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mystra-midnight · 1 year ago

Text

— CALL ME LITTLE SUNSHINE | part i

pairing: rockstar ! eddie x innocent ! reader

tags: pet names. dirty talk. making-out. fingering. oral; (fem receiving). marking; (hickeys). loss of virginity. corruption kink. semi-public sex. eddie is entirely pussy whipped.

w/c: 6.7k.

a/n: welcome to part one! it's been a hot minute since i've posted anything as thought out and in-depth as this so if you could take a few minutes to reblog or comment some feedback, i'd very much appreciate it. ♥

"Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin!"

The ever-growing crowd had been calling for the band the entire time you'd been waiting in line, which, after looking at the watch tucked beneath the sleeve of your cardigan, had been almost an hour and a half. The chanting had gotten so loud that, at some point, you'd stopped being able to hear yourself think, instead relying on Steve's large hand clasped around your own to tell you when to shuffle forward.

You felt out of place, unlike Steve and Robin. Everywhere you looked, people were dressed in leather and chains; piercings here, there, and everywhere; fishnets; big black platform boots; heavy make-up; and tattoos. And then there was you, dressed in a simple summer dress, hugging a knitted cardigan around your shoulders, wearing strappy sandals, and looking like someone right out of the Stepford Wives.

Other people noticed; you'd swear it, though no one said anything. As you looked between people, you caught a few of them looking at you, their expressions a motley of emotions that made you shift uncomfortably. Metal music had never been a particular favourite of yours, and concerts like this—where people were packed in like sardines—definitely weren't your preferred scene. The thought of being alone, snuggled beneath a blanket, and enjoying a glass of Moscato was much more appealing.

But you'd promised Steve and Robin that you'd come.

Well, no, not exactly. You hadn't promised either of them anything; instead, you'd given in to their constant whining. Steve and Robin had hung themselves from your legs as though they were dramatic, tantruming toddlers, pouting, and begging you to go with them. And after promising to cook dinner every night for a week—no, wait, a month!—your resolve finally broke.

That was how you found yourself finally walking through the double doors of the stadium. A gust from the air conditioner greeted you as you stepped inside, blowing your hair into your eyes and lip gloss, but it was a welcomed relief.

"I think that took literally forever." Your feet were already aching, and the thought of standing for another two hours was mentally and physically exhausting. Sure, you'd listened to some of Corroded Coffin's songs and thought they were good, but you weren't looking forward to standing in a sweaty crowd.

"Right. That was crazy, and they only have two scanners going. It's going to take forever to get everyone inside." Steve replied. His fingers tightened around yours when he felt your strides slowing, and he turned to notice your attention was on the merchandise display a few feet away. Following your gaze, he found the band tees hung up on a pinboard, images pressed onto the fronts and backs of each one. Some showed the band's tour dates and the cities they were scheduled to stop in, while others had stylised versions of Eddie's face.

Steve practically beamed with pride. He was proud of how far Eddie had come since they'd met—from school freak to famous rockstar. It was a big change, but a well-deserved one, given all the shit he'd been through. Somehow, he'd remained modest and hadn't forgotten where he'd come from; he'd gotten his uncle out of the trailer and into a two-bedroom apartment; he thanked his uncle and friends during every interview; he'd even forgiven his childhood bullies, though he never forgot what they'd done to him.

"Come on," he said while tugging your hand. "We should get in before the show starts," he said when you hesitated, teeth tugging on your lower lip as you continued to eye the shirts, bandanas, and posters on display. It was called the Upside Down Tour, and the band had released a limited-edition shirt for the tour.

"I want to get a shirt; this is the first concert like this I've ever been to. I want something to remember it." You explained. You wriggled your fingers in his, hinting that you wanted him to let go. If you'd have blinked, you might have missed it, but you swore that Steve and Robin shared a look—the kind that carried secret conversations and amusement.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, painful and sudden, while your mind raced to a dozen terrible thoughts. What if they regretted bringing you along, even though they'd practically begged you to go? What if they were angry? Fuck, what if they hated you? You must have looked like you were about to pass out because Steve took pity on you, reassuringly squeezing your hand as he stepped closer.

"Shit, sorry," he apologised with a crooked smile. "It's all good. We can pick one up after the show, okay? We need to get inside before security locks the doors."

"Oh," you answered. You ducked your head to hide your face, which felt like it was burning with embarrassment. You suddenly felt childish for letting your anxiety get the better of you, especially given that this was Steve and Robin, who had been nothing but kind from the moment you'd first met them. "Of course. After the show."

As though she sensed your distress, which she more than likely did because you radiated emotions like the sun radiated heat, Robin grabbed your other hand, lacing her fingers with yours, and gave you a sympathetic smile that mimicked the one on Steve's face. You loved them, but sometimes you hated them. So often, Robin and Steve seemed to be on the same page, on the same mental wavelength, having entire conversations with the lofting of a brow or half-smirk while you were on your own, a stranger looking in.

You tried not to think about it and tried desperately not to let negative emotions get the better of you tonight. You were at a concert with two amazing people, about to see a fantastic band play live. It was going to be a good night. Steve showed his ticket to one of the women managing the traffic flow, who motioned down a steep staircase into a standing pit right in front of the stage.

As you predicted, the crowd was already massive; there were too many people to fit comfortably within the stadium, but no one would complain as long as everyone behaved. And everyone would behave if they were able to see the band play. It wasn't long before the lights went down, and the crowd's cheering rose to a thunderous crescendo.

You felt the violent vibrations of the bass guitar as the bassist began the opening rift—how it rattled the ivory cage around your lungs until your entire body swayed to the rhythm. A sudden fireworks explosion dazzled and blinded you as the crowd rushed forward. Then the atmosphere turned electric, casting a weaving web on the crowd and drawing them in.

When the smoke settled, you saw the band had taken their places on stage, dressed in black denim, leather, chains, tattoos, and wild hair. They preened beneath the attention of their peers as the frontman and lead singer, Eddie Munson, moved to stand before a microphone. "I hope you're ready to rock, Hawkins, 'cause we're not stopping until the cops come knocking!"

Steve grabbed your wrist and dragged you in front of him, pushing you closer to the stage. That was how you found yourself standing front and centre. One of his hands grabbed your hip firmly, ready to break the fingers of any other wandering hands. He wrapped his other arm around Robin's shoulders, holding her to him as they sang along to a song you didn't know the words to.

It wasn't your proximity to him or the bruising grip of his fingers that warmed your blood, but the singer on stage. You'd seen pictures of Eddie in the trashy magazine you picked up from the gas station occasionally; each one seemed to be a different headline, each as scandalous as the last. Corroded Coffin's singer caught with another woman? Eddie Munson, Satanic Priest! Some of them were ridiculous, and none of them had been particularly entertaining, especially when, in every interview, he seemed humble, perhaps even flustered by the fame.

The sight of him on stage sent heat dripping down your cheeks and into your neck, spiralling through your veins to gather at your core.

He looked like a devil but had the face of an angel—wild curls bounced around his face, you caught glimpses of his inked skin, and there was a perfect trail of hair on his abdomen. He strummed at his guitar strings as though it were his lover, plucking the cords with perfectly practised movements. You wondered what else his fingers could do, and a wild blush crept into your face.

As though your thoughts weren't mortifying enough, he seemed to have noticed. His eyes found yours in the crowd, as if he could see straight into your brain and was plucking the fantasies from your mind.

The world slowed to a crawl and faded until it was just the two of you and your racing thoughts. You drank in the sight of him. You caught glimpses of his tattoos, watched how droplets of sweat rolled down the hollow of his throat as the heat of the stage lights bore down on him, and watched how his lips moved as he sang, the rasps of his voice enough to make you tremble.

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, almost afraid to look away; you wanted this moment to go on forever and ever. But as abruptly as it began, the fantasy ended when he looked out across the crowd, and as he did, the world snapped back into place. Your heart was racing, and your breath was erratic.

You felt silly having been caught up in such an intense moment with a perfect stranger, even if he was handsome and famous—a perfect mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment. You glanced at Robin and Steve, hoping they hadn't noticed your captivated state. They hadn't.

The two were still singing and enjoying the music, bouncing up and down as a guitar solo swept through the speakers. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you looked back at the stage, trying valiantly to refocus on the music. After a while, the guitar's pounding bass and electrifying energy were enough to pull you back into the moment.

You felt captivated, as though whatever dark spell he was weaving had fallen upon you, too. His performance was filled with raw emotion and a rebellious spirit, with the lyrics resonating with something deep inside you, echoing your desires, and enticing a wildness to spark in your veins.

You stole another glance at him, and his eyes again met yours. It was almost as if the universe had conspired to connect you two in a chaotic sea of people. With a sudden burst of courage you didn't think yourself capable of, you gave a bashful smile and lifted your hand, waving at him.

He saw and acknowledged you with a knowing smile, to your surprise and amusement. It felt like a dirty secret. You would swear that your face was on fire from how hard you were blushing, your fingers wringing together nervously at the front of your dress.

It seems silly. In fact, you knew it was silly, childish, and stupid.

You didn't know him, and he didn't know you. You knew the media's version of him—the stylised rockstar who'd grown up poor, defied the odds, and came out on top—the playboy who had a different girl every other week and who'd been caught having sex with fans in odd places. But what you'd felt, however brief, had ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach. You felt it smouldering as you were lost in the music and its wild energy.

The last guitar riff played, and the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. You expected the crowd to thin down now that the show was finished, but they remained, hooting and hollering, vying for his attention.

"He was incredible!" You shouted as you turned to Steve, straining to be heard above the crowd. He gave you a funny expression and tilted his head to the side, causing a stir of hair to fall into his face.

"What?"

"I said," you shouted while moving closer to him. "That was incredible!"

This time, he heard you, chuckling under his breath and holding you in place when you tried to slip through the crowd. And then you saw Eddie standing at the edge of the stage, a security guard at his side. You could see they were talking, now if only you'd learned to read lips. Except you didn't need to read lips to know he was pointing right at the three of you.

Your heart stopped mid-beat, your mouth running dry, as a second security guard approached the three of you. From where you were frozen in time, you didn't see Steve and Robin grinning at each other or the glint in their eyes.

You were star-struck, staring at the security guard as if he'd grown a second head. And he might as well have because things like this didn't happen. Maybe it happened in the movies, but not real life and you weren't some perfectly poised beauty. You were a real woman with feelings; they were all over the place right now.

You grabbed Steve's arm when he stepped away, pulling him to a stop. He looked down at you with a furrowed brow. "What the hell is going on?" you hissed at him, not angry but entirely surprised and uncertain. He gave you a dashing and daring smile.

"Think he just invited us backstage."

"What?"

You'd tried to convince yourself that this was a wild dream. You even pinched yourself—twice. Things like this didn't happen to ordinary people, especially people like you. The shy woman who had to have a drink in her hand, the woman who took sips to fill the silence when talking became overwhelming, the woman who stammered and blushed with little more than a wink from a handsome man.

But it was happening. And now there you were, backstage, with Steve and Robin at your side, staring at a door with the band's name written in block letters. You could hear people milling about inside.

The security guard knocked, and you heard the muffled sound of movement, followed by something being knocked over and a chorus of laughter. Finally, the door was hauled open.

"Eddie!"

Robin's outburst startled you. She pushed past you and Steve, then the security guard, and threw herself at the man. You gawked at them, eyes wide as your soul burst to life, heart skipping several beats when he spun her in a circle. Robin's feet didn't touch the ground as they laughed.

You couldn't believe it.

There, standing not even five feet away, was the lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie-fucking-Munson—the very same man you'd been eye-fucking on stage not even an hour ago. A part of you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you whole. Another part screamed at you to cling to him as Robin had done.

"Hey," Steve whispered, leaning slightly closer to your ear. "Are you doing okay? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

"What?" You replied, your voice rising an octave in panic. Your gaze whirled between Steve and the duo, who seemed oblivious to your presence, and then back again. "Yes, well, no! You didn't tell me you knew him!"

"Who? Eddie?" He asked.

"That guy, right there, the famous guy hugging our friend?" You were incredulous, your arm flailing in their direction, much to Robin's amusement and Eddie's confusion. "Yes, him! You two know him?"

"What about Eddie?"

The sudden appearance of his voice made you squeak in surprise. His voice was dark, deep, and delectable, like chocolate, and hoarse. It felt like liquid heat pouring down your spine, flooding every intersecting bone until you trembled. Eddie smiled, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that had you blushing wildly.

You stared as Steve and Eddie swept each other into a bear hug, slapping each other on the back and again on the arm as they came apart. Robin gave you a playful poke in the side, bringing your attention back to her.

"What about Eddie?" She asked, which inevitably brought all of their attention to you. You shifted beneath the weight of their combined stare. Your eyes found Eddie's, and you looked away quickly.

"Yeah, what about Eddie, girl?" He playfully added.

"Nothing! It's just that—um—well, I didn't know you—uh—that they knew you. That's all." You say, stumbling over the words like an awkward teenager. You mentally kicked yourself, but in truth, you'd never been good at talking to people. You'd always been a little shy, and everyone made fun of you before Steve and Robin slowly started coaxing you out of your shell.

And it wasn't as though he knew you. He probably hadn't seen you in the crowd. Now that you think about it, Eddie was just as likely to be smiling at them, not you, when he was on stage. But that didn't do anything to pull the blush out of your face or stop the way you shuffled under the gaze of the trio.

"Oh, yeah," Eddie said with an awkward laugh, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Your eyes went a little buggy when his shirt rode up, revealing that trail of hair that disappeared into the band of his jeans.

You looked away quickly before he could catch you staring, finding something on the wall that suddenly fascinated you. He didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything if he did. "Yeah, yeah, the three of us went to high school together. It seems like a lifetime ago."

Robin stared at him, her expression incredulous. "It was, like, five years ago, Eds. Don't you dare make me older than I am!" She said as the back of her hand connected with his stomach. Eddie huffed as he doubled over dramatically, clutching his stomach and coughing as though she'd just punched the air from his lungs. You laughed despite yourself, momentarily drawing his attention to you; he flashed you a dazzling smile before hustling the three of you inside.

It would have been spacious inside the room if it wasn't filled with boxes of merchandise, band equipment, and the rest of the band. The little composure you'd managed to hold onto disappeared when Steve and Robin rushed inside, similarly greeting the others, hugging and laughing like old friends.

You lingered at the door, unsure what to do with yourself, when you felt a hand against the small of your back, fingertips tapping just above the curve of your ass, high enough to be respectful but low enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Come on, sweetheart. They don't bite," Eddie said with a laugh before leaning down to whisper in your ear. You felt his breath against your neck, the warmth of it making you shiver as he caught a glimpse of your cleavage before you hugged your cardigan around yourself.

"Well, I might," he added. "If you ask nicely."

He didn't wait to see your reaction, but from the beaming smile plastered on his face, he'd heard your squeak of surprise. Instead, Eddie flounced into the room, joining Steve, Robin, and the others as you followed.

Once official introductions were made, you sat at the end of one of the couches next to Eddie, who seemed entirely unaware of your nervous inner turmoil. Occasionally, his thigh brushed against yours, jostling you in his excitable state as the group recalled their high school years.

"You were quite the ladies' man in high school, Steve. Don't act bashful now," the drummer, Gareth, said with a booming laugh. You found yourself smiling and laughing with him, amused by the way Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to deflect.

"I remember Robin telling me that the girls used to call him King Steve." You added. Gareth howled with laughter at how Steve flushed a deeper shade of pink. You smiled at him, pretty and sweet, but should have known he wouldn't let that slight go unanswered. You hardly had time to steel yourself before he returned fire.

"Hey now," he said, his smile positively devilish. "Don't start throwing shade if you can't handle the sun, sweets. Because I could tell some stories about you, too. Well, no, I couldn't. I don't think I've ever heard those bed springs squeak."

You choked on a mouthful of beer, coughing as you glared at him in horror. "Steven Joseph Harrington!" Your face burned at the revelation of a secret you'd shared with him one drunk and wild night. Using his full government name was enough for him to know he'd crossed a line, but the laughter of his friends encouraged him.

"I can't help it if that's the truth, you know," he said with a shrug.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Eddie shouted, shaking his hand wildly to get everyone's attention, especially yours. You squirmed in your seat, pushing yourself hard against the arm of the couch to try and escape his intense stare when he rounded on you.

"Never? As in never, ever?"

At that moment, you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you. It wasn't that you were embarrassed to be a virgin, but the attention made you uncomfortable. You'd never been the type of woman to want a one-night stand with a stranger. Steve had offered once when you'd both been drunk and confessing secrets, but you'd never felt the itch.

And it wasn't that you considered your virginity to be a cherished and sacred part of yourself. But you'd never wanted to be that vulnerable with someone unless you trusted them entirely.

"Bullshit." Eddie spat, not nasty, but disbelieving. "You've gotta be shitting me. A pretty thing like you hasn't ever had sex? I know you're lying."

You stared at your hands resting in your lap, fingers wringing the hem of your dress until the stitching threatened to fray. From across the room, you heard the vague sound of Robin talking, mumbling something about you being as ripe as a cherry. She purposely popped her lips, and you wanted to die.

"Jesus Christ," you managed to choke out. "Yes, okay, I'm a total virgin. Can we talk about something else, please?"

The universe appeared to take mercy on you because the conversation changed topics at breakneck speed. One moment, Eddie was gawking at you; the next, he was focused entirely upon Jeff, who'd bought up something called the Hellfire Club. You took the opportunity to down the rest of your beer, letting the flavour of it wash away the taste of embarrassed tears.

The night went on in relative peace. You drank with them, listening to their wild stories of high school shenanigans and offering your own when prompted. You hadn't realised how much time had passed until you glanced at your watch and gawked: two in the morning.

"So, never?" Eddie asked without warning, his voice soft and almost innocent, breaking the silence that had blossomed within the room. You pulled your cardigan around your shoulders as though the thin material could shield you from his gaze. The others had fallen asleep, either drunk or high or just beyond exhausted. It was just the two of you.

Just you and Eddie.

"Look," you said with a sigh, your face burning again. "I really don't want to talk about that."

He held his hands in the universal sign of hold up. "I'm not judging you, sweetheart. I'm just curious. A pretty thing like you has to have a trail of broken hearts behind her."

You laughed despite yourself and relaxed back onto the couch, enjoying the warmth radiating from him. He was so close that you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, the way he traced his lips with the tip of his tongue, the way the fabric of his jeans stretched across his lap, the bulge there. . .

You snapped your head away when he caught your staring.

"It's not like that. I've had boyfriends. I've just never felt comfortable doing anything with them. Not that they were bad people. I didn't want to do it because everyone was doing it. Then I got busy, and dating stopped happening. You understand? Of course you do. You're famous; I doubt you have much time for dating. Not that anyone wouldn't want to date you."

You were rambling, the words falling from your lips like verbal vomit, and you couldn't stop. Eddie silenced you, moving without warning to close the distance lingering between the two of you. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, his fingers rough and warm, pulling you into the wall of his chest so that he could slot his mouth against yours.

Eddie Munson tasted like cigarette smoke and alcohol, dark desire wrapped in leather. Eddie Munson smelled like adrenaline and sex, a woman's wet dream. Before you knew what you were doing, you kissed him back, desperate for more.

Eddie led you into an adjacent room, his fingers enveloping yours, providing a comforting anchor. The soft snores of the others faded into a distant hum as he closed the door. Your gaze traced the contours of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the way his studded jacket draped over them, the weight of his chunky black boots and the ruggedness of his ripped jeans. The belt cinched around his narrow waist, crowned with a buckle shaped like a bat, adding a touch of mystery to his rugged charm.

He turned abruptly, his hand slamming against the door beside your head, eliciting a startled yelp from you. Eddie pressed against you, your hands instinctively clutching the fabric of his shirt. Caught between the desire to pull him closer and the instinct to push him away, you found yourself staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Your heart pounded against its ivory prison, the uncertainty of the moment adding to its frantic beat.

"E—Eddie?" You managed to stammer his name, your voice impossibly quiet, overflowing with uncertainty and a mix of fear and desire. He didn't seem to mind. He smiled at you, his breath washing over your mouth and nose like a sweet rum, leaving you light-headed. You squeezed your thighs together as tight as you could, desperate to stifle the growing heat at your core.

He felt it, your nervous shifting and the wild beating of your heart as he cruised a hand along your body, from your hip and then over your breast to clutch the back of your neck. He rubbed his thumb over your racing pulse. "Has anyone ever kissed you like this before? Pushed you against a wall, touched you, told you how beautiful you are?"

Your face burned. Eddie knew that you'd been kissed before; you'd told him as much. But you'd also told him you were a virgin. At twenty-four, you'd almost grown out of being embarrassed by the fact.

"No," you answered in a low exhale, trying to duck your head to avoid his smouldering stare. His eyes were blown with lust, almost black as coal, as he pushed his thumb against your chin, forcing you to look at him.

He leaned in closer, the feel of him like a weighted blanket on your chest, making it harder to breathe but in a pleasant way. It made your head fuzzy, like floating in a beautiful daydream, except his lips ghosted over yours. The faintest of touches had reality snapping into place around you.

"Never, ever?" Eddie whispered, his lips brushing, tugging, teasing yours. He was so close that he'd invaded all your senses until all you saw, heard, and breathed was him. He held fast when he wanted to move. Eddie waited for someone to give in to desire and bring the other into the flames. He wanted and needed it to be you.

The tiny whimper you made shot through him, racing through his blood like a bolt of electricity until his cock throbbed. And then you took the plunge, a hand at the back of his neck, the other hauling him in by that pretty studded jacket so you could brush your mouth against his.

It was all he needed—a silent confession, unspoken permission.

Eddie pushed against you until you felt the studs of his leather jacket and his dangling chains pressing into you through your clothing, your dress suddenly restrictive and in the way. His hands were everywhere, cupping your face, running through your hair. And then he dropped to his knees with a thud, pressing kisses down your stomach, leaving wet marks against the fabric of your dress as he ran his hands up the backs of your legs.

"No one ever touched you like this?"

You felt like you were going up in flames. His touch was fire licking your skin, beautiful and pure, leaving you trembling. His hands moved up the back of your thighs, and when his mouth found your belly button, tongue swirling once, then twice, you grabbed him by the shoulders to steady yourself.

