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covetyou · 7 months

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send in the clown

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pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, dubcon, unprotected P in V, anal play, grinding, titty play (clown motorboating), drug use, hotboxing, the shoes stay on, unconventional use of grease paint word count: 4.1k summary: You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

A/N: Happy Halloweekend, friends! Originally this was going to be some dark evil fic with a murderous clown and some non-con, but basically I can't do that. So here you have washed up actor clown Dieter instead, and he's going to rock your world. You're welcome.

This is not inherently scary, but probably something to avoid if you really hate clowns. It's essentially just clown porn. I'm not sorry.

10 points to anyone who can spot the Oscar.

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Want Dieter at the carnival, but don't want the clowns? Check out Candy by @secretelephanttattoo

Loud noises and knives and fire and bodies bent into strange shapes.

It sounded more like a horror movie down on paper, but the lights and music were dazzling, amazing, turning something terrifying into something beautiful.

You sipped too sweet drinks and munched on overpriced snacks as you watched on with your friends, laughing and gasping with them as the sights before you unfolded. A tiny woman bending herself over backwards, shooting apples off of people's heads with a bow and arrow clenched in her delicate feet. A couple swinging through the air, no wire in sight, fabric fluttering along behind them as they flew. Sword swallowers, fire breathers, acrobats, magicians, clowns.

Clowns.

You were mesmerized by it all, taken in so completely, that when you all stumbled out after several hours and made your way home, you didn't even notice you'd left your scarf until you moved to pull it off as you stepped in your front door. They weren't in town for long, things like this never were, so you turn around and head back to your car, driving back the way you came until the big top comes back into view.

It had been almost an hour since you left and the parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few cars closer to the entrance. The sign was no longer illuminated, but lights shone brightly from inside the gate as a handful of people bustled around, packing up for the night.

You make your way to the ticket booth, spotting a grizzly old man with a toothpick between his teeth closing up, pulling a small box filled with ticket stubs and loose change out from the desk.

"We're closed," he grumbles, not bothering to look at you as he turns the key, locking the booth, and stomps away.

"I know," you shout, feet squelching in a wet patch of grass as you stumble after him. "I lost something, left it here. Do you have a lost and found?"

He stops, eyes you up, then sends you inside, directing you to an open sided tent. You walk in semi-darkness, listening out for the shouts and jokes of the cast and crew ending their day.

Two people sit there, feet up on a box and cards in hand. One has a threadbare sweater thrown on over a skimpy lyrca outfit adorned in sequins, the other looks like he could have been in the audience if it wasn't for the peak of tattoos from the top of his hoodie and across his hands.

They don't notice you standing there, so you clear your throat. Sequins is just about to play a card, but halts mid way through the movement and looks up, raising his painted on eyebrows at you.

"We're closed," Tattoos repeats, not bothering to turn to look your way.

"I lost a scarf. Was told to come here," you explain. You just want your scarf back.

Sequins slaps the card down on the box then sits back, eyeing you up and down just as the grizzled old man did, crossing his toned arms over his chest. "What's it look like?"

"Woolen, red and brown kind of checks. It's pretty big, almost like a blanket?"

Tattoos scoffs, finally turning to look at you. "Oh yeah, that one. Bravo the Clown took it. No one ever comes back for shit they lose at the circus, toots. If you want it back you're gonna have to go ask him."

"Okay, and where can I find this Bravo the Clown."

They send you off to a trailer on the other side of the camp. You hear their laughter as you turn your back and walk away, squelching back through patches of wet grass that hadn't been boarded over.

The trailer is worn and old, a colorful tarp covering the front window and stapled into the ground. "Bravo" is scrawled on the door in sharpie, scribbles of other color around it so it looks like the name has exploded from the door. There's a faint light from inside, and you can hear music playing, but there's no answer when you knock.

You try the handle, the door opening a crack before jamming. You tug harder, and the door swings open, nearly knocking you down onto the wet ground.

Smoke billows out. You almost think there's a fire when you smell something earthy and herbal. Definitely not a fire.

