hands. My stomach is a rock. Not again, not here. I take a deep breath, trying to read the titles in front of me but everything’s blurred. I blink and blink, but nothing clears up. The colors swirl together, and I’m no longer looking at movies. The pictures aren’t titles, they're depicting horror. Monsters with sharp teeth, bloody bodies, and broken people. 

Has the lighting in here always been like this? So flushed and blue tinted and haunting--

Okay, breathe. Just br-- 

“Y/n...” The voice that whispers my name is gruff yet attempting to be soft. My skin crawls. “Y/n.” It’s coming from the other aisle. Something shifts. A shadowy image is peaking around the corner of the aisle. It’s tall and skewed the way a broken bone is. “Y/n.” It takes another step towards me. 

My hand rests on a shelf, my knuckles turning white due to my grip. One more step and it will round a corner. I squeeze my eyes shut with all I have. 

Something makes contact with my shoulder. My body turns, almost slamming into the shelf my hand was on. Forcing my eyes to focus, I see Steve. He’s withdrawn his hand, letting it linger in the air between us like his silent concern. I take a deep breath, the air settling in me like it’s supposed to. 

Oh--I can breathe again. I blink twice. The lights no longer seem cold and the movie titles are once again just that. I turn my head as casually as I can manage. There is no longer a shadow peering around the corner. 

I’m losing it, and I’m losing it in front of Steve. Chrissy’s death was a tragedy, but I don’t think grief makes people hallucinate things like that. What the hell am I seeing? 

“Uh--Steve.” My words are more to myself than to him. Everything is normal and I don’t believe it. “Sorry, I’m jumpy today.” I scratch the back of my arm. “The whole Chrissy thing has messed with my head a little.” His eyes are soft, sympathetic. Great--a whole school year’s worth of process washed away. He’s thinks I’m crazy. There has to be a way to save this. “You should have seen me in English today after Tammy Thompson dropped a pencil that rolled under my desk.” The awkward laugh that follows my rambles might haunt me more than my hallucination. 

Steve almost smiles. “This kind of stuff can mess with anyone’s head.” He lifts his other hand. “You said you were looking for Pretty in Pink, and our last copy was up front.” 

Okay--everything is normal. He’s just doing his job. I don’t know what that makes me deflate a little. “Oh--thank you. My sister’s gonna love this.” 

He nods, tapping his fingers against the side of the tape. “No problem.” 

Steve turns, giving me some space to walk next to him. I’m glad for the excuse to get out of this aisle. I’d rather talk to him by the check out counter where nothing bad has happened to me.The farther I get from that corner, the safer I’ll feel. 

Our hands dangle at our sides. It would take nothing for our fingers to touch. Steve walks away from me, letting the likely one-sided tension disappear as he settles behind the counter. 

“I think it’s nice that you watch movies with your sister.” 

My nails tap against the counter. “Yeah, she just started her freshman year and I’m graduating. I wanted to make sure we spent some time together this year. It’s been nice, but sometimes I miss being able to watch more action-y stuff. I used to be really into scary movies but now none of my friends want to watch them with me.” 

"I can imagine why.” 

He’s trying to make a joke, but what happened earlier hasn’t left my mind yet. I try to laugh it off with my reply. “I can’t blame my friends, I did always end up all over them.”

“Hey, Steve,” Robin says, “We’re going to need to reorganize the new releases before Friday because that’s when we’re supposed to get that new Poltergeist movie.” 

Steve doesn’t even look towards the tapes that Robin is sorting through. “We just need to move the oldest from the new release section to--”

“The new Poltergeist movie is coming this Friday,” Robin repeats, words a little more emphasized than before, “A lot of people are going to want to watch it, so I think it’s important that we schedule a time to make it easier for people to find it.” 

Steve finally turns his head towards her. “Oh.Yeah, I’ll check the display after I finish up here.” 

“You know, I never even saw the first Poltergeist.” 

There is no way. “You work at Family Video and you’ve never seen Poltergeist?”

My surprise must be as obvious as it feels because he pauses. “I just never got around to it.” 

“’Never got around to it,’” I practically gasp, “That movie broke box office records when it first came out. I am seriously doubting every recommendation you’ve ever made to me.” 

“I have a good taste!” 

“Debatable.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Well, if it’s such a big deal, maybe you should watch with me.” I freeze more sharply than I mean to. Did he just ask me to do something? Like actually do something? “So that you can have proof that I watched it and my recommendation credibility can be restored.”

“Y-yeah.” Really--something that I’ve wanted for four years just happened and my reaction was the word ‘yeah’. “I’d feel a lot better taking your movie recommendations knowing that you’ve at least seen Poltergeist.” 

The corner of Steve’s mouth turns upwards. “How’s Friday? My shift ends at 6:00 and I can put aside a copy of the sequel. Technically, not supposed to reserve merchandise, but I think I can get away with it.”  

Two movies?! Okay--act calm. It’s not like I haven’t been asked out before, and I don’t even think this is a date. “You’ve got a bit of bad boy streak, Steve Harrington.” 

Since when am I this awkward? Steve leans against the counter. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Calm. Act calm. He scans Pretty in Pink and hands it over. “Deal.” 

----

Narrator’s POV 

Y/n walks out the door with her weekly movie like she has every week, but something’s different. 

Steve Harrington has plans with Y/n L/n. Steve Harrington has what could easily be considered a date with the girl he’s spent months pining over. 

Robin and Steve turn to face each other after Y/n steps out of the store. The two high five. 

“I did it!” 

“More like I did it.” 

----

first time writing for Stranger Things!! This took longer than I thought, and I still have enough ideas to make a part 2,, so if you enjoyed this, let me know!

[oopsgracie]

get to it

steve harrington x reader

summary: the Hawkins gang are getting some rest after saving Nancy, all camped out in Eddie’s living room. Only, Steve can’t quite catch a break from worrying about them but that’s what friends are there for— to help. Because thats all you two really are, just friends. If anything at all.

warnings: none!! super short, sweet and simple

word count: 2.9k

hurt comfort, sarcastic steve the babysitter and an even more sarcastic m/c (written in second person), slight frenemies to lovers and love confessions with a hint of drama concerning nancy wheeler.

When you wandered inside from the cold, the trailer was quiet— save for Dustin, who’s snores drifted from beneath a knot of limbs and blankets piled on the floor, everyone having collapsed beneath the weight of exhaustion and dragging Nancy back from the clutches of Vecna, not to mention the pressure of protecting life as you knew it from the shadow realm that quite literally rested above your head. It'd been a long day.

That was everyone but Steve, of course, who lingered obstructively in the doorway, leant against the frame like he was almost too tired to support his own weight. If anyone should be sleeping, your eyes wandered to the makeshift bandage coiled around the wound on his stomach, bulky beneath a fresh t-shirt— it was him. It would also save you from an awkward conversation.

But he never did like to make your life easy.

“Almost feels normal, doesn't it?" The usual tension between you was abated by exhaustion on behalf of both parties as you stood tautly next to him. There was that slight metallic twinge of blood that lingered in the air. It clung to Steve like sweat, thick and heavy.

So he laughed tiredly beneath his breath, "You could say that." Staring at your friends, no, your family tangled together on the carpet, the couch, Hell they'd even hauled the coffee table flush against the wall just so they could pack themselves closer together— like sardines in the tin of Eddie's trailer. Like a real sleepover, a normal sleepover. "Almost."

There's a furrow tilled between his eyebrows when his expression twists into something troubled. You watch as he sweeps those eyes carefully across them all, catching like a thread on Nancy. She's curled tightly into herself on the sofa until she's only a girl-shaped bump beneath her nest of blankets, pale and breathing shallowly.

But breathing nonetheless. She was okay.

And reading him was far too easy these days but it still felt intrusive somehow. "You did your job, Steve." It was barely a whisper, but urgently said.

“What?" For the first time, he wrenched his stare away from the gang and centred it squarely on you. His expression was tight. He was as fervent in asking his questions as you were— arrogantly expecting an answer rather than just demanding one.

“I mean— they're all okay." You kept them safe. It sat on the tip of your tongue like lead, something you couldn't quite admit yet. Not to him.

“They're okay." He repeated absentmindedly. The end of your sentence, ‘for now' hung over your heads like a threat, like the gate did. You shifted your weight uncomfortably in the silence, punctured only by a chorus of quiet breathing that rose from your friends.

He still stared at you like that for longer than what was considered societally normal, steadfast and firm, like he was trying to see right through your eyes and into your mind behind them, to decipher your thoughts and unravel your feelings. It was... strange, for lack of a better word, invasive even, but not entirely unpleasant.

You know, probably due to the simple and alarmingly obvious fact he was quite pretty really, startlingly so.

His eyes were gentle, or they would be if he didn't look so bruised up and tired. They were framed by dark lashes any girl would be jealous of, fluttering delicately against his cheeks every time he blinked slowly. You had the overwhelming urge to reach up and graze that cut on his temple with your thumb, the same side of his face that was lit warmly by the gentle glow of a table lamp. But you tore the thought from your mind and turned away abruptly, crossing your arms against your chest like they could protect you from his judgement, and maybe to ensure you wouldn't actually reach out and touch him.

Anybody else, you thought, you can feel that way about anybody else— just decidedly not for Steve 'the hair' Harrington, who'd been a first-class asshole in school. He was clearly an egomaniac who might have changed since senior year, sure, but he was rarely tolerable. And that was if you felt like being generous.

And yet none of that changed the reality of these last few days. Not the person he has been, not the things he’d done.

A reality in which he was suddenly, paradoxically selfless and observant and still frustratingly attractive. One in which he was stood in the same doorway with mere inches to spare, your shoulders brushing, while he studied you like that, with a look that was vaguely familiar. And, ironically, one in which he was more than tolerable— he might even be likeable. What an awful, awful thought.