"Words, sweet girl. I need you to answer," he said in a husky tone, pinching the back of your thigh to bring you out of your mind and into the moment. He looked at you from beneath his impossibly dark lashes, his eyes dark, twinkling with mischief.

"Never," you managed to gasp when his hands began drifting high, pushing your dress up until he could bunch it at your hips. And then he was face-to-face with your panties, groaning dramatically, making a sound that would make a pornstar blush.

"Have mercy," Eddie moaned, his breath hot against your mound even through the barrier of clothing. His eyes moved back to yours, and you flushed with embarrassment. He was staring at you like he wanted to devour you. "Even your fucking panties are adorable. That little bow? I'm going to take my time unwrapping this present."

Yet, despite this admission, he didn't take his time.

His mouth landed on your clothed cunt without a preamble. Your knees shook and threatened to give out as he worked his tongue against the wet fabric, tasting your arousal and letting it slide down his throat like a fine wine. Eddie found that virgins were quick to get wet. His calloused fingers kneaded the globes of your arse, pulling you closer, his talented tongue pushing your panties into your slit so he could tease your clit with gentle licks.

You bit your knuckles to stifle the sounds of your moans as pleasure snaked through your veins, creeping through your bloodstream until you broke into a sweat.

"Put your hands in my hair," he demanded with a rough voice, and like a mindless fool, you complied. His hair was a mess of wild curls that you pulled on, sinking your fingers deep into his plush locks when he started to work your panties down your thighs. "Good girl."

"Oh god." As the fabric pooled at your ankles, your head hit the door with a soft thud. You were like putty in his hands—willing to walk through the fires of hell if it meant he'd keep touching you. Eddie freed one of your ankles and threw your leg over his shoulder, bringing you closer.

Words could not describe the feeling of his tongue against your slick folds or the sensation of the tip flicking against your clit. It was like lightning arched through the sky to melt the skin from your bones. You were burning up. And he'd lit the match.

Eddie was loud and messy, lewd. The sounds that clawed up his throat were pornographic. Each wet schlick of his mouth was accompanied by a throaty moan as he sucked your clit and teased your throbbing hole with the tip of his tongue.

It was an out-of-body experience—you never realised you could feel this good. Eddie held you by the back of the thighs, his grip firm, pulling you onto his tongue until your flesh goosepipmpled beneath his touch. You could have collapsed when he withdrew, a line of saliva connecting the tip of his tongue to your clit.

"Words, pretty girl. You gotta use them, or I'm going to stop."

You whined desperately, weaving your fingers deeper into his wild hair. "Please don't stop, Eddie. . ."

"Then talk to me. Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He waited only a moment, his dark eyes staring into yours with the intensity of the sun. He took in your flushed cheeks and shallow breaths that made your chest heave. Then he resumed his meal. The sound you made in response was embarrassing—at least, it should have been. You should have wanted the ground to split open and swallow you. But you didn't.

"It's good," you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut as he ran the flat of his tongue along your slit, the tip flicking your clit in a delicious way that made your hips twitch; forward, then back, like you wanted him to eat you alive but also to escape.

The feeling was exquisite—like nothing you had ever felt—knocking the air from your lungs, making the muscles in your legs tense and your core weep. Your whole body jerked under his tongue, a shiver shaking your spine, your bones turning to jelly as he licked and sucked your drenched cunt. "Oh god. . . I think. . . I—I'm close."

You'd had orgasms before, but nothing quite like this. It was a slow build, each swipe of Eddie's tongue amplifying the pressure between your hips, sending jolts of electricity through your veins until your nerves crackled and popped. It was difficult to describe; you could taste the words on the tip of your tongue, but they melted away with each moan he drew from your lips.

And then it spread out through your body, a searing warmth that threatened once more to melt the skin from your bones.

"You're so wet, sweetness, m'fucking drowning here," Eddie said. Even though his words were vulgar, the low growl with which he spoke sent you tumbling down the other side of pleasure. The first wave zinged through you, knocking the air from your lungs and sparking every one of your nerves to life.

You bit your knuckles hard until you tasted blood, but the flavour was quickly lost as the second wave seared through your limbs. Eddie didn't stop—not once. Each swipe of his tongue against your clit, each push of it into your virginal hole, sent wisps of fire shooting through your veins, adding stars and galaxies bursting to life behind your scrunched-shut eyes.

When you returned to earth, you found yourself trembling, his strong hands the pillars that kept you upright. Eddie kissed his way back up your body, slowly working your dress up as he went until he could pull it over your head. He threw it over his shoulder, the fabric a distant memory as it hit the ground, lost and now forgotten.

"No one ever made you cum before, have they?" He whispered, his breath hot, his smirk feral, as he teased his lips along the slope of your neck. You whined when your bare cunt rubbed against his dark denim jeans, the rough drag of the rips and tears against your lips sending you hurtling toward the sky once more.

"No," you managed to say before catching his mouth for a wild, clumsy kiss. Eddie happily obliged, pushing his tongue into your mouth and licking your teeth so you tasted yourself.

"Touch me. . ."

"What do good girls say?"

"Please."

You would die if he didn't touch you in the next three seconds. You would collapse to the ground, melt into a puddle at his feet, and literally die.

Thankfully, he took pity on you.

Eddie kissed you deeply, with the fire of a thousand suns; his hot breath stole through your lungs when he swallowed your moans, leaving you on the verge of combustion. You felt lost in him, touching him here, there, and everywhere as you tried to strip him. Eddie didn't let you. He grabbed your wrists and held them at the small of your back, and he moved you both across the room.

Your lips never once parted. The moment was composed of hot breaths, searing kisses, and teasing bites, weakening your knees terribly. Eddie fell back into a high chair in front of the make-up mirrors. You were desperate to climb into his lap, to wind your legs around him and leech the warmth from his chest, but instead, he turned you and pulled you into his lap, back to chest.

"Eddie," you whispered his name in a sigh, heady with desire. "I want more. . ."

He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, smiling in response. His lips were wet, his mouth wanting as he lowered it to your next, sucking a mark into your plush skin. "Open your eyes, sweetness."

Eddie hooked your knees over his thighs, spreading you open and exposing you to the mirror. The tips of his fingers ghosted along the crease of your inner thigh, making your breath hitch in anticipation. "You're beautiful," he said with a hum, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You caught his eyes in the reflection and saw the stark desire that had turned his pupils black, the hunger.

And you saw the expression mirrored in your own reflection. Your skin was flushed the subtlest shade of pink, pussy glistening with arousal. Eddie honestly thought you were the prettiest thing he'd ever fucking seen; so sweet, so innocent.

The stretch of his thick fingers was immediately exquisite, the slick of your arousal coating them entirely. Eddie watched the mirror, transfixed by the way it dropped from around his fingers, sliding down the curve of your ass to darken his denim jeans.

He felt you clench around him, tension seeping through your body as the pain collided with pleasure, twisting through your veins like snakes, intertwined, threatening to consume you from the inside out. You cried out when he crooked them, hips rising in search of more; his other hand cruised up your body, the soft swell of your stomach, cupping a tit in the palm of his hand, thumb teasing your nipple into a hardened peak.

Eddie growled against your neck. He was as hard as a rock, and each jolt of your hips had your arse rutting against his aching cock. You reached back to grab his hair, winding your fingers through his wild curls as the pleasure mounted. You were a guitar, and he had years of practice. He watched the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way you couldn't sit still as he fucked his fingers in and out of your cunt, the way you clawed at his jeans.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle the way you moan, loud, wantonly, like a whore. You felt dirty—like this was a scandalous secret. The thought of being found was erotically terrifying.

"You getting close, sweetness?" Eddie asked; no, he growled the words against your neck, teeth clipping the sensitive skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so fucking tight. Are you thinking about my cock? How much better it'll feel than my fingers?"

As though to emphasise his words, his thrust against you, his erection hard against the globes of your arse, leaving him moaning as his own muscles twisted with desire, pure liquid heat pouring through his bones.

"Cum for me, baby."

He wasn't asking; no, he was demanding.

tag list ::

@micheledawn1975 | @maxstecc

—interest in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #rockstar!eddie x innocent!reader #call me little sunshine #call me little sunshine - part one

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shares-a-vest · 5 months ago

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No thoughts, only Joe Keery's tummy. So I'm making Eddie blue-screen about Steve...

When Eddie first arrived at Steve's house, he didn't expect to be greeted by such a sight.

He gulps as he stands at the door to Steve's bedroom, looking. Staring.

Oh boy, is he staring.

The heat of the summer afternoon rushes through his body. Man, he thought he was hot before but now he thinks he might just collapse on the carpet and pass away before they make it out to the pool.

Stupid summer. Stupid hot weather. Stupid pool at Steve's house.

Eddie should have said a better goodbye to his uncle.

This is it.

It's over for him.

He bites his bottom lip to stifle a whine, watching (staring) as Steve shifts on his bedspread in a way that makes the red gym shorts he is wearing creep further up his thick, hairy thighs.

Eddie really should have knocked in the first place.

But the thing is, Steve wouldn't have heard him, he never heard him. Just like he hasn't noticed his presence now. He is turned away from the door, lounged back on his pillows as he gazes out the bedroom window, strumming on his acoustic. A thrift store find Eddie helped pick out.

Eddie is the stupid one. He brought this – all of this – upon himself.

Of course he chose today, a day when Steve looks like this, to take the guy up on an invitation to use his pool.

It's all his own goddamn fault that he is now frozen on the spot in his stupid, dorky blue swim trunks, slathered in sunscreen and watching like a shameless fucking pervert as Steve mindlessly plunks incorrect cords on his guitar without a care in the world.

The instrument is propped on his tummy, a soft and unholy sliver with a happy trail that gets darker, thicker, as it disappears under the tiny shorts. Tanned skin exposed by a paper-thin t-shirt, something long cut off to a crop that Eddie wants to bury his sweaty face in.

Steve stirs and Eddie makes some garbled noise before his heart, dick and horny pea-brain can align with his mouth.

"Oh," Steve says, surprised but smiling, "Ready for a swim?"

He sits upright, discarding the guitar carefully on his bed and all Eddie can do is watch that tummy and those legs and – oh fuck – those very tight shorts.

He scrubs a hand over his face.

"Yeah..." he sighs as he awaits the end.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #👕🧥

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strangererotica · 4 days ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x Reader • steamy summer sex with boyfriend!steve • oral, vaginal, anal, all the stuff

The Summer heat is driving you and Steve crazy. At this rate, you’re either going to fuck him or kill him. So you decide to fuck him…

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The air conditioner broke yesterday, and the soonest Steve can get someone out to fix it will be ten tomorrow morning. The atmosphere in the house is sweltering. It’s affecting you and Steve in the worst way, making you both irritable with each other. Little annoyances that would have been ignored any other time now have you getting under each other’s skin.

It’s too damn hot. You sit at the kitchen table watching Steve toss yet another dirty plate into the sink, as if you haven’t asked him a hundred times to rinse his plate first. Having to scrub old food from dishes, you’ve explained, only slows you down when washing them. It’s like Steve doesn’t give a damn whether or not he inconveniences you.

You sit there watching him leaning against the sink, a grumpy scowl on his face. He reaches for the window and fans his hands inward, trying to create some kind of breeze for himself. “Jesus,” Steve curses, aggressively switching on the tap. He wets his hands and runs them through his hair. Droplets of water glitter in the sunlight as they trickle down Steve’s forearms, absorbing into the fabric of his t-shirt. Realizing he’s only keeping himself hotter by wearing it, Steve tugs the t-shirt off over his head. He can’t help but instinctively glance your way, to see if you’re checking him out.

Steve isn’t disappointed because of course you’re watching him. Your eyes rake over his body, following the dark trail of hair covering his chest and belly to where it disappears under his waistband. He’s wearing nothing now but a pair of boxer briefs which are damp with sweat. You can see the outline of Steve’s bulge through the fabric, his sweaty dick and balls hanging just a little to the right as always. You sit there ogling Steve’s junk and zone out for a second. The excessive heat is making your brain a little mushy, but your eyes know exactly what you want. Steve’s cock jumps ever so slightly inside his boxers as he watches you watching him…

You lick your lips, tasting the salt of sweat on your skin, unconsciously squeezing your slick thighs together. It’s too damn hot. If Steve doesn’t fuck this bad mood out of you, you might go insane. Your chair creaks as you leave it and approach Steve, whose eyes follow your movements. “Fuck me,” you glare at him, a new heat warming your skin. Steve reaches for your wrists and cages them inside his hands. He whips you around and bends you over the sink, locking your arms behind you. “You think I’ll just give you what you want?” Steve grunts against the back of your neck. “After you’ve been such a bitch to me all day?” He squeezes your wrists together behind you, holding you against the sink with his weight. Steve’s erection prods your ass; he clearly wants to fuck you as much as you need to be fucked.

When he quickly flips you around to face him, you respond with a giggle. It feels good to have some relief from the thick tension that’s been roiling between you all day. Steve crouches down and parts your legs. He inhales your scent, cursing under his breath. “Fuck you smell so good,” he murmurs, nestling his nose against your bush. “Been smellin’ you all day honey, moving around this house with a goddamn meal between your legs.” Steve’s tongue licks out and snags your puffy clit, making you tremble. “You like that?” he asks, flashing his perfect teeth up at you in a grin. “S’this what she needs? Kisses?”

Steve’s lips close over your clit, sucking lightly, just enough to have you yearning for more pressure. You curl into Steve, your stomach curved against the top of his head. Steve’s words have disappeared and the only sounds he now makes are breathy grunts against your cunt. He bathes your lips with his tongue, lapping long strokes up and down your labia, rounding your clit with the tip of his tongue at the end of every stroke. Your hands clutch onto Steve’s shoulders to brace yourself as he licks you to climax, his tongue creating a persistent pressure against your clit for you to grind against as you ride out your high.

Steve rises to his feet and closes a big hand around your neck from behind. “Come with me,” he says, the scent of your cunt on his breath. Steve guides you to the table, bending you forward over it. You listen as he tugs down the waist of his boxers and shuffle out of them. His cock slaps against your ass, the tip slippery with precum. Instinctively, your hands find the edges of the table, fingers latching on for support. Steve’s palm meets your pussy in a firm slap; your knees buckle in response. “Goddamn you’re wet for me,” he murmurs over your back. “Gonna make it hard not to come inside you. S’that on purpose honey? You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

The answer you give is wrapped in a moan as Steve abruptly enters you. His hand stays around your neck, locking you against him as he takes you. The wet sound of sweaty skin slapping skin fills the kitchen, the table creaking under your weight in time with Steve’s thrusts. He bullies your cunt like he’s more annoyed with your hole than he is with you. The needy grunts Steve’s cock punches out of you are delicious to him, almost as delicious as your cunt on his breath. He pumps in and out of you at a rough, consistent pace, testing your hole’s capacity to hold him. “Christ, I think the heat’s made you tighter,” he pants against your hair, knotted inside his fist. “Gonna suck me dry, shit-.” Steve’s voice breaks and he buries his face in your shoulder, grunting expletives as his cock spits a thick burst of cum inside you. The room goes still and quiet as the only sounds surrounding you and Steve are the rapid breaths panted from both your lips.

He eases his weight off of you and takes a step back, spreading your cheeks with his big hands. Your sticky lips part with a wet sound and Steve watches his cum leak out of you, one drop followed by another, spattering between your feet on the kitchen floor. “Let’s get a shower,” Steve says, offering you his hand. You accept with a smile and let Steve lead you down the hall. He steps into the shower and switches on the water, adjusting the temperature to a cool setting. “Get in here,” he grins, cocking his head toward the shower. You step inside and curl into Steve’s embrace, letting the water wash over your joined bodies.

Moisture trickles across your skin like little kisses, refreshing and cool. Steve tilts your chin toward his and presses his lips to yours. You invite him deeper, parting your lips and allowing his tongue to find yours. Water cascades over you both as you explore each other’s mouths, licking into the wet warmth of Steve’s kiss. You feel him getting hard against your thigh as his kisses grow more intense, more urgent. Steve releases your tongue and tells you to get on your knees. He holds a handful of your wet hair and watches you sink to the shower floor, guiding your mouth onto his cock. You can taste some of Steve’s cum lingering inside his tip and swallow it down, flattening your tongue along his base. Steve groans as you take him deeper, his grip tightening inside your hair. “That’s a good girl,” he says, closing his eyes to enjoy you. “Treat my cock so good, don’t you baby?” His words fuel your desire to please him more and you do, relaxing the muscles in your throat to take him deeper.

The coarse wet hair of Steve’s bush bumps against your nose with every descent of your mouth around him. He rocks his hips forward into you, punching wet gurgling sounds out of your throat. His other fist goes to your hair; Steve uses your mouth like a sleeve as he thrusts into your throat, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. He barely has time to let you know he’s about to come, a second load painting the back of your throat white in his creamy release. You bob up and down Steve’s cock, milking him of the last remaining drops of cum he has, swirling your tongue across his tip.

He tugs you up by the shoulders and turns you to face the shower wall. Steve’s palm meets your ass with a heavy, wet slap. You flatten against the shower wall, your breath spraying the drops of water collected there. Steve slips a hand between your thighs from behind, his index and middle fingers massaging your labia roughly. You’re so slick with arousal, even the water spilling down your thighs can’t wash it away. Steve penetrates you with two fingers, his thumb notching against the bud of your asshole. “Like a little glove,” he grins against your neck, pressing a wet kiss there. He plays around inside you, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion. Your thighs tremble around Steve’s wrist as he toys with you, your asshole puckering against his thumb. He presses slowly, firmly, gradually working you open. Steve steps back and watches as his thumb disappears inside your asshole, swallowing him up.

“You gonna let me have every one of your holes, baby?” Steve asks, working you open with his thumb. He feels himself getting hard again as you suck his fingers back and forth. Your bodies are cool from the water spilling over them, but the heat between you and Steve can’t be so easily quenched. He coils his fingers around your g-spot, massaging the spongy mound in a rhythmic pattern that has your legs shaking. Pitiful whimpers tumble from your lips as Steve makes you come on his hand. He curses in awe as your holes clench and suck his fingers, ugly-beautiful moans forced out of your lips against the shower wall. Steve releases your cunt and takes his cock in his hand, gliding his tip between your folds, slicking his cock. He drags himself between your cheeks and positions his head at your entrance, wrapping an arm across your chest from behind.

Steve lingers there a moment, the stiff pressure of his cock prodding you. He waits for you to adjust, letting you push back on him at your own pace. You wiggle your hips as you descend backward over Steve’s tip, wincing as the head of him breaches your entrance. He squeezes you into his chest, pinning you under his forearm. “So fucking good f’me,” Steve praises, his breath dusting your earlobe. “Letting me use you like this…” He curls his hips inward, pressing slowly into you another inch. You grunt into the pressure, your cheek resting against Steve’s forearm. He carefully guides himself deeper inside your ass, working you open till you’ve taken him as deep as you can. Your ass is stuffed full of Steve’s cock, the wet hair of his bush matted against your skin. He slowly pulls back and you feel every inch of him dragging along your insides, the sting of his cock filling you quickly replaced by need.

“Please come in my ass,” you whimper into Steve’s arm, tasting his wet skin between your lips. “I want you to fill all of my holes today, Steve…”

That breaks him. Steve snaps his hips forward, lurching into you with a powerful thrust. You grunt into his arm on impact, your teeth baring into his skin to brace yourself. One thrust after another, Steve pumps your asshole like it’s his job to fuck you, stroking your insides with the goal of painting them white. Sweat and water drip off the ends of his hair and trickle down your back, his hips smacking against your ass loud and wet in the small space of the shower. He removes his arm from around you and clutches your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock. Minutes later Steve growls into your shoulder and ruts into you in two hard, slow thrusts. Semen gushes inside your ass, coating your hole in Steve’s orgasm. He reaches around and finds your clit, rubbing a messy rhythm over your sensitive mound and you’re coming with him, your asshole puckering and sucking the last drops of cum from his tip.

Steve pulls your breathless body into his and holds you upright against him as he leans against the shower wall for support. The water trickles over your spent, satisfied bodies, every bit of tension and frustration pulled down the drain. You and Steve decide to stay naked the rest of the day, falling into bed together for some much-needed rest…

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societyfolklore · 4 months ago

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Midsummer Cravings

Title: Midsummer Cravings Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple afternoon date—just coffee, something casual—A way to ease back in. Steve was meant to be a gentleman, meant to take his time. But the way you lick your ice cream, he never stood a chance.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, Kissing, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up!), Steve Being a Gentleman but…cracks.. Fluff & Smut Balance, (slight plot but mostly smut..) A/N: It's summer here and hot, so… plus decided to branch out and write for Steve! Hope you enjoy this sweaty, needy mess of a fic.

Natasha set him up.

"You busy next Saturday?"

Steve frowned, glancing up from the report he was reading. "No, why? You need something?"

Natasha smirked, arms crossed, the picture of smug amusement. "Well, you're not now."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You've got a date."

Steve blinked. "No, I-what did you do?"

She rolled her eyes, giving his shoulder a condescending pat. "Got you a date. You're welcome, by the way."

He ran a hand over his face. "Nat-"

"Oh, relax, Rogers. She's sweet. You’ll like her." Her smirk widened. "And she thinks you’re cute."

Steve sighed, already regretting whatever was about to happen. "This is a bad idea."

"No, what’s a bad idea is you spending another Saturday night in your apartment alone with your moral crisis and bad TV choices. This? This is a favour."

With that, she sauntered off, leaving Steve sitting there, rubbing his temples.

"It’s just coffee," he had told himself standing at your apartment door, running a hand over his blonde hair. He’d thought about flowers, but that felt like too much. Casual… that’s what everyone had told him. It was an afternoon date. Knocking you opened the door, the sundress you had one covered in little blue and white flowers.

You smiled up at him, and he felt his stomach knot. The way the dress hugged in all the right places sent a flicker of heat through his chest.

"Hi." Your voice was almost breathless as you stepped out, and he hesitated. Was he supposed to hug you? Kiss you on the cheek? Shake your hand? He settled for an awkward nod instead.