You call out over the music, a repetitive carnival jingle, and when there's no response, you climb up the few steps and step foot into the trailer of Bravo the Clown.

It's dark inside, the smoke barely cleared and the tarp masking any light from outside in a red haze. The herbal stench in the air is thicker inside, covering the stale musky smell of sweat and dust.

When your eyes adjust to the dark through the haze of smoke, you see the place is a mess. Wigs of all shapes and colors are thrown haphazardly onto a crooked shelf on the wall, something shiny hidden behind a puff of rainbows. Shoes litter the walkway, and clothes and costume pieces are strewn over a bench seat. There's a patch where it looks like someone has been sitting, and next to it, your scarf, screwed tight into a messy ball and pushed down into the rest of the clothing.

You approach, going to grab your scarf and leave, when you're distracted by a long mirror sitting to one side, a worn chair in front of it. There's a vanity where brushes and pallettes are thrown, pots of grease paint left open and discarded.

You drag your fingers across the worn wooden vanity. Picking up one pot of paint - a vibrant white - you are moments from swiping your finger across the pristine surface when a gruff voice startles you.

"What the fuck?!"

You spin, paint falling from your hand and clattering to the ground. Stood there is a half man, half clown, joint perched between his lips, makeup smudged over his face. His hair is sweaty, sticking up at all angles, wig nowhere to be seen. You cast your eyes down him. An oversized striped shirt is pulled open, graying undershirt beneath on show, sweat stains at the armpits and a wet patch on the hem. His red pants are unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, his suspenders unclipped at the front and hanging down low behind him. Large shoes jut out from the bottoms, bulbous and curving slightly upward.

"What the fuck are you doin' in here," he says from around the joint, throwing his hands up in the air.

You stumble over your words, stuttering a few times before you can spit it out. He looks at you like you're stupid, like you're the one with paint smeared over your face.

"I- I lost my scarf. They said you had it, I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Do you think breaking and entering is okay because I'm a fuckin' clown," he yells, pulling the door closed and slamming it hard when it gets jammed again.

He stalks toward you, blowing a puff of smoke into your face, making your eyes water, before he flops down into the worn chair in front of the vanity. It creaks as he stretches back, the tip of one of his too big shoes running up your leg.

"Do you think stealing is okay because you're a clown?" you retort, hands on your hips, shaking your head in disbelief. You never pictured your evening ending in an argument with a half-dressed clown.

More smoke puffs from his mouth as he laughs at you, face contorting strangely as he smiles with a down turned red mouth smeared across his own.

"What're you going to give me," he says, pulling his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile on the bench.

"What?"

He takes another long drag on his joint, and lets the smoke billow from his lungs before he sits back and replies. "For the scarf. What's it worth to you."

You watch his hand stroke down his belly, past the wet patch on his t-shirt and down to the front of his pants. He adjusts himself, rolling his hips as he palms his cock through the fabric.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe it's the smoke going to your head, the haze of the room making you feel stuffy and floaty, clouding your judgement. Or maybe you've always had a fucking thing for clowns, you flithy b-

"Anything," you say, before you can stop yourself. He laughs, throwing his head back as he flicks ash onto the floor.

"Then take that coat off and come here. Show me them pretty tits."

You unbutton your coat, throwing it onto the bench with your scarf. You look down, thick sweater obstructing any view he'd have of your chest, and decide to yank that off too, pulling it over your head and discarding it with your coat. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoke and the sweaty smell of Bravo the Clown, before you pull down your tank top and bra, pushing your tits out of their cups and exposing them to the cold air.

"Can I have my scarf back now?"

"No! I want a closer look," he pats his lap, visible tent now forming in his red pants. "Come sit down on Bravo the Clowns lap, sugar tits," he says with husky laugh.

You shuffle forward trying not to trip over his shoes as you wonder how you'll perch on his lap with his knees spread so wide. You don't have long to think when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you onto him, your knees straddling either side of his thighs on the chair. It creaks and groans, and you shift on him, terrified the old chair is going to collapse with the weight of you.

