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yournowheregirl · 1 year

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Let it be known that Eddie Munson hates big box stores. They represent everything he’s against: a big piece of capitalist bullshit that underpays its workers and pump out unnecessary products like it’s nothing.

And yet, he finds himself in a Target on a random Sunday evening.

He’s not quite sure how he got roped into doing Chrissy’s shopping for her, something about ‘owing her a favor’ and ‘making up for all the times she had take out the garbage when it was his turn to do so’ or whatever that means. But here he is anyway, pushing a bright red shopping cart in search of every item on her list so she can go on her date with that girl from the concert in peace. The things you do for friends.

Eddie finds the first few items quite easily - they’re on sale and easy to spot with the big display in the middle of the aisle - but once he gets to the fourth item on her list: Fresh Cotton scented candle, he starts to panic just a little.

Why are there so many fucking candles?

He rubs a hand over his face in attempt to make himself focus on the rows and rows of glass jars in front of him, taking a deep breath before he starts looking for the Fresh Cotton scented candle Chrissy wants. Only to find out, there aren’t any.

There is Pure Linen and Natural Cotton and even one that’s called Laundry Day - whatever the fuck that’s supposed to smell like - but there is not one candle that says Fresh Cotton.

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He knows Chrissy like the back of his hand, he’s smelled that candle practically every day, he can totally figure out which candle she wants.

Eddie grabs the first candle that’s vaguely named after a fabric and smells it, but that one isn’t the one he’s looking for. He tries another (closer, but not quite the same) and another (doesn’t even smell like cotton in the slightest), until he’s smelled practically every cotton-linen-laundry candle in the store and his nose has become immune to any smell whatsoever.

Christ, he really is a terrible best friend if he can’t even get her shopping list right.

Something red flashes by in the corner of his eye and Eddie immediately perks up and chases after it. He stops himself from screaming in victory when he sees that he was right and that there is in fact a Target employee in a red polo walking in the main aisle.

“Excuse me!” Eddie calls out. “Excuse me! Can you help me?”

The guy in the red polo turns around and whoa- Eddie didn’t know that they were hiring actual models to work at Target. He’s pretty sure he’s never met a big box store employee that looks this good - with floppy golden brown hair and a chest that fills out that red Target polo really nicely.

“Uh yes?”

“Great!” Eddie gestures the Target guy to follow him back to the candle aisle and grabs the two candles that he thinks are the closest to what Chrissy wants. “Which one of these is Fresh Cotton?”

Target guy frowns and takes the candles from Eddie’s hands, his hazel eyes narrowing as he reads the labels. “Neither? This one is Clean Cotton and the other one is Crisp Cotton.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But Target used to sell Fresh Cotton, I think, at least that’s what my friend’s shopping list says.” Eddie rambles. “So I guess my question is which one used to be Fresh Cotton and got renamed or whatever.”

“Huh.” Target guy shrugs and takes the lid off both the candles, carefully sniffing each of them before finally handing Clean Cotton back to Eddie. “This one smells the most cotton-y to me, so I’d go with this one, dude.”

Eddie feels his eyes light up with relief as he clutches the candle to his chest. “Christ, that’s a relief. Thank you...” He trails off, searching Target guy’s polo for a name tag, only to come up empty.

“Steve.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Eddie beams. He puts the candle into his shopping cart and rummages through the pocket of his leather jacket until he finds Chrissy’s shopping list. Scented candle? Check. “Look, I gotta go. I have at least twenty other things on this list and- hey!”

In one quick motion, Steve has grabbed the shopping list from Eddie’s hands, scanning the items on the list and the items in the cart with precision.

“Dude. Your friend asked for shampoo and conditioner. You bought them that two-in-one crap.” Steve scoffs.

“Is that... bad? Seems to me like it gets the job done faster.” Eddie shrugs.

“Is that bad, he asks. If your friend cares just a little bit about their hair, they’d be devastated.” Steve chuckles. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Before Eddie can even protest, Steve has taken his shopping cart from under his nose and gestures for Eddie to follow him. Huh, personal shoppers must be a new thing at Target. He just hopes that Steve doesn’t charge him a surprise hundred dollar fee at the end of the shopping trip.

Turns out, a personal shopper like Steve comes in handy for a Target virgin like Eddie. Steve (obviously) knows the store like the back of his hand and seems to know a lot about the products they sell as well - from the difference between normal and purple shampoo for blonde hair to the package of colored notebooks that Chrissy needs for the next semester. His knowledge is impressive and Eddie can’t help but stare and listen to every word that rolls of Target Guy Steve’s tongue.

(And if he lets a flirty remark or two slip just to see a twinkle in Steve’s eyes in between the shop talk, that’s nobody’s business but his own)

He is a bit confused when Steve starts loading things into the cart that aren’t on Chrissy’s lists, though. Things like highlighters and staples and various arts and crafts supplies.

“What are those?” Eddie asks.

“Hmm?” Steve hums, following Eddie’s gaze to where it’s looking at the small pots of paint in his hands “Oh. Those are for me.”

“You can do that?”

“Uh yeah? That’s the point of a store?”

“Right.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I mean, duh. Just didn’t know you were allowed to shop on company time.”

“Right...” Steve blinks at him in response.

They go through the rest of the list fairly quickly, much to Eddie’s disappointment. When he first set foot inside the store, he wanted to leave as fast as he could, but now that he’s got Steve around, he doesn’t really want this shopping trip to end.

At least not without Steve’s number saved in his phone.

There are only a few people in line at the register when they arrive and Steve immediately starts putting his things on the checkout belt. As he waits, Eddie lets his eyes linger at Steve’s toned back, at the way the red fabric stretches over the muscles there, at the way those jeans look practically painted on.

Yeah, he really has to get that number before he gets out of here.

“You probably get employee discount, right? Must be nice.” Eddie grins as he starts putting his stuff on the checkout belt.

Steve cocks his head to the side. “No?”

Christ, not giving your employees a discount in your own store is a new low, even for a big company like Target. “Oh sorry, man. That sucks.”

“I mean, I have my teacher’s discount.” Steve shrugs.

Hold up. What?

“Your what?”

“My teacher’s discount?” Steve repeats. “I’m an elementary school teacher and I get a small discount on stuff I need for my class? Like these art supplies?”

“You- you don’t work here?” Eddie squeaks, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Oh God, did he just drag a random stranger through a store and make him listen to all of his stupid problems with Chrissy’s shopping lists? This is embarrassing, even for him. “Fuck, I thought- I mean with the polo and- Christ, I’m so sorry.”

But luckily for Eddie, Steve doesn’t seem mad in the slightest. In fact, he just laughs, all bright and clear. “It’s alright, really.”

“But wait, if you don’t work here, why did you help me?” Eddie asks, ignoring the hopeful feeling that starts to bloom in his stomach.

Steve ducks his head for a second, suppressing a grin, before looking back up at Eddie through his eyelashes and fuck, he has no right to look this hot in a freaking polo shirt.

“Because I thought you were cute.”

A bright Target red blush settles over Eddie’s cheeks and there’s nowhere to hide, not even behind his hair because his dumb self from two hours earlier decided to put it up in a high bun.

“Plus, you looked like you were this close to having a panic attack in the middle of the candle aisle.” Steve shrugs. “I’ve been there, and trust me, it’s not a good look.”

The honesty in his voice makes Eddie cackle so loud that even the cashier turns her head to see what all the commotion is about.

“You’re ridiculous.” Eddie says when his laughter dies down.

“Maybe.” Steve says, his eyes already twinkling with amusement. “But did it work?”

Eddie really can’t say no to that.

(He leaves Target that night with two shopping bags filled with Chrissy’s things and a date with Steve the next weekend.)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #i have never set foot inside a target so excuse my europeaness for any mistakes #they're idiot4idiot your honor #alice's writing adventures

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rainylana · 1 year

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“Hush.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: you find porn under eddie’s bed.

warnings: smut, insecure reader, innocent reader, porno magazine, blowjob, daddy kink towards the end, spanking, fingering, fluff, edging, dirty talk, decrophylia, the causal dominance in this will kill you. i’m in love with this one omg i got so horny writing it help. please let me know what you think!!

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to snoop through his stuff, but you knew damn well he looked through yours every chance he got. He was in the shower, and you were freely looking through his drawers, not looking for anything particular. You were just bored. He’d asked if you wanted to join him, and you had just blushed deeply, making him laugh before he tugged off his shirt.

He really needed to deep clean his room, but you knew he wouldn’t. He hated cleaning, hated organizing. Every surface was covered in dust and spider webs decorated the corners. Trash littered the dressers with old pop bottles. You knew he wouldn’t do it, so you figured you’d have to.

Sighing, you started picking up some of his clothes off the floor to put in his dingy hamper, your bare feet sinking into the carpet with every step. You could hear him humming in the shower, his voice echoing off the shower walls. You were able to throw away most of his trash and make his bed, even though you were going to mess it up soon, anyways. You dusted a few tables and even lite a candle. There were a few boxes on the floor that you scooted off to the side. After having nowhere to put them, you pushed them to the bed.

A magazine was peaking out underneath his mattress, and you curiously took it in your hands, eyes widening at the cover. Your face blushed deeply, quickly looking to make sure Eddie hadn’t suddenly appeared back in the room. There was a woman on the cover, a very attractive one that immediately made you self conscious. You started flipping through it, lips parting in shock at the graphic images on the paper.

The first page, a woman tied up. She was being flogged by a man in a mask. The second, another model handcuffed and gagged on a bench. Each page was filled with vile images, yet they made your belly flip flop. Your face burned shamefully. Just as quickly as you had picked it up, you placed it back in its original hiding spot. It wasn’t any of your business.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to force yourself to clean anymore. You sat on the bed, biting your thumbnail anxiously. You suddenly felt very insecure. See, you were a quiet girl. You had friends, but not many. You liked your privacy and alone time. You had many doubts about yourself and Eddie knew it. He tried to help you as best as he could, assure you daily that you were beautiful, his best girl, but you had a talent for letting negative thoughts get the best of you.

“Why the long face?” Eddie announced himself, causing you to jump in your seat. You hadn’t noticed him come out.

“Oh- nothing.” You shook your head, trying to force a smile as you admired his body, nothing but a white towel around his waist. “I cleaned for you.”

“I can see that.” He laughed, opening his closet to find a pair of boxers, dropping his towel to the floor. “If you were that bored, baby, I told ya you could’ve joined me.”

You blushed again, fiddling with your fingers. You were having trouble forgetting the magazine, the women you saw. Of course, you knew they didn’t look like that in real life, but still, the insecurities flooded in. You were new to sex. You and Eddie hadn’t been dating all that long yet, only about six or seven months. Sex was obviously great, but the magazine made you question if he wanted more with you, if he wasn’t satisfied.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie shook the towel against his hair, now clad in black boxers that showed off his prominent bulge.

“Nothing.” You smiled softly, running a hand through your hair. You hated that your eyes started to prickle.

He threw the towel on the floor, watching you questionably. “You look like you’re getting ready to cry.”

“No, I’m fine.” You turned your back, picking at the skin around your fingers. “Just sleepy.”

“You sure?” He asked, coming to sit down beside you. He frowned when your eyes were full of tears. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m okay.” You blinked heavily, waving your hand.

“No, you’re not. You’re crying.” He grabbed your knee, dipping down so he could see your face. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Your face was burning red, a tear slipping down your face as you sniffled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well, I do.” He pushed, tucking your loose hair behind your ear. “I wanna know what’s got you upset. Come on, tell me.”

You whined, keeping your head in the opposite direction so he didn’t see you. When he questioned you like this it wasn’t hard for you to break. “I just- fuck,”

Eddie widened his eyes. It was rare for you to curse. You even criticized when he did it. “Woah, there, holy mary,” He chuckled. “Thought we were supposed to watch our language, huh?”

Your face was beat red and you couldn’t stop thinking about the magazine. “Do you think I’m pretty?” You turned to him, eyes full and bright.

“What?” He said confused.

“You heard me.” You blinked. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I think you’re pretty. You’re beautiful, y/n.”

You pondered with his answer, looking down at your lap. “Well, I don’t think so.”

“That’s stupid.” He answered without a beat, shaking his head. “Don’t think like that. I don’t want you to. You’re beautiful and you know it.”

“But I’m not like them.” You whined, fisting your hands with a cry. “I’m not skinny like those models. My hairs not shiny like theirs, it’s just a big fucking rats nest!”

Your outburst made Eddie recoil, eyes widening in shock at your admittance, but it out the pieces of the puzzle together. “I take it you found my magazine?”

Your face burned as you nodded.

“Baby,” He grabbed your shoulder, turning you toward him. “Look at me. Hey, come on, look at me.” He tried to find your eyes. “I’m sorry you found that. I shouldn’t have it, I know. I promise you I don’t…well, you know, with it anymore. Not since you and I started going out.” He said honestly, wiping away your puffy tears. “But you know those girls in there aren’t actually like that, honey.”

You did, but it didn’t help. “I know.” You tried to look down but he kept your eyes on him.

“And anytime I’ve ever…used it, I’ve only ever thought of you, I promise.” He assured you, grabbing your hands, his hair still damp from his shower. “I’ve always thought of you doing the things in there. Not the other girls. It’s always you.”

You stared at him, looking for any sign of a lie. You didn’t find one. You swallowed awkwardly. “I only looked at a couple pages.”

“What did you see?” He rubbed your knee, scooting closer so your shoulders were pressed together.

“Uh,” You tried to remember, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “A bench.” You stared at the wall. “A girl on a bench being flogged, and one girl with handcuffs over a man’s knee.” Eddie stared at you, making it much more difficult to say such profound words.

“I’m sorry that it upset you.” He frowned.

You shook your head. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have been snooping. I was just trying to clean up, a bit.”

An awkward silence filled the energy between you. Eddie didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to scare you. But you were still curious after what he had said. “You said you think of me.” You turned to him, eyes no longer wet. “Is that true?”

He nodded.

“You picture me instead of those girls?”

He nodded again.

“Is that…what you want to do to me? That turns you on?” You didn’t know where this sudden urge of confidence came from, but it shocked both you and Eddie.

“Yes.” He felt a twitch in his boxers, looking at your lips. “The idea excites me.” He knew he had to be careful with he said. You were like a baby deer, anything could scare you.

You nodded this time, gulping as you looked at his chest. “I see.”

“What are you thinking?” He asked quickly. “Be honest with me.”

You liked it, the idea of him doing that to you, it was just scary. You didn’t know how to do it. It would be in his hands, which you were okay with. “It’s intriguing.” You looked at him through wet lashes. “Just..kind of scary, too. Do you think we could try it?”

He couldn’t help but smirk, making your tummy flop. “I don’t have a bench, baby.”

“Well, not that.” You shook your head quickly. “Not that. But maybe..I could, uh-”

“Take a breath.” He instructed you, lifting his chin. “Don’t rush.”

You did as he said, taking a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth. “You could put me over your knee.” You opened your eyes to look at him, body almost shaking with nerves.

“You want me to spank you?” He rubbed the back of your neck, a look in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. It made your stomach twist together. “That’s what you want?”

You thought you might faint. You felt a throb between your legs that made you tremble. “I want you to do what you want.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“No, no,” He shook his head. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s what you want. You’ve gotta be honest with me, baby. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

It was what you wanted, you just didn’t really know how to ask for it. He knew you were nervous. Your face was on fire and you were picking at your nails. He rubbed your knee comfortingly.

“I want..” You took a breath. “I want to try what was in the magazine.”

“And what is that, exactly?” He got closer to you.

You swallowed hard, looking down to his lips. Oh, how badly you wanted to kiss him. “I want you to- to uh, to spank me.” You struggled to find the words, choppy and fractured they came.

He put his lips on yours in a desperate, hard kiss, one that knocked you back a ways, his nose pressing against your own. You moaned into him, making his cock harden in his jeans. He loved the sweet sounds you made. He scooted closer till he was right beside you, oh so confidently reaching between your thighs to cup your pussy with his palm. You gasped into his lips, parting away, but he connected them back, mixing his tongue with yours and gritting teeth.