"I know we said coffee, but I was thinking since it's so hot… there's this ice cream place a few blocks down. Did you want to?" You seemed a little shy, maybe just as awkward as he felt. Had Natasha been just as pushy with you?

"Sure, that sounds nice. Could use something cold."

And then you smiled.

The kind of smile that could have stopped traffic.

And just like that, his plan to keep things casual was already falling apart.

The two of you walked side by side, the warm summer breeze playing with the hem of your dress. Steve tried not to watch the way you moved, tried to focus on keeping the conversation going instead.

"So, what do you do at SHIELD?" he asked, hoping for something safe.

You glanced up at him with a light smile. "Records management. Down in the archives. I don’t get upstairs much."

Steve tilted his head, picturing you tucked away in the archives, surrounded by dusty files and glowing monitors. "Must be quiet down there. Doesn't it get lonely?"

You laughed softly. "Oh, I don’t mind it. I like being behind the scenes. It’s quiet."

Before he could respond, they reached the ice cream shop. He quickly stepped ahead, pulling open the door for you.

"Oh." You blinked up at him, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Thank you."

He cleared his throat, offering a small smile as he stepped aside. "Of course." He tried not to notice the way your hips swayed as you glided through the doorway, the breeze catching the hem of your dress just enough to make his pulse stutter.

Once inside you found a table by the window, where the golden sunlight made your skin glow. Steve returned with the ice creams, setting them down as he settled into his seat handing over your cone.

"So, do you like working for SHIELD?" he asked, stirring his butter pecan with his spoon.

You nodded. "I do. I mean, it's mostly records and data, but I like the quiet. I like knowing I’m preserving something important."

He hummed. "History’s important. Good to know someone’s keeping track of it."

You licked your ice cream absently, smiling. "For me, this job is kind of a happy medium between who I wanted to be and what was expected. I wanted to be a librarian growing up, but I come from a military family. This seemed like a nice mix that kept everyone happy."

Steve nodded, looking away for a moment. "That makes sense. Finding balance isn't always eas-"

He turned his head back just in time to watch your tongue flick out, swiping across the surface of your ice cream, slow and unhurried.

And suddenly, Steve-a super soldier who had fought literal wars-forgot how to breathe.

Christ.

“-y, easy.”

His grip on his own cup tightened, spoon clattering uselessly inside it as he stared at you.

You glanced up. "And what about you? I mean, I know everyone probably asks you about adjusting."

You licked another slow stripe over your ice cream, the movement unhurried, almost absentminded. Steve noticed the creamy texture melting over your lips, dripping slightly onto your fingers.

"Steve?" You raised a finger to your lips, checking for any stray ice cream.

Steve blinked, coughing as he looked down at his cup.

Focus.

"They do," he admitted, clearing his throat. "It's... a lot. Things move fast now. People, technology, expectations. But work keeps me busy."

You smiled. "Nat said you don’t get out much."

He scoffed. "She exaggerates."

"Does she?" You smirked, completely oblivious to what you were doing to him as you kept licking, your tongue curling around the cone, collecting the sticky sweetness.

"Yeah, she-"

You licked around the cone again, and he felt his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably.

His palms felt sweaty.

His shirt felt too tight, so did his pants.

And when you pulled back and swiped your thumb along the rim-your tongue darting out to collect the melting mess on your skin, ice cream dripping over your knuckles and fingers-he nearly fucking dropped his cup.

Because suddenly, he was thinking of something else.

Something just as warm, just as wet, just as milky-white dribbling down your fingers, over your tongue-

"-Nat's just trying to help me get back in the world."

And damn it

Steve shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, too fast, too much, the cold hitting his brain like a warning shot. He clenched his jaw, blinking hard, forcing himself to look away before he did something fucking stupid.

The walk back to yours was painful.

Steve barely spoke, barely breathing, his whole body tense. His dick almost chaffing, straining itself in his underwear. He was thankful he'd worn loose pants for the heat.

He couldn't quiet relax because every time you glance up at him, every time you giggle softly at something he didn't quite register, every time you adjusted the thin straps of your sundress, baring another inch of your golden, sun-warmed skin, his mind went right back to that ice cream shop.

To that tongue.

The way your tongue had run up across your own skin.

By the time you reached your apartment door, Steve felt wrecked. He just needed to get through a simple goodbye without embarrassing himself. Without-

“I had a good time,” you said softly, tilting your head up at him, your smile warm and sincere as you unlocked your door but didn’t step inside.

Steve opened his mouth, scrambling to pull himself together. “Yeah, I-me too. It was nice. I mean-uh-ice cream was a good idea. I, uh-”

You laughed gently, watching him fumble through his words, and something about the sound made his stomach twist. The moment stretched, his pulse hammering as he tried to find something, anything to say to end the night gracefully.

“Well, I-”

But then you kissed him.

It was sudden, soft, your hands resting lightly against his chest as you had to lift onto your toes to reach him. Your lips were warm, sweet, just the faintest hint of the ice-cream lingering there-

He exhaled sharply, hands finding your waist before he could even think, pulling you closer. His lips parted, tongue swiping over yours, and fuck-

You tasted perfect. Like vanilla and chocolate, like something sinfully warm melting on his tongue, and his mind snapped like a rubber band.

"I-sweetheart, I-fuck, I can’t-"

His voice was wrecked, breath heavy as his fingers dug into the soft curve of your hips. He should stop. He should pull away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hands slipped lower, gripping, lifting, as he pushed your door open without breaking the kiss. The moment it clicked shut behind you, he pressed you up against the wall, his mouth devouring yours, lips sliding hot and desperate against your own. His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you there as he deepened the kiss, every ounce of restraint he had left slipping through his fingers.

"Need you. Need you now."

His brain wasn’t functioning anymore. His body took over, instincts roaring to life as he carried you inside, his lips never left yours. It had been too long, it was like his body knew it.

Your sundress barely made it to the bedroom. Steve pulled it up over your head with shaky hands, his breath coming fast as he tried to keep it together. He wasn’t thinking-couldn’t think-his body moved on instinct, pushing, pulling, needing. You fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, fingers clumsy in your rush to feel him, to get to the warm, solid muscle beneath. The fabric parted under your touch, and you shoved it down his arms. He groaned softly at the contact, at you, at the way your hands skimmed over his skin like you had every right to be touching him like this.

Too long. It had been too damn long.

His fingers dug into your thighs, gripping hard as he kissed you again, deeper this time, backing you toward the bed. You barely had time to gasp before he was on top of you, his body covering yours in a mess of limbs, heat, and frenzied kisses. His pulse pounded in his ears, his control fraying with every second that passed. You felt too good. Too soft beneath him. The weight of your hands, the way you pulled him closer, like you wanted this just as badly as he did-he was drowning in it.

Your hands slid down his chest, tracing every dip, every ridge, and Jesus Christ. Steve shook with restraint, barely holding himself together as your fingers teased lower. He was supposed to be in control. But under your hands, under the way you looked at him-flushed, waiting, lips swollen from his kisses-he felt wrecked.

Your fingers slipped around the clasp of your bra, and before you could undo it, his hands covered yours, stilling you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged, chest heaving.

"I-" He exhaled, voice wrecked. "I wish I had time to appreciate this."

A shudder ran through you at his words, and that nearly undid him. His control was thin, fraying, barely there-but when the straps of your bra slid from your shoulders, he broke.

The bra barely hit the floor before his mouth was on you, everywhere. His lips dragged lower, worshipping with each kiss-tongue flicking over the delicate skin of your breast before he sucked, firm but slow, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He groaned as your nipple hardened under his tongue, circling it before pulling it into his mouth, sucking in slow, deep pulls that sent heat racing down your spine.

The noise you made-soft, breathy, high- You sounded like some sinful fallen angel, completely wrecked, and Steve wanted to hear more. His grip tightened on your waist, kneading into your hips as he lavished attention on the sensitive bud, rolling his tongue over it before switching to the other, drinking in every sound you gave him.

His hands followed, gripping, kneading, pressing into every soft curve like he needed to commit you to memory. You were warm, pliant beneath him, and his self-control was slipping fast. He needed to keep moving, needed to have all of you-but fuck, he could stay here forever, lips latched to your perfect, sensitive skin, revelling in the way you melted for him.

His lips travelled lower, down your stomach, teeth scraping gently against your navel as his fingers curled tight around your hips, holding you still. Then, slowly, deliberately, his hands slid downward, fingertips grazing the delicate curve of your hips before slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. He peeled the soft cotton down, his knuckles dragging against your skin as he worked them over your legs. His tongue tracing outlines of your bellybutton.

His hands found their way back up, gripping your bare thighs, spreading you wider beneath him. He groaned softly, his lips pressing into the sensitive skin there, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses as he moved higher, higher-

His breath fanned over your skin, hot and teasing as he kissed your bare stomach, lips pressing into the softness there, dragging lower with each exhale. His mind was hazy, dazed, drunk on you. He could feel how much you wanted this, hell, he could smell it-your arousal thick in the air, mixing with the faint traces of vanilla and summer heat that had clung to you all evening. It made his mouth water.

And fuck-he wasn't waiting anymore.

A groan tore from his throat as he grabbed at your hips, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most, the small amount of fluff between your legs tickled his cheeks, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you still.

"Steve-" His name slipped from your lips, breathy and desperate, and he had never wanted to ruin someone so badly in his life.

And just like you had done with the ice cream, Steve's tongue ran up along your perfect, wet pussy, slow and deliberate, savoring every drop of your arousal like you were the most decadent thing he'd ever tasted. His groan vibrated against your core as he flattened his tongue, dragging it through your slick folds before swirling around your clit, teasing, tormenting.

You whimpered, hips twitching beneath his firm grip, and he tightened his hold, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. He was drowning in your taste, his tongue lapping at you with slow, measured strokes, each one designed to unravel you completely. The way you gasped, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, had something primal snapping inside him.

"Forgot how good you girls taste," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with hunger before diving back in, his tongue flicking, pressing, fucking into you with a need that bordered on desperation. The way you gasped, your thighs trembling against his grip, sent a bolt of arousal through him so sharp it nearly made him dizzy. He wanted to wreck you, wanted to make you come apart on his tongue before he even thought about taking you any other way.

His cock throbbed painfully against his zipper, straining against the fabric, and he couldn't take it anymore. As he licked into you, his tongue curling and pressing deep, one arm braced against the bed to hold himself up while the other fumbled at his belt. The metal clinked softly, fingers working hastily to undo the button, dragging the zipper down with a rough pull, sighing in relief as the pressure eased.

He groaned against you, the vibration shooting through your core as he slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his briefs, palming himself with a frustrated grunt. He was so fucking hard, aching, leaking for you, and the thought of finally being inside you-of making you feel as good as you sounded-had his hips jerking involuntarily.

But first, he needed to finish what he started. Needed to feel you shatter beneath him, needed to hear you call his name before he even thought about pushing inside you.

One hand slid from your thigh, fingers gliding through your slick heat before pressing against your entrance. His mouth stayed on you, tongue circling your clit in slow, torturous motions as he pushed a finger inside, groaning at how tight and hot you felt around him.

"So damn perfect," he muttered against you, his breath hot as he curled his finger, stroking along that spot inside you that had your thighs trembling against his shoulders. The noises you made-high, breathy, desperate-made his cock ache even more, leaking against his stomach as he added another finger, working you open, stretching you.

"Ah-oh God, Steve-" you gasped, your voice breaking into a whimper as his fingers thrust deeper, his tongue flicking in perfect rhythm. Your hands clawed at the sheets, at his hair, at anything to anchor yourself against the overwhelming pleasure he was pulling from you. The way you moaned, breathless and needy, sent a sharp wave of arousal through him, his cock twitching, his self-control fraying with every sweet sound you gave him.

You gasped, your back arching, hands gripping at the sheets, at his hair, anything to keep yourself grounded as pleasure surged through you. He was relentless, thrusting his fingers deeper, his tongue flicking and pressing in time with each motion. He could feel you tightening around him, your body tensing, trembling-

When you came Steve moaned at the sound, the taste that came as you called out his name, a wrecked, needy plea. He didn't let up, coaxing you through it, swallowing every sound, ever drop of your climax, until you were left gasping beneath him, dazed and ruined.

Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark as he took you in-blissed out, flushed, glowing in the afternoon light pouring in.

He couldn't wait another second.

His hands were on you again, gripping your thighs, spreading you wider as he moved over you, his mouth crashing against yours. Your nails digging into his bare shoulders.

His cock, heavy and throbbing, pressed against your wet heat, and he groaned, rolling his hips just enough to feel the slide of you against him.

"Tell me if it's too much," he rasped, voice wrecked. Steve was aware he was big now, aware he was enhanced and could hurt you if he wasn't careful. But he was needy, desperate, his hands gripping your thighs, his cock heavy and throbbing against you. "Tell me-"

You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around him, guiding him to your entrance.

"I want you, Steve. Now."

And that was all he needed.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, stretching you around him, filling you completely. His breath stuttered, forehead pressing against yours as he finally, finally had you.

And it was heaven.

"Fuck-" Steve groaned, voice tight with restraint. You were so hot, so tight around him, gripping him like you were made for him. He could feel every inch of you, the way your walls fluttered around his cock, adjusting, squeezing, pulling him in deeper. His forehead pressed against yours, jaw clenched as he forced himself to stay still, to give you a moment, to let you take him fully.

But God, it was killing him. You felt too good, too warm, too perfect.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he exhaled shakily, his hands gripping your thighs like a lifeline. "You feel-fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. So damn perfect."

Your breath came in short, gasping moans beneath him, nails digging into his back as your legs wrapped around his waist.

"Steve-"

His head dropped to your shoulder, chest heaving, fighting the overwhelming urge to move, to fuck you deep and slow until you were a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him. His fingers flexed against your skin, control slipping by the second.

"Tell me I can move," he rasped, voice wrecked, pleading.

You whimpered, your hips shifting just enough to send a jolt of pleasure up his spine.

"Please-move-"

Steve let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing harder against yours as he finally gave in, rolling his hips in a slow, deep thrust. The drag of him inside you was almost unbearable, the way your walls clung to him, hot and tight-

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice breaking as he pulled back and pushed in again, sinking to the hilt, stretching you around every last inch of him. "So good-so damn good, sweetheart-Jesus."

He took his time, gentle but deep, setting a slow, deliberate pace, savoring every slick glide of your body around his. His fingers dug into your hips, his control balancing on a razor’s edge. Every time he pulled out, he dragged against your walls, only to snap his hips forward at the last second, burying himself deeper, making you gasp, making you shudder beneath him.

The way you clenched around him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breath hitching every time he bottomed out-it was driving him insane.

"You’re-fuck, you’re perfect," he muttered against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. "Taking me so well-so damn tight, sweetheart-"

Your moans broke against his ear, breathy and desperate, sending another pulse of heat straight to his cock. He could feel himself everywhere, sensitive in ways he hadn’t been before the serum, his body attuned to every reaction you gave him. "AH Steve fuck."

He wasn’t going to last long-not when you kept gasping his name like that, not when you squeezed him like your cunt never wanted to let him go. jsut when Steve thought he couldn't take it anymore, you shattered again for him. The tight, rhythmic pulses of your walls locked down around him, spasming, milking him with each desperate whimper that spilled from your lips.

"Fuck-oh, sweetheart-" Steve groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, holding you tight as your body clenched around him, dragging him deeper into your pleasure. He could feel you coming, feel the way your entire body trembled beneath him, your legs tightening around his waist as you cried out, wrecked and shaking.

The sensation sent white-hot pleasure shooting up his spine, his own release slamming into him with dizzying force. His thrusts grew erratic, sharper, a few final deep strokes as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a guttural moan. His body shuddered, hips pressing flush against yours as he emptied himself, his breath ragged against your skin.

He held you there, still connected, still feeling every aftershock ripple through both of you. His lips brushed against your temple, a shaky exhale leaving him as he whispered, "You’re incredible. Fuck, sweetheart-"

You let out a breathy, dazed laugh, blinking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"I-God, I didn't think-" You swallowed hard, your brain still fogged with pleasure. "I didn't think the date was gonna end like this."

Steve let out a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing over your waist. "

Yeah?"

You bit your lip, still catching your breath.

"I'm not... usually that girl."

His brows furrowed slightly, and he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft, reassuring. "Hey," he murmured, brushing his knuckles gently along your jaw.

"You don’t have to explain anything to me. You’re not ‘that girl.’ You’re you. And this-now was just..."

He shook his head, unable to find the right words. It had been everything.

A warmth bloomed in your chest at his sincerity, the way he looked at you like this hadn’t just been sex, like it had meant something more. You exhaled softly, your fingers grazing along his cheek. "You're not just saying that?"

His lips quirked into a small smile.

"No, sweetheart. And you better believe this means you're getting a second date."

You laughed, a little more sure of yourself now.

"Oh yeah?"

Steve smirked, shifting just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips.

"Yeah. But next time? I’m definitely buying you dinner first."

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #captain america smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #Steve roger x yn #Steve Roger Fluff

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runninriot · 18 days ago

Text

Summer

written for the @steddiemicrofic june prompt 'hot'

wc: 315 | rated: T | tags: dustin & eddie friendship, pre steddie, eddie has a crush on steve

"And that's where we'll pick up next week."

Surrounded by a chorus of groans and complaints, Eddie starts collecting his things in a hurry.

"Come on, just a little longer!" Dustin demands but Eddie's not going to argue.

"Actually, Henderson, there are better things to do than being stuck in Wheeler's basement all day. Go outside, it's summer!"

"You hate summer."

"I do not," Eddie lies, disregarding the more-than-suspicious side-eye Dustin throws at him, feeling just a bit guilty.

The little shit's right, is the thing. Summer was never Eddie's favourite season.

He hates the heat that always feels so much worse in the trailer, especially at night, when he has to choose between either suffocating in his stuffy room or being eaten alive by mosquitos if he leaves the window open.

He hates being sweaty, and how his hair always sticks to his forehead and the back of his neck because of it. Ugh, gross!

But – and that’s a very important but – summer has a whole different meaning now that Steve Harrington is part of his life.

Because now, apart from the usual suffering, summer time also means a sinful display of hairy thighs in tiny shorts, and toned arms peeking out from sleeveless shirts.

Now, summer means lazy days spent at the pool, which again means an ungodly amount of bare skin - Steve in nothing but trunks, drops of water caught in his chest hair, his bronzed skin shimmering under a layer of sunscreen, shamelessly flaunting his Adonis body like he doesn't know what that's doing to Eddie.

Or maybe he does. Maybe that's the whole point.

"Ready?" Steve asks, who’s now leaning against the door frame, ignoring the other boys' confused looks and whispers.

"Yeah, let's go," Eddie replies with a bashful smile, feeling hot for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with the blazing summer sun outside.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjune #small riots

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leeloooonfire · 11 months ago

Text

based on this post about Steve's internalized bi-phobia:

Steve has known for years.

And how could he not when Tommy's freckles come back tenfold each spring like a flower peaking it's head through the last layer of snow? Or when Matthew Carver's hair have a reddish brown tone that turns blond after they spent the last days before summer break practising outside and remind Steve of liquid gold? Or when he watches Star Wars and Harrison Ford, rugged and witty, comes into view and twists his stomach in knots? How could he not know?!

Steve knows he finds guys as attractive as girls, known for many, many years. But.

But he can't. Not when Tommy sneers at that boy in their literature class who likes flamboyant clothes and wants to be an actor on Broadway. Not when the people they meet in Indi who are like Robin and Eddie 'fully queer' and talk about people like Steve as if they're traitors and scams. Not when he reads the newspaper and is assaulted by Reagan and his folk preaching about the 'fag pandemic' or how his father nods in approval and mutters 'another sinner gone for good' when the news play on TV and they occasionally mention the crisis that kills people like Robin and Eddie and him.

Like him....

It doesn't matter how much he loves sleeping with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone or that he thinks he'd like to kiss Eddie and hold his hands and wake up beside him until they're old and wrinkly and complain about bad knees.

He is, but he cannot be a queer, half a fairy '50% like me, 50% like Eddie' as Robin jokes.

He will not be a bisexual, he can keep it inside, keep it hidden, buried deep inside him no matter how much it pains him. He can be the straight friend who goes to pride and bakes rainbow cakes and marries a woman even though his heart screams in an ear ringing cacophony, 'Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!'

This is how his 20s go: loud and hurting and yearning and hiding and more noticeably being disgusted and ashamed of himself for simply being able to love men the way he can love women.

He's 29 when his wife, Becky, leaves him. It's not just Eddie and this shameful secret that weights heavy on their relationship, but the scars and all the other secrets he is unable to explain to her that drive Becky finally away - back to Boston. She leaves him alone in that tiny house they bought three years ago with their Saint Bernard puppy they lovingly named Bernadette.

He's 30 when he goes to a coffee meeting of the bisexual group meeting in Chicago, nearly turning the car multiple times, hands and knees sweaty with fear that they won't want him there. They do want him there, welcome him with open arms, and talk about things Steve knows all too well: 'When I fell in love with the first girl, I ran. I like men just fine, so I hid my crush. It's just easier, when your parents hate gays, when the world is shaming our community, when we're dying.' He finds a second home there, and learns - learns about queerness and bisexuality, about trans and gender non conforming people and physical attraction versus emotional attraction. He learns about his past and present and about his future, about their history and where they want to go, how they want to mold their world to fit people like them into it without the pain and the hiding.

Steve is 33 when he finally comes out to everyone dear to him. To the kids who aren't kids anymore and to Joyce and Hopper, and then his parents. this does not go well, but Steve doesn't want, doesn't need their validation anymore. He has his family, his friends, his support system who love him not regardless of his sexuality but because of it, love him because it's part of him. He comes out to Becky, too and that goes much better. they want to be friends, in the future. She's also met Gary who works the the NY Times and wants her to follow him into the big city. So Steve is looking forward how that goes, their tentative friendship.

He is 34 when Eddie comes back from his latest world tour and wants to take a break to rekindle with his uncle, to write new songs, to take a breather. It's only natural that Eddie moves into Steve's guest room and takes over his space on the couch where he cuddles Bernadette while Steve is in the kitchen and makes them grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

Its even more natural when their feet meet while watching a movie and they lean into each other in the kitchen, dawn barely there, while they wait for the coffee maker to finish.