He tipped his head backward when you smiled stiffly, satisfied, until it collided with the doorframe and he screwed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. He sighed shortly. You rocked back on your nikes, considering his pained expression.

“How are you?" It wasn't said kindly exactly, but it was an honest question.

“I'll be fine." His response was automatic and his tone was softer, distracted again by the girl on the couch as she shifted in her sleep. You could let him lie to you if it made this moment a little less fraught with the anxieties of impending death. It could wait for an evening, if only that long.

“Copy that.”

“To tell you the truth i’m more worried about..." Nancy's name died in his throat and drifted over them both like a ghost. But you faltered. There was that soft stare again, the one he gave to you.

You watched him in quiet confusion, for long enough that he must have felt the overwhelming urge to fill that silence— anticipation in its most awkward form.

“It's not like you to be so... you know, empathetic." He muttered through that famous smile, small as it was. "Sure you didn't hit your head back there?" You snorted and shook your head, scuffing your shoes against the carpet so you didn't have to meet his gaze. Again.

“Well, if you're going to die on me tonight Harrington, I don't want you haunting me afterward because I didn't care about your shitty feelings."

“Makes sense, makes sense." He repeats absentmindedly, staring into the dark. He runs his fingers through his hair and your stomach twists. In moments like these you were nothing more than a simple girl— he doesn't have that nickname for no reason. "I think i'd stick around with you anyway."

You turn to him with a bitter expression that seemed to ask 'why?'. Your smile retained a sense of self-consciousness Steve didn't understand, but watching as your face lit up was a lot like staring at the sun— warm and pretty.

“Turns out, I don't completely hate your company," He threw his hands up, "You might strangle me for saying so but I maybe even like spending time with you." You laughed then and every other sound seemed to fade in comparison. "Can you believe it?"

“I mean— it is just a little incredible if you want me to be honest." You smiled, pinching your fingers together until they hovered just a hairs-breadth apart.

“More incredible than an alternate dimension and... monsters and shit?"

It was. It actually was. He had no idea how many nights you laid awake vowing to hate Steve Harrington and his stupid hair until your dying breath— or better, until his. Reconciling that son of a bitch with the boy stood in front of you was... difficult. It was letting that grudge go, something that wasn't as simple as it should be, not like pruning a rotten limb from a healthy tree. It was messy, deep and twisted into your psyche and that stubborn part of you resisted, this decision was friction, burning in spite of every assumption you ever made about him. But ultimately and objectively, maybe moving on was a step in the right direction. Maybe it was healthy.

So you grinned. And shrugged your shoulders, releasing all that tension and the hatred that came with it. A step in the right direction.

“You're not so bad yourself. I s'pose."

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special, you know that?” He raised his hand and pressed a fist against his heart. "Truly heartwarming." His shirt rode up slightly, exposing his makeshift bandage and your face fell just a little, just enough for him to notice and twist awkwardly away.

“You're welcome." But you were quiet, the sentence was almost strangled by that lump in your throat that might be worry.

Nancy sighed. Steve, once again, seemed to panic.

“Hey, can I—" You cleared your throat, "Can I ask you a personal question?”

“We've only been friends for five minutes but..." He must've noticed your earnestness because his eyes soften with concern at the corners, "Sure, go ahead."

“Do you… do you still love her?"

“Are you shitting me?" You seemed... taken aback when he whispered, to say the least, physically backing up and as far away from him as the doorframe would let you. You went so far as to blink at him in complete and utter surprise and your expression soured. “Sorry, sorry." He mumbled sarcastically. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just— it's a big question, okay?"

“A big question?" You folded your arms again, "It was like, five words."

“You know what I mean." That was the sullen expression of a spoilt child sulking, not someone who'd graduated high school. But Steve never really had grown up. And so he frowned, his bottom lip jutted out like a shelf. "And no, by the way."

“No what, dingus?"

“No I don't still love her." Your ribcage tightened, enough to make breathing an effort. But why?

“You're sure?" His eyes lingered on her, thoroughly pensive with baited breath but he seemed to surrender himself to some kind of truth when he turned away, turning back to you.

“Well... no." You wondered why that stung so much, why you felt so defeated.

“No?"

“Not exactly. I'll always love her a little bit— I think. Y-you weren't there the first few times, going through that together— I don't think I have much of a choice except to love her. But..." Way to make a girl feel special, you thought, his words sat in the back of your mouth like a bad taste. You swallowed thickly and nodded anyway, like a friend should— considering that's what you were now and all.

“But not in the way you're talking about." He grew kind of frantic, intense was probably a better word. At the very least a little dramatic. "She's been through so much, you know? But somehow, somehow she's still like a really, truly good person. Like heart of gold type shit. The kind of person you want as a friend, like really want. Like Robin. So... I love her like that, even if we aren't super close— love her like a friend I mean, and I want her to be safe and happy, but... I don't love her."

“Right." You whispered and he shook his head decisively, smiling at his shoes almost smug, infuriatingly so. The impression only grows when he turns to watch you, to consider you— and those micro expressions that betray so many secrets.

“Can I ask you a personal question?" He tilted his head to one side like a puppy, his hair flipping softly with it. You nodded breathlessly, too tired to ask him about that tone, the one that often precedes a difficult question.

“Why do you care?"

Your train of thought seemed to stutter and stop, leaving you to scramble for some kind of answer.

“It's just... cause from the way you look at her, it kind of seems like you two have some unresolved feelings to work through, I guess."

“Hey, hey, slow down." You blinked at him through the half-light. He hesitated. "If there's anyone I have unresolved feelings for it's not Nancy."

“What? I thought you and Robin were—"

The face he made was comical, and maybe insulting if you were Robin. "Oh God no, it's definitely not her either, just... just give me a second okay?"

“Oh— okay." You waited, and he did that thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose again, breathing hard, harder than you were. "Are you good Steve?"

“You remember when you said you didn't care about my feelings? Like five minutes ago?"

“Funnily enough yeah, I do. Why?"

“Right, right so, you never exactly have either, like back in school."

“Back when you were a real asshole, you mean? What was your name again, oh right, King Stev—"

“I'm serious y/n."

“You are? Wow, this has gotta be a first for sure.”

“Yes, I am. And I know I was a total moron, just to be clear, but I sat behind you in home room the whole of senior year. It was the first day of school and I asked if you had a pen I could borro—"

“Classic Steve, no school supplies." You snickered.

“Eat shit." His eyes rolled too as if he could be more sarcastic, "Anyway, you gave me a pencil and I wrote you a note with it. Remember that? It was pink. I asked if you wanted to go catch a movie down at the theatre and you literally threw it back at me in front of like..." He faltered, his adam's apple bobbing not with worry but...shame. "Like everyone."

“You mean that wasn't... a joke?" Regret blossomed like spring flowers in your stomach and you felt a little sick.

“Why would it have been a joke?"

“Steve..."

“Yeah?" His voice was so small, so different and vulnerable. Maybe even a little defensive.

“You tormented me that entire year, forgive me if I didn’t think you had serious intentions.”

“I— I know. And I'm sorry, I was just... hurt. And immature and if i'm totally honest? A little obsessed with you in the least creepy way possible. A part of me just wanted your attention."

“I don't know what to tell you. This is—“

“Well, that's okay. What I was going to say, other than that i'm sorry," He eased gently. There was no warning before he slipped his hand into yours, just a mildly comfortable silence, "Is that I still really like you.”

“You… you used to like me?” You spoke slowly, it simply didn’t seem to register, discordant with that image of him you carefully constructed.

“Unfortunately.”

“And you still do?” He nodded nonchalantly, looking conflicted.

“Yeah, well. I wanted to mention that and the fact you are like way, way more difficult than I thought you would be judging by these last few days." The corners of your mouth quirked upward unwillingly, you turned away to try and hide it but he saw. And he smiled wider. "But you're also pretty damn cool."

“That much has always been obvious, maybe you just weren’t looking close enough." But you stared at him openly, excitedly. And he stared straight back, pleased to be the reason you were happy.

“I’ve always noticed you.” It was so blasé, so like him. “But if you tell anyone, I mean anyone, what i’ve just said, like Robin, or Dustin, or Erica..." You raised your eyebrows and he laughed into the small space between you, "I will feed you to Vecna myself. We will never, I repeat, never hear the end of it."

“He doesn't eat people, Steve."

“Oh yeah? How do you know?"

“Have you been listening to Nancy?"

“I mean—“ He mumbled something softly, staring at your mouth that sounded a lot like “I was pretty wrapped up with you, to be complete honest." But when the corners of your mouth curled upward in a wry smile, he shrugged, suddenly uptight, "Of course I have— hey! What’s so funny?"

“You're a dork Steve Harrington."

“Oh..." He leans a little closer, his voice a little lower. "Really? Is that your type?” Until your chests are almost touching, until your heart is in your throat and you can feel his breath warm against your cheek as he speaks, fervent with ardour and an immature kind of glee.

“Mhmm, maybe." The drop wasn't scary like you thought it would be, it wasn't quick. You didn't find yourself toeing the edge of a precipice and throwing yourself over, you didn't fall into love so much as meet it quietly, in that doorway. It simply planted itself in the back of your mind and you found it taking root, unfurling at the centre of everything.

All you knew when he offered you his hand in the steady glow of that dated table lamp and the company of your friends, is that you took it. And it felt different. And for a moment all that matters existed in that space between you, those inches that separated your sternum from his and his heart from yours. Even in with the windows open and the gate above your head that let in the cold, let in that stifling quiet, he radiated warmth, he radiated light. It spread from your fingertips through the very fabric of your being, a feeling that seeped into your bones and through your defences, right into your heart until it fluttered behind your ribcage. You felt like laughing.

“Now Harrington," You spoke softly, teasingly, right onto his lips, "Get to it."