He takes a final long drag from his joint, before snuffing it on the vanity and blowing the rest of the smoke into your face. You cough and splutter, blinking back watering eyes, when two large hands come up and grab your tits, massaging them as your chest heaves.

"Nice."

You blink again and look down to see him smiling at your tits, nodding as he massages them. He squeezes them together, watching as the skin squishes and puckers under his fingers. His hands are rough, fingernails painted with chipped polish that glitters in the dim lighting of his trailer. The grimace painted onto his face a stark contrast to the man underneath having the time of his life.

He's entranced, looking at your tits as he squeezes them. Painted fingertips come and pinch your nipples, pulling at them and making you gasp. Your back arches as he tugs, jiggling both as he pinches and laughing as they ripple with the movement. Your hips shift forward, nudging the hardness in his pants, and you fight to still yourself and not grind against him.

Before you know it, he's mashing your tits together again and shoving his face between them, rubbing the scruff of his jaw across your delicate skin, smearing paint all over your chest. He breathes in, and you feel him start to nip and suckle at your flesh as he rubs from side to side, burying his face in you as you push your hips down hard onto his cock.

As quick as he started, he flops back with a sigh, letting your tits fall heavy from his grasp. He smiles serenely as he looks at his handiwork, white and red and blue smeared into a mess of lavender across your tits.

"Think you liked that as much as I did," he taunts, gesturing to where your crotch sits flush against his stiff cock. "Shame you're in so many fuckin' layers." He runs a hand up your thigh, pinging the thickness of your tights against your leg before fingers play with the edge of your skirt where it's bunched around your thighs. He tugs it higher, pulling it to your waist.

He slides his hands back down, thumbs tracing down the front of your tights, teasing the apex of your thighs. One hand holds you there, stopping you from rocking into him again, whilst the other slides between you, rubbing broadly over your damp, covered crotch.

You close your eyes, letting him massage your pussy with his large hand, the sensation muted by so many layers. You rock into his palm as you float along on his lap, lost in his heavy breathing and the monotonous music still jingling along in the background.

He starts muttering, playing with the waistband of your tights, looking for a better way in, a way to get to your cunt that means you don't have to get off his lap. Your eyes snap open, you watch as he shrugs, a wicked smile pulling smeared makeup across his face. He pulls at your tights, gripping in both hands, tearing the fabric and exposing your inner thighs and panties to him. You can't help but moan as you feel his hand find your bare skin, and push against the wet front of your panties.

He lets out a low whistle, he'd barely touched you and you're dripping, grinding against his hand. "I can do one better than my hand," he says, waggling his eyebrows and looking down to his crotch. He's fully hard now, tent more impressive than the big tops outside.

Before he can say another word, you're reaching for his pants, pulling the zipper down and fishing out his rock hard length. He pulls both his arms back holding them up in mock surrender.

"Woah, woah!" he laughs.

You start to stroke his cock, pumping up and down, drawing the precum dripping from his tip over your palm and down his length with each stroke. He's watching you as you play with him, teasing his tip, reaching down into his red pants with your other hand to stroke his balls. They're heavy in your hand and sticky with sweat, but you squeeze them as you jerk him, making him groan, throw his head back and grip the arms of his chair.

Your pussy is cold without his hand, neglected. You don't want to let go of the weight of him, so you rub his tip over the front of your soaked panties, dragging it over your clit and applying pressure as you circle it with his head. You need more, more friction, so you hold him against you, rocking your hips against one side of him as your palm holds him to you in the other.

"Oh, hell yeah. Are you gonna come just from grinding on me?!" he says in disbelief, listening to your desperate moans as you jerk him against your pussy.

"No," you gasp, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face over the layer of greasy paint. The look of him alone is almost sending you stratospheric - the hair, the paint, the sweat - but the friction against your pussy isn't enough. "I want to put it in me."

He looks like he's won the lottery, wide eyes and thrilled face covered in paint nodding back at you, gesturing down to his dick as if to say help yourself.