Steve's 35 when Eddie finally kisses him and he kisses back. No hurt, no shame, no guilt gnawing on him, Steve finally allows himself to be with the person he truly wants - regardless of their gender.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #eddie x steve

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stevehours · 1 year ago

Text

over and over again

steve harrington x fem!reader

18+ minors dni, smut

wc: 788

You’re not even certain how it happened. The only clear fact is that Steve Harrington has made you cum a third time. With nothing but determined fingers and a smug fucking smirk. You’re practically drenched in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead and it’s a goddamn struggle to catch your breath. It’s the peak of the summer, the room is muggy with humid summer air and reeks of the tangy smell of sex. Breasts swaying with every rise and fall of your chest as you press your palms to your eyes. Steve’s tugging them away before long and then grazing the pads of his thumbs against your perked nipples, causing a jolt to rip through your body and a weak, pathetic little yelp to escape your mouth.

Steve looks just as fucked out as you do, yet he remains completely clothed. Sweat beading at his hairline and his eyes are all hazy, like he’s the one who’s just came several times in the short span of thirty minutes. However, he does look proud of himself. And he should, because Steve talks you through it each time and that’s really the magic here. You think. Unless Steve has a secret trick to make a girl cum in record time.

“How do you…” you give up on the question, settling back into attempting to catch your breath.

Steve mouths at your hip, continues to toy with your nipples and rolls his hips into the mattress. Trying to get his own small relief. He laughs softly, a breezy little sound as he peers up at you, “How do I what?”

“Do that,” you mumble.

His strong fingers trace down your abdomen, threatening lower and lower as you squirm. Steve smiles against your skin as he answers, “It’s fun, I like watching you react so I kinda get carried away, I guess.”

“Carried away is an understatement,” you breathe, thighs shaking as he pries them open again. “S-Steve… I don’t know if I can.”

He pouts up at you, all glassy eyed full of lust as he smooths his hand on the tender flesh of your thigh. Electricity runs up the curve of your spine the closer he gets to your center as he begs, all soft and needy, “Please, just give me one more…”

How could you say no to that?

“I- fuck, okay,” you whine, crying out when he surprises you by pushing your thighs apart and getting his mouth on your cunt. Essentially making out with your drenched folds and spent clit. Fingernails making little crescent shaped marks where he clings to the flesh of your thighs. “Oh! Steve! Fuck!”

Your fingers slide into his sweaty hair, back arching as the euphoric waves of pleasure ripple through you. Your eyes cross as they roll back, the heel of your foot sliding down Steve’s strong back and he moans muffled into your core like he enjoys this more than you do. It’s got to be equal though. You’re on a whole other dimension, floating up and up as his tongue rolls up and down your folds. He circles his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks, pulls a sound out of you that borderlines on a scream while your fingers pull on his hair. That only spurred him on further, drags his tongue down to your entrance and licks around the pulsing hole. His sharp nose bumps against your clit and he actually uses it to stimulate you more, moves his head to rub his nose against your clit. Steve blinks up at you, is insistent on watching you fall apart all thanks to his mouth.

His hands turn under your thighs and he pushes them up, knees to your chest while he fucks his tongue into you. Nose still bumping against your clit. And he keeps moaning into you, little vibrations bringing you that much closer. You hook your hands under your knees, to help hold your legs up and completely surrender yourself to Steve.

The room fills with the filthy sound of Steve eating you out, accompanied by the lewd, uncontrollable moans falling out of your mouth. And the coil in your stomach snaps abruptly, without much of a warning. Steve licks you through it, even as your legs give out and come down to trap him in place, his ears covered by your thighs. Once you’ve come down enough, your legs fall limp to the mattress and you’re grabbing onto his shirt, tugging him up and wrapping your arms around his middle. Kissing him sloppily, needy and desperate. Soon, your legs are wrapping around his waist and you’re clinging onto him like you’re scared me might float away— or maybe you’ll sink into the sweat soaked sheets.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x f!reader

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 month ago

Text

Watch your balls, boy!

Written for the May 2025 pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: School's out for summer

Rated: T

Tags: Summer jobs; Country club; Tennis; Eddie has a crush on Steve; Tommy Hagan being an asshole; Steve Harrington is a little shit

“Hey, ball boy! Don’t just stand there, go get it!”

Eddie jerks out of his heat-induced daze and jogs after the ball that has rolled off to the remotest corner of the tennis court. Another bead of sweat escapes from under his hat and trickles down his burnt neck.

“I got it,” says a voice, and before he can do anything, he is treated to the vision of a perfectly round, perfectly firm ass in tight tennis shorts wiggling merrily in the hot summer air as its owner bends at the hip. “Really, Tommy. You don’t need to have the staff do every little thing for you. What is he, your dog?”

Eddie bites back a snide remark and retreats into what little shade the wire fence provides. Great, not only is he about to die from heat stroke, now they’re adding unnecessary horniness and humiliation into the mix.

The ad for the summer job at the country club promised exciting tasks and plenty of opportunities to learn lessons for life. So far, Eddie has learned three things.

One: White is not his color - especially not if paired with the violent lobster red that his skin turns after twenty minutes in the sun.

Two: Baseball hats make his face look two inches too short - but the stupid thing is part of the uniform, so he hasn’t dared take it off.

And three: Steve Harrington in tennis gear will haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

He didn't even know the Harringtons were club members, or he would’ve thought twice about applying. After all, who in their right mind wants to spend their summer melting into a sweaty puddle while their crush prances around them like a bronze-skinned, honey-haired, painfully straight Adonis with a tennis racket? Harrington probably doesn't even know his name - the chances of anything coming out of this are as thin as Eddie’s flimsy uniform shirt.

On the other side of the net, Tommy Hagan sneers.

“It’s what he’s getting paid for, isn’t it?” he grumbles. “Maybe they should get a dog instead. It would only have advantages, don’t you think? Cuter, better at following instructions, probably smarter.”

His eyes flick over to Eddie, taking in the way his fingers curl, and his mouth curls into a cruel smile.

Hagan, of course, recognized him the second he saw him. He probably has every single face from school committed to memory - all neatly categorized into those above him, so that he can grovel and bow to them, and the lowly scum at the bottom of the ladder, so that he never misses an opportunity to kick at them.

“Tommy, come on!” Harrington frowns unhappily, letting the ball bounce off the asphalt and twirling his racket. He, too, is sweating, but while Eddie is a sopping, miserable mess with a bird’s nest of wet bangs plastered to his forehead, he manages to make it look sexy, somehow. “I’d like to finish this match some time today, I still wanna hit the pool.”

But Hagan is far from done.

“Say, ball boy,” he drawls. “What does it feel like, being so dumb that a dog could do your job? What do they even pay you, huh?”

Eddie flexes his hands and stares off into the middle distance, wishing he could ram his fist into Hagan’s stupid, arrogant face.

“Hey, shitface, I am talking to you,” Hagan says, waving his racket in the air and scowling when Eddie doesn’t react. “Nevermind, whatever it is, it’s too much. Unless they pay you in dog treats, that would be- oooooow, motherfaaaaaaargh.”

Eddie blinks, trying to understand what just happened. All he knows is that, one second ago, Hagan was standing there and jeering at him, and now he’s doubled over, howling in pain and clutching the crotch of his tennis shorts.

It probably has a lot to do with the ball that just came zipping over the net and is now rolling away on the asphalt.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Hagan whimpers, looking up with accusing, teary eyes as Harrinton comes running. His freckled face has gone deadly pale and his voice is about half and octave higher. It’s almost enough to make Eddie cringe in sympathy, but only almost.

“I’m sorry,” Harrington gushes. “I thought you were ready to continue.”

“In what world did I look like I was ready?” Hagan snaps, then gasps again as another wave of pain ripples through him. “Oh fuck, you ruined me.”

Harrington claps his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just go back to the club house and put some ice on it, I’ll bring the bags.”

Eddie watches Hagan hobble away, still bent over and cursing under his breath, while Harrington packs up their gear. He just hopes the guy didn’t have any family plans with his bitchy little girlfriend.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Harrington says, walking up with two bags slung over his shoulder, and Eddie realizes a bit belatedly that he must’ve said that out loud. “I didn’t ruin him. Not in the way he’d like me to, that is. At least it’ll be a few days before he bugs anyone about balls again.”

Eddie whirls, mouth wide open. He doesn’t get to say anything, though, because Harrington has just pulled something from his bag and pressed it into his hand. It’s a bottle of sunscreen.

“This is my favorite brand, you should give it a try,” he says, gesturing at Eddie’s burned nose. And then, more quietly, “And don’t listen to him. You’re at least as cute as a dog. See you around, Eddie.”

Eddie keeps standing in the middle of the court, mouth agape and staring into nothing, long after he has disappeared into the club house. It’s only when the next couple of players arrive and scare him out of his stupor that he realizes Harrington called him by his name.

More holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2025

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nicolewritesthings · 2 months ago

Text

Lost Love

Summary: After moving to the same city, you and Steve quickly fall back into an easy friendship, but will it stay that way?

Can be read as a stand alone friends to lovers piece or as the final part of the Lost Love series. Either way, get ready for some serious situationship feels. 13k words (buckle up)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, a lil smutty, a lil angsty, a lil fluffy

a/n: I had way too much fun writing this. Clearly this is one of my favorite tropes because I totally pull from some of my fave movies. I've had a great time writing this and an even greater time interacting with all of you!!! thank you all for reading my work. There will be more to come :)

June 1992 All the windows in Steve and Robin's apartment are wide open. Two metal fans worked overtime to flow in whatever cool breeze Chicago could offer this summer. You and Steve are glued to the television, watching the NBA Championship game - Chicago Bulls versus the Portland Trail Blazers.

You and Steve are very serious about the Bulls. It was something you bonded over in the early days of your friendship. Your dad was from Chicago, so you grew up a Bulls fan while Steve wanted to be a contrarian, and the Indiana Pacers sucked in the 80s, so he vowed his allegiance to the Bulls, and baby, being their fan was so sweet right now.

The jersey you gave Steve for his 19th birthday clung to his body, sticking to him due to the humidity in the air. You sat literally on the edge of the couch cushion, palms sweaty and pressing to your knees as the fourth quarter slowly came to a close with Bulls up. Steve stands beside you, hands on his hips and an empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his short shorts, tan thighs on display.

"They're going to three-peat," you say, eyes still glued to the screen.

Steve shushes you, "Don't jinx it."

You point to the screen as the time slips below a minute, "it's happening!"

With less than twenty seconds to go, the Bulls are only up by two points. You and Steve hold your breath as Michael Jordan steps up to the free-throw line. He sinks the first shot in. You bring a hand up to your mouth, the tension too much to handle. Steve puts his hands up to his head, stressed.

"He's doing it," you say, "it's happening-"

"Shhhh!" Steve waves you off, but you don't care. You're way too excited.

Jordan makes the second free throw and you jump up from your seat. Steve puts a nervous hand on your shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

The Blazers take the ball down the court and they miss! The Bulls have the ball, they run out the clock, and they have it! They win the final game!

You and Steve jump up in excitement, cheering and hollering. He pulls you into a hug and you both jump around, holding onto each other tightly. You don't even notice as the front door opens and Robin walks in.

She slips off her shoes and looks over at the two of you freaking out over the win. Robin shakes her head, "you two are such freaks."

Steve breaks away from you and points at Robin, "We won!!!!!!"

You grab two beers, crack them open, and hand one to Steve who takes it happily. You toss one to Robin and she barely catches it. Steve crashes his bottle against yours and you both sip in celebration of this big win.

Safe to say that you're first week in Chicago is going great.

July 1992 The hot air is thick, making Steve’s dirty t-shirt stick to his body even more than it was during the pickup game. He says his goodbyes to the neighborhood guys as he exits the court, basketball tucked under his arm.

The sun sets as Steve makes his usual walk home. A small breeze blows past him, causing just the slightest bit of relief from the summer humidity.

He smiles, thinking about how great the summer has been so far. He's teaching summer classes in the morning to middle school kids and has the rest of the day to fill his time with whatever he wants. He mostly sees you or Robin, and Amanda.

Amanda, Amanda, Amanda. Things with her are going well, steady. She’s been back and forth between the city and her hometown now that she has the summer off. She hasn’t invited Steve home yet to meet her parents. She says it’s a big step in her family. Steve thought they were at that point, but she’s not as serious about him as he thinks. It should ring alarm bells in his head but he’s not completely bothered by it.

The relationship was still good, easy, nice. That’s what he should want, right? Easy like his parents. Not hard and sporadic like it was with you.

Steve enters his apartment building and jogs up the steps to his unit, feeling the air getter hotter as he rises. The phone starts to ring as he opens the front door. He rushes over to the kitchen and picks it up to hear your frantic voice on the other line.

"If you don't hear from me in three hours, it means I've gone missing and have most likely been murdered," you say. Steve quickly realizes you're being neurotic and not frantic at all.

He chuckles, "Okay, I don't even know where to start with this one."

"I'm going on a blind date," you explain. Steve pauses, unsure of what to think. Then he pauses some more, unsure of why he's pausing in the first place. You can date, that's normal, and he shouldn't feel some type of way about it. Does he feel some type of way? He clearly feels something toward the idea of you dating because he did pause and-

"Steve? You there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he crosses his arms, "what's his name? Just in case you do go missing."

You groan, "Brandon, that's all I know. We're meeting at Carmichael's, so come looking for me there."

Steve wants to laugh, imagining what you're doing on the other line right now. He pictures you all ready for your date, waiting by the door on your phone, nose scrunched up because you're nervous. He knows you're being serious because of all the crime books you read.

You were nervous for your first date in Chicago and truthfully, you just wanted to talk to Steve. He would make you feel better.

"Don't worry," he says smiling, "he won't be a total weirdo and murder you. He'll love you. Who wouldn't?"

You smile, nodding your head. You grab your bag from the hook, "thanks, really. Okay, I gotta go. I'll call you in like 3 or 4 hours."

"Woah, woah, woah," Steve jokes, "this Brendon guy is going to have you out past midnight? On the first date?"

You laugh, "First of all, it's Brandon and secondly, fuck off. Ok, byeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Have fun, byyeeee-" he sings into the phone until it clicks. Steve sets down the phone, smiling a little too wide.

August 1992 "He said I was high maintenance, can you believe that?" You ask from the passenger seat. A bag of grapes sits on your lap. You pop one in your mouth, angrily chewing. Steve sits quietly in the driver's seat, biting his tongue and trying not to smirk. You notice, hitting him on the shoulder. He winces, "Ow!"

"Say I'm not high maintenance!"

"But you're a little high maintenance!"

Your jaw drops, dramatically showing your offense to his statement.

"There are two types of women," Steve explains, "low maintenance girls, and then there's you, high maintenance."

You look out the window at the flat Indiana fields. You two were driving home for the weekend before the kids went back to school.

"Like when it comes to food," he continues, "You don't like tomatoes or onions on your burger and want extra pickles. But, you want the tomatoes on the side, not the onions, because you like the option of tomatoes. You want whipped cream for your shake but on the side. You refuse to buy meat from any other place besides a local deli and even then you get it cut a specific way, you should really become a butcher at this point."

You shrug, "I like things a certain way."

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, "see. High maintenance. It's not a bad thing. I'm the same way about my hair."

He pops a grape into his mouth and you laugh, "Believe me, Farrah Fawcett, I know how particular you are about your hair."

September 1992 Lake Michigan is beautiful this time of year, you think as you and Steve walk along the lakefront. The great expanse of water on one side, the gorgeous city view on the other.

Steve tells you about his holiday plans or lack thereof. His girlfriend, who you swear you really like, is going home for Thanksgiving and didn't invite him. He wasn't so happy with that.

"It's not like she skipped over the conversation entirely," Steve huffs, "she outright told me I wasn't invited."

"Like in a rude way or just plain and simple," you ask, eyes trained on the horizon ahead of you.

"She said it was too soon. That, in her family, inviting a boyfriend to Thanksgiving doesn't happen without a ring on her finger."

You're careful with your words, not sure what to say. So you settle on, "That's intense."

Steve waves his hands in front of him as he speaks, "and I am so not ready for that. I mean, you don't think that was her way of telling me she wants me to propose?"

You want to jump into the frigid water at just the thought of Steve proposing to sweet, beautiful, smart Amanda. But you keep your cool, not letting him see that you feel physically nauseous at the idea of it. So you think about how a friend would answer because you two have become such good friends the last few months. But a question does gnaw at you, and it's honestly a question you'd ask any of your actual friends.

"Are you guys there yet? Like have you thought about getting engaged?"

And to your shameful pleasure, Steve doesn't even miss a beat when he says, "I haven't even thought about it."

You hide your smile, "then don't worry about it. She's just setting a boundary. Amanda doesn't seem like the type to play games like that."

He nods, slowly feeling better about the whole thing because of you.

"Guess I'll be spending Thanksgiving in Hawkins then," he says.

You nudge his side with yours, "there's always room for you at my place. I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to see you."

"You guys still make cornbread?"

"Oh, you know it."

Steve pumps his arm up in victory, "I'm so fucking there."

October 1992 The electronics store was lined with the newest television models, speakers, and VHS players. You gaze up at the wall of television sets, lost on which one you could possibly choose. The options were endless and all you wanted to do was watch your movies and All My Children.

Steve comes back with the store manager and points toward the TV they thought best. The manager picks up the box and moves it over to the checkout counter.

You turn to Steve, "Wait, I didn't even pick."

"Relax," he smiled his usual Harrington smile, "I got the very best for ya."

You narrow your eyes at him and he puts his hands up in surrender.

"Within your budget," he explains.

"Thank you," you mouth, brushing past him and toward the register to pay.

Steve settles in beside you as you write out a check. He picks up a tabloid magazine and holds it up to show you. "Okay, who'd you rather," Steve points to the front page of the magazine, "Keanu or Kevin Costner?"

You tilt your head, thinking long and hard about this. "Hmmm," you say,

"Keanu."

"No way you don't pick Costner. You made me watch Robin Hood like four times this summer," he exclaims.

The manager thanks you and pushes the TV toward you guys. Steve slides it off the counter not missing a beat.

"But I just rewatched Point Break, so I'm all about Keanu right now," you smirk, holding the door open for Steve. He repositions the heavy TV on his hip as you walk down the busy street.

He laughs, "I think you're missing the point of that movie."

"What? Like I'm not supposed to gawk over the hot men doing crazy stuff?"

"It's an action movie about sick stunts and cool dudes."

"A woman directed it, Steve. It's literally made for women to look at beautiful men."

"Even then, I'm more of a Swayze guy."

"I respect that. Okay, Demi Moore or Julia Roberts?"

"Easy. Demi Moore."

"That's just your nostalgia talking."

"I'm not saying Julia Roberts isn't gorgeous. But, yeah you're right, Demi is the forever crush."

"I feel like she'd go for you if you met in a bar or something."

"And have Bruce Willis beat my ass for looking at his wife? No, thank you. I've seen Die Hard and that guy's a beast."

"Ooooh, I change my answer to him."

Steve stops in his tracks, "Bruce Willis?! You're hot for Bruce Willis?!"

People glare at you two as they pass by on the sidewalk. You throw apologies their way while tugging Steve to keep moving.

"He looks great fighting all those bad guys!"

"But he's bald!"

"Not everyone can have beautiful luscious hair like you, Stevie."

"Well, no shit. But, really I don't get it. He looks so old too."

"Older guys know what they're doing."

"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"

"I just think Bruce Willis knows how to handle a woman, that's all."

"What? Like in bed?"

"Yes, in bed, Steve. Clearly, Demi Moore knows something we don't."

Steve follows as you climb the stairs up your apartment building. "You're saying you can look at a man and know if he's good at sex?" he asks.

"Well, I mean, not all the time. People can surprise you, but yes, you can get a vibe from a guy. You can tell if he's going to make you orgasm or not. Usually, it's a no."

That leaves Steve dumbstruck for a bit. He contemplates your sentiment as you let him into your apartment.

He sets the TV down and begins unwrapping it.

He huffs, "So how many guys have made you cum?"

You look up at him, pausing midway as you unzip your boot, "Steve."

"I'm asking as a concerned friend," he explains.

You slip off the boots and walk over to sit on the couch, "I don't know, like three maybe four."

"Maybe four? How can a guy maybe make that happen?" He's dead serious, like this is all science and totally not blurring the lines of friendship.

"Fine, a solid three guys have made me orgasm," you pause, looking up at him through your dark eyelashes. You shouldn't say the next part, but you do anyway, "including you."

Steve shouldn't like your response as much as he does, but the pride practically beams out of him. His ego physically grew as soon as you said that he's one of the few people to know you like that, to make you achieve something so intimate.

He smirks, turning back to the TV and moving some wires into place. You roll your eyes at him, "don't be gross."

"I'm not being gross," he turns, frowning, "actually I'm quite sad that these other men you've slept with haven't delivered in a way that you so deserve."

You shrug, "it's common for girls. I mean, most guys won't even go down on a girl."

"That's just crazy," Steve shakes his head, "that's half the fun."

You take a sip of your water as he continues talking about this totally inappropriate subject in the most clinical way.

"There are other ways to make your girl cum, like during the actual act of it. Guys are so dumb," he says.

"That's a total myth," you shake your head, "a female orgasm during penetration? Yeah right."

He turns to you in shock, "What? Are you serious?"

Heat creeps up your neck as a hint of embarrassment settles in. You nod shyly, "well it's never happened to me, so..."

Steve stands up, walking towards your seat on the couch. "No one's ever, you know," he lifts up two fingers, moving them together in small circles, "done the dirty DJ?"

He learned that one after you two were sleeping together because you have no clue what the fuck a dirty DJ is.

Steve sits beside you and grabs your glass, pouring out the water into his cup. He lifts the glass between you two, giving you a worried look as you stare back at him in utter confusion. "I'll show you," he says.

"So let's say you're with a guy and he's taking you from behind," he says casually. You laugh in disbelief, "romantic."

"This isn't romance, this is sex," he says in total seriousness, "and you're like back to chest, probably kneeling because that's easiest."

He moves the glass, sticking two fingers inside it, "That's his dick inside you if the description wasn't clear enough."