“To what?" He mumbled, mesmerised by your mouth as it moved.

“One day, you're going to die at the hands of your own stupidity." You muttered beneath your breath only that there wasn't enough space between you for privacy, and he heard every word, still confused, still amazed by you, "I thought you were supposed to be experienced in this by now."

“What are you talking about?"

“Just kiss me, before I change my mind."

So he did, not softly, not slowly but like he'd been starved of affection, his hands finding the small of your back and pulling you closer, his lips slotted against yours like puzzle pieces. He was attentive and careful and rough, he was everything you've ever wanted all at once, he sent your head spinning. Until he pulled breathlessly away.

You blinked at him breathlessly, bottom lip caught between your teeth, warmth reluctantly rising in your cheeks to paint them a pretty shade of pink, “You're still a fool Steve Harrington? You know that?"

He laughed, really laughed, and whispered stupidly, "Only a fool for you."

let me know what you think!! it keeps me motivated :)

more steve content on the way and this is a reminder that my requests are open if there’s anything you want me to write next!! <3

read ‘haunted house’ - steve harrington x reader here

[indouloureux]

the freakshow

eddie munson x reader

summary: your heart dances on the edge of the knife when it comes to the infamous eddie munson. but the freak loves to play with knives at the freakshow, and he’s got you kneeling before him with his initials carved into your skin, bleeding down to his feet.

word count: 5, 962

warnings: Smut (MINORS DNI), usage of knives. graphic depictions of carving on to the skin. blood, violence, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. (explicit warnings below the cut)

a/n: another eddie smut. i was in the middle of writing a folklore one shot for mcu peter and i was eager to write this one. this includes knife play so please proceed with caution.

MASTERLIST

(follow @bloodstheink to get notified when i post)

explicit warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), knife play (carving names on their skin), creampie, lotus sex position, cockwarming, overstimulation, squirting, cum eating, blood sucking? (promise its not creepy), praise kink and degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics w dom!eddie, biting, tongue fucking, rough sex

Green, orange, red, white, black.

Freakish colors that juxtaposes the colors on your paper. You don’t know what you’re absentmindedly sketching, you hadn’t even realized your hands had begun constructing—

You tilt your head to the side, looking down and leaning closer.

— A cute little flower with green and orange petals, but apparently it also has red horns and a black tail right at the bottom of the strangely white stem.

Oh, and it looks like its dying.

The cafeteria is loud, you’ve barely touched your lunch, and your friends are talking loudly beside you. Very loudly, in fact, that you feel like your ears are going to explode and drip blood down to the side of your face. Agitated, you drop the pencils down the table, the clatter overwhelmed by vacuous parleys and childish shouting from food staining their clothes.

“Hey,” Chrissy Cunningham moves closer to you. Her hair’s no longer up in a tight ponytail, opted on a less compressed hairstyle that’s been giving her headaches lately. “You alright?”

You smooth your skirt with your palms, feeling the sweat transfer on the textile. “Yeah,” you swallow nothing. “It’s just really loud.”

“Need some fresh air?”

You’re about to answer her question, yes, you were going to say, yes, please, before I slam my head against this table. But the voice you’ve heard in so many timbres adjourns you, vocalizing loudly behind the cafeteria that it has you turning around.

Eddie’s got his feet on top of the table, walking over his friend’s lunches. He’s saying whatever; he’s saying things Eddie would say, because he is Eddie. He’s got his hands raised to balance himself on the decrepit tables, before he jumps off to scare a poor old teacher away.

That’s something Eddie would do.

And then he looks at you and suddenly you don’t want to slam your head against the table anymore, nor do your ears feel like they’re going to explode. Because you meet his eyes that are almost always on you – the same eyes that you can sense when he’s bored, or curious, or searching, or rapacious to tear the curtains between the audience and the freaks.

They’re also the same eyes that knows exactly who you are. They’ve got you memorized, every inch of your imperfectly pretty body, or what opens the faucet that leaks tears, or which performance made you smile the most; Wild eyes that memorized your labyrinthine self that anyone else couldn’t.

Your labyrinthine self, known only by Eddie – a rumored cult leader. He’s only the leader of Hellfire Club, anyway. But that does nothing to wipe the stain he’s put on his image, so if everyone else sees Eddie adding blemish to your reputation, or you to his, your picture might as well be burned to ashes.

He tells you it’ll spark havoc, that you’ll be seen in the same way as him.  You try so hard to tell him you don’t care. However, keeping things secret is so dangerously fun – an impious part of you the public believes is vain proved covertly by Eddie was a knowledge that’s thrilling enough to keep to yourself.

You see Eddie’s throat bob, and he ever so subtly smiles at you, because you know damn well seeing the freak smile at one of the most precious cheerleaders of Hawkins would be the most controversial of them all (it’s exaggerated, you and Eddie both know, but teenagers exaggerate everything, even though he’s twenty).

He suddenly then falls forward to the ground, almost hitting a passerby. For a brief moment your eyes widen in surprise, but see that no one was there to trip him, mainly it being for show just for you. Your heart eases, smiles at the boy who’s taking imaginary dust off his shaggy hair.

“(y/n),” Chrissy ducks her head down, gaining your attention. You forgot what she’s said, cheeks burning in discomfiture. “Do you need some fresh air?” she repeats.

Unable to answer, you nod instead, because you smile when you see the grin on Eddie’s face as he goes back to sitting down with his friends, knowing he’s succeeded once more to put a smile on your face.

He takes your exit as a sign to take his, too. You walk away until you reach the forests across the fences, holding your skirt down your thighs from the fresh breeze. When you spot the same bench you and Eddie normally hang out in at free periods, you sit there with a heavy sigh.

You name the rustling behind you as Eddie. You raise your head to see him, leather jacket and a sleeveless denim to cover his contentious shirt. He smiles at you, practically tossing his black lunchbox on the wooden table.

“Well, hello there,” he says this in a way that he’s almost singing it. Eddie sits in front of you and places his elbows on the table before resting his chin between his palms. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” you mimic his position with a greeting smile. “It smells like barf and mixed soft drinks inside there.”

“What, you don’t like mixed sodas?”

“Haven’t tried it,”

He gasps, anthemic that he almost falls to the ground. “Really?” Eddie queries in disbelief, picking a lone lint off your hair. You try not to shiver at his simple act. “Are you that compliant that you don’t try out different sodas at the same time?”

You snort. “I’m not that docile.”

“How come you’ve never tried it then?” Eddie smushes his lips on his palm, bent awkwardly but he still manages to talk to you while looking scruffily charming.

Taking the jersey off your arms, you shrug. “No one took me out to try it yet.”

“Well you, m’lady,” Eddie opens his lunchbox, the cover clanging loudly on the wooden table before he takes out a pack of cigarettes. You make an excited sound, taking one from him, “are missing out.”

He lights the cigarette from you. The lighter he uses is the same one you bought for him after dropping it down the sewers one time, one where he’s surprisingly fine about even though he’s had it for years. “They’re just sodas, Eds. Not water. I won’t die if I don’t try them.”

“But you should,” he says after lighting his own. “They taste, I don’t know, funky? I can’t explain it. The aftertaste’s kinda shit, though, I’ll tell you that.”

Your lipstick stains the tipping paper, disparities the red wax brazenly. And while the smoke mingles with the air, you toy with the coffin nail nervously. Eddie, like earlier, senses your disquiet. He walks over to where you are before he wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently tugging you closer to him. You let him even though the possibility of being caught was now 73%.

“Something’s keeping you on edge since this morning,” he murmurs. He fights the urge to press a kiss on your hairline, instead occupies his twitching mouth with a cigarette. “I know you think I noticed at lunch, but we got morning classes together and I know when you’re nervous.”

“It’s nothing, Eds,”

“No it’s not,” he pushes your hair out of your face until he’s cupping the back of your head to look at him, stroking the skin behind your ear. “What is it, sweetheart, tell me?”

Yesterday’s expedition clouds your mind – in Eddie’s car, splayed out in the back with your hand gripping the back of your thighs as Eddie drives his cock in deeper, and even after cumming inside you he pushes his fingers in your sensitive hole and bullies your clit until you gush out on his shirt and his face and maybe even your own, without realizing that one of the Hawkins basketball players passed by.

“I think Patrick McKinney saw us yesterday,” you tell him. “He- I don’t know, Eddie. He passed by. I don’t think he saw us but I think he heard us? I mean, not that I care. It’s just that, I think maybe I care a little because he might have caught us having sex? He saw me naked and saw you naked and he might have seen the-the thing—”

“Hey,” he stops you by placing a hand over your mouth, laughing a little. “You gotta relax. My windows are tinted, babe. He didn’t see us, and if he heard us, he probably just assumed I was with another girl.”

The image of Eddie with someone else has you shifting uncomfortably between two feet, eventually scoffing and taking a hit. “If you think saying that is helping, Eddie—”

He laughs again, like music to your ears. “I’m sorry, babe,” Eddie kisses your temple, a mitigating action that shoves your worries away. “All I’m saying is that he didn’t catch us, okay? We’re fine.”

You pick on the loose thread of his shirt, twirling it around your finger. Then you pull it, a loud snap followed by shy silence. “‘s being a dungeon master give you senses?” you look up at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. Eddie’s hair tickles your nose, and you swear you smell a hint of your conditioner in there. “You always know when I’m upset.”

“Boyfriend senses, yeah, they’re my special senses,” he taps his temple, looking at you with a small smile. “They’re a must have. A really great superpower. Means I can make you smile whenever you need to.”

Pouting, you nestle your head on his chest. “Nah, I think you’re just stalking me. Always following me whenever I go, staring like a creep.”