You yank your panties to the side as you rock your hips into his cock, still holding him tight to you. Your slick pussy glides up and down his length, his head rubbing directly over your clit with each cant of your hips. You're moaning, wiggling on him as he watches straight down at his cock gliding against your bare cunt.

"Do you have a...?" you say, looking around the room for anywhere where he might stash a condom.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "If you want it, you gotta take it like this."

You don't even consider any other option, you simply plunge your two middle fingers deep inside you, gathering your slick before smearing it around yourself and down the other side of Bravo the Clown's cock. You raise up on your knees, the chair creaking again as you move, and tease him against your entrance before taking him inside you.

"Oh, Bravo," you moan as you sink down onto his cock.

"Thank you, I'm here 'til Tuesday," he jokes, miming a bow from where he's seated. You bet he uses that on everyone. You soon wipe the smug grin off his face when you lift up and slam back down onto him, moaning his name once again before you begin fucking yourself on him in earnest. "Fuck."

"Dieter," he whines as you bounce on him, chasing a high that seems so out of reach with the high already muffling your head, "Name's Dieter."

"Dieter," you groan, bottoming out and groaning as you rock your hips over him, his cock seated deep in you.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," he grunts, clown shoes planted flat on the floor giving him leverage to pound up into you as you meet his every thrust. The chair is creaking, the trailer shaking, your lavender colored tits bouncing with each pound. His glazed over eyes watch them bounce in front of his face, a frown knitting his brows together and creasing the paint slathered on his skin as he tries to focus on your jiggling breasts. You think you see him go cross eyed as he tries to look at both of your nipples at once.

You're about to reach your hand down, circle your clit and bring yourself over the edge when arms wrap around you pulling you toward him, face falling into his neck. You can smell him more strongly here, the smell of sweat and weed clinging to him like a second skin. He holds onto your ass as he pounds up into you, pulling your cheeks apart. From this angle you can feel the grind of his hair against your clit with every thrust, and you muffle your moan into his neck.

"Ohhhhh."

"Gonna have to give me more than that, ain't been long since I last came," he huffs into your ear as he pulls you apart. You can feel the slick smear of grease paint on the side of your face.

There's another loud rip, your tights being torn again, this time from behind to expose more of your ass. He slows down the roll of his hips into yours as he pulls you deeper, and deeper, letting you grind down onto him even easier, the rub of him against your clit almost perfect now. The feel of his throbbing cock deep in your pussy, rough hands pulling your ass open and the scratch of his pubic hair on your clit feel so good, but you can't quite get there, whatever end you're trying to reach chased away by the fuzz in your head.

You whine from his neck, shifting your hips, trying to see if another spot would work better. Bravo - Dieter catches on and you hear his voice rumble from his chest as you rock on his lap.

"What's your favorite color?"

Now hardly seems like the time to get to know each other, but you humor him. "Blue," you breathe, rubbing your nose against his cheek, the smell of grease paint strong.

"Blue it is."

One arm lets go of you and you hear something on the vanity. You keep rocking your hips, still so close but not close enough. He brings his hand back and you gasp at a foreign sensation between your cheeks.

It's thick and slick, swiping smoothly across your asshole. You moan and gasp against his face, halting your movements and lifting off him a fraction. He laughs, swiping his slicked finger back and forth over your ass, circling the tight ring before dipping a fingertip in just as he pulls you back down flush onto his cock.

It's intense, and you moan so loud Tattoos and Sequins can probably hear you.

"And that's improv," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again.

"Fuck, more," you beg, as he slips more of his fingertip into your ass, fucking you hard now as you grip his neck and bring your face in line with his.

He laughs at you, panting with the effort of fucking you. "Oh you're freaky, I like it."

"Watch who you're calling a freak, clown." Your grip his neck, holding on for dear life, unphased by the spread of his face paint onto your own skin.