"Thank you for this visual," you deadpan, eyes locked on his movements.

Steve settles his two fingers on the glass now, toward the rim. He slowly moves them in circles, "now, there's a misconception to be gentle with the clitoris. But, you actually need to be rough with it." He picks his pace up, moving his fingers back in forth at an aggressive pace. Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Get a little rude with it. Really, get after it," he says, his movements coming to an end. He still holds the glass up, so you mimic his moves, circling the glass with your fingers like he did.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, like that," Steve smiles, "you're a natural."

"Hmmm," you keep circling your fingers, thinking about how on your next hook up you'll have to instruct the guy to do just this.

Steve watches as you move your fingers. "Perfect," he says, his mind slowing down as the moment settles over him.

You rhythmically move your fingers against the glass he's holding. A silence settles over the both of you as the tension builds up. You let your mind wander to Steve and his fingers, pumping into the glass. He starts to think of you and his fingers on you-

He sets the glass down abruptly, "I'm gonna go home."

You stand up, "Me too!"

Steve stands up, grabbing his coat, "No, no. You live here."

You sit back down and grab a pillow, "yes I do. Bye!"

He quickly leaves your apartment. You look over at the mostly set-up television and groan, sinking back into the couch.

November 1992 Steve sits beside Amanda on her couch. He stares ahead at the moving box tucked under the dining room table. How long has that been there for?

Amanda continues with her speech, "I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner, Steve."

He looks over at her. His tone comes out harsher than he intends, "Exactly how long have you been wanting to break up with me?"

"Steve," she says again, putting a hand on his knee. He stares back at her, urging her to answer his question.

"I swear I only found out about the position a couple of weeks ago, but," she sighs, "I guess I've been feeling distant from you for a little bit now."

"And you're just bringing this all up now?"

Amanda nods. Steve rubs his hands over his face, taking a moment to grasp the situation he's in.

"I don't understand," he says, "things were going fine."

"We've been dating for nearly a year and you haven't even told me you loved me yet," she says, hurt evident on her face.

"But we're not there yet, are we?" Steve asks, genuinely unsure.

She nods, "I was there. I've been there for a while now. Thought you would catch up."

Steve frowns, hating himself for being so oblivious to her feelings. How could he not know that she loved him? Is he that shallow to not even notice?

"Amanda, I'm so sorry," he starts but she cuts him off.

"It's okay, I honestly don't know if I would call it love, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want just a nice relationship. I want someone who knows I'm the one from the moment they meet me. I want a love that's not easy, but all-consuming, something that drives you crazy," she admits.

Amanda looks up at Steve, "does that even make sense?"

He nods, completely understanding the type of love she's talking about. He only knows that love because he's had it. He has it - with you.

Later that night After leaving Amanda, Steve slowly meanders back to his place, taking the time to digest what just happened. His stomach aches with the pain only felt after getting broken up with like that. Told that you're not the one. Did he even think that she was the one? What does that even mean?

Steve has always had the same vision for his future - to be a family man, have a wife and a few kids. He knew the attributes he wanted in the future mother of his children. Someone maternal, kind, patient, caring. It was all very logical, a future that any nice girl could slip into. Amanda was a great contender, but she didn't want to just slip into Steve's fantasy. She wants an all-consuming once-in-a-lifetime sort of love, and frankly, Steve doesn't blame her. He just never thought that kind of love was for him. Well, not after he lost you.

He shakes his head, crossing the street. He squints, realizing the street he was on, that without even thinking, his subconscious had led him to you.

Steve presses the buzzer to your apartment over and over again. He looks up at your window and the light is on, but you're not responding to him. He knocks on the front door again, to catch your attention, but instead, your downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Shirley, opens her window.

"What the hell are you making all this noise for?" she yells at Steve. He jumps back, "sorry. You know my friend, she lives above you."

"Clearly she doesn't want to see you if she's not letting you up, kid," Mrs. Shirley says.

Steve shakes his head, jogging down the stairs and reaching into the street to grab some rocks. Mrs. Shirley watches on.

He throws the rocks at your window until it's opening. Your head pops out and eyes land on him, "Steve?"

"I've been ringing you for the past ten minutes!"

"The buzzer's broken!" you explain.

"Will you let this damn boy in?" Mrs. Shirley interjects, grumpily.

You peer down at her and smile, "Sorry Mrs. Shirley!" You drop your keys down to Steve, "Come on up!"

Steve rushes up the stairs, waving at your nosey neighbor as he lets himself into your building.

You immediately notice how disheveled Steve looks as he enters your apartment. His hair is a mess, dark circles are evident under his eyes, and even his outfit isn't put together as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve is not only upset from the breakup. But, he's mostly riddled with confusion. Does he act on his constant attraction to you? That ten-year-long inexplicable pull toward you? Those feelings that never seem to leave him?

He fiddles with your keys for a moment then looks up at you, "Amanda broke up with me."

You eye him, your mind procuring a logical reaction of sadness for your friend while your heart thumps hard against your chest, pumping with the familiar feeling of - what if?

You decide to lean into your logical feelings and say, "Oh Steve. I'm sorry." You expect him to walk toward you and sulk into your arms, but he doesn't. Instead, he remains a healthy distance away from you.

"What happened?" you ask.

Steve looks away, feeling his breath catch in his throat, "She, uh, says I'm not the one. That she's looking for someone who makes her crazy and that she can't live without."

Then you see his chest rise up and down, eyes growing watery as his next words come out shakily, "I guess she can live without me, huh?"

You frown, reaching out to close the gap between you two. You grab his hand and pull Steve in, wrapping your arms around him. He lets himself fall into you, resting his chin on the side of your head, tears falling down his cheeks onto your hair.

He's not sure why he's crying. He didn't think it would affect him this much, but seeing you immediately broke him down, allowed him to let himself feel all the emotions.

You and Steve stayed like that for a while, holding each other in your entryway, something major solidifying in your relationship. For the first time, neither of you wanted anything more from this emotional exchange.

In the past, whenever something bad happened and you needed each other, that's when the intimacy would start, two scared people finding comfort in each other's beds. But this, comforting Steve now, didn't lead to anything more. You two hadn't even thought about it. Instead, you were there for him like a good friend would be.

December 1992 Christmas in Florida was a first for you, the sun warm enough in the daytime for you to dip in the pool with all your nieces and nephews. After a long day, you found yourself sunken into your sister's couch watching old romance movies.

It was just past eleven when your family turned in for the night, but you stayed up to watch Brief Encounter, a 1945 film about two strangers falling in love over time - despite their current circumstances. Whether it was subconscious or not, you called Steve, urging him to tune into that channel and watch it with you.

So you sat on the couch, a throw pillow wrapped up around you and phone held lazily to your ear as Steve joined you from his bed in Chicago, duvet tucked up to his chin as he watched the small television set at the foot of his bed.

"This is sad, like totally sad," Steve sighed into the phone.

"I think it's romantic," you refute.

"They're practically cheating on their spouses."

"Talking isn't cheating."

"These two want to do more than just talk."

"Fine, they may be emotionally cheating, but that doesn't mean they can't be together!"

"Here's what's going to happen," he states, "they'll break up their marriages thinking that their love is stronger, then they'll finally hook up and realize it's terrible and they're actually not meant to be together and-"

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, "you're jaded because of the breakup."

"Love isn't real and I'll die alone," Steve breathes out dramatically.

You smirk, "that's not true. You'll have me bothering you for an eternity."

"A man could be so lucky," he smiles softly as the movie goes on. The two of you cozily watch on either side of the country.

New Year's Eve 1993 The top floor of the Sears Tower is packed with partygoers dancing, drinking, and ready to ring in the new year. You and Steve stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in your very best holiday attire, gazing out at the incredibly lit-up skyline.

Steve looks over at you as you lift your champagne flute to point at Lake Michigan. Your hair is up high in a slick ponytail, and diamond-crusted earrings dangle down your neck, leading his eyes down to your exposed collarbones. He steals a glance at your figure in this dress, the black satin hugging you in all the right ways.

"It's so fucking dark!" you exclaim at Steve, "like a huge mass of nothingness!"

He can't help but laugh at your usual crudeness breaking his trance. He shouldn't be looking at you like this anyway, Steve thinks, not with you two being such good friends.

Friends don't let themselves linger on bare shoulders and long legs.

Steve looks back out the window with you, "it's pretty scary if you think about it. Miles and miles of water, we can't even see the other side."

You shake your head, flabbergasted by the vastness of Lake Michigan.

Steve steals another glance at you, noticing the shimmer on your cheeks. He smiles and says gently, "You look beautiful."

You look up at Steve, letting his compliment sink in. His eyes bore into yours, really looking at you. Looking at you like no one else has before. You feel a pull towards him, that same magnetic pull you’ve felt your entire life basically, but it drags you in with more force during moments like these. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel the pull toward Steve strengthen in the last few months. Before you can respond, Robin's voice hits your ears.

"This party is faaaaaaaaancy," she says with her mouth full of hors d'oeuvres.

You take a small step back, not realizing how close you and Steve had drifted together. Robin turns to you, holding up a full plate of snacks, "is your date like the prince of Chicago or something?"

You laugh, "No, well, not exactly."

Connor, the new guy you've been seeing comes from an aristocratic family that helped develop the city back in the day. They were part owners of the building you were standing in.

"Either way, thank him for me. This party is mint," Robin excitedly approves, downing her drink.

Steve successfully keeps his eye roll to himself. Sure, he knew you were dating someone, but did it have to be another rich prick with the ability to sweep you off on his private jet whenever he wanted to?

"It's almost midnight!" you exclaim, scanning the room, "I better go find Connor. I'll see you guys later!"

And you were off, floating through the crowd to find your billionaire boyfriend. Steve finally let that eye roll out. Robin noticed, shaking her head at his self-inflicted misery. He turns to her, "Please, I don't want to hear it tonight."

She shrugs, hiding her smile, "I didn't say anything."

Unlike other times, Robin drops the subject of Steve's feelings for you, knowing he's miserable enough tonight having to watch you with another guy.

And that's exactly how Steve spends his final hours of 1992. He stands off to the side as the crowd around him counts down to midnight. His eyes find you in the middle of the dance floor, a big smile on your lips as you count down too, wrapped up in Conor's arms. Cheers and confetti erupt around the room, but Steve can only watch you.

February 1993 You float around the large department store, sifting through business attire while Steve happily follows behind you like a puppy. You hold up a grey pencil skirt, "what about this one?"

Steve narrows his eyes, "is that a trick question?"

You shake your head, urging him to answer.

"It's the same one you picked out like five minutes ago," he says.

"This one has a slit. See," you point at the cut in the fabric. Steve feigns understanding, "Ah, yes! A slit! How could I miss that."

You groan, adding it to the selections already hanging from your arm. Steve grabs the clothes from you and holds them so you don't have to. You continue onto the next rack.

"When did we get to the point in our lives where we have more work clothes than fun clothes?" you huff out.

Steve chuckles, "Welcome to your mid-twenties, babe."

You suck in your bottom lip, trying to hide your small reaction to the new nickname. Steve's picked it up, recently calling you babe every so often. Babe, you've got something there, or see you soon babe. It was dizzying sometimes, but you loved it.

"I need more going-out clothes," you state, sifting through a rack of gorgeous dresses.

"Right, for your hot dates with Casanova Connor," Steve says, a definite bitterness in his tone, "I'm sure he'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'd ask."

"Actually," you give Steve a look, resting a hand on the rack. Steve stands beside you, head tilted. You sigh, "We broke up."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. You notice his temporary brain malfunction and try hard for it not to make you happy. But it does - just a little bit.

Finally, Steve finds his footing and asks, "What? When did this happen?" There's genuine concern behind his question. Although the happiness does some to be creeping in.

You shrug, "the other night."

"And you didn't call me? I could have gone over with snacks or-"

"It's okay. Really. I ended things with him," you pick up a dress and scan it over, "so I wasn't that torn up about it."

Now happiness has fully set in Steve and he does his best to hide it. "Oh," he says, a smug smile on his face, "well, good for you then."

"Thank you," you raise your eyebrows at him, wanting nothing more than to change this conversation. So you pick up another dress and ask for Steve's opinion, the two of you continuing to roam the store like two best friends.

But Steve couldn't be more excited to wade into a new territory with you. One where you're both single and closer than ever.

March 1993 The Spring recital at Steve's school is in full swing. He wanted you to hang out backstage to watch the show while he corralled the children, making sure everything ran smoothly.

You watch as Steve kneels in front of a little boy with glasses and a cello bigger than him, giving him a much-needed pep talk. Steve was great at this, you think, letting your mind wander to how good of a father he'd be.

Your eyes linger on Steve's arms fitted into his dress shirt, the sleeves cuffed up around his biceps. His reading glasses sit atop his perfectly fluffed hair. The dress pants tight around his cute little butt in this position.

Steve stands up, making his way toward you. He lets out a breath, "That kid is a ball of anxiety but honestly the best one in the show. The bastard's a little Mozart."

You reach out, your palm landing softly on his bicep, "you're doing great. The kids, the show, everything is amazing, Steve."

He smiles reveling in the compliment before another little voice calls out for him, "Mr. Harrington!!!" Steve gives you a look before dashing into the dressing room.

You smile to yourself, not noticing Tabitha, a nosy fifth grader, appear by your side. She looks up at you, "are you Mr. Harrington's girlfriend?"

You startle a bit, looking down to find Tabitha staring up at you. "Oh hi," you smile, "but no, I'm his friend."

"That's what they all say," the young girl says, rolling her eyes.

Your jaw drops a bit, "excuse me?"

She sighs like an older fed-up woman would, "My dad had a friend like you. Now I have to call her step-mommy."

And with that, Tabitha walks onto stage to start her piano piece, leaving you completely dumbfounded by the audacity of this little girl.

April 1993 For whatever hellish reason, a heatwave had hit Chicago in the middle of Spring. Luckily, the hottest day was a Saturday, meaning you and Steve were posted up on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan.

Steve wasn't being slick. You could feel his eyes on you a lot more these days, between stolen glances at your lips and a hot gaze from across the room. But today, you could sense him peeking over at you in your little red bikini all morning.

To be fair, you were leaving quite little to the imagination in an attempt to get as good of a tan as possible. Also, a part of you knew that wearing this tiny bikini would send Steve reeling. That, of course, was an even better reason to wear it.

You look up at Steve, catching his eye. He doesn't miss your cheeky smirk as you flip onto your stomach, landing just inches away from him. You scoot closer to let your legs lightly brush up against his, your hips bumping, all while you pretend to read from your book. Like your actions weren’t deliberately trying to evoke something out of Steve.

He couldn’t help but suck in a breath, your skin on his feeling hot and soft. Steve braced himself on his elbows, trying to look anywhere than your perfect ass, perky and on full view in that damn swimsuit.

“Steveeee,” you hummed, still not looking at him.

“Mhmm?”

“Can I have some of your soda?”

He nodded, reaching over to grab the corner store to-go cup. Steve held it toward you. But before he could set it down for you to take, you lifted your head and leaned in toward the cup, your pink lips enclosing around the straw. You looked up at him through dark eyelashes as you took a long sip, sucking on the plastic straw.

Steve held the eye contact, letting time and everything else melt away around you two. You could feel his breath on your face with how close he was.

With a small pop, you pulled your lips away from the straw and smiled at Steve, “Cherry cola.”

“Your favorite,” he says, not missing a beat.

The sun hits your skin perfectly, he thinks, the brightness softening your features. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and trails his knuckle down your arm. You don’t stop him. His touch feels like it has in the past - hot, addicting, it makes you hungry. But this time, and maybe it’s your own delusions, it doesn’t feel fleeting like it used to.

May 1993 Being the youngest of five came with its pros and cons. Getting to dress up in a pretty bridesmaid dress was definitely a pro. But now that your sister was tying the knot, you were the only unmarried one left, which meant a lot of speculation was hurled your way at said sister's wedding.

You knew it could be a bad idea to bring Steve as your date. But the thought of spending a whole weekend alone with your nosy family was downright agonizing, and, truthfully, you wanted him to be your date. Four days away in a quaint little Vermont town with good food, drinks, and your family. How could you not ask him to come with you?

Steve of course jumped at the idea, already making plans to find a tuxedo rental. Your friendship had shifted into that uncharted territory - both of you were single and completely enamored with each other. Constantly hanging out or on the phone, meeting each other after work or on campus to grab a drink, a coffee, lunch, dinner, to go see a movie, to sit on his couch and watch Seinfeld, to chat on your rooftop late into the night, to catch a ballgame, to meet your friends for dancing - the list goes on. You two were basically dating without any of the physical benefits.

And this wedding, well, it did something to both of you. Seeing Steve with your family, looking so good in that tux, basking in all his attention the entire weekend. Your heart practically leaped out of your chest whenever you'd look out into the church crowd and catch him already looking at you. He couldn't take his eyes off you the entire ceremony, letting his daydreams wander to the idea of you and him standing up there, exchanging vows.

He was the perfect date, to no surprise at all, and tonight was no different. The reception was in full swing. The wedding band plays another 80s hit while Steve spins back into his arms. You two have been dancing like fools the whole party, drunk off of champagne and the romance of the weekend.

The band begins to play a slow song and you immediately recognize the melody. Steve pulls you in close, one hand tucked into yours and the other easily clasped against your lower back.

"Of course, they're playing The Cure," he laughs lightly.

You think back to high school and all the times you snuck off to meet Steve in his car. The Cure's album playing as you two got cozy in the backseat.

You scoot in closer, your head falling against his shoulder, his chin grazing your forehead as you sway back and forth. Steve breathes you in, letting himself reveal his thoughts out loud.

"I couldn't listen to them for years," he admits. You stay quiet, a slight sadness creeps up.

He continues, "But then, a couple of years ago, a song from their old album came on the radio. You know, the one we loved, and I couldn't help but dance to it. Like it wasn't the sad thing anymore."

You nod, understanding him completely. For years your past relationship with Steve was clouded by the heartbreaking ending when it never should have been. You two shared a love so sweet, so rare - that's what should be remembered.

You look up at him and smirk, "Better to have love and lost, or however that saying goes."

Steve shakes his head, laughing with you. You settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder again. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as the song comes to a close.

Back at the hotel, which was rented out entirely for the wedding, most of the guests your age were excitedly running toward the pool, jumping in with their black-tie attire and champagne bottles.

Steve grabs your hand as you leap into the pool, only to come up for air and have his hand still in yours. The rest of the night consisted of drinking games, swimming races, and diving competitions - the general after-hours wedding debauchery. You were just happy to have Steve by your side the entire time.

As the night drew later and couples slowly peeled off, the pool calmed and the air grew quiet. You look around, realizing the pool is suddenly empty. Just you and Steve in your beautiful clothes floating in the water.

You kick your legs to keep you afloat, bringing a hand up to push your damp hair out of your eyes. Steve dips his head back into the water to wet his hair. He shakes it as he comes back up, running a hand through his wet locks. Your eyes linger on his movements a little longer than intended. He catches you, flashing a small smile - almost a smirk, but it's softer than that.

"I can't believe my sister's married," you bring up out of the blue, trying to shift the focus.

Steve subconsciously inches closer to you, pushing his hands in the water. He tilts his head, "how do you feel being the only single one left?"

Your head lowers. The water just comes to your chin as you speak, "I don't mind. I guess I want to be sure when I get married. Not like Vanessa." You mention your oldest sister now - she's already on her second marriage before 35.

Steve nods, again floating closer to you, "when did she get married? The first time."

"She was 21," you breathe out, blowing bubbles into the water, "married her high school sweetheart."

"Ah," Steve remembers now. He remembers how you threw your sister's failed marriage at him during one of your break-up fights. She was another reason why you insisted you two were doomed. High school relationships never work, you told him - look at my sister.

"At least she's happy now, ya know, with her new husband," Steve said, trying to reason with you.

You just shrug, "True, but she still had to go through that all so young. That's why I'm waiting. To really make sure."

"My parents met in their thirties," Steve starts, "and it's not like they're any more in love than they would have been if they met in high school."

You gaze at Steve as he speaks, taking in the vulnerability in his tone. He continues, "I don't even think they like each other. They just like the life they've built together. It's safe, comfortable, nice."

Steve pauses, looking at you, "A nice and easy life isn't always what's meant to be. So, maybe your sister had to go through some shit to find who she's actually meant to be with. And now she's happy."

You hold his gaze, really looking at him. His brown eyes peer into yours like they're searching for something. You look away, suddenly noticing how still and quiet the space is around you. The last of the partygoers have left, leaving just you and Steve in the pool. The cool water suddenly feels chilly.

Steve notices your shiver and brushes your arm, "let's get you warmed up."

You follow him out of the pool, happily taking his outstretched hand as you step onto the deck. He grabs a thick towel, placing it around you, rubbing it along your arms to create some warmth. You smile, pulling the towel around yourself. Steve grabs another towel and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, sending water droplets your way.

You shriek, "Steeeeeveeee!" You gently shove him away.

He nuzzles his wet head of hair into your towel-covered shoulder, pulling more giggles out of you. Steve pulls back and rubs the towel against his hair again, this time straightening up. You take in his damp state, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin, practically sheer. You of course notice the chest hair peaking out of the shirt.

Steve bumps your elbow with his, "C'mon. I need to get out of these clothes."

You nod - you couldn't agree more.

In your shared hotel room, you wait in the bathroom. Your robe tugged snuggly against your body. Steve was watching some reruns on TV, you could hear his tired laugh from the other side of the door.

Whether it was on purpose or not - you had left your pajamas in the main room and had to go out to retrieve them while wearing just your robe. Now, this would have been a normal interaction if you and Steve were ever only just friends. But for some reason, you were nervous to pass him with basically no clothes on. You weren't sure you could trust yourself.

So you opened the bathroom door, tugging the belt around your robe a little tighter. You spotted Steve sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the TV. His eyes drifted to you as he heard the door open. You smile, eyeing your suitcase on the other side of the room.

Steve shamelessly looked you up and down, gaze drifting up your bare legs, noting how short that robe was on you. He didn't take his eyes off you as you passed him to get to your suitcase, his mind racing. He took a deep breath, now was not the time to think.