He rubbed you over your shorts, warm and wet. You were so needy for him you wanted to cry all over again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into his chest. His other hand was in your hair, tangling it, while the other stayed on your warm cunt. You grinded into his hand, back and forth you moved, whimpering into his mouth.

He did this until you were worked up enough, moaning into his neck, biting into his skin as your orgasm was off by seconds causing before you could crash, he pulled away. “Bad girls don’t get to cum.” He whispered into your ear.

“What?” You pulled back, face flushed and voice high pitched. “What-”

“Going through my things was bad.” He tsked, pulling your hands off from his neck. “You knew better, angel, but you did it anyways. This means I’m not doing my job correctly. You’re falling out of line.”

Your mouth fell open and close, trying to find words. “I don’t-”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” He raised a brow. “You’re going to be punished, you understand?”

Your pussy pounded, heart racing, blood rushing. The thrill of excitement went straight to your core. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeated. “No. You address me as sir during your punishment, got it?” He lifted your chin, raising a brow.

You quickly nodded. “Yes. Oh, I mean- yes, sir.”

He nodded in approval, patting his knee. “Then get over my knee.”

You looked down at his thighs, then back up to him, unsure. You couldn’t move. Nerves paralyzing you. When your breathing got loud, Eddie frowned.

“Hey,” He grabbed your hand. “You alright?”

“Yes.” You nodded quickly. “Sorry- just, nervous, I guess.” You chuckled awkwardly, brushing away your hair.

“Take a breath.” He rubbed your back. “We don’t have to do anything, baby, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Your eyes widened. “No, I- I want to,” You assured, grabbing his wrist. You knew if Eddie got to thinking about it too much, he’d be too worried to continue. You needed to take action.

“I’ve been bad, Eddie.” You said as confidently as you could. “I think I need to be punished.”

His face drew darker, lips curling. “You have.” He agreed. “Think we should take care of it?” He held out his hand for you to take.

You slipped your hand into his, allowing him to pull you over his lap, your torso flush against his lap. Your hair fell over your face, the blood rushing to your skull.

“Comfortable?” He patted your back.

“Yes, sir.” Your words made him smile.

He looked down to your backside, rubbing his hands over your shorts. “I can’t punish you with your shorts on, honey.”

You were sure he could feel you throbbing against his thighs. “Take them off.” You said bashfully.

He chuckled at your meekness, pulling down your shorts to find you bare. He gave your flesh a little love tap, warming you up. “You tell me to stop if you need to, alright? This is new for you, baby, don’t overwhelm yourself.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir, I won’t.”

He warmed your skin, littered with goosebumps, rubbing the fat of your ass with his hands, squeezing and pulling. You had to clamp your mouth shut from moaning, already becoming a mess all over again. You were always so sensitive. Eddie always used it to his advantage.

“I’m going to start.” He announced. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The first smack was light, startling you with a tiny gasp. The second one, still gentle, warming you up. The third was on the opposite cheek, a little harder, but not much. You had to force yourself not to grind yourself on his jeans, your pussy throbbing with such a need.

“Shit,” You cursed, turning into a yelp when he spanked you hard.

“Language,” He said sternly, rubbing the skin he assaulted. “We don’t talk like that, remember? Trying to make you my good little girl again.”

The fourth and fifth spank was harder, enough to draw sounds from you. Six and seven came quick, making you breath heavy, anticipating the next. You were throbbing so hard it was hard to think clearly, a small burn on your backside starting to grow. You moaned when he spanked you again, full handed, lower where the skin met your thigh.

“You’re not supposed to be enjoying this, sweetheart.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “This is a punishment.”

You jumped when his hand dipped between your legs, trailing his fingers through your slit. You let out a loud, desperate moan that made him chuckle. “This really get you going, huh?” He pushed his fingers inside of you, making you squeal, lurching up from his lap.

“Oh, god!” You cried out, being pushed back down by his hand. “God, Eddie,”

“Hush.” He smacked your ass hard, continuing to finger you.

You shoved your hand in your mouth as he quickly finger fucked you, giving you no time to adjust to his fingers. He had his way with you, entering his digits in and out with a loud squelch. You cried into your hand, rocking yourself back and forth into his fingers. He worked you up until you were close to coming, pulling away before you could. “Bad girls don’t get to cum.” He said sternly, landing two harsh smacks on your ass, continuing with your punishment.

The peak of your orgasm faded away quickly and you sobbed, yelping and jumping as his hand came down harder on your skin. It really wasn’t bad. You knew he wasn’t using his full strength, but your sensitivity was making everything more heightened. Your need for him stronger.

“Are you learning anything?” He switched from cheek to cheek, alternating in steady, rhythmic movements.

“Yes!” You sobbed, your belly flip flopping.

“What?”

“I need to be a good girl.” Your orgasm was coming back just as quick just from the spanking itself. You were going to cum right on his lap. “Fuck, Eddie, I’m gonna cum.” You reached down to squeeze his ankle. “Spank me,”

He told you not to, but the idea of you coming just from him spanking you? He was hard as bricks. “Fuck.” He cursed, adjusting his hold on you before bringing his hand down again hard. Your whole body tensed on his lap as he spanked you, but the rhythm of the music that left your mouth told him he was doing a good job. “Fucking cum on my lap.” He husked. “Be my good little girl again.”

One more smack down towards your core sent you over the edge. You let out a wail, a shrill gasp that made him stop immediately, thinking he had hurt you. You convulsed on top of him, weeping and sweating as your body wracked with shakes of overstimulation and excitement.

“Oh, god,” You panted, fisting at his ankle. You were completely fucked out of it. Your vision was blurry and your head pounded, body shaking so hard that you thought you could hear your bones shaking.

“Baby?” You could hear him say. “Are you alright?” He grabbed your arm, trying to lift you so he could see your face. “Come on, honey, talk to me.”

You could feel how hard he was against your side, but your pussy was sore from having his fingers lodged up inside of you, too sensitive, but you wanted him anyways. With shaky limbs you crawled off his lap and sank to floor, looking up to him with a ruined face. “Am I good girl again, daddy?” You blinked through wet lashes.

He quickly fumbled with his belt, already struggling to keep his cool. “Fuck, yeah, you are, honey.”

You sat up to wrap your lips around his cock as soon as it was free. He gasped, leaning back on his elbows as he watched you. Your makeup was all over your face, snotty and slobbering. Your tongue swiped at the sides and the base of his cock, your hands coming up to massage his balls. He jumped, trembled in your grasp as he bucked his hips into your mouth. “Ah- god, good girl,” He praised. “Such a good girl. Took your spanking so well for me, didn’t you?”

You gagged around him as he sat up, grabbing the back of your head as he wracked his fingers through your hair. He thrusted just hips gently into your mouth, letting out a load moan that made your tired pussy flutter to life. “Fuck, fuck,” He chanted, his own orgasm building in his abdomen. “You gonna take my cum down your throat, huh? You gonna do that for daddy? Be my good- ah, oh- god, good little girl?”

He praised you as he came, shooting his load in your mouth with a quick flex of his hips. You gargled around him, your strings of saliva drooling out of your mouth. When you swallowed and let go of his cock, he collapsed on the bed where you joined him.

You both laid side by side. Teary eyes and flushed faces, ruined makeup and his cum leaking down your neck, a drop you had missed. And your ass incredibly sore, but buzzing with a sense of something new and exciting. The both of you are too fucked out to say anything, so you just grabbed his hand.

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson x you

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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months

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eddie in the middle of Steve and reader sandwich

I need that boy to get pampered, loved on, and fucked until he's absolutely seeing stars

he's got big Stevie behind him in his hole and reader under him on his dick and there's so many hands and so many mouths and so much praise and there's just nowhere for him to go because when he pulls back, he's only pushing Steve in deeper and if he leans forward, he's sliding deep into reader and it's so overwhelmingly delicious that his head gets all fuzzy like when he smokes but he's perfectly sober

anon when I tell u this has been living in my mind rent-free for days on end...... have a blurb as a treat

+18 mdni

he's lost in it, you can tell.

Eddie gets this glassy, blissed-out look sometimes during sex- most often spotted when you and Steve team up to give Eddie your collective focus.

as luck, practice, and stamina would have it, you and Steve make a stellar team.

Eddie can't do much more than brace his arms against the mattress, the sharp snap of Steve's hips rocking them both forward as Eddie pants into your mouth.

"f-fuck, Steve, fuck me-" his voice is wrecked, partly from the strain of tamping down his orgasm, partly from the cock that was down his throat earlier.

"what do you think I'm doing," Steve quips, driving his hips forward again, golden torso on display from the little you can see around Eddie's shoulder. Steve catches your gaze and winks, cheekily, even through the haze of flush-pink crawling up his neck (a sure sign of his impending release).

Eddie's forearms frame your head, his nose nudging yours with the close proximity. you can hear every little moan that leaves his kiss-bitten lips, see every minute detail of his facial expressions as they shift and change.

it's why you and Steve make such a good team, when you're like this- Steve relies on you and sound alone to relay Eddie's reactions, and in turn, makes you both feel really good.

maybe, this time, a bit too good; Eddie's making these keening noises like he's been punched- not an unusual occurrence on its own, but his eyes are squeezed shut so tight under his dark brows that it kind of worries you.

"hey-" in a room of slick noises and jagged gasps, your voice is a soft, honeyed thing, and Eddie's eyes pop open- half-lidded but you'll take it- as you slide your hands up his sides to cradle his face. "you okay? want me to tell big mean Stevie to take it easy on you?"

the moment you'd spoken Steve had stilled his movements, loosening his grip on the pale, lithe hips in front of him to stroke a soft palm down Eddie's back instead. he scoffs above you both now at that comment, muttering something about Eddie liking it big and mean.

you ignore Steve for the time being, pretending like it's just you and Eddie, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead to give him some relief from the heat that seemed to roil off all of you. "take a deep breath for me, baby. y'wanna stop?"

Eddie obeys, drawing in a shuddering breath before pressing his sticky forehead to your bare collarbone, shaking his head against you as garbled words spill out- "no, please, no, wanna keep going, gonna be so good for you, please, honey..."

"sounds pretty when he begs," Steve comments, the tautness in his frame and voice betraying his feigned casualness.

you shoot him a look, one hand threaded in Eddie's hair as he muffles his whines into your skin- a look that means play nice or else. Steve heaves a dramatic sigh before leaning to cover Eddie's upper shoulders in kisses.

"c'mon, Eds," he murmurs, teeth snagging behind the shell of Eddie's ear, voice low and coaxing, "gotta show our girl a good time, right?"

you feel the effect Steve has on the dark-haired boy, Eddie's cock buried deep within you kicking up, which makes you moan, which in turn makes Eddie moan and clench around Steve...

there's a moment of stilted resettling; Steve slips a warm hand under your knee to push your leg up and out, giving you all a bit more breathing room, while Eddie pushes his upper half up again on shaky arms.

Steve eases himself forward, tongue poking out in concentration, grinning victorious when this new angle pulls a low groan from Eddie.

you're worried he's going to zone out again, but one of his hands leaves the mattress to snake between your bodies, thumb catching at your aching clit.

it's your turn to close your eyes, a mounting wave of pleasure thrumming between your legs; distantly, you hear Steve chuckle and instruct Eddie to do it again.

he obeys, like he always does- though this time when his thumb circles that bundle of nerves, he sucks your nipple into his mouth in a tandem move that has your back arching off the bed.

"jesus- fuck- fucking... don't stop, Eds, please..."

and in a tone far too smug for someone with a dick up his ass, Eddie releases your breast with a wet pop to tease, "now who's begging?"

#lu’s anons #e.m. thots from lu #s.h. thots from lu #steddie thots from lu #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie x reader #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #+18 mdni #mdni

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kcsplace · 1 year

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Steve gets started attending Community College,but he doesn't tell anyone, embarrassed that he might fail, that they'll tease him, that they'll be embarrassed by him. Nancy is going to go off and change the world, Jonathan's photography talent is gonna get him into art school somewhere, Robin is having colleges trip over themselves to offer her scholarships and Eddie's band is starting to draw crowds that aren't just about "checking out the maybe-possible-kinda-murderer-dude".

Why would any of them want to hang out with a loser like Steve?

Steve, madly desperately and stupidly in love with Eddie even if he hasn’t said anything thinks that means he can't have kids now, but he knows he's good with them. He also knows what its like to go from hero to zero and just how easy it is to be a shit in school and how important it is to change. So he thinks he could be a good guidance counsellor. He thinks he could help those kids out. Kids like Max and Eddie that don’t have all the things he had growing up, kids like himself who didn’t have positive role models, kids like Will and Robin that are a little different.

His father shat all over that dream, told him he'd be shit at it, just like everything else he tried - he can’t even win a championship in four years of trying -, and so he's not paying for it. As a result, sure in his decision, Steve's been working to pay for college (much easier in the 80s admittedly and at CC) but he's burning the candle at both ends, especially working for the credits to transfer as a junior into a four year college.

Eddie finds him asleep in his car outside his latest job, all his textbooks on the seat next to him. He lets himself into the car, wakes Steve up, all the textbooks in his lap, flipping through their pages in the dim illumination provided by the dome light. Steve thinks Eddie's gonna mock him, tell him he's gonna be bad at it, he won’t be able to hack community college let alone a four-year, and even if he could, what school would hire a loser like him to help kids? He’s waiting to hear all about how stupid Steve is to think that just because he kept a couple kids alive, he thinks he can guide them during their most vulnerable times. Steve tries to steer it off, starts blathering out that its nothing, just y'know, Robin tells him all thetime its good for the brain to learn and his dad’s been riding him to grow up and shit and that it was just an available course, but Eddie isn't actually dumb.

He starts dropping off notebooks to Steve's work, new stationery, he likes the feeling that his gifts help Steve get his grades, that Steve's working toward his future with the pens that Eddie gave him. Its stupid little shit but seeing the pens that Eddie gave him shoved behind Steve's ear or him chewing on them while he studies...it gives Eddie the warm and fuzzies OKAY? he doesn't wanna talk about it

Seriously, Robin, he doesn’t wanna talk about spending a quarter of his legally obtained paycheck (fuck you so much, Sheriff) on shit from Ink Spot and he isn’t gonna.

after six months of keeping Steve’s secret, Eddie heads over to the Harrington house for some movies and weed - its not a school night after all - only to see Steve’s textbooks sticking out the trash. He finds a dejected Steve sitting by the pool, and drops them all in his lap. Turns out, after weeks of work and research, Steve had gotten a C on an important essay.

“So you just quit?”

“Why not? I clearly can’t handle it.”

“Y’know, maye you should.”

“’Scuse you?”

“The kids deserve better than some iidiot that just quits the moment shit gets tough.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Or, you could let me help you.”

“You. the guy that took three goes to graduate?”

“Just proves I stick to shit until it’s done. And I’m gonna make sure yu do the same.”

One year, countless study sessions, one immense blowout fight over the Oxford comma, and a loyalty card to the Ink Spot later, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep with an envelope that he thrusts at Eddie. Tearing into the envelope like a gremlin, Eddie stares at the words in front of him.

“Well????!”

“Dear Mister Harrington, we are delighted to inform hmpffff-”

Eddie might not have been prepared for Steve to kiss him, but he got on board real quick. Literally. Dropping the letter and its promise of a place at Purdue for Steve to transfer to complete his degree, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, hopped and wrapped his legs around the man’s hips.

“Never made out with a college boy, before.”

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #kinda #Caseys steddie fics

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munson-blurbs · 1 month

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary.

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.”

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it.

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life.

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers.

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later.

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head.

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled.

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching.

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right.

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm.

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information.

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls.

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night.

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway.

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her.

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum.

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?”

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection.

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red.

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps.

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own.

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk.

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager.

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes.

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register.

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way.

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’?

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety.

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop.

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry.

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip.

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent.

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story.

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.”

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?”

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again.

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry.

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter.

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse.

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew.

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze.

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further.

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder.

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt.

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish.

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room.

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional.

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual.

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock.

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over.

You did. You did. You did.