Eddie’s freakishly warm. And albeit his veneer says otherwise, he smells decent, too – laundry detergent, cigarettes, and the smell of his club room that you can’t explain (you think it’s cardboard?). Your joke earns you a slight push, and a shy laugh, before you’re right back in his arms, tighter than before.

“Not my fault, you freak,” you simultaneously take a hit, something you try to hide your laugh about. Eddie teasingly blows it at your face. “Walking around with that short little skirt of yours—”

—The hand on your shoulder caresses your back until it starts tracing the waistline of your skirt. His finger draws back and forth, occasionally untucking your shirt until he feels your skin. Eddie’s stroking finger tickles, until it ultimately slips inside the garter of your skirt, teasing the waistband of your underwear.—

“—swaying your hips like you’re still dancing, knowing those prepubescent virgins and dirty boys are watching you,” Eddie whispers in your ear. “Knowing I’m watching you. And you just love teasing me, don’t you?”

You playfully bump your hip with his. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean,” he takes both your cigarettes and throws it to the ground, stomping it impatiently before he’s got his hands around your waist, groveling beneath your shirt to palm your skin. “You don’t have to play coy, baby.”

Eddie kisses you, fervent and avidly. His hands roam everywhere, handsy with each caress, rings cold against your skin that you shiver beneath him as you run your hands up his unshorn hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead. And while his tongue casually slips in between your open mouths, he cups your ass, quite roughly.

Gasping, you break away. “Eddie,” you chuckle nervously. “Someone could come! Lunch ends in five minutes.”

“Yeah, I know,” he steals a kiss, one or two, with heavy exhales and hands gentle on your cheeks. “But I know you hate your next class and so do I,”

“We share that class and you only hate it,” he can’t stop kissing you in between words. Eddie kisses the tip of your nose before going back to kiss your cheeks, and your neck, your jawline. “Eds, we’re going to miss class,”

He sucks on your neck, right on the slope between your jawline and shoulder. The urticate sensation renders you a whimper, before you feel his hot tongue caress the result of his ambush. “Then let’s skip it,” Eddie suggests, repeating each suckle on every part of your neck. “I got the keys to the room of the club. We can – we can go there and do whatever we want.”

Answer interrupted by a hungry kiss, you bite on his bottom lip, clawing desperately on his shirt. Eddie grunts, smiling against your swollen lips. “Anything?” you whisper. “Even – even if it’s dangerous?”

“You know I love doing anything dangerous, sweets,” he scrunches his nose at you. “Which is why I love doing you,”

In less than ten minutes were you both able to venture on to the Hellfire Club room. His feet were quick – fast enough to form you both invisible to wandering teachers. Eddie’s hand never left yours, a tight grip that tells you not to let go or else you’ll get caught. And that same, riveting sensation pounds through you – breaking the rules for the man who loved to break you. It’s wildly injudicious, but it fills your sybaritic grail.

Eddie fumbles with the keys before he’s got the room opened. You’re greeted by tall cardboard effigies that intensify the aura of the Hellfire Club, cutouts of certain DnD creatures held up by stolen scaffolding. It’s gloomy, eerily fun to be surrounded by drawn mythical brutes, and it welcomes you in the same way Eddie did.

“Welcome, to the dungeon,” he opens the door and steps aside to let you in, a hovering hand behind you while his eyes scan for any bystander. Eddie closes the door once you step in, the faint lock tickles your ear in the right way.

Then he’s back to kissing you. You push his jackets away, feel your back dig on the edge of the table that he keeps pushing you on from how eager he is. His open mouthed kisses are hot, hungry for the taste of you, prodding his tongue in to search for more flavors. You feel the denim of his jeans, tugging on the cold chain and slip your nails between the pits, until you reach behind to slip your fingers in his pockets.

Eddie cups your face, digs his rings on your skin. He tilts your head to the side to embark deeper, exhaling into your mouth. “Baby,” he murmurs when you clutch his ass. “Easy there,”

“I want to – I wanna try something new,” you smile against him.

Usually, Eddie’s always the one who asks to try something new with you – being the person he is who’s got more kinks and experience, diving deeper into expeditions so risqué no one else can fathom. And he’s the one who dilapidated your chastity, where he’s thankful for your trust being bestowed upon him; he’s gradually introducing new idiosyncrasies to make your sex life more…fun and adventurous.

So when you’re the first to ask, it takes him aback. But Eddie doesn’t complain because he loved being surprised by you. “Yeah sure, what is it?”

You take the pocket knife from his pocket, breaking the kiss away to place the armament in the space between your faces. Eddie’s smile fades a little into confusion, chuckling. He takes it from your hand.

“I want you,” with a hand on his shoulder, you raise your leg to rest on his hip, curling it around him to let your heel push his crotch closer to yours. Your unoccupied hand delineate his neck, reaching up to abrade his scalp. You give him a gentle nip at his earlobe, one that makes your boyfriend moan quietly, his other hand under your shirt, “to fuck me with the handle of your knife.”

“Jesus, baby,” he breathes out. “That’s dangerous,”

“But I thought you love doing anything dangerous?”

“Yeah I know,” he presses a small kiss on your cheek, grinding his erect crotch on yours. It’s hard enough that it massages your clit right through the thin fabric of your underwear. “But this is a knife baby. God, even I imagine doing things to you with this, but I don’t want to fucking hurt you.”

“Tell me, then,” you palm him through his jeans, scrape the on the hard-on. “What you want to do with me.”

Eddie tugs on your hair, continues sucking on your neck like he wants to drink your blood. You moan when he does so, the pain ricocheting down your throbbing cunt as he says, “Maybe I’d do what you want, fuck you with the handle, then I’d – I’d carve my initials on your thigh, so it’ll scar there forever and I’d let those insubstantial little shits know you’re mine. I’ll suck the blood on it, too, then finger your pussy raw until you squirt all over me again.”

He grinds the closed pocket knife on your pussy, making you even wetter than earlier. “Then I’d let you carve yours on my thigh, I’d let you do whatever you want with it. God, then you’d fucking suck me off like the good little whore you are – on your knees, crying and begging for me to fuck your face while your blood drips down the floor. Then I’d fuck you so good you can’t dance for the pep rally next week, baby.”

“Then do it,” you whine, grinding harder on his knife. “Come on, Eddie. Baby, please.”

“You sure I won’t hurt you?”

“Remember when they dropped me during practice, and I fell on my foot and I broke my ankle?” he nods, head nestling into the crook of your neck to place tormenting hickies on your neck. “Have you seen me cry? I was laughing, Eddie. It didn’t hurt at all, even when they popped my ankle right into place.”

He pulls away, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, because Eddie thinks you look cute like that. “You cried a bit when they snapped in place, though.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t hurt,” you giggle. “Please, babe?”

“Alright,” he kisses you once more. “Tell me to stop, okay? Three taps where?”

“On your cheek. Hard.”

“That’s right,”

You’re kissing again, his hands roaming to discard your jacket to the ground where you’d thrown his. He pulls back to pull his shirt away, and you copy him, removing your skirt with and placing it on the table behind you. When you’re left in your bra, Eddie pulls back to stare at them, goggling stupidly.

“Eds,” you push his face away, palm right on his nose. “Stop staring at my boobs like an infant.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head. Eddie’s lips lather themselves on your exposed skin, sucking on your upper breasts. He flips his knife open, the tip of the knife tracing your arm first.

It’s small, but it’s sharp enough to leave a red scratch, or dangerously penetrate your skin. The steel alloy shines from the light at the back of the room, mercurially glistening all its dauntless silver prowess. The feeling is cold, as cold as Eddie’s rings, as they trail up to the strap on your left shoulder.

Your wild, lust-driven eyes has him foible, knees buckling from how they still look innocent even as you’re about to approach an occurrence that’s so unholy. Eddie bends a little, smiling up at you. And you smile back, because he looks so pretty it’s insane.

He distracts you when he sucks hard on the valley of your breasts when his knife cuts the delicate strap. You gasp when he does so, feeling the split lace drop down to your shoulder. Eddie then guides the knife to the center, dipping the knife beneath where the spine presses on your skin, the edge pushing up to cut your bra in between.

“Shit,” he pulls the other strap down, throwing it to the ground. “Tits always so pretty, babe. Could stare at them for the rest of my life.”

The bevel of his knife rests on your thigh as Eddie takes his time to suck on your nipples. You moan, squirming when he suckles hard. He bites on the pebbled buds, treats the right tit with the same pressure. You whimper when he doesn’t stop doing this, the feeling of someone hearing excites you more than it scared you yesterday.

He breaks away when he’s pleased enough. Eddie kisses up to your swollen lips, unsynchronized kisses from the heavy breathing you both emit.

Eddie flips the knife so he’s holding the blade, the handle drawing down to your inner thigh. His left hand pushes your underwear to the side, handle tracing your wet cunt. You moan against his lips, eyebrows furrowing at the unusual feeling.

He teasingly penetrates your hole, chuckling when you buck your hips closer. “You want me to push it in?”

“Fuck me with it,” you groan. “C’mon, baby. Do it,”

And he does. He slowly pushes the handle in, the shape uncomfortable, but makes you feel half-full. The cold steel makes you buck your hips a bit, makes Eddie stay still as he waits for you to become comfortable. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Yeah,” Eddie kneels to press a kiss on your navel. “Fuck me now, please.”

“Alright, baby,” he kisses your inner thigh, a mark where he’s going to carve his initials later. Eddie begins to thrust it in your squelching cunt, the sound better than all the metal that blasts his ears to deafness. The ridges press on your walls, every thrust melts your un-comfort into a grotty bliss.

The other hand rubs figure-eight on your clit, switches between hard pressures and a feather-light touch. It drives you insane because he’s not using his tongue, instead lets it lick his famished mouth. You throw your head back, knees buckling from the lack of leverage. Your hands leave the table to run through Eddie’s wild curls, tugging in a way that makes him moan.