Maybe it was the several drinks in his system or maybe it was being at a wedding with you. Whatever it was, Steve couldn't resist but reach out to you as you walked past him again. His fingers grazed your soft thighs, sinking into you.

You flushed, thankful for the dim light in the room, frozen as Steve latched onto your leg. You turn to stand in front of him, his face looking up at you with such a wild look in his eyes. Nerves flood your system, the good kind.

He carefully brushes his knuckles against your thigh before bringing a hand around it, tugging you toward him. Steve keeps his hand on the back of your leg as he says your name, the sweet sound filling your ears. You practically have him on his knees, he thought. You could do anything, say anything, and he was yours. You wondered if he knew that he had the same effect on you.

Steve lifts his other hand to tug on the hem of your robe, confirming your suspicions. You look down at him, taking in his too-small Hawkins gym shirt and boxers. God, he smells good too. Truthfully, nothing else went through your mind at this moment. Just the sight of him and the desire to feel him on you was all that drove your decision-making.

You lift your hands to the linen belt around your waist, tugging the knot undone, working painfully slow with your fingers. Steve hung onto every movement, his breath halting as you carefully let the belt hang to the side, letting your robe hang open just a bit. You grab Steve's hand, his eyes never leaving yours, as you guide his touch toward your stomach, urging him to push open the robe himself.

Steve slowly pushes the fabric away, opening up the robe to reveal your bare body. You wanted him so badly to pull you on top of him then, but he didn't. Instead, Steve wanted to take this moment in. Slowly, painfully.

The rough pads of his fingers graze over your soft skin. Were you always this soft?

He inches up your belly to your chest, lightly tracing over the curve of your breasts. His other hand leaves your thigh and gently reaches at your hip, taking in the new curve there too. He hates himself for missing these changes. Your body suddenly different than he remembered. But you were still so damn soft.

Your whole body was on fire as Steve drank you all in. His eyes gazing over all of you, bare and ready for him. No one's ever done this to you, not even Steve back in the day. Tonight, he wanted to take his time.

His fingers trail down your hip to touch your inner thigh. You suck in a breath as he leans forward, pressing a kiss just centimeters below your belly button. Steve's fingers dance along your leg, getting higher and higher. You grasp his shoulders, bracing yourself.

"So soft," he says between kisses, "you were always so fucking soft."

Oh fuck, you're a goner.

You step towards him, gripping his face in between your hands. You try to lower yourself onto his lap but he grips your thigh, keeping you in place before him.

He laughs softly, "What's the rush?"

"Steve," you breathe out, giving him a look.

"I've waited nearly a decade for this. Let me take my time," he says confidently. You can't help but give in, releasing your grip from his hair and letting him have his way with you.

Because Steve was right - it had been a long time since either of you had felt this way. Sex was sex, but this, whatever this was with Steve was always different. No matter how much you lied to yourselves, no one ever measured up. Not in life and definitely not in bed.

June 1993 "Fuck, oh my god," you breathe out against Steve's sheets, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he kneels behind you.

Steve's hands grip your hips firmly as he fucks you from behind, your ass slapping against him, skin crashing against skin. He groans, driving deeper into you.

This is what the last three weeks have been like for you and Steve. Dirty, filthy, adult sex that you logistically couldn't have in high school. Or, rather, didn't know how to have yet. Suddenly, you're both grateful for the time apart because now you're adults who actually know what they're doing. Not that King Steve wasn't great in bed, but this Steve - this was a 20-something man who has honed in his naturally intuitive craft of pleasing a woman. And you were loving every second of it.

Steve grabs your throat, pulling you up flush against him. The June air was hotter than usual in his bedroom. Your skin sticky against his as you press your back into his chest. He brings his fingers in between your legs, finding your clit. Definitely not afraid to be rough with his movements.

You let your head rest back on his shoulder, your body bubbling with pleasure, ready to pop at any second. Steve's pace grows faster, sloppier, as you whimper in his ear. Your breaths are soft, your lips perfect and plump, whimpering his name.

"Yes, fuck," you say, your voice loud, "Steve!"

Both of your movements are rough and sloppy as you finish, Steve not far behind you. He bites into your neck as his body shudders against yours, spilling inside you. You let yourself go limp against him, eyes closed and tired from the events of this Saturday morning in bed.

Steve grips your neck again, softer this time. Steadying himself to kiss along the column of your throat to your shoulder. You hum at his sweet touch, the feeling of his lips on your body never getting old.

You look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's nearly three in the afternoon. You laugh softly, "maybe we should get up."

"Give me a minute," he kisses the nape of your neck, "I'll be ready for another round."

You shake your head, "that would be like the fourth time today!" You pull apart from him, flipping over to sit on the mattress. Steve winces at the loss of contact. He sits back, grabbing absentmindedly at your ankle. He smirks, "I'm down to go all night too. If you are."

"Easy, Harrington. I need to eat."

"Fuel up. Good idea!"

You smile, laying back and pulling the sheets over you as Steve stands up, fumbling around the room for his clothes. He looks back at you and points, "Don't move, baby."

Steve quickly leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He makes his way into the kitchen to find Robin sitting at the table with her headphones on. She looks up, glaring at Steve. His eyes widen, "have you been here the whole time?"

She slips off her large headphones and Steve can hear the music blasting loudly from them. "I walked in on, Stevie baby please!" Robin mimics you, overdramatizing your sultry voice. Steve cringes as she continues, "But I put music on when you started going off."

She drops her voice an octave to copy Steve now, "fuck, you're so good. This is so-"

"Nope!" Steve waves his hands, "Let's stop this, please!"

Robin bangs her head against the wall behind her, groaning, "While I'm happy you two have reconnected, please for the love of god fuck somewhere else. She lives alone!"

"I thought you were gone all morning!"

"It's literally three in the afternoon!"

You listen to Robin and Steve bicker, smiling to yourself from your comfy spot in Steve's bed.

July 1993 Light jazz plays from a record player in the perfectly decorated living room of your professor, Dr. Cano's, house. Over your first year of law school, she's taken quite an interest in you, and tonight you were her only current student to get an invite to one of her dinner parties - famous for solidifying her mentorship.

The nerves alone could have killed you, but luckily, she told you to bring a date. So, you brought Steve, your...best friend that you've been fucking incessantly for the past two months and have been in love with for maybe forever. You two were comfortable, confident in each other, letting yourselves actually date. You weren't afraid of where this could go with Steve, you were letting your feelings for him take the wheel and it felt great. Nothing was in the way of your love for once.

You watch from the other side of the room as Steve charmed two city big wigs. The older men laughed with Steve, clinking their scotch glasses against his.

Dr. Cano nudges your side with her elbow, "Thank you for coming tonight. Everyone loves you."

You raise your wine glass to meet hers and slip out a polite 'thank you' before taking a sip. You smile, "I was a bit nervous at first, but everyone is so welcoming, they made it easy."

"I try to surround myself with people who, don't get me wrong, are still very pretentious," she laughs, "but actually want to make a difference, and the only way to do that is to bring in new blood. Like you."

You nod, understanding her investment in you. It feels good, knowing that your life is moving in all the right directions.

Dr. Cano points her glass at Steve, "And your boy is such a hit. Talking to Daniel about the Cubs and then immediately diving into public school reform was really the cherry on top for me."

"He doesn't even realize he's talking to the next senator of Illinois," you laugh.

She shakes her head, "No, but that's what makes him so great. He's down to earth but smart. Honestly could have a good career in local politics."

"Don't put ideas into his brain, Professor. You'll have him dreaming of being the president," you smile wide, peering over at Steve. He looks up, meeting your eyes. He gives you a small wave before the other men reel him back into the conversation again.

You can't help but admire him tonight. Steve looks great wearing his dress pants and dark green sweater. His hair was styled back neatly, his face freshly shaved. He insisted on wearing his reading glasses to 'look smarter' but you told him he would probably be the smartest person in the room, teaching a new generation of lawyers and politicians.

Steve and you walk beside each other on the mostly empty sidewalk, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders. You tuck in close to his side, the light material of your long black dress lets in a cool breeze.

He presses a soft kiss to your head as you wait for the cars to pass before crossing the street. “Mmm you smell good,” Steve mumbles into your hair.

He breaks away for a moment, grabbing your hand to lead you across the street. Your heels click against the pavement as you scurry onto the sidewalk again, Steve’s hand strong in yours.

It’s all so normal. Like this is how it always should have been between you two. Sometimes you let yourself fall into that trap, into a pool of regret and guilt. If you had only pushed your fears aside and asked Steve to move to New York with you. But you can’t blame your 18-year-old self, and things happen for a reason.

And sometimes when you remember how much time you wasted not being with Steve, you hold him a little closer, kiss him a little harder, love him a little more.

August 1993 Something’s in the air. Maybe it’s the full moon or the humidity that had Steve feeling off all day. You two were going to his coworker’s birthday party on some chic rooftop downtown.

Adding to his already anxious state, you were late to meet him outside the hotel. He shouldn’t have been mad but he was. Unreasonably so.

“Hey,” you huff, jogging up to him, “sorry, my train was late.”

You lean up, giving him a quick peck. It’s a quick kiss - a hello, casual, like a couple would do.

Steve looks down at your empty hands, “where’s the gift?”

You pause before letting out a breathy groan, picturing the gift box you insisted on wrapping for Steve sitting atop your kitchen table.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Steve was already feeling like shit after a particularly rough day of teaching summer school. He also recounts the shitty interaction he had with the barista this morning.

Instead of regulating his emotions, he decided to be a total grump and take it out on you.

Steve rolls his eyes and you let out a soft laugh at him, thinking he’s feigning dramatics. But he’s not, and your laugh just pissed him off more.

“You seriously forgot it?” he asks as you walk into the elevator, and you notice his irritated tone.

You shrug, “it’s fine. You can give it to her when school starts.”

“That’s in like two weeks,” he rebuttals.

“I’m sure she’ll need a new Dutch oven then too,” you say, the sarcasm hitting Steve’s ear sharply.

“You’re not even sorry?”

You scoff, “for what? Forgetting the gift? Really?”

“Yes forgetting the gift. It’s a birthday party and we’re showing up empty-handed and late,” he says quickly, “that’s so fucking rude.”

“Geez, Steve, what’s your deal?”

“I just didn’t think you were so inconsiderate,” he huffs as the elevator door opens. Music hits your ears as you step out onto the rooftop bar.

“Fine, I’m sorry for forgetting the gift and for being late,” you grumble, following Steve toward his group of friends. You tug his arm, holding him back just before you reach the group.

His eyes meet yours as you say, “Are you okay?”

Instead of shrugging it off and letting you in, explaining he’s had a shit day, Steve brushes you off with his casual sarcasm, “never been better.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, but he’s walking up to his friends before you can speak. You push your anger to the side and greet the group, falling into easy step with them all.

You and Steve have practically avoided each other the whole night, the tension between you two at an all-time high, and for what? Because you forgot a birthday gift?

You look at your watch, realizing it’s almost midnight, and reach for Steve. You both had an early morning tomorrow and agreed to leave early. You grab onto his arm, leaning close in a low voice, “We should go. It’s late.”

He turns away from the conversation he’s having and barely looks over at you as he speaks, “Yeah, I’ll meet you down there in a sec.”

You hesitate, never in your life have you felt so dismissed. What the fuck has gotten into him?

So you purse your lips and give him a tight nod, turning to leave without saying goodbye to anyone. Steve of course notices your attitude, letting you walk away.

A whole fifteen minutes goes by before Steve finally meets you on the street. Your arms were crossed at your stomach as you rocked back and forth on your heels. You notice his mop of hair exit the revolving door and you try so hard not to snap at him then and there. Instead, you look away, chin high and jaw clenched.

He can practically see the steam fuming from you. He feels bad for his attitude. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at you, he just was.

“I’ve been waiting a while,” you murmur, not looking at him.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to go yet,” Steve says, that insufferable arrogance popping out.

You whip your head at him, glaring now, “What the fuck is up with you tonight?”

He stares back at you, asking himself that question. Maybe it’s self-sabotage or maybe it’s what he truly thinks, but Steve can’t help but fixate on all the little things you’ve done “wrong” in your relationship. You were forgetful sometimes, crass and blunt, too ambitious, and narrow-minded at times. But what really got to Steve wasn’t these tiny things, and a part of him knew that, it was that familiar feeling of fear that crept up on him all of a sudden. Things were going too well for you two, and he was afraid to settle in.

You blink back at him, unable to read his tense expression. Your eyes soften, “if this is about the gift, I’m sorry. Okay, really-"

“It’s not about the stupid gift,” he finally says.

“Then what’s it about?”

Steve shrugs, avoiding your gaze, “Nothing. It’s fine.” He starts to turn to walk down the sidewalk but you step after him, swatting his arm with your purse. He winces.

“Stop and talk to me,” you state firmly.

Steve looks at you hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been thinking about us. What we are.”

“We’re dating, Steve. It’s not that crazy.”

“But it’s not weird to you? That we’re now this normal couple?”

“No,” you cross your arms, “it feels pretty organic to me.”

He puts his hands on his hips, “even after everything we’ve been through?”

You look away dismissively, “is that what this is about? You’re still hung up on the past?”

“How could I not be?” Steve’s voice a higher pitch now, “You broke my fucking heart.”

“We were nineteen Steve!” You yell, exasperated, “We are different people now, and what we’ve had in the last year should show you that.”

“But how can you be so sure we’ve changed? That we won’t fuck it up again?”

You shake your head, “I’m not sure. But that’s okay. That’s what being in a relationship is. You have to rely on how you feel and I-“

You pause, a small smile creeps onto your face as you say, “And I love you. I know that I love you, so I don’t worry about anything else.”

Steve gazes down at you, pain evident on his face. The crease in his forehead deepens as he shakes his head, “I’m scared.”

Your eyes soften at his vulnerability finally peeking through. You want to reach out to him but you don’t. Instead, he continues, “I’m scared to get hurt again. I’m scared you’ll leave me and I’ll lose you. I can’t do that again. You’re my best friend.”

You suck in a breath, letting his words sink in. Hurt colors your face as you speak, “I can’t just be your friend, Steve.”

He stares back at you, the silence lingers as dread floods through your body, unsure of what the boy in front of you is thinking.

“I don’t know, I just can’t do this,” Steve finally says, the words hitting you like a dagger.

You step forward, “Don’t do this.” You grab his hands, “you’re scared, I get that. But we can do this together.”

He pulls away, avoiding your eyes. You feel a cold rush through you as you’ve lost total control of the situation.

“What can I do? Please just tell me,” you plead, not caring that you’re begging at this point. Something you swore you’d never do for a man. But this isn’t just any guy, this is Steve. Your Steve.

“Stop, please-“

“You love me right?”

“Of course I love you!” Steve shouts, his chest tightening.

“Isn’t that enough?”

Silence settles over you again, and this time you understand. There’s nothing you can say to change Steve’s mind. Maybe he made this decision way before you reconnected. Maybe he knew from the first time he kissed you that you were never the girl he would end up with.

You look away, eyes watering. A car alarm goes off a few streets over, chatter from down the block, an ambulance blares, the sounds of the city come back into your senses.

You look back up at Steve, his lips pouty and eyes red. “this isn’t me leaving,” you say, your voice small, defeated, “this is you pushing me away.”

Steve looks down at the ground unable to watch you walk away. So you turn, walking down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. You almost think he’s going to run after you, calling out your name, and admit how stupid he is and that he didn’t mean any of it. But Steve doesn’t move, he just lets you walk away again, the same way he did all those years before.

September 1993 Things were tough, to say the least, and Robin was caught right in the middle of it. For the past two weeks, she’s watched both of her friends quickly descend onto their own paths of madness.

You poured yourself into your second year of law school, arguably the hardest one of them all. You hardly ever left campus, holed up in the library until late into the night, unable to sleep.

Meanwhile, Steve was doing just as bad. He barely ate, his hair was unkempt, he was irritable, and not the same cool teacher the students remember him to be. He was drinking more too, a lot more. It helped him forget you because that’s what he thought was best. Like forgetting you would save him from any further pain.

It got particularly bad when one night, a Tuesday mind you, he got so drunk he picked a fight with some random guy. Luckily Robin was there, and sober, to stop it. The guy was some rich asshole from out of town - preppy, loud, and obnoxious. Then his buddies called out his name - Peter.

Now it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend Peter in the bar that night. But, Steve, being drunk and never having met the guy, thought that this douchebag was in fact your Peter. So he sauntered up to the guy and punched him square in the nose, which earned Steve a fist to the jaw, knocking him back into the bar so fast he didn’t know what hit him. Robin and the bartender jumped in before the guy and his friends could beat the shit out of Steve. Yet, he still woke up the next day with several bruises and a nasty hangover.

Robin held an intervention as soon as he came back from school the next afternoon.

“This has gone too far, dude,” she says seriously, sitting at the kitchen table across from him.

Steve leans back in his chair, a pack of frozen peas held to his purpling jaw. Robin leans forward, her hands folded together on the table.

"You need to talk to her," she says.

"I can't," he mutters.

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because this is the right thing. This way no one gets hurt."

Robin looks at him like he's the biggest dumbass in the world, and right now he may very well be. "How do you feel right now, huh? Are you not in both emotional distress, but also literally in physical pain over her?" she asks.

Steve looks over at Robin, knowing she's right. He's created this giant excuse, an unexplainable reason to break things off with you. But no matter how much he tries to justify his actions, he knows he's wrong. He knows he's just scared and that's not enough of a reason to push you away.

"If she and I really do this. If we become an actual committed couple, how do I know she won't just leave again?"

"You don't," Robin says, "none of us ever know if the person we love won't just magically get up one day and decide we're not the one."

Steve definitely doesn't want to hear this.

She continues, "But also a million other things could happen too. Like a piano falling from the sky and BOOM - she's dead."

"Robin-"

"Look," she says, "I may not know the future. But I do know that she loves you, Steve. She's been head over heels for you since we were kids. And yeah, you two grew apart, whatever. But I saw the way she looked at you that Christmas at the Wheelers. That poor girl was ready to sit back and wait for you to be single again. And didn't she?"

Robin leans back, eyes narrowing at Steve, "Don't keep her waiting any longer or you might just lose her for good."

Steve weighs Robin's advice and then your words come to mind, begging him to stay with you - telling him you loved him. This was what he wanted all those years ago and he was too blinded by fear to see it. Even when you were right in front of him.

He lowers the frozen peas onto the table and sighs, "I'm such an idiot. A goddamn fucking moron."

Robin smirks and Steve continues, "She hates me now."

"No she doesn't."

"But she thinks I do."

"Hmm. Can't have that."

Steve stands up quickly, knocking the chair back into the wall. Robin winces at the crash.

"I need to talk to her," he says, "like now."

Steve crosses the room to grab his shoes, slipping them on as he organizes his plan, "it's Wednesday. She has study group on Wednesday nights."

He locks eyes with Robin and smiles, "I'm really doing this."

She gives him a reassuring nod. Steve takes a deep breath, rips open the front door, and rushes into the hallway.

"Good luuuuck!" Robin yells out after him as he dashes down the stairs and onto the street.

Steve looks at his watch and groans, the trains run further apart on weekday nights. The next one won't be for another 45 minutes. A taxi pulls onto the street. Steve tries to hail it down, but it drives by. He throws his hands up, annoyed. He weighs his only option to get to your campus. Good thing he wore his sneakers.

The library should be mostly empty at a time like this, but some students linger at the tables, peering into their books and swapping notecards with friends.

You had stepped away from your study group a few minutes ago to grab a law deposition needed for the next class. You roamed the law stacks, your mind elsewhere. The last two weeks have been long, monotonous, and heavy. Your mind is in a constant battle between your pride and reaching out to Steve. Ultimately, pride won every time.

He rejected you outright. Sure, his reasoning was completely flawed, but he still let you walk away again. Maybe you two would never get it right. Timing, feelings, the past - maybe it was all too much to get over. Yet you were so hopeful this time. You really felt like this was it. If Steve would have asked you to be his forever, you would have said yes.

But he didn’t and now you were walking like a heartbroken zombie in the Northwestern library.

Steve runs down the street, weaving past people and cars. A taxi cab honks at him for dashing out in front of it. His hand slams on the hood as he runs by.

He runs onto campus, long legs stretching across the grassy quad to the library. He knows exactly where to go, remembering the nights he helped you study or the time he felt you up in between the bookshelves, hands sneaking under your skirt.

Steve skids around a corner, catching sight of you descending the library steps. You say your goodbyes to your classmates, your cute schoolbag hangs on your back. Steve's heart skips a beat as you turn toward his direction. He breaks into another run to you.

Then he's in front of you, standing a few feet away. His breath ragged and his forehead shiny.

"Hi," Steve says, panting.

"Hi," you let out, confused and slightly entertained by the way Steve braces his hands on his knees, hanging his head to catch his breath. You try not to smile, "did you run here?"

"Mhmm," he mumbles painfully, nodding his head and taking a deep breath.

"That's like 15 blocks," you say in disbelief.

He rises now, standing up straight, back to being taller than you. Steve nods, "it is."

You shake your head, feeling hurt more than anything, "why are you here Steve?"

"I fucked up," he says, plain and true, "I thought being friends would be easier, that neither of us would get hurt. But you were right. We can't just be friends. We never were."

You take a measured breath, trying to calm your rising heartbeat.

Steve continues, "I've been in love with you my entire life. I tried to push you out of my mind, believe me, I spent years trying. When things didn't work out with other girls, I blamed it on the usual things. But I always knew the real reason it never worked out. They weren't you."

Steve can't look away from you as he speaks, "I made the second biggest mistake of my life letting you walk away from me two weeks ago. My biggest was when we were teenagers and I let you walk away the first time. I don't plan on letting you do that ever again.”

He steps closer to you, "I plan on loving you forever. If you'll let me."

You stare back at him, mouth suddenly dry and pulse racing. You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, "of course you would do this."

His face falters as you take a step toward him. "Of course, you would run across the city to say something so, so - perfect."

Steve's eyes widen, hope flooding back into him. His breathing calms with every step you take towards him.

You're overwhelmed with emotion. Eyes watery, cheeks red. You want to be mad at him for breaking your heart and making you hate him oh so much the last two weeks. But, you can't. Not when he's standing in front of you pouring his heart out like he is. His lips pink and pouty, big brown eyes staring expectedly into yours.