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards.

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking?

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.”

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled.

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop.

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you.

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes.

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away.

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his.

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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ladykailitha · 2 months

Text

The Harrington Pattern Part 5

Hello! In this one we have things not getting off to the fun start Steve wanted, but Eddie and Steve show Robin the meditative joys of watching the weavers. And Mike and El get a lesson in when to give to friends.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Once they had all paid Steve gathered up the kids.

“You are to stay in pairs,” he admonished. “I don’t care if you swap every so often but stay in at least pairs. You can stay in great big group for all I care. But no one wanders off alone. If you want to do something and no one else does come find an adult, chances are that one of us six was already going to do it, okay?”

All the kids nodded.

“Everyone is to meet here at 1pm and 6pm for lunch and dinner,” Steve continued. “The adults are exempt but I tried to pick times where there wasn’t anything big going on. Food money was given to me by your parents so you’ll never starve. Drinking fountains are everywhere. Stay hydrated, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Will nodded. “I’ll make sure they do.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, Will.” He held up his hand as they were getting into pairs. “One more thing. Your parents gave you money for loot. If you spend it all today and see something you want on Saturday, I will not buy it for you. Now I can’t stop anyone else from doing the same, but you need to watch your money.”

Eddie looked at the other Corroded Coffin boys who all nodded. “I think I can speak for us adults when I say. I ain’t paying for your shit either.”

All the kids turned to Robin like a lion sensing its prey.

“Don’t look at me,” she huffed holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m poor. I’m hoping that someone pretty will buy me pretty things so I don’t have to go without.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Looks like you’ve been stemmed–stymied–” he frowned. “Looks like you’ve been thwarted all around.”

The kids grumbled but nodded.

Steve smiled. “Now go have fun! I promise, you’ll love it.”

Max and El grabbed each other’s hands and skipped ahead of the boys. Robin smiled.

“That’s the downside to growing up,” she sighed wistfully. “Is adults no longer think holding hands with your best friend is cute, only gay.”

Eddie nodded. “I just don’t care most of the time,” he said with a shrug.

Steve turned to the members of the band. “Are you guys going to be staying together for the most part or will you be splitting up? I just want to make sure I know where people are going to be.”

Gareth and Jeff shared an amused glance.

“What?” Steve asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Eddie said you were such a mom friend,” Gareth explained, “but I didn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, man,” Jeff chuckled. “It’s cute.”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot.

Brian waved his hands. “It’s not bad. It’s just a surprise.”

Jeff cocked his head to side. “Maybe not that big of one after seeing how he handled Mike...”

Brian laughed. “Fair enough.”

Eddie walked over and lifted Steve’s chin up gently. “It’s sweet, Stevie. We aren’t mocking you for it, okay?”

Steve nodded.

Suddenly Robin coughed into her fist that sounded a little like ‘gay’.

Eddie and Steve almost leaped back from each other while their friends laughed.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” Eddie muttered as he stalked past his friends.

Steve just stood there as the rest of them followed Eddie in. All but Robin.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she mumbled. “I thought you two were cute, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. That’s the last thing I thought it would do.”

Steve just shrugged and then led the way into the Fair grounds. Robin’s eyes lit up as the sights, and sounds, and smells came at her all at once.

There were people in jeans and t-shirts but also people in various states of costume, ranging from beginner to professional. The period ranges were vast, too. From the early 14th century to the very, very beginning of the 20th.

Robin was in awe.

“Steeeeveeee,” she said, smacking his arm repeatedly. “This is amazing!”

Steve turned to her and smiled. “I told you.”

She hugged him around the neck. “You did and you were right. Those kids brains must have exploded on entry.”

He chuckled. “Well, thankfully I don’t see any brain goo anywhere, so I think they’re safe.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Fair enough.”

“Where do you want to go first?” Steve asked, taking a pamphlet from Fair worker that had all the events and times on it.

She peeked over his shoulder and hummed thoughtfully.

“There isn’t a lot going on today.”

Steve shrugged. “All the big events like the joust are going to be on Saturday when they have the biggest crowds. But there are still some fun things we can do.” He pointed to the events under that day. “We can watch the weavers or battle a knight.”

“You better not do that one,” she said with a grin.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Why? Because you think I’ll lose?”

She swatted his arm. “No, dingus, because you might accidentally pulverize the guy.”

Suddenly there was another arm being slung around Steve’s shoulders.

“I must concur with the lady pirate, mi’lord,” Eddie said cheerfully. “I’ve seen you fight, handsome. You’d accidentally kill the poor actor.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks.”

He looked around but he didn’t see the rest of Eddie’s merry band. “Where are your friends?”

Eddie sighed. “Already succumbed the siren lures of capitalism.”

Steve blinked at him a moment. “Huh?”

Eddie pointed a little further down the way where the market had been set up. “They’re at the sword stall.”

Steve’s mouth formed an O and he nodded. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that’s where the kids are, too.”

“That’s because there is nothing else to do,” Robin pointed out. “Not all of us want to watch people make clothes.”

Eddie’s lit up. “They’re already showing the weavers?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, you want to come with me?”

“Hell yeah!” he crowed. He grabbed Robin’s wrist. “You’ll love this.”

And he started dragging her to where the looms, Steve laughing, close behind.

They reached building it was housed in and Eddie stepped aside to allow her to see into the room.

It was brightly lit from them many windows in the room. There were different looms from different eras and different levels of expertise. There was even a cute little blonde girl barely older than Holly, Mike’s little sister in one corner with her starter loom, still making mistakes but being patiently guided by someone who looked to be her mom.

But the true center piece was this amazing Asian loom at the back. The weaver was in a kimono and face paint, but her hands danced along the loom making it seem like she had more than usual two.

Robin was smitten.

Eddie smiled back at her and then grabbed her wrist again to pull her into the room.

The little girl’s mother looked up and smiled at them. “Welcome!” she greeted warmly. “We, of the weavers guild, greet you. I am Goody Danvers. If you have any questions please direct them at me so our weavers aren’t disturbed.”

All three of them nodded and began to wander around. Robin was forced to admit that it was way more than just making clothes or even cloth. It was artistry and technique that was just beautiful to watch.

She was, of course, drawn to the Asian loom with its beautiful weaver.

Steve on the other hand went straight for Goody Danvers. He was asking her all sorts of questions and she just lit up with someone expressing genuine interest in the weaving.

Then Steve asked the question. “You thread is amazing. Do you spin it yourself?”

Goody Danvers face was like the sun with how happy that question made her. “We do! Do you guys want to see how we do it?”

Steve nodded enthusiastically while Robin was loathed to leave the beautiful weaver.

“You go ahead,” she murmured never taking her eyes off the scene the woman was weaving into her tapestry.

Steve’s shoulders slumped a little. But Eddie came skipping up to them. “Prick any princesses’ fingers lately?” he teased Goody Danvers.

She wagged her finger at him. “Do you be going around calling me a witch, I might get burned at the stake.”

Steve and Eddie laughed and mimed zipping their lips closed and throwing away the key.

She led them to the backroom where there were other women spinning. Steve figured these were the ones that didn’t like being watched because more than half of them stopped what they were doing the moment they walked in.

He smiled his best babysitter smile and waved like an absolute dork. One of the teenaged girls blushed and turned away.

Eddie frowned, putting his hands on his lower back. He was about to turn back around and rejoin Birdie when he felt a warm hand on his elbow. Steve wasn’t looking at the pretty red-head that blushed at his dorky wave, he was looking at him. Hazel eyes almost antique silver in the natural light.

“You okay?” Steve whispered.

Eddie nodded. “It’s just dustier in here than I thought it would be.”

Goody Danvers nodded. “No fire of any kind allowed in this room. A simple spark could cause a powder keg in here and I don’t feel like leveling the Fair this year.”

“What type of materials do you use for your thread?” Steve asked, his hand never leaving Eddie’s elbow.

And they just listened to her talk about the different types of threads and what they were used for and Eddie felt the warmth in Steve’s presence as he paid her his rapt attention.

Was that was he looked like when he talked about DnD or metal music? Because if it was Steve never looking away from him when talked suddenly made a lot of sense. It was addicting watching Steve engage with someone who shared his interests.

Steve looked down at his watch. “Shit. We’ve got to go meet some people for lunch. But thank you for taking your time to show me everything and answer all my questions.”

Good Danvers smiled. “The pleasure was all mine. It was nice to find a young man who was so interested in what I had to say.” She walked over to a basket.

“Here, pick out a bundle of thread you like as my treat.”

Steve really lit up then. “Thanks!” He went through the basket and picked out this beautiful red silk thread.

“Good choice,” she said. “I know you’ll make something truly remarkable with it.”

Steve blushed and said thank you again as Eddie led him out. They were forced to drag Robin back out of the building.

“Food,” Steve insisted. “Actually...” he had spotted a water fountain. “Water first then food.”

Eddie took a long drink, his throat dry from the spinning room. Robin went next and then Steve.

They barely made it to the food court just under the wire. Some of the kids were already there. Max and Lucas, Dustin, too. Gareth was there, but Jeff and Brian weren’t yet.

Dustin looked at his watched and tapped like a disapproving father. “Just what time do you call this, hmmm?”

Steve burst out laughing as Eddie threw his arm around his shoulders.

“Like father like son,” Eddie teased.

Dustin gasped, offended.

It wasn’t too long before El, Mike, and Will showed up, cutting it even finer than they had, arriving at 1pm exactly.

Steve just raised an eyebrow as they skidded to a stop in front of their table.

Steve got them their food and most of them were half way through their lunch by the time Jeff and Brian had wandered into the food court.

Everyone was talking about all the things they had seen and their plans for the rest of the day and maybe Steve was more than a little pleased that they hadn’t spent all their money.

Everyone was talking but Will. So Steve slid over to the young boy and nudged his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up?” he whispered.

Mike looked up at them and then began to poke at his plate.

Alarm bells were going off in Steve’s head.

“There was this really cool wizard’s staff at one of the stalls,” Will said. “But it costs ten dollars more than what I have on me.”

“I offered to give him some of mine,” Mike said, “but he wouldn’t take it.”

Steve got it. “Ah.”

“It’s your money, Mike,” Will protested. “Buy something you want.”

“I want to buy it for you,” Mike bit back.

El poked at her food too. “I too, offered to help him buy it but he wouldn’t let me either.”

Eddie stood up and motioned for Mike and El to follow him, while Steve scooted closer to Will. “I’m sorry you couldn’t afford it and it’s hard when you want something so bad and it’s just out of reach.”

Will nodded. “But somehow I don’t think you specifically are talking about a wizard’s staff.”

Steve looked up at were Eddie was talking to Mike and El, and then ducked his head shyly. “No, you’re right there.”

Will gave his hand a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I think he likes you too.”

Steve squeezed his hand right back. He just hoped Will was right.

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @dolphincliffs @child-of-cthulhu @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

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queenimmadolla · 6 months

Note

Hey hun, Ive got a horrible chest cold AND im on my period at the same time, so as you can imagine I feel like a dumpster shit fire right now. If its possible could you do a little drabble where Eddie is nursing a sick reader. If not i totally understand I know youve got a lot on your plate atm. Thanks hun, love ya ❤️

happy to drop everything to nurse one of our own back to health 🫡. hope this helps make you feel better!

“I’m dying.” You whined from the mounds of blankets you were surrounded by, with a pathetic sniffle.

“You’re not dying.” Eddie refuted, as he measured out your medicine, pouring the bitter syrupy liquid into the cap you’d have to throw back. He was also trying to hide his grin.

It’s not that Eddie liked it when you were sick, but now that the two of you lived together—in a crappy one bedroom apartment that was the best thing in the world because it was yours—he could nurse you back to health, take care of you. And if you just so happened to be extra cuddly whenever you were sick, that was just a plus.

It was domestic.

Eddie loved living with you, even if you left all the bottom cabinet doors open whenever you retrieved something and he’d bust his knee against them, loved that you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning and the last thing he glimpsed before falling asleep. Loved brushing his teeth in the mirror with you at his side doing the same thing, loved how he had a five minute window to convince you it was a good idea for the two of you to just stay home together instead of parting to go out into the world. Most of all, he loved being able to look up from whatever he was doing, be it planning out future Hellfire sessions or working on a new song or even catching up on his reading, to see you curled into the loveseat, or in the kitchen, hear you humming as you walked down the hall.

Existing around him.

Co-existing with you was something Eddie wanted to do forever. If this was married life, Eddie would be on his knee the second you felt better.

“I’m dying.” You reaffirmed, scowling when Eddie turned around and you caught sight of the yellow–never a good tasting color for medicine–liquid filled measuring cap in Eddie’s large grasp.

“You’re not dying on me, baby. I refuse to let that happen. Now, take your medicine so we can make sure it doesn’t.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, medicine held out to you.

Gingerly, you grasped it and when he reached for the orange juice on your side table, you switched up, “You know what? You’re right. I’m not dying. I feel better already.”

“Drink the medicine,” Eddie smirked, handing you the glass.

“But it’s Prescription.” Your frown deepened, tongue already assaulted by the idea of what it would taste like. Eddie had taken you to the doctor’s yesterday morning and picked up your prescription after so you’d had the pleasure of taking it three times already.

It was a nasty son of bitch.

“Which means you’ll get better faster. Drink.”

You gave him one last glare before downing the medicine like a shot. Your face contorted in disgust and Eddie chuckled as you hurried to take a drink of your orange juice to wash the taste away.

“That’s poison.” You croaked, handing Eddie the juice and empty medicine cup before settling back into your pillows with a pout just as an onslaught of coughs hit you, sending you into a fit you muffled against your inner elbow.

Eddie could hear your chest rattle with them and placed your medicine cup and glass down on the bedside table so he could rub your back.

Once your coughing fit had subsided, you took a couple of shaky breaths before glaring up at him again, “It didn’t work.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and nudged you over, much to your surprise. The bed was littered with your used tissues, some having been coughed into and others containing your snot. Not exactly the place to want to be.

“My poor, sweet, gross baby.” He cooed as he settled in behind you, pulling you right into his chest.

You ignored the gross comment and protested even though you were curling right into him, nose nuzzling against his hoodie covered collar bone, eager for his warmth. Of course you’d gotten sick just as winter settled.

“Eddie! You’re gonna get sick.” A pitiful argument considering you were already settled on him like a cat having found their new lounging spot.

“Oh, I know I am. Who cares? I slept next to you last night and woke up to a hill of your snotty tissues in my face so it’s already in my system. No use in denying myself the love of my life.” You felt his hand drift lower until he was patting your ass cheek. He wasn’t trying to start anything, it was just one of Eddie’s many love gestures. When he’d ask if he could squeeze your ass like it was some sort of stress ball to comfort him—that’s when he was going for it.

“It wouldn’t be in your system if you hadn’t insisted on still sleeping with me last night.” You reminded him and felt him shrug under you in response. You peaked up at him to see him relaxed, one arm propping his head up with the other holding you to him. His eyes were shut and a look of utter content was on his face. It was almost like he’d been the one to take the codeine.

“We didn’t move in together so I can avoid you, this is just some more experience for us. You deal with my morning breath, I deal with having our bed covered in germs when you’re sick.” His hand began to stroke up and down your back and your eyes fluttered shut, the codeine making quick work of your system.

“Why am I the one suffering in both of those scenarios?” You slurred out.

Eddie shook with laughter underneath you, “Shut up and go to sleep. I’ll make you some soup when you wake up, you jerk.”

You did fall asleep. And when you woke up, Eddie insisted on carrying you—because a chest cold apparently meant you couldn’t walk yourself anywhere—to the living room where you watched some television while he did his best to follow a recipe your mother had given him for a homemade soup she’d make whenever you were sick.

And three days later, when you’d made a full recovery, Eddie developed a rattling cough. The ring he’d hidden in a pair of his shoes would just have to wait until you nursed him back to health.

#eddie munson x reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson blurb

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morganski-19 · 2 months

Text

The One with the Ring

(Woah, flashback. This takes place a month after Eddie moves in. Also, since Friends had a lot of flashback episodes, what would y’all like to see as a flashback for this au??)