“Fuck, Eddie,”

“Yeah, you like that?” he bites on your thigh, spreads them apart by placing the left leg on his shoulder. “Filthy girl. Hawkins precious cheerleader’s into knives? Letting their precious freak fuck her greedy pussy with the handle, huh?”

You nod, pushing his head closer though he doesn’t do anything. Eddie can smell your arousal from the close proximity, thrusts the handle faster and deeper into your cunt until it stops at the flipper.

“Close,” your hand goes to his wrist, making him pull the handle out. “Want-want you to carve it, now. Then fuck me with your fingers, please.”

Eddie smiles. “You’re nice today, baby. Love your manners.” He nips at your skin. “You’re not a brat like the usual. But I do love it when you’re being demanding sometimes.”

He lifts you to sit on the table, pushing your legs apart until it can no longer move. Eddie licks the arousal off the handle before wiping it on his jeans, flipping it so he’s holding the handle again, tapping the tip on your inner thigh. You shiver in excitement.

“It’s gonna hurt, okay? Like, a lot,” he keeps on pressing kisses on the spot he’s going to use, like he thinks it would be his own anesthesia. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, breathing heavily. “Dude, just push it in!”

“Don’t call me dude,” he tuts. “Anything but dude.”

“Okay, freak,”

You don’t let the moan from him go unteased. Quietly gasping, you look down at him with wide eyes. Eddie shyly hides his face on your thigh, shaking his head preciously.

“You like that?”

“Don’t – No I don’t.”

“Babe, you moaned.”

“You’re gonna make fun of me,” he squints his eyes at you. “Now shut up or I’m carving a penis on your thigh.”

He taps the tip. One, two, three for good measure before he gently pushes it in. You feel the excruciating phenomenon of the knife delve minimally inside your inner thigh, the alloy lodged in between what's the skin and flesh. The pain pulsates through you like a deafening bass, maims your thigh to throb until it creates tears that sting your eyes. It’s a slim penetration, barely a centimeter in, but it splits your skin open until blood percolates. You hiss, cry quietly when Eddie begins moving.

“I got you baby,” he sits up and crashes his lips on yours, wiping your tear away. Eddie pulls away to kiss each of your cheeks, repetitively, knife moving ever so slowly to shape his name. “You alright? Does it hurt? We can stop.”

“I can handle it,” you push his shoulders down until he kneels again. Eddie’s eyes tear away from yours, flitting to the wound he’s creating on your thigh. The touch of his unoccupied hand is utterly emollient, thumb caressing your skin in hopes to numb the pain away, because his lenient strokes are nothing compared to the blade’s puncture.

He’s on his first line, and he’s got six left. When Eddie starts on the second, he coaxes you through by muttering sweet nothings against your sweating skin. The blood drips down on the table, fraternizes with the arousal you leaked earlier. He licks the blood up, the feeling of his tongue on your tongue painfully gratifying.

“Ah-…shit,” you exhale. The pain withers into nothingness, a dull adulation to Eddie’s success in relaxing you to his cuts. Putting his dexterity into use, Eddie uses his left hand to trace your hole, still leaking of arousal, and pushes it inside your swell cunt.

“Still wet, baby? Even after I cut you?” He’s on his third line, while pushing two fingers inside your cunt as he does it. You moan lowly, running a hand through his tangled hair, pushing the lone strands away from his forehead.

His fingers go fast inside you, not stopping even when you’d coated his slender fingers with your pearlescent seed. It’s gotten to the point that your pussy makes obscenely wet sounds loud enough to be heard outside the room. Eddie’s lapping up the blood that’s leaking from your thigh, finger fucks you until he’s on his last two lines.

Unstoppable fingers make you moan. His rings glim brighter than they used to, probably in need of deep washing as it is now stained with your juices. They curl inside you just in the right way, galvanizing your g-spot evermore. The puddle beneath you turns into a pretty shade of pink as your cum mingles with the dripping blood.

“Faster,”

And he obeys. With the knife moving slowly, his left moves fast – unfathomably fast – arm shaking from the exuberant libido his fingers perform. You let out a long, loud moan, until it breaks into high-pitched whines and short moans, lower abdomen burning white until you begin spurting out liquids like yesterday, gushing everywhere that it stains your wound.

Eddie pulls his lips away from your thigh and sucks on your clit, tongue lapping on your gushing juices like a cat. He pulls his fingers away, dipping his tongue inside your contracting hole before he removes it.

“Shit,” his fingers spread your labia open, “sweets, you’re all swollen. Your cum’s fucking leaking on the table. God, looks so fucking filthy.”

“You like filthy,” you pull on his hair. Eddie moves upwards, presses a harsh kiss against your lips as he finishes the letter M. “You fucking love filthy.”

He bends down and with one last suckle on your wound, the initials E.M. enrich your skin in a grotesquely exquisite mien. The corners painted with dried blood and his saliva, maybe a bit of your arousal. Eddie plants one last, chaste kiss on your wound before he comes up to kiss you.

You take the knife from him when Eddie pulls away to suck the cum off his fingers.

Pushing him away, you tug on his jeans, almost ripping it off. Eddie helps you and discards them, bringing his boxers with so now you’re both standing in front of each other with his cock erect and swell on his stomach. You push Eddie until his back hits the edge of the table, and you exuberantly kneel in front of him.

You don’t suck his cock yet – you relish the sight in front of you with a dumb slacked jaw. Eddie looks down at you, thrust his hips until his tip disappears in your mouth.

“Keep my cock warm for me, would you? While you cut me up?” he cups your face between his thumb and fingers. Eddie pulls his cock away, purses his lips before he spits in your mouth. “Keep it in your mouth like a good slut.”

Filthy benevolence driven by the ascendancy of Eddie, you suck on his cock for a while. You jerk him off with your left hand, enclosing your cheeks around his thick girth, head gagging you when it hits the back of your throat.

It draws a hearty groan from the man above you, loud and deep. It turns you on, makes you really wet that it stings worse than your cut. Eddie fucks your face before you stay pliant, and position the knife on top of his thigh.

The sight of the knife digging into skin is more grotesque than it felt. Like painting crimson on a plain canvas when his flesh cleaves open and exposes his thick fluid. The perfidious knife draws the first pattern of your initial, and Eddie hisses above you. 

He thrusts deeper that your nose grazes the curls on top of his cock. You gag around him, feeling your saliva drip down your neck to your naked body, his irate head filling your throat.

Eddie’s blood smears on his opalescent skin, your initials carved smaller than his because you’re afraid of stabbing his thigh. His hand cups your cheeks, rubbing the tears away with a drunken smile.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” your other hand fondles with his balls. It makes Eddie throw his head back with a loud moan. “Think you can move while carving?”

You nod eagerly against his cock. You relax your jaw and begin moving your mouth around him, eyes flitting between his heavy, dazed eyes and the knife that jabs on his skin.

The initials are nearly done, bobbing your head faster. With your left hand jerking his cock and twisting, you take gradual sucks on his head to his shaft, popping away to lick his balls to his head, feeling his vein on your thick muscle before you lick his slit.

Eddie moans, meeting your bobs with yearning thrusts. He’s fucking your face like you both wanted. “Fuck, that’s it baby. So good. Doing so fucking good. You enjoy my cock?”

He’s unpleased when you merely nod. Eddie pulls on your hair. “Answers, baby,” he demands.

“Yes,” you gasp. “I love your big fucking cock, Eddie.” You lick his tip, twisting your tongue around the helmet. “Love how big it is it can’t even fit in this fucking mouth, baby.”

He lets you go and pushes his cock deeper in your mouth. “Yeah, so fucking greedy,” Eddie grunts.

Even with your initials done, you don’t stop sucking his dick. You suck the life out of it, twitching cock heralds the forthcoming of his orgasm. You nibble at every ridge of his veins before you lick everywhere on his cock.

Placing the knife on the table behind him to pull away from his twitching dick and suck on the blood oozing on the uneven slit. You lick up every last drop of his blood, and trail your way upwards with small kisses like remedies to the painful cut. You treat his body the same way he treats yours – leaving love bites across his alabaster skin.

Eddie kisses your cheek, then your neck. “Good girl. Good, good girl, baby.”

He sits down on the table, grasping at your waist and urges you to sit on him. You grind on his hard cock, shaft wet with your saliva that now amalgamates with your arousal and cum from earlier. You both moan, stupidly loud, as Eddie helps you rest your knees on either side of his thighs on top of the table.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declares against your lips. “So, so pretty, sweetheart. Gonna ride my cock now?”

“Please,” you grip his cock tight in your burning hand, raising to position his head until you sink down.

His bare cock stretches your overstimulated pussy. Eddie’s cock buried deep inside your cunt becomes the last segment of the freakshow, your light bounces emitting skin slapping that is the invisible crowd’s applaud. Skin on skin, wound to wound does it feel heavenly to be fucked raw by his cock that you both know is yours, and your pussy warming his known to be owned by Eddie.

Blood mingled with unjust arousal banes your wounds. You wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck, nails scratching his back while his portray nipple clamps as they unbearably fondle with your breasts. You ride his cock out of its strength, pushing each bulging vein on your tight walls.

“Pussy’s so fucking tight,” he laughs out, biting your shoulder. “Fucking snug around my cock, baby, ‘s like you were made for me,”

And you were. You apprentice on every crime; on every pornographic show. Immodesty fulfilled by the blood spilt on the table that fuses with your arousals. You bounce on him, draw up until his head’s all that’s left inside you, before you drop down on his cock again.

You scratch on his biceps with ludicrous moans. Eddie’s fingers reach down between you to rub your clit, spitting salacious words in your ear he’s sure he’d burn in hellfire for. “Look at you, doing all the work. You earned this, baby, letting me carve my name on your thigh. Because you love being owned by me, don’t you. Fuck yeah, you do.”