Both arms are wrapped around you, one feeling at your entrance where he pounds into you, creamy slick coating his fingers with each thrust, the other between your cheeks, finger hooked into your tight hole. His finger tugs at you with each bounce onto his cock, stretching you and making you feel fuller than you are. You tilt your hips again, clit colliding with his thick hair, gridning against you, and you see stars glitter around your vision. They're so close now, the haze in your brain diffusing the light as it draws closer and closer.

"Hnnnng, I'm so close," you groan, rubbing your nose against his.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you pull his mouth onto yours. You kiss him, moaning and grinding against his lap, his tongue flicking against the seam of your lips just as the stars align and burst in your vision.

You come with a deep groan into his mouth, clenching tight around his cock as he frantically pounds up into you, hips stuttering as sweat drips down his face. You feel him start to twitch and then his cock is slipping from you, the remnants of your own orgasm fading as his cock slides against the outside of your cunt and spurts thick ropes of cum up against his belly, catching the already damp hem of his t-shirt.

You sit, faces together, panting for a moment, kissing him again just before he slides his finger from your ass, wiping the slick onto your exposed skin. When he looks down at his spent cock, he groans and huffs.

"Not again. I like this shirt."

He tuts at himself, flopping his arms down and looking around for something to tidy up with. He gives up, instead grabbing a tin from the vanity, popping it open, and starts to roll another joint on his chest.

You take that moment to climb off him, covering your pussy with the scrap of fabric of your panties, tugging your skirt down and your tank top up to cover as much of you as you can. The paint on your chest will stain, but you'll think about that later.

You throw your coat back on, not bothering with your sweater or the mess on your face, when Dieter addresses you again.

"Don't forget your scarf."

You roll your eyes, casting an exasperated look at him only to see him looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You take your scarf, unbunching it and immediately sticking your hand in something wet and sticky. Even in the darkness, you can tell it's almost definitely cum. You look over to Dieter, disgusted look on your face as he shrugs his shoulders.

"If I'd known you'd come here begging for some of this," he gestures down his slouched body, "I never would've done that sweet cheeks. That one's on you."

"You're an ass."

"I'm not an ass, I'm the one and only Bravo the Clown." He spreads his arms wide, looking obscene with his flaccid cock hanging out of his bright red pants, belly covered in cum and face paint smeared all over his face. He places the unlit joint between his lips and you walk past him, pushing open the door to his trailer and stepping outside into the clear air. You take a deep breath, head already feeling clearer when you turn back, a question on your lips.

He's stood at the door of his trailer, tucking his cock back in, looking even crazier now that your head is clearer.

"The music?" you ask. It'd been playing this whole time, the same tune over and over.

"It's called method acting, sweet cheeks," he says with a wink, lighting his new joint and tilting his head back to expel a plume of smoke into the night sky.

You laugh, you can't help it, the man is a caricature even of himself, but there's something so intoxicating about it.

"Goodnight, Dieter."

You walk back to your car to the tinkling of fairground music and Bravo the Clown's raspy laughter.

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nicole-alt-delete · 1 year

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Part 2 of Black Bandana!

Just as Robin is about to open the door and return to the hovel she and Steve consider a job, the door bursts open in front of her and Eddie Munson blazes past. She barely has time to process his greeting, let alone how red he looks.

"What was that about?" She questions, just briefly looking back at him as she makes her way to the counter, only to find Steve standing there looking shell shocked.

And quite possibly redder than Eddie was.

Robin might not be able to figure out what's going on in the Munson brain, but one look at Steve has her dropping their lunch on the counter in a hurry as her eyebrows shoot up and she leans in to whisper dramatically.

"Did something happen? You didn't tell him-?"

Despite still looking beyond flustered, Steve manages to snap out of it just so he can push her shoulder. "What? God, no- Rob, are you kidding- no, no.... He just uh. I.... I'm not sure what just happened, actually."

He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through that signature hair of his, and as Robin rolls her eyes and rounds the counter he's already got his hands on his hips as he enters his 'thinking mode'.

She takes a seat on another of the counters and reaches for her food, eager to find out just want transpired while she was out.