Eddie stares at the box in his hands, knowing that it’s time. Knowing that he has to get rid of it. It’s useless now. It was barely useful a month ago. Now it was just sitting in his closet, taunting him.

He stands, leaving his room to find Steve sitting on Nancy’s couch with a magazine. “What are you doing here?”

Steve makes a face. “Walls are thin, Robin has a friend over, I lost my earplugs. And I wanted non-shitty coffee.” He takes a sip of the mug that was on the coffee table.

“Ah, makes sense.” Eddie stands there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. He’s still adjusting to this friend group, and he and Steve haven’t hung out one on one that much. For a reason. Eddie can’t trust himself yet.

Eddie walks over to the door, placing the ring box on the table while he puts on his jacket.

“Woah, is that a ring box?” Steve questions, not in a pressuring way. “Didn’t know you moved that fast, Munson.”

“Yeah well,” Eddie sighs. “Not going to be anywhere special anytime soon. About to go pawn it.”

Steve’s face falls. “Shit, sorry. I, I should have realized.” He sets down the magazine, standing and about to walk over to Eddie but decides against it. Instead choosing to lean against the back of the couch with his arms crossed. “Wanna talk about it?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “We were together for three years. Long distance for the last six months. He got a new job, moved here, I had some things I had to take care of before I could move. I got it done faster than expected, thought I’d surprise him. Saw what I needed to see and left.”

“That fucking sucks. And you were going to propose?” Steve says it in a way that makes Eddie want to tell him everything. He can’t give his heart away just yet. But a friend, he could use that.

He nods, picking up the box and opening it. Looking at the ring he spent so long to pick out, making sure it was perfect. Too much effort for the wrong person. “Yeah. I was so sure he was it for me, but the universe has its way of fucking with me. This was just the latest edition.”

Steve walks over to the shoe rack, sliding off his sneakers and putting them on. He looks at Eddie expectantly. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Eddie looks at him confused.

“To the pawn shop, then the bar. You deserve a drink after what that asshole put you through.”

Eddie huffs. “Don’t remember when I invited you along.”

“You didn’t,” Steve shrugs. “But I know a great pawn shop that won’t stiff you if that’s worth anything good.”

Eddie gives in. “Ok then, lead the way.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. The pawn shop gave him a pretty good amount for the ring. Not as much as he paid for it, but at least comparable. And then Steve buys him a drink. Or three. Makes his day a little bit better.

“So, how’d you find that place?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. “You’re not the only one who bought a ring for a terrible person. Only difference is I didn’t know for a few months after I proposed.”

“Shit,” is all that Eddie can find to say.

“Yeah. Saw a message on her phone from her coworker. I’m not a jealous guy, well most of the time, but I had this feeling about him when I met him. He was so flirty and touchy, and she didn’t stop it. But I trusted her, look where that got me.” Steve takes a long sip of his beer. “Looking back, it wasn’t going to work out. We were fresh out of college and going different places. But I still hoped, you know.”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, though. She didn’t deserve you.”

“And he didn’t deserve you either.”

“If I were lucky enough to get someone like you, I’d never do anything to let him go.” Eddie knows exactly the look that’s on his face, but he can’t stop it.

Steve smiles at him. “I could say the same thing about someone like you.”

Eddie has to look away before he does something stupid. Has to call it a day after he finishes his drink. They walk back to their building, saying goodbye when they get to their apartments. Eddie leaning on the door as it closes, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

He is so fucked.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging, @potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug

#some more lore for you all #morgan's friends au #steddie #pre relationship #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #friends au #stranger things au #ficlet #stranger things ficlet #flashback

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 15.

Summary: Oliver's first night and the next morning at Saltburn, and you learn that not only does he know more about you and Felix than you'd assumed, but he knows even less about the social rules of a place like this than you'd imagined.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, we finally get the basis of the consensual pervert/enabler dynamic between oliver/reader(/felix). its implications in this chapter but will probably get more explicit in future.

A/N: 4908 words. venetia catton is a menace to society and i am in lvoe with her. set up is being set up!! we're getting there, friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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You wish you hadn't looked out of the window. You wished you hadn't cracked open the door to step onto the balcony. You wished you hadn't waited up.

Dinner had ended hours ago, and Felix was well and truly asleep, but you'd left your smokes on his balcony and had taken a break from going over the guest lists for the upcoming events that Duncan had provided you with. It was something you did every year, it helped calm your anxiety around these formal events, to be well versed on all the patrons in attendance, making everyone feel as though their place at Saltburn mattered, if only for a night. There was most certainly some deep, psychological root of your crippling social anxiety and fear of faux par and failure, but that was almost certainly a problem to investigate in the future.

The lilac study had been functionally unused since before even Felix had been born, sitting idle and untouched but beautifully furnished directly across from his room, on the other side of the long gallery, with a beautiful view of the gardens. It became unofficially your study many years ago, though sometimes Felix would use it too if he had some kind of Summer project he had to attend to. But now it was yours, set up with a bulky computer for the occasional emails from your family business that you were becoming slowly more involved in. Mostly, however, you spent your time thoroughly poring over these dossiers of guest lists with attached relevant information, committing all of them to memory.

After spending most of the day high, you felt guilty enough to get a head start on the Summer that evening.

But just before midnight you'd needed a smoke.

Oliver and Venetia painted so pale in the moonlight, Oliver half dressed and clearly ready for bed, Venetia with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders that you knew she wouldn't have brought herself. It doesn't seem to be a particularly deep conversation, but you think you can see Venetia smiling, and a smile like that can never mean anything good. Surely she'd told Oliver some pretty lie about why she was out there, but her room was on the other side of the house.

Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and she is, and forever will be, Venetia Catton.

He will fall for her tricks, and you're sure part of her, just like her brother, just like yourself, would fall for part of Oliver's unsuspecting charms.

Just like she said she had with Eddie.

No, this was deliberate, you were sure; Venetia was playing this dangerous game again.

Retiring back to your study, you make sure to keep the door ajar to hear of anyone coming through the gallery. Saltburn is a creature that groans when you tread in the wrong places; you, like Duncan, had long ago mastered the art of moving around the house in total silence. None of the Cattons had ever felt it a necessary skill to learn. Oliver hadn't even been here a day. His footsteps practically echoed like drum beats.

"Everything okay, Ollie?" You shoot for casual, voice loud enough that you know he'd hear it in the quiet ambiance of the night, but that it wouldn't disturb Felix. The footsteps stop. There's no tell-tale creak of his door. Then, he moves towards you.

"How'd you know it was me?" Oliver, at your door, is shirtless. Oh. Right. Of course he was. He had been in the garden only moments before.

"I saw you downstairs," you say, trying to regain your train of thought. It's the easiest for him to digest, and most of the truth. He hadn't seemed to like the thought of you knowing his prescription earlier, even though you were just embarrassed to admit you'd stolen his glasses for a few days back in the first few months of meeting him, throwing enough money at an optometrist that they'd figured out his prescription from his current glasses. Right now you didn't want to tell him that you had spent enough time here that you could distinguish the Cattons from their staff, and distinguish each of the Cattons by footstep alone, and that Oliver's was so blatantly different to everyone else's that it was easy to deduce it was him. No, you don't say any of that.

"Oh," Oliver says awkwardly, shivering a little. Despite the heat of the day, it had cooled off considerably, "I spotted Venetia down there, I thought she might have been sleepwalking."

"Was she?" You ask with an automatic little smile, not wanting to give away how much you knew this to be Venetia's game.

"Said she was looking at the moon."

A sight you knew was perfectly visible from her own room. But you bite your tongue on that.

"So no?" You let the smile ease to something less robotic, something knowing, and Oliver sheepishly shook his head. Settling back in your chair in the lamp light, you look him over. Had he always looked so... you remember how he'd looked in the moonlight of your room and you have to look away, lest you get yourself flustered.

"Are you alright?" Oliver speaks up, taking a step into the study, finally letting himself look around. "Thought you'd be in bed."

"I'm meant to be," you admitted, "but I was getting ahead of this year's Summer schedule," you gesture to the book, and Oliver finally comes and joins you. He leans down over your shoulder, squinting at the pages, your shoulder pressed to his hip. He squints a little longer. Ah, "you're welcome to have a good look at it tomorrow," you offered brightly, pointedly not saying when you're wearing contacts and actually able to see, but Oliver thankfully seems to take the hint, even if he's still clearly awkward about the reminder. His hand then comes to rest on your shoulder, looking down at you and the way you're glowing in the gold light.

A moment passes; there's something on his mind, but you'll never push. Eventually it always comes out. It doesn't take long this time at least.

"Felix brought someone else to Saltburn, didn't he? Before; not just you," Oliver says softly, eyebrows knitting together. Fucking Venetia, you thought ruefully. Some of it must show on your face, because Oliver's hand comes up from your shoulders, thumb against the faintest scowl that has wrinkled your brow.

"What did she tell you?"

"Nothing really," he says faintly; while his expression is no longer concerned, there's something about the way he's watching you, cataloguing every small moment and movement of your face, each looking in your eyes, everything about you and your reaction that makes you feel... studied. Catalogued. Seen. You don't flinch away, don't move, just let yourself react, and let Oliver watch all the while. Then, after a moment, his hand is moving again, holding your chin, thumb running so gently over the curve of your lips, "called me lucky is all," he mumbled, as if transfixed by your face, by the way you're allowing this moment to go on, "said you didn't even like the last one." His words dip with disdain as he recalls what Venetia had said; what a snitch she was, you found yourself thinking.

"You need to be careful, Ollie," you tell him faintly, warning on your lips as you found yourself biting your tongue on a past that you don't feel is yours to really speak on. It was true that you had never been best friends with Eddie, but you were still rather fond of him. Even if that fondness was born from Felix's. Even if you were glad to be rid of him. Even if he hadn't even made it down the driveway before you were sending emails and worming your way into the Oxford administration usernet.

"Careful of the cold-blooded Cattons?" He asks, voice surprisingly idle, as if bored by the warnings, unphased by them. Where had his earlier trepidation gotten to, you wonder, right as Oliver gently caresses your cheek, "or should I be careful of you?" There's something in his voice that you're sure you'd only heard when he was looking up from between your thighs.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself meeting his curious gaze. The lamp paints his cool skin gold. One conversation with Felix and his hesitancy is gone. It's like you picked up right where you'd left off with each other before Felix's jealousy had awoken. It's actually a little infuriating, bordering on embarrassing, how taken you are with Oliver's quiet confidence.

After a moment in which you struggle to find the right words, Oliver actually smiles at you. It's almost condescending, like he understands the effect he has on you in these moments.

"Don't be jealous, pet," he tells you. Immediate, flustered shock flashes across your face before you can even stop it. But he doesn't tease, doesn't draw out the moment, he simply lets you breathe in and adjust to the moment, to his use of the nickname.

Saltburn creaks, the tell-tale noise of the old house settling into its foundation; Oliver, unfamiliar with the way the Estate echoes it's own, predicable, discordant melody of a night, looks to the door with sudden nerves once more. Something about his momentary uncertainty of his surrounds reminds you to breathe, to settle yourself like the house you practically grew up in.

You give a tired smile like it's all merely a joke, closing the dossier on the table in front of you.

"You should go to bed, Ollie," you tell him, voice nothing but warm and gentle, "we both should." Oliver ducks his head obligingly, stepping back from your seat to give you space, but still waiting patiently for you.

Once the lamp clicks off and the two of you are drenched in darkness, Oliver's voice cuts through the darkness as the two of you make your way to the lighter, long gallery.

"It must be nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you don't have to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"You know, the thing that's going on with you and Felix, whatever you want to call it." He says it so casually that you respond without really thinking. After all, he had a point; it's one of the many reasons you loved Summers at Saltburn.

"I don't even know the right words for it," after a long moment to think, you admit sheepishly. Then, moving to the long gallery that's still dimly lit, you look to Oliver with mild confusion as you fully process his words, "you... know?" Oliver, shirtless and in his pyjama bottoms, leans casually against his doorframe with a coy little smile. "How much do you know?" His smile grows wider; even from here his eyes look like they're shining with amusement.

"I don't think that kind of talk's appropriate for polite company," he teases, and you can feel your heartbeat racing. Sure you weren't careful at university, but you thought you'd at least convinced everyone it was platonic. Somehow.

"What- Oliver what does that mean? What have you seen or heard or -?" You babbled, flustered beneath his knowing gaze that suddenly burned with desire.

"Don't you want to be wanted anymore?" Is all he offered, simply wishing you a good rest of your night, slipping into his room. You're left flustered and speechless and honestly getting a little hot and bothered trying to figure out exactly what he was implying, and what he had seen.

Back in your room, you flick on the lamp on your side of the bed, trying to remain as quiet as possible as to not disturb the already sleeping Felix as you undress yourself, searching for your pyjamas. You're so in your head thinking about the encounter you'd just had with Oliver, trying to understand all the implications he left unsaid, that you don't even hear Felix yawning and shifting in the bed, half woken by the light.

"Hot," he mumbles after a long, appreciative hum, wearing a wide smile that would have bordered on leering if you didn't know him better. Actually, it was leering, but if anyone was allowed to leer at you it would be half asleep Felix, "this is perfect," he muses, pulling back the blankets to make room for you on the bed next to him, "you can stay like this; come here, don't worry about the pyjamas, no-one cares about them -" and you're more than happy to tuck yourself up against him like this. Pyjamas were more a habit than anything else, and Felix draws shapes on your bare back as you're both falling asleep.

Yes, you think to yourself as you're drifting off, it is nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you didn't have to pretend.

The next morning you decide to chalk Oliver's boldness and implications up to the late hour, and don't feel the need to mention it over breakfast. Or, well, not all of it.

"Is there something wrong with the toast, pet?" Pamela asks gently across the table, her big, doe eyes boring into you where you'd been glaring down at your plate for the past five minutes. Venetia and Farleigh have been talking quietly together on Felix's other side, clearly comparing notes on Oliver already. Looking up at her just as the other two go quiet, you try and reassure her that everything's fine, even if your face hasn't quite gotten the message.

"Come on, shouldn't you just be happy that -" Venetia starts, but you cut her off before she can say something demeaning about either yourself or Oliver, knowing her too well to trust her mouth at any time of day, even over breakfast with the whole family.

"I am happy Ollie's here, Ven," you told her flatly, leaning forward to level an unimpressed look at her around Felix, "less thrilled about you being weird and coquettish outside my window," even though your façade doesn't show it, you're pleased by the pleased little cackle Felix covers with a sip of his drink, "do they not have the moon on your side of the house?" You snipe, and Venetia immediately rolls her eyes.

"See, I told you," Farleigh clicked his tongue pointedly, refusing to look at you in this moment, "possessive."

"Existing in my own home doesn't make me weird," Venetia gives a mean, humourless smile back, "and talking to our houseguest after he approached me doesn't make me coquettish."

"It does when you're doing it in that little, damn teddy nightgown and talking shit about me!"

"Christ, Vee," Felix sighed with faint disappointment. While your ribbing could be construed as playful or even jealous, Venetia always took Felix's negativity to heart. Not that he'd ever been able to tell that; Venetia always did well to hide her hurt behind further, thorny barbs.

"I wasn't talking shit," she sighed, terribly exasperated all of a sudden, "I just told him you were like one of those angry, little purse dogs Paris Hilton carries around," Venetia said without a hint of apology or remorse, "which of course makes Felix Paris -" Felix tears his slice of toast in half and jams both halves into Venetia's cup of tea without warning, causing her to shriek with absolute indignation.

"Felix, please," Elspeth sighs from beside Pamela, who'd all but leapt from her seat with shock, watching as two of the staff suddenly swarmed the flustered young woman to start cleaning the spilled, soiled drink from the table.

"'Felix, please'?" You huff mockingly under your breath before your best mate even gets the chance to be indignant for himself, "Venetia, please," you correct haughtily, though you're quietly glad that Elspeth has chosen to pointedly ignore you. However Venetia herself casts her gaze to you and Felix, both of you wearing near identical, childish looks of irritation, to which she responds in kind. Venetia sticks her tongue out at you both.