You grind and you bounce, a hand behind you to stabilize your back. With a hand around his neck and the other behind you on top of his knee, Eddie forms as your chair as you lean back to drive his cock deeper inside your cunt.

You feel your orgasm drive again, like roses thrown at your feet as the applauding gets louder. Eddie lets out whines and moans, smiles when you repeat the same broken, high-pitched whimpers. “I’m close, baby.”

Eddie pushes your chest to him, his right hand caressing your wound. You hug your arms around your boyfriend, grinding slowing down as he begins thrusting upwards to make up from the fucking that wore you out.

He moans out loud, face scrunched into a rhapsodic culmination.

A few thrusts left, five slams on your spot and you’re spilling all over his cock. Eddie spurts his ropes inside you, sees his head bulge on your navel. His hand guides yours to press on the head that’s seen. He thrusts upward, swallowing your moan with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Tired?” Eddie kisses the space between your eyebrows. You pant heavily, resting your cheek on his sweaty chest.

“Super,” you chuckle. “Super fucking worn out, baby.”

“Alright sweetheart,” he lifts you up, sits you down on the table. Eddie wraps your legs around his waist, and he hugs you, tightly, like he’s afraid of letting you go.

“You know, this’ll be a sexy scar,” you trace your carving on his thigh. “Really fucking hot. But I’m worried if we broke up and you meet someone knew, she’s gonna see these and she’s going to wonder who’s initials are those.”

You trace the tattoo bats on his arm. Eddie presses a kiss on your hairline, running a hand through your damp hair. “We’re not gonna break up. I love you too much.”

“I love you, too.”

“And if we do, I’ll just tattoo a penis over this one with like, bats around it.”

It earns him a smack on the chest.

banner by @/lauras-collection

[foreverdolly]

cherry bomb (pt 1) | fan!eddie munson x famous!reader

summary: eddie is devastated when he hears the news that his favorite guitarist quit her band with no explanation. he doesn't find out the exact reason until he runs into her. runs into you. temporarily moving in with your mother was never part of the plan, and staying in hawkins for any extended period of time is a nightmare, but she needs help taking care of her bar and tying up loose ends after the sudden death of your stepfather. "the hideout" is a dive on the outskirts of the small midwestern town- and it was your stepfather's pride and joy , and you intend on helping your mom upkeep it. your band gives you six months to change your mind about quitting. any later than that and they're going to be forced to replace you. that seemed like plenty of time to take a break from the fast paced life of a rock star. . . that is until you meet your biggest fan. that complicates things.

pairing: fan!eddie munson x famous!fem reader

word count: 6,135

warnings/notes: eddie is severely touch starved in this fic, and it's fuckin' adorable. i've seen a lot of fics where eddie is the famous musician, and i'm all about role reversals. basically you're a bad ass and eddie worships the ground you walk on.

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Gareth narrowed his eyes as he roughly swiped his drumsticks off of his father’s workbench. Summer was in full swing with fall right around the corner, so the garage was still stiflingly hot. Despite the fact that he had opened up the doors before the boys even showed up for band practice, it didn’t help cool it down any. He would have plugged in the big fan they had, but his mother complained about their amps possibly blowing out her circuitbox. It had happened one time two years ago, and she still talked about it every week. Gareth didn’t think that it was the heat that had Eddie’s panties in a twist though. He rarely complained about things like heat, especially since his uncle Wayne hadn’t purchased an A.C unit for their trailer until the year before last, and it was only because Eddie had gotten a summer job working at the record store in the Star Court mall. What the long haired boy hadn’t spent on a new amp, concert tickets, and a new spark plug for the van, he saved and squirreled away for Wayne to use as he saw fit. 

“You didn’t hear?” Jeff’s eyebrows pinched together as he slid the strap of his rhythm guitar over his shoulder. Gareth froze, his eyes widening as he realized that something big must have happened. The drummer was Eddie’s best friend. . . or, at least, Eddie was his best friend. He prided himself in the fact that he knew just about everything there was to know about the older male. “Did his dad break outta jail or something?” He lowered his voice, leaning in close to Jeff so that Andy wouldn’t overhear them. Jeff quickly shook his head. “No- Oh god, no. I’m pretty sure he would be halfway to Nebraska by now if that happened. You haven’t heard about the news? About Social Misconduct?” Now Gareth was beyond confused. Eddie was moving in what appeared to be slow motion, unlatching his guitar case, his eyes solemn. It looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night before. His hair was an absolute wreck, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing his old Social Misconduct shirt that Wayne had accidentally shrunk in the wash a few months back. “. . . No? Wait- don’t tell me one of them died, man. Social is one of my favorite bands and-” “Y/n left the band.” The second that Eddie heard his favorite guitarist's name, he let out a loud sniffle, his bottom lip quivering. 

Damn him and his sensitive nature. He’d been crying all night, having gotten a call from the venue up in Indianapolis where he had tickets to see their upcoming show. He was told that he would be mailed a refund, but none of that mattered. “You’re kidding. We were supposed to see them in November!” It was Gareth’s turn to let out a wail, his drumsticks falling out of his hands as he began pacing the expanse of the garage. “She was the heart of the band! I mean. . .” Eddie quickly joined in, standing up from the ground so that he could throw his own hands up in frustration. “She’s the entire reason why most people listened to them in the first place! I-I mean. . . She was a female thrash metal guitarist. She shreds. Is she going to join another band? What if she drops off the face of the planet and we never see her again. . . she’s a musical genius. I feel like my heart has been carved out of my chest.” He was rambling, tapping his fingers against his temples as he spoke. He felt like he was going to lose his mind. Social Misconduct had gotten him through some of the hardest years of his life. To say that he admired the guitarist was an understatement. She was his absolute hero. Females, especially in the metal and hard rock genre, were a commodity. Not only that but they were seen as the underdogs solely based on the fact that they were women. Y/n had managed to take that unfair stigma and smash it to pieces. Most metalheads worshipped her like a god, Eddie included. The “SM” shirt was absolutely tiny on him all thanks to his uncle- god bless his soul- so it fit him more like a baby tee than a regular shirt. It brushed against the top of his black jeans, and as he raised his arms, the hem of the shirt moved up his stomach, showing off the small patch of hair that grew beneath his naval and disappeared beneath his belt. 

Andy licked his lips, looking between the two fretting males, and decides that instead of comforting them, he’ll try to do the next best thing. Criticize them. “Don’t you think that the two of you are being a little bit. . . I don’t know. . . dramatic? The member’s probably got into a fight or something. We broke up for a month back when Gareth was a sophomore, remember?” Eddie’s jaw dropped, his brown eyes widening to the size of saucers. Gareth let out a deep groan, lowering his head into his hands. “Oh, you did not just say that.” The Munson boy mumbled quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re rock stars, Andrew. Professional rock stars. They just got done doing a world tour with Kiss. They wouldn’t just announce that Y/n’s leaving only for her to pop back up a week later.” Andy nodded his head, not noticing how stupid the point that he was trying to make was until the words had finally left his mouth. He bit his lip, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Jeff plugged his guitar into the amp, leaning down to fiddle with the volume. “Well let’s just get through today's practice, alright? It’s too late to cancel tonight’s show, and the last thing we want to do is make Miss Marie’s life even harder right now.” Eddie and Gareth sucked in a small breath, sharing a look before nodding in agreement. “No, no. . . you’re right.” Andy quickly held his hand out, gesturing towards the two boys. Both Eddie and Gareth were easy to motivate, so he was quick to raise an eyebrow at them. “What would Y\n do?” Gareth was quick to reach down, picking his drum sticks up off of the floor. “She’d probably get drunk and-” “No, no. . . what’s the other thing she’d do?” Eddie was quick to slide the guitar strap over his shoulder, clenching his jaw. “She’d play the show, no matter how upset she was.” Andy smiled, gesturing towards Jeff who gave him a thumbs up, letting him know that they were all set up. That had worked like a charm. “Well let’s do it then.” 

The Hideout was more of a dive bar than a restaurant. Sure, they had great food, but people went there for the booze, pool tables, and pinball machines. Some of the high school kids would stop by on the weekends to grab a greasy burger and play the machines until their pockets were devoid of all quarters, but the people that really kept the place afloat were the local drunks. The building wasn’t run down by any means, but most of the preppier Hawkins inhabitants liked to label the place as “unsavory”. They saw the motorcycles and muscle cars parked outside and turned their cheeks. It was situated quite a ways outside of town, far enough down the main road that it was within spitting distance to the interstate. A lot of truckers liked to frequent the place, and Miss Marie and her husband Stuart were nice enough to let them sleep in their trucks in the empty lot behind the bar. Speaking of Mr Stuart. . . 

“Are you guys going to the funeral?” Eddie asked, lifting up in his seat a little so that he could look at his friends in the rearview mirror. Jeff was quick to pop a cheese doodle into his mouth before handing the bag back off to Andy. “Of course I’m going. What about you?” Gareth let out a small sigh, stretching his legs from his spot in the passenger side seat until he heard his back pop. Eddie grimaced at the noise, giving the other male’s side a quick slap. “Gross, man. Keep your rickety joints to yourself.” Gareth was quick to flip him the bird as a response before turning to face Jeff. “I’m still trying to talk my mom into it. She never met Mr Stuart, so she thinks it’s weird that I want to go to his funeral.” Eddie knew that Gar’s mom could be a bit overbearing, and as aggravating as he thought that it was, a part of him was always a bit jealous. Sure, there were things that Wayne didn’t let him do before he finally turned twenty-one, but he never hovered. Eddie didn’t have a loving mother breathing down his back at all hours of the day, or a father that showed up to all of his baseball games as a kid. None of that is to say that he didn’t appreciate what he already had though. Wayne loved him when nobody else did, and that was enough for him. However, if he had hovered a bit more, last spring break might have never happened. At least. . . not with him so involved, at least. He gripped a little harder onto the steering wheel, fighting off the memories the best he could. He could feel the phantom pain from his many scars, rudely reminding him that they were still there and just as gnarly. “Mr Stuart is the only reason why we started playing live shows in the first place. Your mom should get that, man.” Andy folded the bag of chips up as he spoke, shoving them underneath the seat where Eddie was sure to find them weeks later, stale and full of ants. The chocolate eyed boy made a mental note to remember to throw it away once he got home, but he was positive that he would forget the second he got back into his car after the gig. “Let me talk to your mom. She loves me.” Jeff grinned at Gareth, who was quick to agree. “She loves you more than she loves me. Probably because you’re mister ‘full ride’.” Eddie smiled over his shoulder at Jeff, a silent ‘congratulations’ before facing the road again. 