Steve catches your eyes as they flicker down to his lips and back up to meet his gaze. A small smile creeps onto his face.

"You make it so hard not to love you," you say.

He steps forward, slowly ending the distance between you. Your pulse quickens.

You nod, "but I do love you, Steve. I really, really do."

He grabs your hip with one hand, the other gently cups the back of your head, pulling your body into his. Steve lowers down, your noses touch and his lips hover lightly above yours. He closes his eyes, pausing for just a moment, before closing the gap and pressing down to kiss you - hard and with purpose, like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

But you both know this won't be your last kiss. It's far from it. You'll have thousands of more kisses in your lifetime with Steve, and this one. This one feels like it's just the beginning.

--------------

a/n: I love the friends to lovers to exes to friends again to lovers trope so much. it's so messy and emotional, I hope that translated through with this!

tags: @httpazxnth@wwylmlive@xaimary@dogstarbytes@micheledawn1975@ortega29@djodirt@ahead-fullofdreams @andvys

#steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot

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419jhat · 5 months ago

Text

Not Just Friends

Summary: Eddie flirts with Steve constantly, and Steve flirts back. The lines start to blur, and Eddie gets all in his head about it, until he sees Steve with another guy and realizes that their weird little game was never that special at all. Or...maybe Steve's just a dumbass.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,230

***

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Hey, hot stuff, wanna make a big mistake?” Eddie asks.

“You sure it wouldn't be a small mistake?” Steve shoots back with zero hesitation.

“What- I'll have you know, it would be a very big mistake, Harrington. Extra large, ok? Ok maybe not extra large but definitely large,” Eddie insists.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs, “did you call me this morning for a specific reason or are you awake with the sun for once on accident?”

Eddie clears his throat. He’ll never get over how easily Steve accepts the flirting. It makes him wonder what's going on in that pretty little head. Did he think Eddie was joking? Did he secretly like it?

“Do you want a movie or something? I'm free tonight,” Eddie asks, fiddling with the phone cord.

“What makes you think I'm free tonight?”

“The fact that you're never doing anything?”

“Jesus, Munson. Or something.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I work at a movie store. I watch movies all day. No movies. I want the something.”

“It's a date,” Eddie dares to say.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says. Eddie can hear the smile in his voice just before the line goes dead. He feels a little accomplished, even if all he did was invite the guy over. Something he did every week at this point. But hey, this was progress, right?

He turns to look at the clutter in his bedroom and recalls the expression in Steve's face when he saw how dirty his old mattress was.

He starts cleaning.

About an hour later, when he's been thoroughly sidetracked with reorganizing the miniatures on his dresser, he hears a knock at the door. He flings the bedsheet into something nicer than the crumpled mess it had been and rushed to the door.

“Welcome to my humble abode, your highness,” he says with as he opens the door. Steve's fanning his shirt, sweat dripping down his forehead, but still waits patiently for Eddie to get out of the way like the perfect little houseguest. When he does, Steve beelines straight for Eddie's bedroom. He strips his shirt off and collapses on the bed under the window AC, basking in the cool air.

“Damn, Harrington, I see how it is,” Eddie says, then he squeaks when Steve balls up his shirt and tosses it at his head.

“Can’t you buy me dinner first? I'm feeling used,” Eddie jokes.

Steve pats the bed next to him. “Lay down next to me.”

Eddie listens, because he's a hopeless fool. He leaves some room between them, since he's already been coming on kind of strong today and doesn't want to scare Steve off for real. But then Steve closes the gap and rests his head on Eddie's chest.

He says something. Eddie's not sure what it is because he's too busy trying not to do something stupid like pulls steve on top of him and squeeze him as tight as he can.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, when he realizes Steve is silent again.

“I said, do you want to turn on the radio?”

“Oh! Why didn't you say so?” Eddie asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I did,” Steve says.

Eddie balances on his elbow and awkwardly stretches to reach the radio without jostling Steve's head. He's starting to form a cramp in his wrist from twisting it all wrong just to reach the thing when the weight on his chest lifts and suddenly, a shirtless Steve Harrington has one arm braced by Eddie's head and the other reaching across him.

Eddie stares at the hair on his chest, the dusty nipples right within reach of his mouth, the little moles dotting across his skin, tanned from whatever it was he willingly did outside in the summer heat all day.

“Got it,” Steve says, and suddenly Madonna’s singing in the background.

“You changed the channel,” Eddie complains distractedly. His palms are sweaty. He's hoping and praying that Steve won't look at his face and see whatever expression he's making because just knows it's going to be embarrassing. And apparently the man upstairs is on his side because Steve just lowers himself right there, right onto Eddie's chest.

“Your heart is racing,” he says.

Eddie can feel it, just like he can feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest with every breath, and the way his fingers curl around the hem of Eddie's t-shirt.

“Because you're so heavy,” Eddie scolds lightly, using the opportunity to touch the bare skin on Steve's back. He lets his hands linger there, and then decides to take a bigger risk and indulges a little, running his hand down his spine and then back up again to the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten a little long. He wonders if Steve's planning on growing it out as he plays with it.

“You know, people make fun of her, but Madonna is actually really talented. Did you see her new music video on MTV? She really knows how to stick it to the conservatives,” Eddie rambles. He's not sure why he's saying it. He respects Madonna, but he's more nervous of Steve realizing how weirdly intimate this position is and punching him in retaliation, or something.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Eddie can feel his mouth moving against him as he speaks. And then, just because Steve is for some reason compelled by the universe to drive Eddie insane, he says, “I bet you could do better.”

Eddie tries not to scream.

~.~.~

Steve calls him next time. Doesn't even introduce himself, like he knows that the mere sound of his voice commands Eddie to do his bidding.

“Hey, man. Want me to pick you up after work?”

Eddie's never been one to need a plan to agree to something, but obviously he's going to say yes. Steve could invite him to sit in the ocean as the tide went up and he'd be perfectly fine doing it.

“Sure,” he says casually. He tries to think of what else to say, but before he can, Steve's already hung up.

Eddie got a new job through Wayne's buddy at the local parks and rec center, cleaning up and maintaining their public spaces. It's outside, which practically burns his soul through the mandatory jumper he has to wear in the summer heat, but he likes that people leave him alone. The town still doesn't trust him, but he puts up with it for Wayne and the kids.

And Steve.

He stands outside and waits next to the tiny building his boss does all the paperwork in, blocking the sun from his face with his hand until he sees that familiar BMW rolling towards him.

“Did you have a good day?” Steve asks, because he's genuinely nice like that.

“Eh,” Eddie says as he climbs into the passenger seat, “I had to wash vomit off a slide from a kid's birthday party. I've had better.”

Steve's nose wrinkles with sympathy. He's got the windows down, probably because it's hot as balls outside, but it's whipping his hair all over the place. Eddie wants to reach over and fix it, but he's not so sure Steve would like that. He's so distracted by it all that he doesn't even notice they're pulling to a stop on the road that backs up to the quarry.

“What's going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles wickedly.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks.

“Oh?” Eddie says, lifting an eyebrow. He didn't expect that. Especially since it's his weed Steve's asking to smoke.

“You asking or offering, Harrington?”

“Both,” he says coyly, pulling a spare joint from his box of cigarettes. It's one Eddie gave him a few days earlier. He lights up and passes it over, his hand hovering in the short space between them. Eddie stares, thinking about how Steve's lips were just on the end of it, and now his lips are going to be too. It's kind of like a kiss, in a way. The idea makes him blush.

“So…is this how you treat all the girls, big boy?” Eddie teases.

“What?” Steve asks. He doesn't sound angry, so Eddie keeps pushing.

“A secluded parking spot in the woods at dusk, some weed, windows down. All we're missing is a little music and it could make a guy fall in love,” Eddie says, holding a hand to his heart.

Steve turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the radio and AC back to life.

“One can only dream,” Steve says with a wink that has no business being as smooth as it is.

And God, how Eddie can dream. He wonders yet again, if Steve is really this oblivious to their little game.

Steve turns the car back off and runs a hand through his hair like he does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie can only hope it's that he's suddenly realizing that he's into men. He takes the joint, willing himself to stop thinking of foolish things.

With the car off, and it's starting to get disgustingly warm, so he focuses on that instead. Focuses so much on it that he ends up peeling the top half of his jumper off revealing an old ripped Metallica shirt.

“I'm sorry we couldn't save your guitar,” Steve says suddenly.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks. He meets Steve's eyes in the rearview mirror. Steve's staring at his shirt. “Oh, it's ok. I mean, it isn't, actually. I'll miss that thing until the end of time. But that's kind of the point, right? I can miss it because you guys saved my life, so, it's fine.”

He's rambling, because it feels ungrateful to feel sad about the loss of his guitar. His baby. His one and only.

Steve places a comforting hand just above his knee. It's warm, and weirdly intimate enough that it shakes Eddie out of his mournful thoughts.

“It's ok to be sad, man. You were pretty cool with that thing,” he says.

Eddie can't process Steve Harrington telling him he looked cool and touching his thigh at the same time. It's simply too much for him to handle. He takes another hit, keeping his mouth too busy to say something embarrassing.

“I never got to see you perform. I mean, I saw a bit of your show in the upside down, but nothing else,” Steve says.

“I can play something for you sometime,” Eddie says, before he can think it through.

“You'd do that for me?” Steve asks. Which is a stupid question. Eddie would obviously do anything for Steve.

His hand is still on Eddie's thigh. Guys don't usually do that, do they? Was Steve flirting with him for once? Without provocation?

“Yeah, I've got another guitar. It's an acoustic, but it does the job.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. Long enough that Eddie focuses back on his fingers slowly tapping his knees, like he's thinking something through.

“You want to go swimming?” Steve asks.

“... really?” Eddie asks, surprised that Steve would even want to after everything that happened with the upside down. Steve seems to understand, because his expression softens and then he shrugs.

“I think it would be easier if someone went with me,” he says softly.

It occurs to Eddie that this must have been Steve's plan the whole time, and maybe the weed and talk of guitars was just a distraction. It's honest and vulnerable enough that it makes him feel a little honored that he held Steve’s trust. He can't say no to that, so he agrees before he can even ask about swimsuits.

Steve releases his knee and climbs out of the car, walking toward the Quarry with a look over his shoulder to check if Eddie's following. Eddie wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up just in time to see Steve removing his shirt.

He can't look away, and that's how he gets the shock of his life when Steve removes his jeans too.

“Oh- uh,” Eddie stutters.

Then, off goes the underwear and Eddie's got an eye full of a round, tan, Harrington ass.

At this point, the sun is setting and Eddie doubts anyone could see them in any amount of detail. But he doesn't know what to do with a naked hot dude right in front of him. Does he touch? He wants to touch. But Steve is confusing, and touching might not go well. Instead of standing around like a lovesick dumbass, Eddie wolf whistles and dramatically fans his face.

“Well, I'll be damned, Harrington. Maybe you're the extra large between the two of us!” he says, even though he can't actually see Steve's dick with him turned around. Steve completely ignores him.

“Come on!” he says, rushing toward the shoreline. Eddie quickly decides that he likes Steve enough to get naked with him, even if it's not in a sexy way. He kicks off his boots and leaps toward the water with a shout.

~.~.~

Steve’s got his head resting in the spot between Eddie's thigh and hip bone, competing for space next to his guitar as Eddie plucks away songs he knows he'd recognize.

“You're so talented,” Steve says, for the millionth time that night. He's repeating it over and over, pushing Eddie's ego sky high.

“I just play what I hear,” he says humbly.

“I can't even sing what I hear,” Steve says with a little laugh. He's got his legs hanging over the edge of the couch, feet tapping along to the best as Eddie plays.

“It's not that hard. I can show you, if you want,” Eddie says.

Steve looks up at him through his hair. “Really?”

“Get up, buttercup, and I'll give you a short lesson,” Eddie says.

Steve lifts himself away from Eddie and sits up on the couch, shoving Wayne's favorite pillow into the floor. Eddie decides the pillow can survive the disrespect and shoves the only remaining shard of his shattered musical soul into Steve's arms. Steve holds onto it like it's made of glass, which is a good first step in Eddie's opinion.

Eddie moves Steve's fingers into the correct position to play Yesterday, which is kind of setting a beginner up for failure with the bar chords.

“Move your other hand like this,” Eddie said, mimicking the strumming motion. Steve tries and fails. Eddie grabs his hand and tries to help, but he still doesn't get it. His brows are furrowed cutely as he focuses hard on the strings like they'll make it all work out for him.

“Let me show you,” Eddie says, pulling Steve so his back is pressed against Eddie's chest. He wraps his arms around him, pretending that being this close doesn't make him want to kiss the top of his shoulder and bear hug him until they fall asleep. He laces his fingers through Steve's, helping him feel exactly where to go.

“Your fingers go here, and your other hand moves like this,” he says over Steve's shoulder.

It's impractical and isn't teaching Steve anything. He just likes the feeling of Steve against him, the way he accepts Eddie's hands against his without any weird looks. Eddie hums the lyrics, a bit unable to stop himself because the song is a classic, until Steve lifts their hands away from the guitar and curls his fingers around Eddie's, looking at them closely. Steve pulls Eddie's hands close to his face and twists one of his rings, rubbing his thumb against the pad of Eddie's left pointer finger. He wishes he could see his expression.

“Is this what girls mean when they talk about guys that play guitar?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie laughs, sharp and loud, which makes Steve shoulder him away.

“Don't shout in my ear,” Steve complains.

Eddie scoots back on the couch, still laughing. Steve rolls his eyes and plucks at the guitar with his thumb.

“How often are girls telling you about guys that play guitar?”

“I mean, they talk,” Steve shrugs.

“Oh yeah? What do they say?” Eddie teases, “that you're not doing a good enough job?”

Steve looks up at him sharp. No smile.

“They tell me how it feels,” he says.

Eddie pauses, brains scrambled, because Now he's imagining Steve describing how it feels and it goes straight to his dick. Which is awkward because they're sharing the same couch and Eddie isn't exactly sitting with his legs crossed.

Still, he wants to know more.

“How- uh- what do they say? About how it feels?” he stammers, shifting a little further from Steve. He's feeling a little hot under the collar, and he knows he's really pushing the limits, but he can't help it. Not when Steve's right there, egging him on. Because that's what this is, right? He's not alone in this. Steve has to know what he's doing.

As if to answer Eddie's silent question, Steve scoots closer, squeezing the guitar between them as he leans in, face only a few inches from Eddie's. His knee is digging into Eddie's crotch. If he moves his hips, he's sure Steve would learn just how little Eddie’s playing around.

That makes him feel even hotter.

He can feel a puff of hair against his face as Steve laughs lightly, face splitting into a perfect, teasing smile. Steve grabs Eddie's hands and places them around the guitar, fingers brushing against his forehead a moment longer than necessary.

“I don't kiss and tell, Munson,” he says, and then he gets off the couch, leaving Eddie hard as a rock.

~.~.~

Sometimes, Steve spends the night. He falls asleep after an hour of whispering nonsense back and forth in the dark, with his back pressed against Eddie's chest, arms curled close to his body. Then Eddie wakes up to see that Steve is already gone, like the shared heat on the mattress is just a figment of his imagination.

He tries not to let himself think it means anything. He always stays awake a moment longer, always lingering on the man in bed next to him, wondering when he'll finally be sure enough to put himself out of his misery by leaning over for a kiss.

Then, at least he'll know what this is.

This time, Eddie wakes up and it's still dark out. Someone is touching him. He turns and sees a figure in his bed, the blankets pooled around their waist.

“Eddie?” Steve asks sleepily.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Now that his eyes are adjusting to the dark, he can see the outline of the moon leaning through the window blinds, turning Steve's hair stark white where the light hits it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says, placing a hand on Eddie's chest. Eddie can feel his heart, frantic and stressed, under Steve's hand. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine. I don't even remember it,” Eddie says.

Steve slumps down next to him and leans in. Something brushes against Eddie's cheek, something soft and sweet, so quick that Eddie nearly thinks he's dreamt it up-

A kiss.

Steve just kissed him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, rolling over like it was nothing. Like he didn't just steal Eddie's heart through his lips. Eddie roughly grabs Steve and hugs him from behind, pulling him as close as possible. He wants to merge into one with this man. He wants signs of Steve across every inch of his skin. Steve makes a sleepy noise of protest, but lets it all happen, and Eddie falls asleep happy with no room for nightmares anymore.

~.~.~

“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asks, nose scrunched up with disgust. He's just entered Steve's house for some pool party the kids bullied him into hosting, and was instantly met with the most irritating sight he's ever laid eyes upon- a handsome stranger hanging off Steve's shoulder.

“Oh, it's Steve's friend from Italy. Gabriel,” Robin says with a roll of her eyes. “I didn't even know he had friends.”

“Hey, he has us! And the kids!” Eddie says, trying to pretend he isn't watching Steve like a hawk.

“You know what I mean,” Robins says.

Gabriel.

Fucking Gabriel.

Eddie watches as Steve lingers around this other man. This man and his curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, muscular body, and soft blue eyes. This man and his touchy hands that linger along Steve's body like they're glued together, playfully grabbing at Steve's sunglasses.

“How long has he known him?” Eddie asks defensively. He crosses his arms across his cropped Dio shirt, suddenly feeling a little inadequate in the presence of fucking Michelangelo over there.

“Since they were kids,” Robin shrugs.

Eddie's heart feels tight. He's sure he's going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or something equally dramatic. Because Steve is up and close in this random man's space, in a swimsuit nonetheless, showing off his hairy tits and chatting it up like it was totally normal to be practically in someone's lap.

Which, it was.

Between them.

Some girl Eddie doesn't recognize is laughing it up with Nancy and Jonathan off to the side. She's equally gorgeous and Eddie knows right away that she must have come from Italy too.

Since when did Steve go to Italy? Was this some rich boy shit he'd never learned about?

“Eddie's here!” Dustin yells from the pool. Eddie's saved from having to fake happiness around the kids by Mike tackling Dustin from behind. He's probably drowning or something, but Eddie's not too concerned because somewhere, music is getting louder and fucking Gabriel is pulling Steve up to dance. Steve and Gabriel move like it's second nature, laughing and a little too close, a little too much hip movement for it to be guys being guys.

Eddie didn't know Steve could dance. He didn't even know Steve liked disco.

Why does it suddenly feel like he doesn't know Steve at all?

“Whoo! Those two are always like that,” the pretty girl says with a lazy smile. Nancy and Jonathan don't seem too shocked to see Steve acting like this, which is another sign that Eddie is a gullible fool.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks. She sounds worried. Eddie's not looking at her. He's watching Steve plant a kiss on Gabriel's cheek after their stupid little dance stops.

Eddie isn't alright.

He feels like an idiot.

He thought they had something special, but it turns out that Steve is just…like that.

He turns and walks into the kitchen, so he can work through his shame in peace. That way, he can behave like a normal human long enough to make an excuse and leave in favor of crying into his ratty trailer pillow that probably still smells like Steve and his stupid hairspray.

“Whoa, what's wrong?” someone asks.

It's Steve, of course. He's standing at the kitchen door, looking at Eddie with genuine concern. His sunglasses are pushed into his hair, artfully keeping it out of his face. He looks behind himself and closes the door before walking up to Eddie, getting in his space.

Eddie steps back.

“I didn't see you get here. You look sick, are you ok?” he asks.

Eddie wants to say that he's fine, but looking into Steve's eyes makes everything worse. Much to his horror, he feels a lump forming in his throat and a familiar burn forming in his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but that just makes a premature tear roll down his cheek.

Fuck.

Steve steps even closer and lifts his hands to Eddie's face, gently holding him, brushing the tear away with his thumb. And now that it's started, he can't make it stop. Eddie starts to cry even harder.

“Is it Wayne? Did something happen at the trailer?” Steve's asking, appearing to genuinely care.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“Did someone-”

“No, no, no! Steve, just stop!” Eddie says, elbowing his way free from Steve's grasp. He feels a little bad about it, when he sees how hurt Steve looks. But he feels too shitty to care much about anything at the moment.

“You're crying, Eddie. Can't I help?”

“You've done enough, honestly,” Eddie says.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Dude, are you really that dense?”

Steve kind of shutters at that, and then Eddie really feels bad. He's made an ass of himself and now he's being an ass too.

“Just- stop, ok? Go back to your Italian boyfriend,” Eddie says.

“Huh? Gabe?” Steve asks.

Oh, so they have nicknames now?

“Whatever his name is,” Eddie grumbles, even though he knows it's going to be impossible for him to forget that name for the rest of his life.

Steve scoffs for a second and then shakes his head. “Are you mad that I have other friends?”

Eddie can't believe it. It's the worst case scenario. Steve didn't know. Somehow, Steve was completely oblivious to Eddie's feelings. There was no game between them. Eddie had made it all up in his head. Steve's just an oblivious flirt. He was matching Eddie's weird, lovesick energy.

God, how embarrassing.

“No, Steve,” Eddie says, already done with the conversation and ready for the consequences, “I'm mad that you're flirting with this dude after weeks of flirting with me!”

Steve looks shocked. Like he would've expected maybe a week after the upside down, back before this all began and he didn't know Steve that well. Turns out, he never knew Steve.

He just thought he did.

“I- I wasn't flirting with you,” Steve says with a nervous little laugh.

“You slept in my bed and kissed me on the cheek. You rubbed your knee against my dick during our guitar lesson.”

Steve's just staring at him like all of this was in Eddie's head, which makes him feel even more defensive.

“You said you knew how it felt to get fingered!” he hisses.

Steve's cheeks go bright red.

“Oh my God, I've been flirting with you,” he says. He lifts a hand to his forehead, like the information is too much for his head to handle.

“You also- well- I mean…yes?” Eddie says, not really sure what's happening anymore. He's so confused that his tears have stopped. Steve takes a step closer.

“You've been flirting with me,” he says, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie nods.

“And I've been flirting with you,” he says, pointing at himself.

Eddie nods again.

“I was flirting with Gabriel! Do you think he's into me?” he asks, pointing at the kitchen door.

Eddie's frown is severe.

“Sorry, no. Forget I said that. Eddie, I think I have a crush on you,” Steve says with wonder in his voice.