"Okay then dingus, you know the drill- from the top,"

Steve does a little head shake and starts pacing, taking a moment to go through it in his head, trying to figure out where exactly the top of the situation was. After a few moments of scrunched eyebrows and more head shaking, he finally looks around the store, making sure it's empty again.

"Okay, well... I guess... I mean I guess Eddie came out to me?"

Robin throws her hands up, the fries she was about to shove into her mouth forgotten in her excitement.

"What?! Well that's- that's perfect then right? I mean I told you so, first of all, but then. What's with all the...?" as she gestures to him, pointing out how tense and confused he looks.

Steve rolls his eyes, "No Robs, it's not perfect- it was a shitshow! It was totally an accident, it was like I forced him to say it- and he looked so terrified, I really didn't know those eyes of his could get any bigger. Someone came into the store and he ran away before I could even respond, I don't think he thinks..."

Another sigh as his voice drops a little to mumble, "He probably thinks I'm gonna punch him or some stupid shit,"

Robin frowns. "An accident... he came out to you on accident." Nodding a little like she gets it. She immediately shakes her head and squints, definitely not getting it at all.

"How did that happen, exactly?"

Steve leans against the opposite counter, the red returning to his face as he crosses his arms. "I guess... you know that bandana he always carries?"

She nods, "The one you stole to get a reaction from him, yeah. I assume he came to get it back like you wanted- so what went wrong?"

"Well- that's just it- you know how I had it in my pocket this morning? Just like he always does? I guess when he came in he saw, and he absolutely freaked the hell out. Jumped over the counter and nearly gave me a heart attack over it,"

Robin laughs, “Over the bandana?”

“Because it was in my pocket,”

She stares at him blankly.

"Because.... it was in your pocket."

He nods.

They blink at each other in silence for a moment, before finally Robin pulls her head back and makes this confused little sneer, setting aside her lunch altogether.

"What the fuck?"

Steve throws his arms up in exasperation, "I know! He freaked out and started talking about how it was some 'symbol' or something and then when I asked what it symbolized he said- he said it means he's gay. Which, okay, cool! We knew that Robs- but now what?!"

He sighs again and slinks down the side of the counter until he hits the floor. Robin doesn't even wait until his butt lands before she's on the ground with him, cross legged and resting her head in her hands.

"Okay, well... first off, forget the bandana thing. Your local lesbian's never heard of it so it can't really be that big of a deal, right? And what, so you wore it like that too. Not technically wrong..."

He rolls his eyes, "Eddie doesn't know-"

"So tell him, dingus! Like I've been telling you to! But no, Harrington has to 'put the moves on him' instead of just using his big boy words,"

She huffs softly and punches him in the shoulder lovingly, which Steve whines about.

"Ow, Robs- okay, I get it, I get it- he's not going to want to talk to me though,"

"Doesn't matter, if you don't do it then I'm making you do the closing clean for the next week, you hear me?"

Steve groans even louder this time, putting his head in his hands before running them through his hair, the classic Steve Reset Button(tm).

He nods, "Alright I'll go. You're worse than Dustin sometimes, you know that?"

She smirks and stands up, offering him a hand and yanking him back up too. "If Dustin was the one helping you with this you would have killed him by now, so we both know that's not true,"

Eddie jumped back in his van and sped back home just as fast as he legally could. Actually- that was a lie, he was definitely speeding. By a lot.

He had to get as far as he possibly could from Steve Harrington, and he had to do it yesterday.

After screeching into the trailer park and turning the ignition off as fast as humanly possible, he bolted inside and ran to his room, debating just how many things he really *needed* if he were to run away on the spot.

He’s seen what happens to gay kids in Hawkins, knows it’ll only be worse for him. The last thing he needed was to be both the falsely accused murderer AND the faggot. Not to mention the heartbreak of having Steve be the start of it…

Part of Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t. He really does try to believe it. But his instincts take over.

He grabs an old duffel bag and starts scrambling to put clothes in it, not bothering to check whether they're clean or dirty, just moving on anxious, paranoid instinct.