Jeff had been waiting anxiously for the acceptance letters for what seemed like months, and made it the entire Hellfire Club’s problem. His GPA was great, his SAT scores were off the charts, and he was a dedicated young man that came from a working middle class family. None of the boys were surprised when the letter finally came back, stating that he had been accepted on a scholarship to the local university. The recent trauma had pushed Jeff in a direction that no one saw coming. Even Henderson had been stunned into silence when Jeff finally got the boys together and told them that he wanted to be a lawyer. Watching one of his best friend’s name get slandered had made him take a big step back, really honing in on what he wanted to do with his life. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that the Munson boy was no murderer- it wasn’t in his nature. Jeff wanted to make sure that nothing happened like that again.

 Knowing that Eddie would eventually have to find a replacement for one of the beloved members of his band was a tough pill to swallow, but after a few days of wallowing in self pity, he learned to embrace the change. He’d been hanging posters up all over town, but no fishies had bitten the bait yet. Jeff was shipping off in two months, which meant he could kiss his dreams goodbye if he couldn’t find anyone soon. He was already twenty-two, and he certainly wasn’t getting any younger. He had wasted precious years repeating his senior year three times, and the possibility of getting signed to a label is higher when you’re young. Hell, Kirk Hammett had started the band Exodus when he was only sixteen, and joined Metallica when he was twenty-one. The talented guitarist’s golden years were ticking by. 

He might have been able to fight off demon bats, but time? There was no stopping that. 

Eddie parked right in front of the bar, turning his body so that he could face the boys all at once. “This is our first time seeing her since he died, so let’s stay on our best behavior.” Which meant that Eddie would not be buying Gareth and Andy beers, no matter how much they begged. The last thing he needed was for the two eighteen year olds to get wasted, stumbling around the bar like idiots. With the sweet middle aged woman in mind, the boys all piled out of the car, dragging their equipment right along with them. 

Forty-nine was too young. You didn’t understand how someone could be perfectly healthy one second, and then on their deathbed the next. It didn’t make sense to you. You hoped that being with your mother might bring you some closure, but all it did was make you feel worse somehow. Grief hits everyone in different ways. You found that it came in waves; the tide was either high or low. It struck you at random points of the day. You’d catch a whiff of a scent that reminded you of your step father, or stare too long at an old family photo that he had hanging up on the wall. Right now you were busy staring at the hole in a leather seat, your right knee propped up against the old booth so that you could wipe off the table tops. Your parents- the very same ones that had loved and raised you- had been busy trying to make ends meet, all while you were jetting off all over the world. You bought whatever you wanted, fucked whoever you wanted, and got paid to strut around onstage in leather outfits, doing what you loved. Your bottom lip quivered as you ran your finger over the tear in the upholstery, moving to shuffle back over towards the bar so that you could speak with your mother. “Why didn’t you tell me about how old the furniture was? I would have gotten you new seats made.” You rested your elbows against the varnished wooden bar, staring at her intently. 

She was setting up glasses behind the bar to get everything ready for the night. In about thirty minutes, once rush hour hit and people were off of work, the place would be packed. She waved you off with a flick of her risk, scoffing to herself. “You don’t need to spend any money on this old place. I’m doing just fine with the old furniture. People don’t care about what they’re sitting on. As long as I have good quality beer on tap, they’ll never stop coming.” That wasn’t the point and she knew it. Your mother had always been so against you helping them out financially. It drove her crazy thinking about you supporting her in any way. You were supposed to be her baby, not the other way around. You wanted your mother to feel proud of what her and your step father had built together. You wanted her to own a nice place. The Hideout was Stuart’s legacy, so you refused to turn a blind eye to all of the things that were going wrong in the place. “Mom. . . I have more money than I know what to do with. Honestly, it would make me happy if you let me fix some things around here. Just to give the place a little facelift- nothing major.” You assured, flashing her your most convincing smile. 

You never could understand why your parents had moved all the way to Indiana and bought an old building on the outskirts of a tiny town. You had already moved out by the time that they packed up themselves and left home. You had visited a couple of times over the last few years, but you never stayed long. Hawkins was small enough to where you felt claustrophobic after spending just a few days there. You regretted not staying longer while you still had that chance though. Now that your step father was gone, all you had left was a sinking feeling of regret. The least you could do was temporarily move in with your mother so that you could help her iron things out. You being there was the only thing keeping her together, and you could tell. She hadn’t fallen apart yet, but you’d be there for her when it finally did happen. At some point the levee has to break. 

The news of you leaving the band had already hit mainstream media. You were too scared to call up any of your old bandmates to check in on them, not wanting to know whether or not they forgave you for making such a brash decision. You knew that there would be offers to join new bands the second you got back into the swing of things- hell, Ozzy had already reached out to you. Ever since the death of Randy Rhoads, he’d been floundering to get back on his feet and find a good guitarist. You had half the mind to take him up on it. The boys had taken the news pretty well when you initially told them that you were quitting. Your father had died, and that was a good enough reason for you to take a break from the band. They had made it clear that they would leave the door open for you. As long as you gave them a call within six months, they’d be more than happy to take you back. Any later than that, they’d be forced to find a replacement. You had exactly six months to make sure that your mom was healthy and happy. 

“I just. . . I feel rotten about letting you spend your own money on me. I’m the parent. I’m supposed to be the one that helps you out, remember?” She gave your hand a soft pat, flashing you one of her famous smiles. It was painful, but you’d noticed that it didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. You hadn’t said anything about it. “That’s the joy of getting old. It’s my turn to pay you back for all those years you took care of me. Being a single mom is hard, but you managed. Let me do something nice for you, ma.” You didn’t give her any time to object, rather you just turned on the heel of your boot so that you could make your way back into the kitchen to check on the cook. You wanted to make sure that he was fully prepped for tonight, and if not, you’d be more than willing to help. 

Your mother busied herself yet again with setting up the bar to perfection. She liked to have things neat and tidy. It made her feel less overwhelmed later on, and she was positive that her heart couldn’t take much more. “You boys need any help?” Marie looked up from her spot behind the bar, watching as the group of boys dragged their heavy amps through the front doors. “Nah, nah. We got it. We do this every Tuesday.” Eddie told her with a smile. He was a lot less animated than he usually was, and she was quick to pick up on the fact that it must be for her sake. He wasn’t sure how to treat her after the recent tragedy. “My daughter is here. You know. . . the one that I've told you that you’d like?” She always thought that you and Eddie would get along like a house on fire. She had been eager for you two to meet for years. She just wished that it wasn’t under these circumstances. Eddie hung back from the group as they began walking their way back out to the van, ready to grab another load of equipment. “Yeah? Must be good to have her home.” Eddie sauntered up to the bar, tapping his ringed fingers against the wood. He looked over his shoulder at the young couple that were seated in the opposite corner of the stage. They were deep in conversation, sharing a basket of curly fries. They were in for a rude awakening- Corroded Coffin played fast, hard and loud. “Where is she now?” There had never been any weird undertone in the way that Marie spoke to him about her daughter. You would have killed her if you caught wind of her trying to set you up with a blind date, and Eddie would have felt horribly embarrassed as well. 

He wasn’t exactly. . . Mr Popular. Not by any means. Unless it was his friend Robin, he never talked to girls. He practically repelled them. “She’s in the back doing something. She’s been staying busy these last few days. She’s so used to constant chaos. . . I think she misses it already.” She joked, wrinkling her nose a bit. Marie had never gone into too much depth about you, so he had no clue who you were, where you lived, or what you did for a living. What he did know was that the two of you dressed similarly and had the same taste in music. He was intrigued to say the least. It wasn’t every day that someone get’s the opportunity to meet a girl that’s actually into thrash metal. You were also the only real reason that Marie and Stuart allowed Corroded Coffin to play once every week. They were desensitized to your fast paced, heavy music. If anything, they actually had come to really enjoy it. “Chaos? What kind of chaos are we talkin’ about here? Does she live in a city or something?” Your mother nodded, turning her attention to the lemon that she was currently slicing up for garnishes to be used later. “Los Angeles. She moved out there the second that she graduated from high school. The girl saw a chance and took it. She’s always been independent like that.” Eddie felt a pang of jealousy. Sure, it was nice to be able to finally financially help Wayne out after all those years of constant care, but he would have liked to be able to move out and be on his own. There was a large part of him that was too scared to leave Wayne though. The man worked the graveyard shift at the plant, so Eddie had been the one to do the grocery shopping, cooking, and tidying up (even though the trailer was often a wreck). How was he supposed to do all of that by himself while he worked as many hours as he did? 