It's Eddie's turn to blush now. He's witnessing Steve realize he's into men. Specifically, that he's into Eddie. Steve paces around the kitchen, combing a hand through his hair in that way he always does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie recognizes it because he does know Steve, after all. Maybe a little better than Steve knows himself. Steve's cheeks are still bright red and he's breathing kind of weird. It's very strange, to watch someone come out to themselves.

And then Steve starts to cry.

Eddie rushes forward just as Steve leans back against the countertop and curls into himself.

“Hey, no, no, no, it's ok. You're still you,” he says, pulling Steve into a hug.

What the fuck is happening?

“I made you cry,” Steve says.

“It's ok,” Eddie says, rubbing his back, “you'll get used to it.”

“I don't want to get used to making you cry!” Steve whisper-shouts.

“No, I mean that you'll get used to being into men,” Eddie says.

Steve pushes Eddie back a hair and looks him in the eyes.

“Why would I need to get used to it? It's obviously true. I'm upset because I've been such a dick to you,” he says softly.

Eddie just stares at him. He wonders if Steve is ok. Maybe this is what a breakdown looks like? Funny, how quick their mental states flipped during this conversation.

“Steve, it's ok to freak out a little. When I first realized I was into men, I cried until I threw up,” Eddie says.

Steve leans in and kisses him on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. It's so light and quick that for a moment, Eddie's not even sure that it happened. It makes his heart flip twice over.

“I'm not freaking out. I'm just trying to figure out how to make it up to you.”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. Steve's fully serious. He's dried his face and is wrapping his arms around Eddie's back, brushing his hands against the belt loops in his jeans.

“Wow, you're serious. You genuinely-”

Eddie's cut off as Steve pulls him into a real kiss. The kind of kiss he'd seen in movies, sweet but also kind of hot. Eddie wants more. He crowds Steve against the countertop and runs his hands down over that ass he couldn't stop thinking about since seeing it in person, grabs his thighs just under his swim trunks and lifts, pushing their bodies as close as possible.

Steve has one hand tangled in Eddie's hair, steering his head to the side, and another gripping around his back pocket, pulling Eddie's hips right into his.

Eddie can't believe it. Steve's kissing him. He's rolling his hips into him.

Steve chose him over fucking Gabe!

Steve pulls their bodies even closer than Eddie thought possible, and Eddie can feel every detail of his dick hardening against him through his jeans. It leaves him breathless, desperate to drop his hands from Steve's warm torso and under that swimsuit so he can feel it in more detail. Steve's not so shy. He's driving Eddie crazy with his hand sliding around his zipper, lifting up to the hem and back down again.

“Eddie,” Steve gasps into his mouth as he starts fumbling with the button.

Eddie’s experiencing something religious with Steve's tongue when a shout breaks them apart.

Eddie leaps halfway across the room before bothering to look around to check that nobody is there. He turns back to Steve, who's watching him carefully.

“I think it's just the kids. We should probably go back outside,” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees reluctantly. Based on the look Steve's sending his way, he feels the same. He jumps down from the counter and walks over to the door, then pauses.

He turns to Eddie and says, “You should sleep over tonight.”

“Ok,” Eddie says, feeling his cheeks go warm again as he tries not to assume anything after an afternoon of assuming things, “I like your guest room, it's got a really comfortable mattress-”

“In my bed,” Steve clarifies.

“Ok!” Eddie squeaks. “I could run home and grab something to sleep in-”

“Naked,” Steve says bluntly. Then he seems to realize something, because he looks away from Eddie like he's embarrassed. “I mean, unless you don't want that. No pressure. I have something you can borrow-”

“I want that,” Eddie interrupts.

Steve smiles. He flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes and leans in to kiss Eddie one last time, short, and promising more for later. As he opens the door, Eddie spots Gabe lounging around with that pretty girl and gets an idea. He shoves past Steve and smacks his ass on the way by, smiling at Gabe, just to cement his victory.

“Damn Harrington, feels as good as it looks,” he says. Gabe looks completely confused. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Don't get addicted,” Steve says.

#steve giving Eddie emotional whiplash #steve skipping the gay oanic and flying straight into gay sex #steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #419jhat writes

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luveline · 1 year ago

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kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside.

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?”

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light.

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat.

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside.

It’s good to be home.

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated.

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone.

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive.

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways.

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves.

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate.

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away.

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast.

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently.

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in.

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness.

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side.

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.”

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything.

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…” Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?”

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.”

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.”

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?”

“She won’t let me eat.”

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.”

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?”

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.”

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for.

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you.

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.”

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.”

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks.

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?”

“Avery’s always nice.”

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.”

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.”

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away.

“You comfortable enough?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.”

“But you had fun, right?”

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“Exhausted?” you ask.

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.”

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.”

“You did not.”

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy).

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.”

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek.

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.”

“Love you, Steve.”

“Love you, too.”

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chaptersleftunwritten · 11 months ago

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Strawberry Fields Forever

Blurb: You go on a picnic date with some friends, not expecting to rile Eddie up.

Pairing: Perv!Eddie Munson x Friendly!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ This is basically smut with a tiny bit of plot, cursing/swearing, some light mentions of alcohol, corruption kink, praising, exhibitionism, oral (f & m receiving), oral fixation, choking, fingering, teasing.

The sun flushed the earth with an unwavering heatwave and everyone in Hawkins was struggling to keep cool during this scorcher of a summer. There was no hiding from it. The humidity even penetrated the shade- no where was safe.

Naturally you seek out the forest, travelling along a trail with Steve, Nancy, Robin, Eddie and some of the younger bunch who had begged to come alone. They wanted to go swimming in Lover’s Lake and you wanted to have a picnic next to the water.

“Fuck me,” Eddie groans, dragging his feet behind you, “Can’t we just stay in here? It must be hotter than Hell out there.” In a huff, Eddie shrugs off his denim jacket, exposing his tatted arms as he slings the coat over his shoulder. He wore a black t-shirt, of all colours he chose black, no wonder he was melting into a puddle.

Steve wipes at his sweaty forehead with his forearm, his long mousy brown hair sticking to his sun kissed skin, “Eddie has a point, I’m sweating my balls off here.” Nancy snorts a laugh, her fingers interlocked around Steve’s bicep.

Robin marches in front of you, on a mission to try and keep up with the others children whom had snuck off into the distance, squealing and revelling in the great outdoors. Robin evidently being fearful that they were going to run off or worse- disappear.

“C’mon guys, it’s not so bad! Maybe you should have worn more appropriate clothes,” Your dig is aimed at Eddie and he rolls his eyes, panting in response. He is clearly hating how his hair seems to be gluing itself to his neck.

“I’ll take my shirt off if you pay me,” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his lips baring a wolfish grin, “This ain’t a free show, sweetheart.” He fans at his face, his flirtatious attempt quickly evaporating with his rising body temperature.

You take a hair tie from your wrist, handing it to Eddie, “You’ll be a lot cooler if you tie up that nest of yours.”

He gapes at you, offended, “Wow…” he drags out the word, “And here I was thinking that we were finally getting along.” You giggle at him before continuing your pursuit further, trying to catch up with the two love birds who had somehow overtaken you.

“It’s not long now, only a little further.” You call back to Eddie who is slugging behind you. Usually Eddie loved being outdoors, but in this heat? He would rather be dead.

The only thing keeping Eddie alive at the moment was the view he had of you from behind. Your ass is clad in the cutest pair of light denim shorts he had ever seen, hugging your thighs and body perfectly. You wore a red checkered blouse on top that slipped effortlessly from your shoulders, exposing the mounds of your breasts to him every so often. He was already fighting for his life against an erection.

So when the pale yellow and pink picnic blanket was set down onto the unnervingly fried grass and Eddie watched you unload the weaved basket he couldn’t help but notice when your eyes light up at the sight of a massive bowl of strawberries.

“My favourite!” You squeal happily, flashing the bowl to Eddie he chuckles heartily, his legs crossing over one another as he lays back, propped up on one elbow.

“Strawbs are good, I guess.” His shoulders shrug.

“You guess? They are the superior fruit, Ed’s!” This was a debate you were willing to fight until your dying breath. You would die on this hill.

Eddie plucks one from the bowl, examining the red fruit before he pushes the whole thing into his mouth, taking a moment to chew before swallowing.

“Y’know, I’ve always thought strawberries were much better with a little bit of cream…” Eddie’s tongue dances out onto his lips, licking them clean of any juices that may have escaped.

He doesn’t mean for it to sound so dirty, but when you don’t register it that way Eddie sees this as an opportunity; to make this into a fun little game where he is a perverted fuck and you are absolutely oblivious to it all.

“Hmm,” you hum in response, not batting an eyelash to Eddie’s cream comment as you push a strawberry between your lips, biting on the pointed end of it softly- savouring the flavour.

Glancing around you see nearby on the blanket Steve has his tongue wedged down Nancy’s throat. She’s nearly choking on it as they sloppily dish out kisses. Talk about no shame..

Robin is on life guard duty- or so she says. In reality, she just wants to do cannonballs into the water with the kids, splashing them and fighting with them. Jokingly pushing Dustin’s head beneath the water whilst Mike tries to do the same to Will.

Dustin emerges, crying attempted murder and you laugh hysterically, shaking your head proudly at their free spirits.

“Are you thinking of going in the water?” You flick your attention back to Eddie and he can’t help himself from staring as you wrap your lips coyly around a massive strawberry. Your eyes peeking innocently up at him has his cock threatening to burst in his jeans and the thought of the strawberry being replaced by his thick manhood leaves him feeling dizzy.

“Possibly,” he gulps, his crossed legs becoming more tightly acquainted, “You?” He cracks open a can of beer, taking a light swing to cleanse his drying throat.

You nod, looking between the lake and Eddie, “I might- it looks like they are having so much fun.” You sigh, feeling the most relaxed you have a in a while. It’s not as hot anymore now that you have sat down.

“You should.”

‘Please!’ Eddie thinks to himself. He doesn’t know why, but you have him totally bewitched. His hungry gaze never leaving your mouth as dark pink juice stains your lips. You slurp to try and prevent it from spilling all over you, the pad of your thumb swiping quickly at the leaky corners of your mouth.

Eddie thinks he might combust into flames right there and then, biting his tongue harshly to try and keep a groan lodged in his throat- can he taste blood?

“Do I have something on my face Ed’s?” You ask after feeling his eyes on you for a prolonged period of time, your fingers tips tracing your cheeks gently.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, love. Not a single drop touched your chin.” His voice is low, nearly a growl as it leaves his mouth.

From his side Eddie can sense Steve’s amused smirk on him. You might have been unknowing to Eddie’s game, but Steve knew exactly what the ‘freak’ was up to. It relieved him to see Eddie finally trying to shoot his shot with you- it had only taken him a year and a half.

“You would tell me, right?” You giggle, scooting closer to his lanky frame, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He tucks a rogue strand of your hair behind your ear and heat unrelated to the sun prickles at your cheeks, causing you to advert your gaze.

Eddie almost coos aloud at how adorable you are. He can guess that you’ll taste even more sugary than the fruit you’re sucking on, “Can I…” He picks up another strawberry, bringing it to your mouth. You hold eye contact with him as he swirls the tip of the fruit across the plumpness of your lips, allowing the lowest groan to emit from his throat.

“Open wider,” His demand comes out as a bark and you slacken your jaw, your mouth gaping open wider for him to slot the strawberry inside. Eddie’s own jaw laid slack, his soft eyes on you unabashedly, “Does it taste good, princess?”

You nod, your tongue slick with juice from the strawberry. It wasn’t foreign for Eddie to call you sweet pet names, but something inside of you stirs at his voice. Sure you thought Eddie was attractive, often times you’d fantasies over him… but it hadn’t ever gotten this intense in real life.

You’d take every compliment from him with a grain of salt, but with the way his darkened eyes are staring at you now, it leads you to believe that something may be upon the horizon.

gif by @kwistowee

“What’d you say?” Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, his eyelids narrowing at you distastefully.

“Uhm…” it takes a moment for the gears inside of your head to turn, “Thank you?” It is more of a question rather than a response, luckily Eddie seems satisfied nonetheless.

“Exactly,” He grins at you dirtily, “Don’t go forgetting your manners now, babe. I know you’re a good girl.”

An inaudible sound leaves your windpipe as you try to contain the feverish blush that has claimed your face as its own. Your heart is quick inside of your chest and you can’t ignore the fluttering of your stomach and the pulse between your thighs. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one was crazy enough to speak this filthy to you in person. So blatant and forward.

Just before Eddie can say anything more, water hits you both. So lost in your own world you had forgotten about your friends who you had came here with.

“Are you guys just going to sit there or what?!” Robin exclaims in a high pitched tone, visibly vexed at your unwillingness to join in.

Steve and Nancy were stripping down to their underwear, something that didn’t phase you in the slightest. You look to Eddie for some sort of guidance and he shrugs his shoulders, leaving the choice to you.

“I’m happy here! Sorry- love you though!” You announce loudly and Robin rolls her eyes, shouting back that she loved you too before she was swimming off. It seemed like the group were venturing further down stream, leaving you and Eddie totally invisible to them.

“Good choice,” He purrs into your ear, making you jump slightly startled at his close proximity.

“I don’t mind spending time alone with you, Eddie.” You reply honestly and Eddie toys with a piece of your hair in his fingers, twirling and twisting it.

He hums, intrigued, “Is that so?” Eddie knew he was pushing you, but fuck, was it fun.

You suck on your bottom lip, teeth nibbling at the skin as you nod your head, “You make me feel.. happy.” The words come out as a low mumble, your finger tips playing with the hem of your shorts as you try to busy your nervous hands.

Eddie rumbles a chuckle, “I know a few other ways to make you feel ‘happy’…” You are desperate to avoid his cocoa coloured orbs, but Eddie isn’t having none of it as he gasps your chin sternly with his fingers, pulling your face to him.

“H..how so?” You wish the ground would swallow you whole as you stumble pathetically over your words. He hadn’t even touched you intimately and yet, you can’t think straight.

From your chin, Eddie’s fingers tickle down the front of your throat, hesitating there he decided to take a leisurely second to curl his strong fingers around your trachea. The momentary loss of oxygen makes your eyelids fall to hood your eyes, “Fuck, I could ruin you.” The whole time Eddie continues to gawk at the partition of your lips, and how relaxed you look beneath his touch.

Releasing you slowly he continues his assault on your hot skin, his feathery touch causing goosebumps to erupt after their wake. He palms your breasts through your blouse, grabbing a fist full of the plush flesh which causes you to cry out quietly, “No bra? Such a little fucking tease.” Eddie clicks his tongue, pinching your coiled nipples and roughly plucking at the stiff peaks with his fingertips.

“Ah...” you mewl and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound, like a puppy being called on for the first time.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” His raspy voice asks as his lips pepper a kiss to your exposed shoulder, his tongue running briefly over the skin just because he wanted to taste you. You shake your head, in total awe of him and everything that he is.

“Poor baby,” He pouts out his bottom lip mockingly before his lips stretch into a lascivious grin, “I can take care of you.” His tongue flicks at the lobe of your ear before he is pulling the flesh in between his teeth, gnawing on it playfully.

“But we’re outside…” you remind him, your eyes focusing on the slow current of the water. The sun beating down onto it, making it glisten and glitter in a heavenly way.

“Mhm, we are,” He sucks at your neck, your body jolting ever so slightly at the electricity that zaps at your cunt from the contact, “She likes that, doesn’t she.” Eddie laughs breathily as he pulls back from your jugular, situating himself between your bare legs.

“I bet your pussy tastes so fucking good.” Eddie nuzzles his nose into the soft skin of your inner thigh, causing you to giggle at the ticklish touch of his hair.

“What if someone sees us?” A look over Eddie’s shoulder confirms that the group are way too occupied with one another to even focus on you two.

“They won’t.” His voice drips with confidence and his fingers move with deliberate precision as he rips your denim shorts from your legs, taking a pause to truly admire your underwear, and the darkened wet spot that had the material slick to your pussy lips, “These are cute, baby. You always wear such pretty panties?” He perks an eyebrow whilst his fingertips dance over the lacey fabric and you look at him with wide doe like eyes, stunned by the question and his touch. You hadn’t really thought about it.

“They are just my regulars…” you admit bashfully in a hushed tone and Eddie’s husky groan declares that he really likes that answer.

“Need you so bad,” His fingers hastily hook around the thin elastic of your waistband, “Can I?” Even when he is too horny to think straight, he remains a gentleman.

Feeling just as needy, you nod, and without a beat Eddie is yanking your panties all the wall down your legs, taking them off and shoving them into his jeans pocket.

His large hands catch behind your knees, hoisting your legs up so they sit comfortably on his shoulders. He wastes no time in bringing his mouth to your mound, his tongue frantic as he laps at your soaked core, “Mmm so fucking sweet.” He mutters, his voice dripping with possessiveness. Each caressing touch of his tongue driving you insane as you wrestle to keep yourself quiet.

Your whimpers send Eddie spiralling, awakening something primal within him. He wanted to watch you whither and crumble beneath his touch- he wanted to make you his.

Eddie moans into your dripping cunt, totally self indulging in the very taste of you. Your scent was now his favourite perfume and he wanted it to be seared into his memory forever.

“Oh god…” you pant, your eyes tearful as you look down at Eddie lapping messily between your thighs. You want nothing more than to scream his name at the top of your lungs, but instead you had to settle for silence.

Just when you thought you had mastered the art of biting your tongue, you feel a prodding at your entrance and then a gaping stretch as Eddie pushes two of his fingers deep inside of you, eliciting a grumbly moan from your throat, “You’re so responsive, such a good girl for me.”

The feeling of his long fingers pumping in and out of your sopping wet pussy leaves your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your mouth hanging open when he curls his digits inside of you, massaging that sweet spongy spot.

Eddie has to pry his own lips away from your core, his addiction to you worsening with each passing second, “You’re gushing baby, think you could handle three?”

The noise of your own arousal hits your ears like a symphony and you swear you have never felt pleasure like this before. Even when masturbating, it didn’t compare, “Ed’s.. please..” your voice is a pathetic whine and Eddie smirks at the way your eyes have blown in total submission to him. You’re just as drunk on him as he is on you.

You’re a babbling mess for him and Eddie is contemplating whether or not this is reality or just a really fucking good dream that he’s having, “That’s it, baby, fuck my fingers.” Your hips buck upward to meet each thrust of Eddie’s fingers and you nearly cry out- seconds away from blowing your little operation but thankfully Eddie manages to clutch his hand harshly over your mouth, “Shhh!” He warns with a smile as your eyes glaze over with pure lust. A tightness brews in your lower stomach, a blissful burn that you chase and chase and the next thing you know you’re a shaking mess, your thighs pressed firmly together entrapping Eddie’s hand inside of you as you cum- hard, screaming into Eddie’s palm.

“Clever girl, taking my fingers so well, darling.” Eddie winks down at you, his lips punctured by his two front teeth as he forces his arousal dripping fingers into your mouth, the pads of his fingers exploring the length of your tongue, “You taste so good, don’t you baby?” You moan around his digits, still fleeting from your release.

“I would love to see those perfect lips of yours wrapped around my cock… you wanna do that, sweet girl?” He palms himself over his jeans, so rock solid that any touch to his cock nearly causes him to burst at the seams, “C’mere.” Eddie is gentle as he takes a hold of your elbows, pulling you in for a quick but heated kiss before he sits you propped up on your knees.

“Lookin’ all pretty, just for me.” You are so gone, your head is in the clouds- mind filled with Eddie, Eddie and more Eddie, “Open up, sweetheart.” Eddie’s fingers glide through your hair, clutching the delicate strands at the root in a domineering grip. You shouldn’t like the pain, but you do.

Obediently you listen to Eddie’s deep voice and you open your mouth nice and wide, sticking out your tongue flatly to allow Eddie’s length to sit comfortably on the muscle, “Shit, princess, have you done this before?” He blurts, the question being rhetorical as a rapacious smile appears on his face as he forces his cock further into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag slightly.

“You can take it, right?” He punctuates his question with a thrust, tears swelling in your eyes as you struggle to breathe. Your nostrils flare, desperate for air as Eddie menacingly fucks your throat, “Just as I imagined.” He beams, balls deep in your mouth as you peer up at him, your nose tickled by his small snail trail leading to his belly button.

“Keep looking at me,” He asserted, his lips parted in astonishment at the image of you in front of him- so picture perfect, he wanted to carry it around in his wallet. You hollow your cheeks, drool pooling from your open mouth and dripping shamelessly down your chin. You can feel the wetness of your own saliva soaking the skin of your thighs, “That’s it, princess, eyes on me.”

“Shhh… I know it’s a lot, don’t cry.” His large thumb wipes your tear streaked cheeks, his eyes swirling with adoration and sin, “I’m so close baby, keep goin’ please.” And you do. Anything to have Eddie be pleased with you. To hear him call you a good girl. His good girl.

Your cheeks ache as your face bobs up and down his length, your chin pressing against his sack every time you meet his base. His hand is tangled messily in your hair now, fucking against your own movements.

A pleasure filled wail leaves Eddie’s mouth, his head thrown back in euphoria as his cum shoots far into your mouth, leaking down your oesophagus.

You both stay that way for a moment afterwards, Eddie’s hips rutting gently against your tongue as he allows his high to subside.

“You okay?” He muses, checking your features for any sort of discomfort or sadness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a happiness apparent in your cheerful voice, “Thank you.”

He starts himself up and pulling his jeans securely back around his waist, however it takes him mere seconds before he turns his attention to you. Dropping to his knees he grabs some napkins from your picnic basket, gliding the soft paper tissue over your swollen mouth, “You look so beautiful right now.” He chirps, landing a kiss to your forehead before continuing to clean you up. His touch is tender as he helps you shimmy your denim shorts back onto your hips, his lips littering kisses up your bare legs as he did which causes you to giggle. The moment feels light and airy and you can tell that this is the beginning of something really special.

Without a second to spare, the group approach shore. You are met with raised eyebrows and confusion at your flushed appearance and messy hair.

“So,” Steve interjects with a catty smirk, “What’d we miss?”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #smut #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie the freak munson #fandom #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #strawberry fields forever

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