Pamela just watches Venetia's poor teacup despairingly as it's whisked away. Elspeth sighs deeply, and asks if anyone had informed Oliver what time breakfast would be. It had slipped your mind, and judging by the look on Felix's face, it had slipped his as well.

By the time Oliver joins you all, the tense atmosphere had disappeared, easing to something light and bright as you and the Catton family looked forward to the day, and to helping Oliver get properly acquainted with the Estate. During the discussion, the planning, you make a mental note to find one of the many beautiful books on Saltburn and the intricacies of it's heritage for Oliver to have a look at if he wanted to. While the idea of researching one's holiday home may not sound like the greatest idea of fun to most people, getting familiar with the house your best friend always took for granted made you feel like you understood it better, made you feel like you knew what you were settling yourself amongst.

"Y/N, dear, is that copy of Percy Bysshe Shelley's poetry still amongst your collection?" Sir James brings up, his eyes bright and wide. The book in all it's aged glory is sitting on your shelf in Oliver's room at that moment.

Very suddenly you're hit with a rush of affection, and the memory of a sweet summer afternoon, of being captured by Love's Philosophy written so simply on those pages. Those summer afternoons turned into evenings and the maze became the kind of magical only you could seem to feel, but that Felix would always indulge you in. Oh. You had to bring Oliver along, see if he could feel it too.

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, giving Sir James a smile across the long dining table. He seems delighted, apparently having read Percy Shelley's biography not to long ago, and has since wanted to reacquaint himself with the poet's work. For a moment, Venetia lights up with genuine interest and intrigue; for as long as you'd known her, she'd shared her father's passion for history, both harbouring a peculiar fascination for the sordid private lives of prominent creative figures.

Several years ago, Venetia had gifted her father the biography of Howard Hughes for Christmas; the following year, Sir James had pulled enough strings to get them both in attendance as VIPs for The Aviator's world premiere, the film based on that very same book. Venetia says the best part was meeting and having drinks with Leo DiCaprio; the only photo that she got properly printed and framed from the premiere, the one of her and her father beaming, says she's lying. They still spend hours in the library together when James isn't working. Venetia almost seems to be relaxed in those moments, from what you'd observed.

Oliver is back to being his quiet, awkward self when he finally makes it to the table, all fidgeting and uncertain steps towards the only empty chair at the table. Venetia lights up a cigarette as a new teacup is placed in front of her, both she and Farleigh observing Oliver's every movement with anthropological curiosity. So, instead of looking at either of them, Oliver looks to you, giving an almost nervous smile as he sits gingerly.

The mood is almost cripplingly uncomfortable.

Oliver tries to order a full English breakfast; Duncan looks like he'd just called his mother a cunt to his face.

The second hand embarrassment at the failed formality makes you feel like you're seconds away from some kind of empathetic anxiety attack, so you jump to your feet as the rest of the family act like they really live in a reality where every other person knew every secret high society script they were born knowing. They recover, but not quick enough for Oliver to not be tense, nor for you to not have made your way to the breakfast table on the side.

"Breakfast is on the side, darling," Elspeth says with an almost forcibly bright air, but falters as you call out that you've got it.

"You don't need to do that -" Oliver mumbles awkwardly, but is cut off when Venetia starts actually barking at you with a wide, mean smile.

This time, Felix picked up one of the cooked tomato halves from his plate, squishing it in his hand over Venetia's new cup of tea, letting the pulpy remains splatter into her now second ruined drink that she couldn't cover fast enough.

"How would you like your eggs?" Duncan ignores the petty siblings as the poor service staff once more whisk away Venetia's teacup, much to her exasperation. Oliver looks to the butler nervously, wondering if this was a joke or a test, assuring him that he could get them himself, but it's Farleigh who cuts in, voice like ice.

"The eggs are made for you," he explains coldly, barely looking up from whatever he had been working from, but his gaze flicks from Oliver's nervous expression to you, over his shoulder, carrying a plate loaded with food and scowling at him and his tone. Finally, convinced that it wasn't a joke, Oliver awkwardly asks for fried eggs from Duncan, who complies, and simply seems glad that the interaction had ended. When you put the plate down in front of Oliver, he glances up at you, almost looking apologetic.

"You really didn't have to -"

"I know," you responded cheerfully, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "you can get yourself breakfast for the whole rest of Summer, but it's your first day."

"You're very kind, very good to me," Oliver looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes shining, grateful, stumbling through his words, "you- you're very good." For just a moment there's a flash of something more deliberate in his eyes that the others don't seem to see, and he watches the way the praise hits you with intent.

"Oh my god," Venetia groans across the table, "it's like you want me to bark at you -"

"Venetia, I have more tomatoes," Felix warned without even looking at her, but pointing sharply to emphasise his words. You thanked him airily as you returned to your seat and he beamed at you while his sister called you both terribly childish. She did not appreciate being reminded that she was the one barking in the first place.

It's Felix who breaks the tension to tell Oliver about the earlier discussion about the Percy Shelley biography, but it's Venetia who brings up the story of the poet's doppelganger. As she regales them all with the story of the housekeeper seeing the image of Shelley waving at him out of the window before realising the poet was in Italy and he was on the third floor, she tells it as if it's simply some scandalous gossip. Felix Catton, in possession of something of a rabbit heart when it came to anything remotely spooky, begged his sister to stop, even going so far as to cover his ears, but she seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, blithely ending the story with the housekeeper drowning only hours after the event.

While Elspeth announces that the story gave her goosebumps, and you admit it did send a shiver down your spine, Farleigh blurts out, without looking up from his notebook -

"I heard he fucked his sister."

While Sir James clearly didn't appreciate the addition, it's surprisingly Oliver who finds his voice.

"I think that was Byron."

The certainty of the correction is enough to get Farleigh to actually look up from his work. That's not how this was meant to go, at least that's what you think is on Farleigh's mind. Very rarely was Farleigh corrected at Saltburn; either the Catton's weren't as well researched on whatever he was spouting nonsense about, or they simply didn't care, but the point is Farleigh wasn't corrected at Saltburn. Farleigh could get away with the little white lies he told for fun here. He certainly wasn't fact checked by a newcomer at breakfast with the whole family.

When Oliver looks away from Farleigh, across to you and Felix, he sees the near identical smug little smiles you're both giving him. Both of you look rather pleased, and you see him almost grow rather flustered across the table. At least until Duncan sets a plate of fried eggs down in front of him.

Oliver's face falls, fork prodding the warm, gooey yolks almost like he's cautious of them.

You're back to watching, to observing and cataloguing further information about your guest. Runny eggs make Oliver sick; he looks it too, or perhaps that's simply the discomfort that comes from knowing he'll have Duncan's intense presence looming over him to take away what he'd just so kindly brought. Skin prickling with discomfort and desire to help, despite knowing there was nothing you could do, you fidget and try to finish your own food.

"Think I might head down for a swim after this," you hadn't, but you needed to say something to break the silence. Venetia and Felix are both quick to jump on the idea with enthusiasm, and Farleigh reluctantly agrees, if only to not feel left out. Across from you all, Oliver's trying to make himself as small as possible as he works on the breakfast you'd brought him. Never assuming, always waiting for an invitation, even now - "you game, Ollie?" You grinned.

Of course he was.

All you could think about as you searched for your nice bathers was how different Oliver was from last night. Then, your mind wandered back to that conversation, to all he had said, all he had implied. Catching a glimpse of Felix, already ready in just his swim trunks, towel slung over his shoulder, leaning and looking so effortlessly gorgeous and tanned already in the doorframe, you think of Oliver's implications. Clearly he'd seen enough of the two of you in private to understand the extent of your actual relationship, and considering the shit you got away with in public, and how both you and Felix admittedly couldn't be too bothered with things like closing the blinds when you have other things on your mind, you've got something of an idea of what Oliver may have seen. No, it wasn't appropriate for polite company.

But he'd slept with you, had seen and possibly heard you with Felix, and clearly had a thing for Felix himself. Why was he holding back? Why was he continuing to tease you the way he had last night? What kind of game was he playing?

Fine, if Oliver wanted to be a tease, wanted to play games, you could more than match his energy.

One of the many skills you'd picked up from a life spent next to the effortlessly attractive Felix, was learning how to put in the effort to appear effortlessly attractive even in comparison, in any situation. Of course you were hot, that was a given, but there was an art to the way you moved and smiled and behaved and posed and focused attention on yourself like it was a science you'd absolutely perfected.

Which is how Oliver, the last to arrive to the little, wooden jetty by the lake, found you laying out, glittering and glistening with water as the droplets clung to you, had your flattering bathers clinging to you in just the right way. Feet hanging over the edge, you arch your back just enough to tilt your head back, to watch him approaching upside down. Hands appearing casual, but carefully placed, one rested on your hip and lower belly, while the other reached out to give him a wave, your smile wide and sharp.

The others greet him, and though his gaze momentarily flicks to them, it always returns to you. Your back arches higher as you laugh, almost lifting you up to sitting, but you lay flat when he's on the jetty, when he's standing over you with a curious look.

"Hello gorgeous Ollie," you say with a teasing grin, "was beginning to get worried we might have lost you in there," you tell him, at least trying to look like you were trying to keep your expression serious, "its a big house."

"Are you high again?" He asks, and your smile grows all wide and sharp and amused. You shake your head.

"Why?"

"No reason," he says after a beat. Again there's quiet, apart from Felix and Farleigh squabbling over something trivial back on the grass. Oliver examines you, unashamedly letting his gaze roam down your body, the way you've displayed yourself so almost casually.

"Everything alright, Ollie?" You ask after a moment, reaching out to gently touch the side of his knee, contact, reminding him all at once to get out of his head, that this was reality. But your voice drops low enough that the others wouldn't hear, hand coming away, breaking the contact as you level a Cheshire smile at him, "is there something you want?"

Already it's worth it, since you see the exact moment Oliver realises what you're playing at. There's a sharp intake of breath, but an appreciative look in his eyes that quickly flick down your body once more. Then, he turns away, face quickly turning red as you all but cackle with glee.

The game has begun.

If all Oliver Quick could bring himself to do was watch, you'd put on a fucking show.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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alchemistc · 1 year

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Eddie practices his arguments with Steve.

The thing is -

Here's the thing. It's not that he's expecting an argument. So far every time either one of them have been irritated with one another, or pissed off about something, they usually just, like, talk about it and shit. Healthy-like, which is -

Totally fucking weird for Eddie My-Parents-Fought-As-A-Love-Language Munson and Steve Still-Figuring-Out-Its-Okay-To-Be-Loved Harrington. It's weird, it is, and Eddie can't help but wonder if Steve is just bottling shit up until it explodes out of him and he realizes that this thing they're doing just isn't worth it anymore.

So.

So Steve does this thing, right?

This thing where he rolls his jaw and sometimes it pops and it makes Eddie want to stick a curly straw up his nose and scramble his own brains. And he's such a fucking neat freak that every time he's over, he ends up rearranging Eddie's room - not even in purpose, just. He likes to touch things, and Eddie gets it, he does, but touching things usually leads to picking things up leads to setting them back down and before Eddie's had time to look up, Steve has swept empty beer cans into the trash and lined up Eddie's models in a neat row like they're troops readying for battle and since he's like a war buff they're always lined up like a little battalion which is cute but also frustrating as hell because - because Eddie's chaos is organized and now he can't find his fucking lyric journal with the song he's very much not ready for people to see, or know about, or -

The point. The point is Eddie has been gearing up to talk to Steve about it for three days now and he's now at the stage where he practices. Works out the scenarios, muddles through possibilities, tries to anticipate every way it could go tits up.

He's never - Steve is most of his firsts, and he knows it's dumb and romantic but he'd like Steve to be all of his lasts, too, and so what if that means he's pacing the length of the trailer (all the while perfecting his Steve-voicr, which has been a tough one to nail but he feels like he's getting there. He's smarter and more eloquent than he lets on, is Steve.) and arguing with himself. Resetting, back to the start, working through a disastrous turn where Steve accuses Eddie of cheating on him (nope, reset, Steve's well aware Eddie wouldn't, cut that from the options).

"And seriously, Eddie, how could you think I'd do that shit to you, you know -."

"What the hell?"

Eddie whirls.

Mike Wheeler is standing in his living room, staring at Eddie like he's grown a second head. Which. Shit. They haven't actually, like, told anyone that they're...doing whatever it is they're doing (There's things Eddie wants to call it, but he hasn't brought them up yet because they're terrifying and super fucking telling and even though he's pretty sure he and Steve are on the same page he doesn't want to presume) so the kids don't know. No one except Robin knows, and she's states away and busy so.

"What the hell right back, Wheeler, what are you doing here?"

"I left my chem textbook here last night. You said I could come get it."

And - sure, he definitely had, but he'd sort of been staring at the hollow where Steve's neck and shoulder met and imagining biting it when he said it, so -

"So you broke into my house?"

"The door was unlocked."

"So you walked uninvited INTO MY HOUSE?" And he's maybe hamming up the annoyance as cover, but Wheeler just stares at him.

"Are you practicing breaking up with Steve?" Wheeler asks without preamble, with zero inflection, not even a quirk of his brow, and Eddie -

Flounders, is a generous term for it. Really what he does is shriek, and cackle, and then cover it up with the weirdest laugh either of them have ever heard which covers nothing at all. "What are - why would you - what makes you think - listen, Michael, you can't just break into people's homes and accuse them of - of - what exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Of having really terrible taste in men, Eddie, where's my textbook?"

"I don't fucking know, Wheeler, Steve rearranges shit all the time so who the hell knows where he would have -."

"It's probably on the bookshelf, then," Mike says, and then squints. "Are you...practicing arguing with Steve?"

"How do you even -?"

"Neither one of you is subtle."

"Shut up, Wheeler."

"If that's how you talk to Steve it's no wonder you have to practice your arguments."

"I'm not - you're infuriating."

Mike squares him with a look that reminds Eddie of when he's calculating hit points and strategizing his next move. He frowns. Sighs. "I have like ten minutes before I have to leave. Steve doesn't think you're cheating on him, so let's start from the top."

---

"The kids know," Eddie tells Steve, fingers shifting in Steve's hair, and Steve's lashes flash as he looks up from Eddie's lap. Mike had been - well, Wheeler might be half a decade younger but he'd been pretty instrumental in helping Eddie nail down the right approach to "Please stop cleaning up my messes you're ruining everything." so another non-argument is in the books, and Steve had looked confused about it but he'd agreed to try not to move shit around at least.

("I'm still cleaning up all the trash, though, you live like a goblin."

"It's hot that you know what a goblin is, baby."

"Nerd.")

"Are you...okay with that?"

"Are you?"

"I asked first."

It's not that he doesn't want to answer, it's just.

Okay he doesn't want to answer. Jesus Christ, he'd used Mike goddamn Wheeler as his Steve stand in to practice an argument that hadn't happened and he's still scared to call Steve his -

"I... don't really know. What to tell them." And that's - shit, not what he meant to say, Jesus.

"What do you mean?"

Steve crinkles his nose, and Eddie hates how goddamn cute it is, because he really wants to just, like, boop the tip of it and then suck Steve off but -

Where's Mike Wheeler when he needs him?

("If you ever tell Steve about this I'll tell Will to TPK your party for the next ten campaigns."

"Why would I tell Steve I'm helping you save your relationship?"

"Brownie points. So you can hold it over Henderson's head. Blackmail."

"I used to be terrified of you, but you're actually super lame, honestly."

"Preaching to the choir, my friend.")

"I mean, what...what do we tell them we...are?"

"Are you freaking out about calling me your boyfriend?"

"...no."

He shifts, and Eddie's fingers slip through the strands of Steve's hair as he shuffles, scoots, sits up and twists to face Eddie.

"I am, right? I mean...you want me to be?"

Eddie hasn't practiced this conversation, because - because it's presumptuous, because it felt sort of like jinxing it, because -

"Yeah. Duh. Of course I - shit. Yeah. Yes."

Steve's smile is bright and a little knowing. "I have a confession."

"I'm not sure I want to hear it."