“In all the years that we’ve been coming here, I’ve never seen her. Is she that busy out in LA?” That came out a lot harsher than Eddie wanted it to, and he couldn’t help but flinch, snapping his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clattered together. He had never been good at socializing, and had a hard time picking up on social cues most of the time. His cheeks heated up with embarrassment, but Marie simply nodded her head. “She’s actually in a band. I mean. . .  she was in a band. She’s going to be staying with me for a few months to help tie up loose ends now that Stuart is gone.” The long haired man could have punched himself. He had gone out of his way to lecture the boys earlier about not bringing up anything too heavy around Marie, and here he was, pointing out her only child’s absence and reminding her of her dead husband. All it took was a two minute conversation, and Eddie had already blown it. “A-A band? What kind of band?” He tried to change the subject, flashing her a smile in the hopes of lightening the mood. “It’s your kinda music. Maybe you two could get together some time and “jam” out,” He cracked another smile, a laugh shaking his broad shoulders. Marie smiled back, giving his arm a small smack. “Or whatever it is you kids say.” “Play. We can play together.” Marie mumbled a quick “yeah, yeah” at his correction. Eddie was a good kid, and reminded her a lot of you. Maybe that was why she loved him so damn much. 

“Is she a good singer?” Marie gave him a look as if to say ‘are you crazy?’ “That girl can’t carry a tune to save her life. She plays-” “Electric guitar. Lead.” You called out to them as you walked through the double doors of the kitchen, tossing a dish rag over your shoulder. You hadn’t heard the entire conversation, just the tail end of it. Giving the boy a quick once over, you made a mental note that cute boys did live in Hawkins, before turning to face your mom. “You’ve gotta eighty-six the the onion rings. Jim ran out of panko, and the next shipment isn’t until tomorrow.” You turned to face your mom, slowly raising an eyebrow at her wide smile. It was practically splitting her cheeks at this point. “Y\n, this is the boy that I’ve been talking about the last couple of years.” Ah- right. She had told you about the town reject that she had taken under her wing. You were impressed to hear that he had started up his own metal band all the way back in middle school. From what you heard from her, he seemed to be a pretty talented guitarist himself. “Uh. . . Freddie, right?” Your rings caught the dim overhead lights, your sharp, black lined eyes locked on him. 

He felt like he was going to piss himself. Or throw up- maybe both. Fainting was also on the table too. There was no way this was real. Eddie was probably still in his room, having a dream about you after crying himself to sleep due to the unfortunate news. He had conjured all of this up somehow. This was the most lucid dream that he’s ever had. “E-Eddie.” He squeaked out the correction, brown eyes wide as he stared at you. He wanted to have the opportunity to properly check you out. He’d stared at pictures of you for years- hell, he had a poster of you hanging up on his wall, right beside his bed for. . . well, obvious reasons. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your face though. Even in person, you were the most beautiful female he had ever seen. No questions asked. Girls like you didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. He didn’t expect for you to be so tiny though, especially compared to him. He wasn’t the tallest guy around, but working with heavy equipment all day had caused him to build up a fair bit of body mass over the last year since graduation. 

You didn’t seem intimidated by his form though. You were a female in a mainly male dominated genre. You were known for your snarky comebacks and quick witted humor. He would know. He’s seen every interview you’ve ever done. It was easy to spot a look of recognition in somebody's eyes. You expected him to at least know your band name, but the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. The kid was freaking out. That and the fact that he was wearing a shirt with your band's logo on it. You shot him a small smile, reaching out to give his chest a quick poke. “Like your shirt, man.” Your mother blinked, her eyes widening as if she was just now putting two and two together. “So you already know who she is then? Oh, wow. That’s great! Now that formalities are out of the way, you guys should be fast friends.” You weren’t the type of person to take advantage of your status. You knew a lot of guys in the music business that took advantage of fans. Sure, your band had plenty of groupies, and you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t gone on at least one date with a fan. You weren’t about to tease Eddie for it though, especially not in front of your mother. So you merely nodded your head, offering him your hand to shake. “I’m here all night, so I’m excited to see you play.” He seemed to move in slow motion, reaching out for your hand. His plush lips parted, mahogany eyes blown out wide. He looked like he was having a heart attack. After what felt like minutes the boy finally clasped his hand with yours, giving it a firm shake. His hand felt nice in yours, and his calluses were no joke. The guy was a religious player, you could tell just by the feel of his hands and the shape of the calluses. “R-Right. We go on in just a few minutes.” He spoke dazedly, his eyes bouncing over your features. He was trying to commit them to memory. “Yeah. . . I know. . .” You shot him a playful smile before motioning back towards the kitchen. “I’ve gotta help our cook with a few more things, and then I’ll be back out.” And with that you took a few steps backward, giving him a small wave before disappearing in the back. Marie was about to turn and face Eddie again, but when she moved to face him, he was already gone, the front door swinging closed. 

Gareth watched Eddie with wide eyes as the man collapsed to his knees on the side of the building, dry heaving loudly into the nearest bush. The drummer had only seen Eddie puke a handful of times, none of which had been because of stagefright. The long haired brunette could play the guitar in his sleep. Not to mention the fact that they weren’t planning on performing any of their newer material. Today's gig was routine. “Hey, are you alright, man?” Gareth approached slowly, not wanting his sneakers to get puked on. Eddie gave up after a few seconds, realizing that he was just nauseous due to shock and nerves, and that his lunch would remain in his stomach. “How do I look?” Eddie rushed to ask, stumbling to stand up so that he could brush his pants off. Gareth’s head reared back, his eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. Eddie was acting weirder than usual, and that was really saying something. Maybe this was some sort of a test? Was Gareth supposed to go out of his way to compliment him or something? The mousy haired brunette had a girlfriend two years ago that would ask how she would look in the hopes of being fervently complimented. “You look great?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Eddie lurched forward, gripping the smaller boy by the shoulders so that he could give him a shake. “Seriously, dude. How do I look?” Gareth slowly looked down at Eddie’s black combat boots, trailing them up his ripped black jeans, to his favorite handcuff belt, and then to his shirt. Sure, the top had shrunk in the wash, but Eddie was in shape. He knew that some people might even see him wearing a tighter fitting shirt as androgynous and daring. He was wearing the same accessories that he always did. Same rings. Same chain bracelet, and the same guitar pick necklace was dangling from his neck. 

“You look like you always do. Why? Did you get a haircut and I didn’t notice or something?” Eddie’s shoulders slumped, taking a step back from him so that he could take a few seconds to calm down. He was positive that he was dreaming up until the point that you shook his hand. You felt very warm and very real. He was a nerd that spent his free time playing the guitar, planning dungeon and dragons campaigns, and reading fantasy novels. The metalhead wasn’t afraid to admit that he was the type of person that daydreamed on a regular basis. This wasn’t how he had imagined this situation would go down. He met you while wearing your t-shirt. He looked like an absolute asshole. Eddie hadn’t deluded himself into thinking that he actually had any sort of shot with you, but he at least wanted you to think that he was cool. “This needs to be the best show we’ve ever played.” He quickly called out to the boys, grabbing the wires from the back of his van before slamming the door shut. “What the hell is going on, man? You’re acting weird.” Jeff told him, finally joining in on the conversation. The wavy haired man held his arm out so that he could motion towards the building, keeping his eyes locked on his friends. “Marie’s daughter? The one that we’ve never met before? It’s fucking Y/n.” Gareth let out a small laugh, kicking at a rough patch of gravel. A few rocks flung across the parking lot, clattering loudly. “Come on man, cut the bullshit.” Eddie blinked, moving his arm up and down more wildly. “I’m not fucking with you, man. That's the reason we’ve never met her. Think about it- she leaves the band suddenly with no explanation? Her dad just died.” Andy shook his head. “Maybe she just looks like her? Her and Marie don’t have the same last names.” Eddie’s arms fell to his sides. “Stuart wasn’t her real dad. He was her-” Jeff snapped, pointing at Eddie as he finally clued in. “Stepfather.” Eddie pointed right back at Jeff, nodding his head. “Exactly!” His excitement quickly waned though, the ugly truth tickling at the back of his brain. 

He had made a horrible first impression. 

He had just stood there, gaping at you like a mouth breather. He was sure that his palms were dripping with sweat too. Was it too late to turn back around and just go home? He loved performing, but playing his guitar in front of you? He wasn’t sure whether or not he could make it through a single song without messing up, let alone an entire setlist. Gareth was quick to march away from the boys, off in the direction of the front door. He wanted to see whether or not Eddie was just seeing things due to his grief. The taller male reached out to grab the small drummer by the back of the shirt, effortlessly yanking him back. “Hey! What are you doing?” He hissed out, his eyes wide. “Are you crazy?” His voice raised an octave in his panic. “I just want to see her? Besides. . . we all have to go back in at some point.” The long haired brunette slowly loosened his hold on Gareth’s black W.A.S.P shirt, mumbling out an apology. Eddie stalked past the group after sucking in a shaky breath, pushing his way through the front door.  “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Gareth’s voice is incredibly loud as he walks through the front doors, staring at you from across the bar. You had changed into a fresh shirt that didn’t smell like chili dogs and french fries, what with your mother living on the top floor above the bar. You had been busy talking to the middle aged cook, who had stepped outside of the kitchen to grab a drink. The second that you heard Gareth’s voice you looked up, your plush lips twitching up into a smile. You said something under your breath to the cook, giving his back a quick pat before walking over to them. “So this is your band?” You looked over to the stage, squinting your eyes so that you could read what had been painted onto the bass drum. “Corroded Coffin. Huh. . . Nice.” The youngest looking member of the group looked like he was going to explode, his cheeks a bright pink and his eyes wide. “Just pretend like I’m not here, guys.” Eddie ruffled the back of his hair, looking down at you nervously. “Yeah. Totally. We’re excited for you to hear us play.” More like they were dreading it. If you thought that they sucked, none of them would ever be able to live the embarrassment down. Suddenly Eddie felt like he was in the upside down all over again, performing like his life depended on it. . . because it really felt like it did.