Thoughts race through his head about what Wayne will say, and how far away he should be before he calls. His heart aches at the idea of leaving behind Hellfire and his band, but he doesn't think he could stand to let either of them see him after Steve finds him and throws the first punch, or whether the kids would even care once he inevitably told them too.

He starts a pile at the foot of his bed, debating how much he can fit in the van, planning to leave during the night, figuring he has at least enough for gas to the next major city. He gets so caught up in his silly little escape plan that he doesn't realize how long it's actually taking him to "pack".

There's a knock on the door and Eddie nearly has a heart attack, jumping from the sound and immediately kicking his dresser, all thoughts completely gone from his head as he curses at the pain.

"Son of a FUCKING bitch, shitting stick- mother fucker- I'll be there in a damn second!" he huffs as there's a second, more timid knock.

Without thinking about any of the things he had just a moment ago been panicking over, he limps to the door and swings it open, ready to berate whoever bothered him, only to stop dead when he sees...

Steve. Of course it's Steve. He's not even taken off his stupid work vest yet and the little bottlecap button Eddie had made him last week was staring right at him from his chest.

Steve waves shyly at Eddie and starts to say something, but Eddie can't hear it, already backing away and starting to blabber, "Listen man- I was- I was joking earlier! I wouldn't- there's nothing to- you really don't have to hurt me or anything, I swear-"

Steve stays on the porch, looking a little stunned. No, not stunned... hurt. Or- maybe worried? He looks kind of like if you kicked a puppy and then threw it in the pool, except sadder.

Not actually, probably, but as far as Eddie's concerned, the look on Steve's face hurts him about a hundred times worse than a sad puppy could.

Steve puts a hand on the back of his neck, the other held up to show he means no harm, sighing, "I'm not gonna hurt you Eds, I'd never... I just wanted to talk, I um. I thought..."

He stammers for a second, unsure what else to say, caught in between thoughts and clearly unprepared for how Eddie had reacted.

Eddie can't help but relax a little. No matter how worried he was, being around Steve always made him relax, but seeing him like this? How was he supposed to be scared anymore?

Eddie groans a little, "Just- get in here Harrington, you're killing me- if there's some mob on their way you better get your shit together before they get here,"

Eek, here it is, part 2! Sorry for making y'all wait, I am famously bad at working on things so thank you all for your patience 🙏 There WILL absolutely be a part 3, (maybe a part 4 if I want to get spicy), so I'll try to tag as many people for that one as well. And thank you all so so much for your sweet comments! I've been in such an art block lately, so writing something for a change and getting all this positive feedback is so encouraging 💜

Tag list! I tried to get everyone, but tumblr was weird with some of them, so I hope you're seeing this if you asked <3

@goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @plutoshelm @jestyzesty @bisexualdisastersworld @sofadofax @bornonthesavage @awkwardgravity1 @trikigirl271 @thegayestpersonever @precursprandthedragon@mightbeasleep

@cherixxx69 @baron-zemo-trash @ilikechocolatemilkh @justforthedead89 @alienace @4nemo1egend @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @breealtair @shinekocreator @sleepdeprivedflower @justanothergirlwithobsessions

@bxlthazar @thegingervulcan @questionablequeeries @my2amgaythoughts @doilooklikebees @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @luthienstormblessed @joruni @drinkingforthesociallyanxious @largechaos @dangdirtydemons @faery-god

@satan-is-obsessed @vi-an-te @beckkthewreck @kori-dearest @the-s-is-silent @hellomynameismoo @commonxsenss @blues-tunes @lizard-dyk3 @the-long-gone-souls @paddington22017 @imeverycliche @tungledotfuck @inmoonywetrust @dreammetheworld08 @dazedandinked @escapingthereality

#Nico's writing #Ficlet #Steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #st4 #stranger things fic #steddie fic #thank you to my bestie val for beta reading this one #cw f slur #y'know the standard 80s homophobia #it's only imagined though #nothing actually happens to them <3 #also fuck it im posting this at 3am #enjoy the breakfast y'all

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