"Trust me, you want to."

"Okay fine," Eddie tells him, eyes on Steve's hand as he slots their fingers together. Eddie hooks his pinkie along the edge of Steve's sleeve. "Twist my arm, why don't you?"

"I'm actually kind of glad they already know. I've been trying to figure out how to tell them for a while. I've been, like - creating scenarios in my head to try to figure out how they're going to take it."

There's - okay, so Eddie's thinking a lot of things, right at this moment, like how Steve apparently also creates mind-scenarios to play out before a situation happens, and how they might want to test out their creativity in other areas, actually, and that derails his whole train of thought for a moment, but "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Have you been trying to figure out how to tell them?"

Eddie's not insecure, exactly, but he is a big fan of knowing what people he cares about think of him and how often they think of him and -

"I mean, since, like, the first time I kissed you?"

Eddie is stupid crazy about Steve Harrington. He's fully fucking feral for this man, honestly, it's dumb. Absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie tells him, and the tips of Steve's ears are pink.

"I know," he says, with a smarmy little grin because Eddie had admitted (under duress, and screw anyone who doesn't think a naked Steve Harrington in your lap is duress) he'd been obsessed with Harrison Ford for like a full year in his tweens, and Steve takes every opportunity to remind Eddie he knows.

"I'd also very much like to circle back to you creating scripts in your mind about telling the kids about us."

"Henderson's always a nightmare, I swear to god."

"We gotta teach him some humility."

"He respects you more than he respects me, you teach him."

"You gonna say it back?"

"Well not now," Steve says, and Eddie wants to bite him.

---

"I love you," Steve says, while Dustin and Mike and Max argue about who knew first.

Eddie hasn't practiced this one. "I know," he says, and Steve's brow quirks when Dustin catches the exchange and groans.

#steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #mike wheeler jumpscare #but actually he's not all that bad #steddie fic #eddie munson x steve harrington

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epicbuddieficrecs · 4 months

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Favorite Buddie fics of 2023!

Every single year at @epicstuckyficrecs I used to do a fic rec at the end of the year with my favorite fics. I figured I should keep the tradition going! So, without further ado, these are my favorite Buddie fics (in no particular order) published in 2023! (you can also check out some other favorite Buddie fics of mine here)

If you have any favorites that aren't in this list, don't hesitate to share them in the comments! :)

Complete

find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-Season 6, Getting together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

come with me, together, we can take the long way home series by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Canon compliant | 105K | T to M):

Get me through the night; Make me feel alright (Post-S3 Finale | 11K | Mature): After an emotionally-gutting reunion with Abby, Buck turns to old coping mechanisms. Eddie helps him find a better way. In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply (Pre-S4 | 22K | Teen): Covid comes to LA. Eddie copes. Or doesn't. Holding out for Something More (Stuck in Reverse) (Post S4E3/Lone Star Crossover | 26K | Teen): LA is coming out of lockdown and the world is returning to some sense of normalcy. But going back to the way things were hurts more than Buck expected. While his therapist challenges him to confront what he really wants, the team takes a trip to Austin... and El Paso. so far from being free (S4E4: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, S4E5: Buck Begins | 46K | Teen): That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible.

Kink Club AU series by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, BDSM, Dom Eddie, Sub Buck | Complete | Explicit): Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01.

The Warmth (of You) (25K): aka where Buck and Eddie first meet at a kink club before the firehouse To Weather the Storm (With You) (21K): aka the fallout of Buck finding out the dom he met at a Kink Club is his new coworker Safe Here (With You) (20K): aka Buck and Eddie handle working a shift after their first scene The Building Pressure (of You) (15K): aka Buck reaches out to Eddie after he leaves Abby's place in 2x07 An Offer to Torment (You) (14K): aka Eddie is all twisted up inside about what to do with Shannon. Buck offers himself up for some much needed holiday stress relief.

like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): Evan gave up trying to explain what happens to him after his parents forced him to have a talk with one of their friends, supposedly a pediatric therapist, and cruelly hinted that if Evan didn’t stop seeing and talking about his “invisible friends” as if they were real then his parents would send him far away to places where they lock children up in padded rooms. “Look,” Evan says quickly, forcing out the words before he gets too scared to speak,” I—I know this is going to sound crazy, but, um, ever since I was a kid I can see ghosts.”

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fallout 4 AU, Post-Apocalyptic | 32K | Mature | Warning: Violence): After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

WIP

And here are my favorite WIP that I really hope will continue to be updated in 2024! 🤞

for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 11/? | 96K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 104/? | 283K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 10/? | 25K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 89K | 20/? | Explicit | Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 7/? | 12K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

#epic buddie fic rec #buddie #buddie fic rec #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfic #911 fic #911 fanfiction

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eddiexfreakxmunson · 2 years

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Crop Top

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Genre: smut, reader has nipple piercings, Pervy!Eddie

MDNI

TW: NON-CON, DUB-CON, somnophilia, smoking, cursing, dry humping, masturbation (male), Eddie is a virgin and a perv; IF YOU DON’T LIKE THESE, DON’T READ THIS PLEASE!

Word Count: 3,055

Summary: Most of the time Eddie can keep his hands to himself when he’s around you, his childhood best friend. But as you both grow older, his restraint is tested. What’s a guy to do when a golden opportunity to finally get a taste of you presents itself to him in the form of a tiny cut shirt?

Eddie nearly has a conniption when he sees you've cut the old band t-shirt he let you have.

When you'd gone hiking around Lover's Lake earlier in the week, and he'd 'accidentally' thrown you into the water in your white shirt, he'd offered up the spare in his van as a peace treaty, eyes glued to the pretty pink bra you'd been wearing underneath, even as he had apologized profusely for getting you soaked, knowing he wasn't sorry at all.

He doesn't even think about it after that. If he was honest, he'd admit that not much else consumed his brain than how fucking good your tits looked with the white cotton of your shirt sticking to them, how pretty the color of your bra contrasted against your skin, how badly he'd wanted to strip you down right there.

He'd never let you know how often he thinks about you like that. Couldn't risk ruining a friendship that had endured years of school and countless boyfriends and girlfriends that had come and gone. It was always just the two of you, and he liked it that way.

But he's still a man, and he'd have to be blind to think you weren't utterly gorgeous. And utterly unaware of how badly he wanted you under him. Naked, preferably crying out his name.

It's nights like these that ease that ache a little bit. On weekends when your parents are out of town, he can come spend the night like he used to, back when you were both in middle school. With your parents gone, he's allowed to share your bed, your warmth and smell surrounding him, driving him crazy.

It's not without its repercussions, though. More often than not, Eddie wakes with your ass pressed against him, a result of all the tossing and turning you do in your sleep, and he has to fight back the urge to give in and wake you up with his cock sinking into you.

Most mornings, all he allows is a few shallow ruts against your ass, biting his fist to stifle his groans before he's rolling out of bed to fuck his fist in your bathroom, knowing that you're in the next room, so close but so fucking far.

He's laying in your bed, enjoying a cigarette when you roll off the bed, mumbling about having to wash your face and change into pajamas before falling asleep.

He doesn't even really realize at first; he's just happy to sneak a peek at the muscles in your back and shoulders contracting as you pull your blouse over your head and drag his gaze over your body- the closest he's ever going to get to having you the way he wants.

It's not until you've turned around that he recognizes the worn gray shirt, only now it's cropped, the sleeves and most of the armpit also cut out into a make-shift cropped tank top. He sits up straighter at the sight, annoyance rolling through his body.

Sure, he said you could have it, but he didn't say you could destroy it. He's about to tell you as much when he stops short, watching you lean over to grab your pajama bottoms, and catches a complete side view of your breast for a split second as the fabric hangs off your shoulders from your position.

He can't help the way his cock jumps at the sight, and his mouth goes dry, eyes glued to your tits. He's positive you don't know how much you're revealing as you straighten again, giving him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing. Shirt looks good." he's quick to respond, blinking away his hungry expression as you give him a sweet smile and pad into your bathroom.

As soon as you're out of view, the calm facade drops again, and his mind is whirling. Sure, he's seen you in swimsuits and bras, and that one time in the rearview mirror when you had to change quickly, and he couldn't help himself from looking.

He knows it's wrong. Knows it's messed up how often he fucks his fist to the thought of you, of your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, the pretty sounds you'd make if he--

"Hello? Earth to Eddie?"

He snaps back into focus to you standing right next to him, eyebrow raised. "Huh?" it's a real intelligent response to your question, and he's quick to shift around, so you don't see the tent growing in his jeans.

"I said, 'are you gonna sleep in that?'" you huff, gesturing to his dark jeans and long sleeve shirt.

"Oh. Uh, no, but I'm probably not gonna head to bed yet," he admits, shifting uncomfortably. "Probably gonna shower first." He adds, knowing there's no way he'd be able to sleep with the hard-on he's currently sporting.

You shrug, crawling onto the bed and his heart nearly leaps into his throat when you slide a thigh over his lap, momentarily pressing directly against his cock before you're gone again, sliding under the covers on your side of the bed.

"Do whatever you gotta do, but I'm going to bed, so just turn off the lights when you're done, okay?"

All he can do is mumble out an okay, practically sprinting to your bathroom, the image of your bare thighs caging his lap running around his head.

--------------------------------------------------------

Sleep tugs at him when his eyes flutter open in the morning, the warmth of your legs tangled with his luring him back to sleep. He almost gives in, lets himself relax, and drift off again when his eyes adjust to the dim morning light, and he's greeted with a sight that makes his heart stop and his half-hard cock twitch.

Your shirt rode up in the night. Not like it usually did, with the planes of your stomach in clear view, but far higher thanks to how it was cut. You're still sleeping softly, lips parted slightly as you breathe, your hair falling over your face.

On a typical morning, he might allow himself to push your hair behind your ear and run his thumb over your bottom lip, just to imagine what they might feel like against his skin. But today, he's not interested. Not with the way he can see the curve of your tits so easily, the darker color of your areola poking out from beneath the gray fabric.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, taking his time to try and commit the sight to memory when you shift slightly, your shirt flashing more of your skin and then something darker before the fabric settles again.

His eyes widen with the realization of what he just got a glimpse of, and his resolve crumbles, curiousity making him bolder. He reaches out a shaky hand, fingertips softly clutching into the grey fabric as he tugs it upwards, careful to ensure he doesn't wake you.

"Holy fuck," he hisses when he's pushed the shirt up over your breasts, eyes glued to the dark bars that pierce your nipples. How had he not known about those? Why hadn't you told him?

For a moment, he wracks his brain for a time when you could've gone and gotten them done without him knowing, watching how your chest rises and falls with each breath.

He wants to feel them. Wants to roll them between his fingers, circle them with his tongue like he's seen men do in the porn he's bought. Until now, he'd been convinced that only porn stars would pierce themselves like that, but here you are. In his shirt, in bed with him. He bites his lip, warring with himself for a moment.

You're his best friend. He shouldn't even be looking at you like this. Shouldn't even be considering touching you. But then you let out a pretty little huff, eyebrows drawn up in your sleep, and shift closer to him, the underside of your breast brushing across his knuckle resting between your bodies, and he can't help himself.

He grazes his hand against your skin, letting his fingertips explore, watching with interest as goosebumps raise on your skin in his wake, watching the way your nipple pebbles at his touch. Your skin is just as soft as he expected, a rugged contrast to the callouses that line his skin from years of guitar playing.

His fingers ghost higher until he's cupping the weight of your breast in his hand- a perfect fit, like you were made just for him- and he pushes the boundary a little bit more, heart racing as he swipes his thumb slowly over your nipple.

Your reaction is instant; he jumps, hands immediately falling from your body when you let out a muffled sigh, pressing your chest further into his hand. He's carefully watching your face, hands pressed against the mattress for a moment, afraid you'll hear the pounding in his chest and wake up.

But you don't. If anything, a slight frown settles over your features, and he wonders if, just maybe, it's at the loss of contact.

"You awake, pretty girl?" he murmurs quietly into the darkened room, listening for any response or change in breathing, reaching forward again. He's more confident this time, forgoing any more soft touches to run his fingers over your nipple again, making sure to run the pad of his thumb over the smooth metal adorning them.

The whine you let out at the stimulation has his cock straining against his sweats immediately, and he bites back a groan. "Fucking knew it." he breathes, repeating the motion, firmer this time, relishing the way you lean into him. "Knew I could make you feel good,"

For a moment, guilt seeps into him as he leans forward, freeing his other hand to press your tits together, blowing air over your skin, but then your hips shift towards him, and another whine slips from your lips.

"I've gotcha, pretty girl, don't worry," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss along the curve of your breast, his tongue slipping out to slide over your skin, leading a trail up to your nipple where he presses the pad of his tongue against it and licks a long stripe.

At that, you moan, voice muffled by sleep, but it's even sweeter than he ever imagined, all those nights he spent cumming into his fist to the thought of you.

His cock is aching, begging to be freed, and he's sure there's a stain on his sweats from where he's dripping pre, but he doesn't care. Not when he's pulling those sounds from you with just his tongue. It makes him wonder what he'd be able to do to you with his cock.

He'd be lying if a sense of pride didn't fill him at the realization. He was by no means experienced in bed. The closest he'd gotten was the girl he'd briefly dated last summer who'd given him head in the back of his van. Even that had been short and clumsy. But now, here with you, he was getting your unfiltered responses to his touch and his mouth, and if the way you pressed into him was any indication, you were enjoying yourself.

He uses the way he's pressed your tits together to his advantage, tilting his head to give your other nipple the same attention, latching his mouth over it and swirling his tongue over the peak, careful to make sure your piercing is involved, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin.

It's wet and sloppy, and a line of drool connects his lips to your flesh when he pulls back, admiring how your skin shines with his saliva. You're openly whining now, your thighs clenched together as your hips shift, searching for friction, and he crosses a barrier he'd never dared to before.

He releases your breasts with one last kiss over the sensitive skin before slipping his knee between your legs, sliding it higher until his thigh is so close to your clothed cunt, he can feel the heat radiating off you.

He has a moment of clarity, guilt filling his veins as he glances up at your face, completely unaware. And then you press yourself right against his thigh, and it disappears in a single moment as you rut yourself against him, mouth parted in a drawn-out moan at the friction.

"Fuck, sweet thing," he grits out, feeling how damp your pajama bottoms are, even through the thick cotton of his sweats. He shifts his knee higher so you don't have to work as hard, and a sharp cry falls from your lips at the sloppy contact with your clit.

He's mesmerized by the way your hips shift and grind against his leg, using him to get off in your sleep, a dark patch appearing on his pants where you're working yourself against him. He can't help but wonder if you'd move the same in his lap, his cock buried balls deep inside you. Your sharp cries cut through his hazy thoughts, dripping like honey from your lips as you alternate between whining and panting.

It's too much for Eddie. First, you prance around in his fucking shirt, cutting it so goddamn short that he gets the perfect view of your tits, and now this. How is he supposed to watch you get off so up close and personal and just lay there? He lifts his hips, slipping his sweats down just low enough to free his cock, the tip an angry red color. He doesn't bother to quiet the groan that bubbles up when he finally grips his base, his balls full and begging for some release.

"Got no idea what you do to me, princess," he grits out, pumping himself as he watches your face contort in pleasure, lips forming a pout that's just asking to be kissed as he jerks himself, circling the tip of his cock tightly and using his pre to slide his hand down his length easier.

"Betcha my cock would feel so much better than my thigh," he rasps quietly, noting the way your hips have sped up, how your moans are longer, higher, sweeter now.

He knows how dangerous it is to risk waking you now, with his cock in his hand and his thigh wedged up against your pussy, but he takes a chance anyways, angling his thigh, so it bumps against your clit with every pass of your hips.

"Not gonna last much longer," he warns, despite the fact that he's pretty sure you're close too if he's reading your body language right. "Got me feeling like a fucking perv all the time, can't believe I'm actually doing this," he pants, speeding up his movements, feeling that coil in his stomach tighten.

"Wanna see you fall apart humping my leg first though, princess, come on. Let me see, please," he pleads, his sentence drawing off into a pitiful whine as his hips buck into his hand. "Tryin' to be a good friend all the time, just wanna feel that pretty pussy one. fucking. time." he grits out, teeth clenched to suffocate the moans he's sure would wake you.

He's getting desperate, the realization that you could wake up at any second dawning on him, and he reacts on impulse, slipping a hand between your cunt and his thigh.

His fingers catch your clit immediately, and you jerk against him, back arching as you let out a sharp cry, your movements getting sloppy. He matches his strokes to the roll of your hips, tears springing to his eyes as he tries to keep his orgasm at bay to keep watching you come apart.

It only takes a few more rolls of your hips before your body is tensing, thighs shaking as you let out a choked sob in your sleep.

"Fuck, Eddie!"

The sound of you crying out his name as you cum against his palm is enough to send him over the edge, eyes wide as his orgasm hits him out of nowhere, the planes of his stomach tightening as ropes of his cum coat his hand, dripping down onto the sheets below him.

"Jesus H. Christ," he pants, a bead of blood rising on his lip from where he bit it to keep from crying out. He peels his eyes open to see the mess in the sheets and pulls back in panic, carefully pulling his hand and thigh away from you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit." Eddie curses, quickly tucking himself back into his sweats as he scoots away from you, holding his other hand off the comforter, so there's no additional evidence of what he did.

He pauses, twisting his palm to watch the way your slick catches the dim morning light, and curiosity gets the better of him as he brings it up to his mouth, tentatively running his tongue over it.

He immediately regrets it. Not because he doesn't like it, but because he does. His cock is already twitching again, and ideas of waking you up with a head full of curls between your thighs consume him. He takes a split second to roll your shirt back down over your chest, thumbing your nipples and earning him a sharp inhale from you that has him grinning despite himself.

"Someone's sensitive," he teases quietly, watching your face contort again, lip trapped between your teeth and eyelashes fluttering.

He shakes himself and groans, rolling away until his feet hit the floor, needing to get away from you before his cock got the better of him. Again.

He opts for a cold shower, stripping out of his sweats and folding them so you wouldn't see the dark spot on them, hoping the freezing water would be enough to calm him- at least until he could get home.

He's not sure how long he's in the shower for, but what he does know is you're barely stirring when he comes back, hair dripping down onto his bare back, jeans pulled over his hips but unzipped as he slips back into bed beside you, heart hammering as you roll over and throw an arm over his torso.

"Morning, Eds," you mumble sleepily, face buried in a pillow. He smiles, relaxing back against your headboard in relief.

"Morning, princess. Sleep well?"

3K notes · View notes

eddies-house · 11 months

Text

Lost Like a Kid In a Supermarket - E.M.

Eddie x fem reader

3K Words

Eddie comforts you and does what he can when he sees that you’re doing bad again.

Warnings - depictions of mental illness, mentions of issues with eating, I think that’s it

Masterlist

Feeling like you’re getting bad again because living starts to feel like a chore more than usual. The simple act of getting yourself something to eat is impossible, every time you open the fridge you’re met with overbearing anxiety that almost has you in tears.

Fatigue has its claws latched onto you, no plans of loosening its grip anytime soon. Messes are becoming more prominent, the pile of clothes in the corner growing bigger with every passing day and your patience wearing thin, wishing it would put itself away. The dirty dishes make themselves at home in the sink and you feel them stare you down with every pass through the kitchen. Guilt bites at you like a mosquito and yet…

You walk away.

A temper tantrum builds in your mind only for your physical being to remain expressionless, stagnant. You are a shell of the person you were days ago and you mourn how naive you were then. It usually comes in waves and you can normally sense when you’re about to go under but not this time. This time it swallowed you whole without warning. The pile of unopened mail begs to be opened and the lampshade across the room demands to be tilted back into its upright position.

Houseplants plead with you to water them, to at least open the curtain for some sunlight. The chair you usually occupy at the dining room table wishes to be pushed in. Your greasy, unkempt hair desires to be washed and unknotted, teeth only hoping to be brushed. There is so much to be done and yet…

You continue to walk away.

Your beloved Eddie shows up unannounced for the first time this week, working at the auto shop occupying him all week up until now. His gaze catches the numerous blankets littering the couch and the half drinken glasses of water scattered on the coffee table, the mess of crumbs on the counter that would otherwise drive you insane and be swept away immediately. The bags of takeout flooding the trash can, spill over from when you did finally have an appetite. You’d either overeat or not eat at all.

Big brown eyes turn sad when they land on your curled up figure, practically one with the couch. Your eyes are puffy and accompanied by dark bags that indicate the amount of sleep you’ve been getting. Complexion dull and devoid of any glow, you mindlessly stare at the TV playing a rerun of Friends. You look as good as you feel and you wouldn’t blame him for walking out.

He stays.

Your gaze travels to him standing in the doorway, a gentle smile playing on his lips despite the melancholy scene before him. A silent way to let you know he’s happy to see you. All you can offer is the most subtle upturn of your lip that is gone just as soon as it arrives. Toeing his shoes off near the front door, he strides over and perches himself next to you, everything Eddie invading your senses in the moment, giving you a brief second of relief from the hell you’d been subject to. The smell of his shampoo lingering from his freshly washed curls fills your nose, the green apple one you’d picked out for him and he continued to buy, his cologne that had hints of cinnamon. If a look of sympathy crosses his features, you’re too far gone to notice.

A brush of his hand against yours with a soft ‘hi’ makes you turn to look up at him next to you. He would surely get disgusted by you eventually and leave, right? Become so fed up with your mental illness that he’d decide to find someone worth giving the time of day to. Someone who could leave the house without a second thought, someone without so many issues. There was no way he could love you with all of your baggage, your copious amounts of baggage. But up until this point so far…

He’s stayed.

Unable to form a coherent word, you try another smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes, barely even reaches your lips. And he just knows. It’s obvious he knows, your apartment is in shambles and your appearance is gruesome. How could anyone not notice how far gone you were at this point? But unlike just anyone, he also knows how to help, how to pick you up while in such a frail state, and how to manage the demons that plague your every thought. He understands all too well just how suffocating it can all become, how isolating the dark corners of your mind can be—his own brain subjecting him to the same torment at times.

And rather than leaving or turning a blind eye like everyone else, he coaxes you up from your divot in the couch, despite the small protests coming from you. Hand gripping yours while he tugs you up from the couch, he looks at you with such concern, such care behind his gaze—love, unconditional love in spite of the horrific disaster that is you. “I missed you.” He speaks quietly as you stand in front of him, longing for your spot on the couch. A gentle upturn of his lips has you cursing yourself for being unable to find the words he deserves, your nonverbal state all you are able to offer with the billions of thoughts swarming your mind and the crushing pressure of life dragging you down. So you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head against his chest, a ‘thank you’ in the muted language he’s come to learn from you. Your grip on the back of his shirt is tight, your way to communicate ‘I missed you too’.

A ringed hand brushes against your cheek, knuckles just barely kissing your skin as he ever so slightly pulls back to look at you again. Big Bambi eyes scan your face, no doubt spotting your sunken eyes and worn out expression even closer up. Biting his lip in some kind of anticipation while inhaling slowly, he speaks again. “Have you been eating?” His tone is gentle, treading lightly among the heavy topic, not wanting to cause you more grief over yourself though his eyes are the slightest bit glassy. Now staring at the floor, you inhale shakily before forcing yourself to at least whisper—that much he deserves. “Sometimes.” You answer truthfully. On the nights that you did eat it ended up being half of the actual meal, sometimes a third depending on when it began to make you feel nauseous. There were a few days in between you’d overeat only to also feel nauseous. The key factor being you would only eat one meal a day, a snack at most on some days. His features are sad, brows knit together and frown painted on his lips. And yet his reply says everything. “Okay.”

A hushed voice in the dim lighting of your apartment displays nothing but empathy. Though it’s only one word you hear several. No judgement. Only the vow that he’s there for you even when you weren’t there for yourself. He’s nodding his head as he takes another glance around the room before focusing back on you. Again, he speaks. “Okay.” As if he’s decided on something. “C’mon.” He whispers, fingers interlocking with yours while leading you to the bathroom as he usually did when things got bad. Turning the shower on, taking care to turn the knob to the exact temperature you like, he begins lifting your oversized sweatshirt over your head, your chosen wardrobe for the past week. You know the drill, stripping off your remaining clothes as you hop into the shower but instead of standing under the steaming stream of water you sit with your knees tucked into your chest, water trickling down your skin. Soon after the warmth of Eddie’s skin is on yours while he tucks himself behind you, his hair dancing over your shoulder while he curls his body around yours, his chest to your back. “I’ve got you.” He mumbles against your back, lips caressing your skin. Gentle kisses make their way up your back, over your shoulder, to your jaw, and finally your cheek where he nuzzles his nose into you softly. Muted ‘I love yous’ scattered along your skin.

The intimate act of washing your body always made him feel honored, suds lathering under his fingertips and the smell of your citrus body wash consuming the small space. Washing your hair was a daunting task but not for him, he was patient as he worked his way through it, concentration etched into his features. Everything you couldn’t do for yourself in the moment, he was glad to take over. “Turn around for me, baby.” He talks quietly. You oblige and face him, you crisscrossed in between his legs. His curls are soaking wet, becoming longer with the amount of water filling them, bangs pushed to either side of his temples for a better view. He grabs your razor from the little shelf on the wall, smoothing his hand over your leg. He knows you don’t shave for the appearance but because the feeling of your legs rubbing together when you’re laying down makes you nuts. He could tell it was getting to that point by the way you itched at your leg in the living room earlier as you always did when you desired a clean shave. And so he carefully drags the razor along your leg, collecting the little hairs and tapping it off into the drain behind you, repeating until he moves onto the next leg. The simple act of him assisting in keeping up with your hygiene made you want to cry for many reasons. The main ones being that he shouldn’t have to fucking do this for you and that you never thought anyone could be this sweet.

While you’re standing in nothing but a towel in the middle of the bathroom, Eddie is gathering some comfortable clothes for you. And sure enough he comes bearing one of his T-shirts—one of the many that he keeps in one of your drawers along with a pair of his boxers for you to wear. He even goes as far as to dress you, finishing it off with a peck to your nose. “Will you have dinner with me?” He asks genuinely, eyes pleading while his hand finds yours and he presses an endearing kiss to your knuckles. While you don’t have much of an appetite, the least you can do is try. For him. For all he’s done for you without a single complaint, a single hint of hesitance. Only true and undeniable love, no intent to gain anything other than a smidge of your happiness. You nod. “Yes.”

That night he cooks you something safe, something he knows that even if you won’t touch a lot of it right now, it’ll be in the fridge for you to easily heat up with no extra steps. He even goes as far as to light a candle on the countertop between you two as you sit on the bar stools nibbling at your dinner. Anything to make the environment a little more serene for you, a striking comparison to how it’s been the past week. One of your shared favorite shows plays on your laptop on the counter as well, giggles coming from Eddie every now and then while he eats. A few from you as well every now and then.

His attention shifts to you and it’s evident that you’re poking around at your food after only taking one bite. You feel his elbow bump yours, the sudden contact surprising you while you quickly turn to look at him. He eyes your food, then you, then your food again. A telltale sign that he’s begging for you to eat. “I’m no chef but I didn’t think I fucked it up that bad.” He jokes, worry still filling his chocolatey irises. You mumble a ‘sorry’ while looking down at your plate ashamed. “Sweetheart, don’t ever be sorry.” He ducks his head down to catch your gaze. “I don’t want you to be sorry, okay? Just want you to eat and be healthy.” He further explains. His tone is pleading. You nod and try again. For him. This time you’re able to stomach a few more small bites, leaving some food still on the plate but Eddie is satisfied with the progress.

Your mind starts going into a frenzy after dinner, switching from being ignorant to the mess that is your apartment, to now being hyper aware of every misplaced item and dirty dish, every crumb left behind on the kitchen counter and every wrinkled up blanket that had been living on the couch. The way your laptop sits on the countertop now has you cringing, it’s one more item that doesn’t belong. Eddie notices this as you begin frantically gathering your belongings in your hands and arms, laptop balanced on your forearm, half filled cups from the coffee table squeezed between your bicep and your chest, a book cradled in your other arm, and a blanket dangling from your other hand. You’re quickly moving between rooms to put everything back where it belongs. As you make your way back to the kitchen, the sight of the dirty counter, pots on the stove, dishes in the sink, and the nagging pile of mail make you inhale shakily. At this, Eddie rushes to your side before you can make this worse for yourself. “Let me help, you take the counter and I’ll take the dishes.” He announces, knowing that you would never go to bed without cleaning given the dramatic switch of your mental state. With a watery sigh and a sniffle, overwhelmed but determined, you nod and quickly start grabbing something to wipe down the counter. He knows you don’t want to do this right now but you have to. Otherwise you would drive yourself crazy and have trouble sleeping.

The kitchen gets cleaned in no time thanks to Eddie’s quickness and your ability to multitask, your determination kicking into gear just before giving out again, most likely sending you into another pit of exhaustion. You obsess over one last spot on the microwave, the debris not rubbing off as easily while you scrub it forcefully. Strong hands place themselves on your wrists, Eddie’s tall figure shadowing over you. Gently, he works the rag out of your hand and playfully bumps his hip against yours, nudging you out of the way. “Darlin’ this stain has been in the works for weeks. Trust me, I’ve been trying.” He smiles, tossing the rag over the sink. His arms wrap around your waist as he presses a kiss to your crown. “I’ll buy you a new microwave if it makes you feel better. Gotta wait til’ the morning though.” He mumbles, fingers delicately sliding along the small of your back. Finally finding your voice again, you look up at him. “No, that’s ridiculous. Can we just take turns every other night scraping at it?” You gesture to the microwave, a hint of humor in your voice, finally. “Maybe if we do it enough it’ll eventually go away?” You say, squinting your eyes. A laugh escapes Eddie, his hands squeezing your sides. “There’s my girl. Been looking for you.” His smile is contagious, your mouth widening with him. “It took a minute but here she is.” You’re now gesturing to yourself with subtle jazz hands. “Yeah, well it kinda felt like I was a kid lost in a supermarket there for a second. You know how scared I get when I’m lost at the supermarket.” He partially jokes. He so totally does get scared when he can’t find you in the store, an ongoing problem due to his short attention span.

You giggle, your head now against his shoulder as he holds you in the dim light of the kitchen. “You know what?” You ask, Eddie humming in response, his chest vibrating. “I felt like a lost kid in the supermarket too this past week. Except probably times a thousand.” You admit. His hand cradles your jaw as he makes you look at him, rings cold but refreshing against you. “I know, baby.” He whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead. A look of sincerity takes over his features. “Wish I could take it all away.” A soft kiss is pressed to your lips. “Fuckin’ supermarkets.” His playful tone returns as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ supermarkets.” You repeat, unable to contain your smile.

That night as you snuggle up in the sheets, Eddie’s arms around you protectively, you find yourself starting to drift off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week. And before you let yourself drift off, a whisper is heard among the quiet of your room, only the moonlight bathing your surroundings. “I love you.” Shifting to face him, the glow of the moon gives you the ability to see his features, soft and endearing as he completely lets his guard down with you. “I love you, too.” You whisper back. His lips find yours, pillowy and plump as he conveys his feelings to you in a slow, sensual kiss. “I love you most. You hear me?” His finger grazes your bottom lip lovingly. You kiss him again, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. “I hear you.” You say softly. “Supermarket boy.” You tease. He scoffs, pushing himself up to hover over you. “Keep crackin’ jokes, baby but I’ll get the last laugh and I’ll make sure if it too.” He warns. Your hand finds his cheek, stubble underneath your fingertips, a fond smile on your face. “Will you?” You ask with a hint of doubt. His face is now inches from yours, breath fanning over you. “Sweetheart, don’t ask questions you can’t handle the answers to.” He says breathily. “I won’t.” You state as if it’s a fact. He traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, your lip dragging down and then popping back into place as he releases it. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat.” He laughs admiringly. Within these moments, you're forced to recognize…

Eddie will always stay.

~end~

Masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut

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luveline · 2 years

Note

ive never done an ask before so sorry if i type it out wrong but could you do a eddie munson x reader where reader color's in eddie's tattoos i literally cannot stop thinking about it 😭 really just pure fluff and them goofing around

thank you for your request this is literally the sweetest idea ever! i didn't nail the goofing but he's a sweetheart and hot <3 0.9k

Eddie looks cute sitting in front of your desk in your soft backed chair. He's curious but careful as he picks over pen stands and coloured pencils.

"Can I see some of your work?" he asks.

You could kiss him right there for calling it 'work'. He's never once been dismissive about your art, though most everyone else in your life calls it a hobby or your 'little side job'.

You stand up from the bed and move to his side. His arm wraps around your waist lightly, easy as you open the desk drawer for your current small sketchbook where you thumbnail paintings.

"All my canvases are down in the garage," you say.

"I'd love to see them."

He opens your sketchbook with infinite care, arm quickly stolen from your skin. You hover anxiously by his side, waiting for his verdict. He's quiet as he turns each page, not patronising you in pretending that every single sketch is interesting, but an honest peruse of your talents.

He stops on a drawing of him. Quite recent, you'd forgotten all about it. In his club shirt with the sleeves pushed up, a quick rendering of the planes and shadow of his arms, less detail but enough to make out his face through a curtain of curls.

"Is it biased if I say this is the best one?" he asks, hands splayed over the page, face turned to you. He's grinning.

"Very biased," you say. "I've messed up all your tattoos. You were moving too fast."

He turns to the page and raises his eyebrows. "They look just fine to me."

He's lying, of course. They're blurs of dark without detail.

"You have to say that."

"I don't have to do anything," he says. You shiver as his hand wraps around your back again, his touch featherlight. A ring scrapes your skin as he slips his fingers under the fabric of your t-shirt.

"If you'd only stay still," you whine.

He tips his head back and pouts at you mockingly for a split-second before chuckling warmly. "You're tortured, bub."

The pet name has your chest aflame with heat. You look at his shirt rather than his face, toying gently with one of his messy dark curls. "Whatever," you say, wanting to move on before he does something to tease you.

He pushes the chair back and encourages you into his lap. You sit tentatively on his leg, aware of every point of contiguity between you as his hand finds your soft tummy over your shirt. The other arm he lays flat on your desk.

"Take a look."

You rub your face with your shoulder, unsure. Eddie squeezes you, reassuring. "Go on."

Your relationship is new enough that you haven't seen every tattoo properly. You leap at the chance to study them. Despite your nervousness at this proximity you lean forward on his knees and take his arm into your hands.

You like the first one over the smooth inner stretch of his forearm, it suits him, a demon of some sort puppeteered by a bony hand. Turning his arm over, you find his flock of bats tapering over his elbow. Familiar, you could likely draw them from memory.

You're holding your breath as you turn in the circle of his arm, finger pushing carefully under his shirt sleeve to expose the scary bird/lizard amalgamation that you don't recognise, its frilled spines flared and its mouth open.

"I like them," you say.

He pulls you up his leg. "Yeah?"

"Mm. Would you ever get something in colour?"

"Sure, I'd love some colour. S'just expensive as shit, so…"

He sounds embarrassed. It's not what you meant to do, and you rush to fix it with a spur of the moment thought.

"Could I colour one?"

"Could you?" he asks, voice low, laughing a laugh that's more breath than sound.

You burn, shifting forward to take a marker into your hands. He keeps a good hold on your abdomen to keep you anchored. It's nice.

You take a light red into your hands, slow and steady as you set it to his pale skin and fill in the majority of his demon. Then, with a slightly darker red, the midtones. You round it out with a dark purple in the shadows, giving the demon a more three dimensional feel.

"Is it too cold?" you ask as you go, voice a murmur.

Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your shoulder. "It's fine."

"You don't want to watch?"

"No way. Tell me when you're done, I want the full effect. Blow me away."

You nod and flush with heat and finish up as the heat of his body soaks into yours, relaxing in his lap as time passes.

"There," you say, capping a black fineliner. "I'm done, Eds."

Eddie pushes his chin over your shoulder to take in what you've done.

"Baby, that's fucking sick. Oh my god," he sounds sad, beggy, in that awful way boys do. "I want that for keeps."

You smile because you're glad he likes it. You'd thought you'd done a pretty good job, too.

"You have talented hands," he says into your ear, voice warped by a clear double entendre.

You melt, a shiver coursing down your back as you lean towards him unthinkingly.

"I'm not gonna shower. I need it forever."

Spell quickly broken, you wrinkle your nose. "That's disgusting."

"That's punk rock, babe."

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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geminimoonbeamx · 2 years

Text

Friday I’m In Love

A/N: So jokes on me because I didn't expect to love Eddie Munson this much. @allaboardthereadingrailroad told me he was going to be the it girl of this season and I said absolutely not.

Warnings: Smut, lots of it. Drug use. Judgemental teenage girls

Parings: Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Eddie invites you to his show, and holy shit. You show up.

“Remind me why the hell were here again?”

You’d never been to The Hideout, a shitty hole in the wall off the highway outside of town. You’ve driven by it like, a thousand times and never once had the urge to go inside. Now, as you stand next to your friend, Shelly’s, mom’s Subaru in the half empty parking lot your nerves are going haywire, over eager to walk through the doors.

“Because, we were invited” you answer simply. Duh. Sweeping more glittery lip gloss on and fluffing your hair before adding “plus it’s not like we had anything else to do”

“We could literally be doing anything else then this- isn't Clair throwing a party tonight?”

“Yeah, but all her parties are always like, major depressing. Ever since Heather you know”-you make a gurgling choking sound and cross your eyes “Its like, why do we have to do a toast to the dead girl, every party. I get once- but it feels redundant”

You get it. Claire and Heather were best friends. You’re also not in the mood to go hold her hand while she cries about it. Again.

Also, Heather had put gum in your third grade. So-

“For one- you're a horrible person” Shelly accuses, shaking her overly curly head “For two, we could’ve gone to the movies or something”

“You think the theaters boring, plus like. Won't it be fun to try something new? Come on” you grab her hand and pull her along behind you. Sparing one last glace at the familiar van, parked idle towards the front of the lot.

“So like, this has nothing to do with you and weirdo Munson, right?”

“Right- and its funny the way that you only think he’s weird after he sells you weed. Asshole”

Well- its not like you we’re expecting anything fancy from the Hideout. No expectations, no disappointment, right? The bar is the textbook definition of a dive.The lingering smell of stale beer hits you straight in the face as you walk in. Seedy lighting that makes everything look shadowy and almost green-

“Oh look! They have pool tables!” you point out because that could be fun. Maybe?

“Oh great” She replies, voice fasle sugar sweet before dropping “I want to leave”

“Shh” you elbow her, hard. “We just got here. Play nice”

And she does, for the most part. Sit down at one of the sticky tables with you. Avoids the looks of the bar's patrons- older. Wasted. White trash, for sure. You wouldn't talk to them, not ever but like. Whatever. You can just ignore them. That’s easy enough.

Especially when they get on stage. The Dark Wizards, Eddie at the lead. Even though he's not singing, even though he’s off to the side with that bright cherry red guitar of his. He’s the star.

“We’re the Dark Wizards, and we’re about to rock your mortal world”

You don't know when this…thing you had for Eddie developed. Somewhere between smoke laced conversations and late nights glued to your phone, him fighting the shitty static of his own line to talk until one of you called uncle, the thing had taken a life of its own.

He’s odd. Yeah. But no other guy has ever been this nice to you. Eddies odd, but he’s not cruel. He’s not like the asshole jocks or elitist math nerds. He’s not even like the rest of his leather clad D&D playing posse.

You wish you could get everyone else to see that. Get your friends to see that.

The singer is trash, the drummer can't keep a beat to save his life, but the guitar riffs are melodic. Smooth and sharp, and your heart catches the tune and beats in time. Blood flow slowing and stopping until your all but hypnotized.

You clap and cheer and cant manage to tear your eyes away until the final note plays, their set is over-

“Oh my god, you're so into him” the statement is disgusted, mostly. Fascinated. Your friend looks at you like she's watching a car crash- violent and bloody, but she can't take her eyes off of it.

You just shrug because like. Yeah. Obviously.

“Oh fuck no” she groans, face palming hard.

Eddie hurries out from behind the stage, which is really just their supply room. Grinning from ear to ear, beaming arms spread out wide. “Look who came!”

“You invited me, I told you I’d come” You try to contain it, but you're giddy. Even more so when he throws a gangly arm around your shoulder. “It’s no biggie”

“No biggie? You came all the way out here to see little ol me. Huge biggie, my friend. Huge” He holds his heart with his other hand dramatically-

Always so dramatic. Always so enamoring.

“You deserve a drink. A real one, what is this?” He dips his pinky into your friend's drink and her nose scrunches up something fierce and offended “Sprite? Nah, that's a peasant drink. Bartender kind sir- pour us something strong. And…fruity”

The bartender, who looks like an Ex-con, actually makes a mean Mojito.

------------

“It’s totes okay, I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”

You're in the parking lot, again. Except for you're not leaving in the car that you came in.

Shelly’s tucked into the Subaru, staring out at you with all knowing eyes.

He’s just going to drop me off at home.

Uh Huh.

Seriously.

“Yeah whatever you better call me later- I want all the dirty details. Use protection- bye” she waves before her tires screech, hauling ass away from the Hideout. You flip her the bird all the way.

“Okay let's blow this popsicle stand” you plop into the passenger side of the beat up old van, bouncing along as you go. Glad for the low cut blouse you’d donned because Eddie's eyes follow your chest, comically, animatedly. Up and down.

“Whatever you say, mi’lady. Your house?”

“I mean- I don't have a curfew or anything on the weekend- we could go somewhere else. If you want to?”

Eddie looks pensive, lips pursed, before a light bulb goes off in his head.

“Want to go to the end of the earth with me?” He questions as he reverses, and well. How can you say no to that offer?

-----

The cliffs of Sattlers Quarry are jagged and high. Eddie parks too close to the edge- takes you out. Holds your hand tight as you screech, not being able to look over for more than a second.

“Its okay,” Eddie chuckles, herding you into the open back of the van. “I come here all the time, were all good Y/L/N.”

The seats are ripped out, posters of dragons and bare tittied ladies plastered on the metal walls. Black Sabbath plays lowly from the crappy speakers and he lays an armful of threadbare blanket down for cushioning, for the two of you to curl up on.

You cling to him just to do it. Keep close as he rolls the cleanest joint you’ve ever seen. Spark and smoke and laugh- all attached to hip. He talks about Tolkien as fluidly as he does Karl Marx, he likes pineapple on pizza and was born the day before Valentines. Cats are superior to dogs, and he like lives off of peanut butter crunch cereal.

His dad split when he was in eight grade and living with his Uncles not so bad, really. It’s kind of like rooming with a chill homie, but definitely nothing like having a real parent.

“I'm boring you aren't I? Just tell me to stop, and I’ll zip my lips. Locked. Key is thrown, right off that cliff” He makes the motions, zip. Key, tossed and you lean your face into his jean clad shoulder.

“Mmm, no. I like listening to you talk” its not a lie, not the usual shit you blow up guys ass. Everything out of Eddie’s mouth is unexpected, he tells stories with words. Vivid pictures, film on a loop. With your lungs burning and THC running through your system it's even better.

“I like you. In general” Eddie whispers, and you hide your face even more. He shrugs you away though, turning. Face to face, no way to run from his dark eyes “I like your eyes” he leans in, and you think finally he’s gong to kiss you. Instead he gets close enough. Blinks fluttery fast, his lashes against yours. Butterfly kisses

You shake your head, cheeks burning, chest tight.

“And your hair? I really like that- even if it is better than mine which is rude. And don't even get me started on your perfume because that? That’s my favorite. And your-”

You slap a hand over his mouth pushing until he gives way. Until your on top thick thighs caging his waist “Stop it, jeeze I lied. I hate your voice, shuddap!”

He makes a few muffled attempts, squirming a bit before giving up. Going lax, bringing his hands behind his head and looking at you with dark eyes that shine and sparkle. He's enjoying this, and the long languid lick he gives to your hand shouldn't feel as good as it does.

You like Eddie, like the way he feels. You like the way he lets you be who you want to be, do what you want to do. Other guys would’ve thrown you off, too heavy. Too dominant. They didnt want to play, but Eddie. Eddie’s wanted to play with you since you hit that doobie behind the gym.

You unbutton your blouse slowly, letting him watch you. He can have it. All of it. Everything. You unhook your bra and those dark eyes go wide.

“This okay?” you ask, taking your hand off of his mouth, resting on his shoulder.

He nods, quick, adam's apple bobbing “Are you even asking me that right now? Yes, fuck yes I am a-okay. The best, really-”

The kiss you cut him off with is messy, too much tongue. Too much want. Why had you wanted this long? Maybe it should’ve have been more romantic- but then again maybe it is? It’s own version of romance, its own courting and dating and being cared for.

Eddies hands are everywhere, eager and exploring and its almost funny until he thumb brushes over your nipple, just on the right side of rough, making you gasp sharp into his mouth, and grind down onto his hard lap in tight circles. Eddie pulls away, just barley. Dragging his slick mouth acros your jaw, down your chest, your hands fist tight his hair as he runs the flat of his tongue along the nub.

It feels too good, mind numbing. Base instinct, two teenagers and in a fogged up car. Breathing eachothers air, tasting each other spit. Fumbly and needy, too fast.

Struggling out of your clothes, you wiggle out of your tight acid washed jeans as Eddie shed’s layer after layer- Hell Fire Club Tee, Leather Jacket, Denim vest. The floor of his van littered. You’re tugging on your pink panties when he blankets himself over you, pushing you back down. The blankets rough on your bare skin.

Eddie’s a weirdo, not a virgin. And most importantly, he’s good with his hands. The long ring donned fingers work magic. The real life kind that gets your back arching and has sounds that would embarrass you to think about later clawing their way from your throat. Feels almost too good as he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping as he pounds his fingers in and out of you.

He likes it, watching you squirm, watching your hips shift every time he tries to pull his hand away.

He keeps condoms in the glove box, mostly for show. Hope. The off chance that some girl gives him a chance and wants to hook up- once in a blue moon shit. He’s glad for them now, even if it means pulling away from a whining writhing you

When he slides back between your thighs it's a heady feeling. He’s almost vibrating, shaking out of his skin, nervous excitement making him clumsy. He misses. Doesnt slide into you easily, the two of you shifting and giggling, gasping and nosing at one and other until.

Oh.

There.

The inhale you take is shaky and sharp and Eddie groans and buries his head in your neck. Breathing in your sweet perfume as his hips begin to pump.

“O-oh my god. Eddie-” You stutter, holding on to his shoulders. He’s not the thickest guy you’ve been with, but his dicks long. Longer then average forsure. Jabbing at that place inside you, pleasure pain bursting behind your eyelids and you cling to his shoulders. There's no real pace, not from the nineteen year old, but the friction of sweaty bodies feels good, the rocking rhythmic and almost peaceful as you stare up at the van’s ceiling. You like it, the way he moans, the way he tells you how it feels- he really doesn't ever shut up.

Its quick, you’re young and Eddie’s never been with anyone who feels so tight. You can tell when he’s close, when he speeds up to nothing more then a dirty, desperate grind. When his whole body goes taught and his arms tighten around your waist, holding onto you as he rides it out. As he shakes and shudders, needing the grounding. You hold him in the cradle of your thighs.

He pulls out with a hiss and slumps, heavy and boneless on to you and you stroke his back, trail your fingers across his shoulders soothingly. It felt good the minutes that go by in overexerted bliss. It wasnt like you weren't used to not getting yours. Guys just had a one track mind, right? No big deal, you’ll handle it when you get home-

Eddie's head perks up from your chest. Almost like he could read your mind, Isnt that one of his D&D elf powers or whatever?

His animated, recovered enough to have regained that mischievous look. He waggles his tongue, vulgar and pushing corny

“Your turn, mi’lady”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson

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