Characters: Steddie x Innocent!Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson
Summary: Eddie and Steve want reader to be their third and can't wait to corrupt her and make her into their perfect baby girl
Word Count: 4154
A/N: This might turn into a drabble series. Send me some asks if this fic sparks a filthy thot or two! This is self edited, all mistakes are my own.
Warnings: NSFW, DDLG undertones, naive/inexperienced reader, lots of pet names, darkish steddie (they just want to make the reader feel good 😈), Oral sex (F!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, makeshift bondage, squirting, slight angst but it's quickly resolved.
18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Please do not read if any of this upsets you!
You flit around your apartment, straightening pillows and fidgeting with nic nacs, in an attempt to assuage the anxiety simmering in your gut.
Gazing around the small space, you worry Eddie and Steve would find some fault, a spec of unruly dust, a stuffie you forgot to hide in your closet. Chewing on your nail as you think back to what landed you in this predicament. They had caught you staring as Eddie sat on the counter at family video, whispering in hushed tones with Steve. They leaned into each other, grinning like fools, you could only imagine what was being said.
You jumped slightly when Eddie looked up, pinning you with his dark gaze, his warm brown eyes lighting up with mischief as he waved joyfully at you. You looked away quickly, busying yourself in finding a movie to rent. Unfocused, you grabbed the first tape within reach and made your way to the counter.
Steve greeted you, your name sounding absolutely sinful on his lips. You felt your face heat as you placed the tape on the counter without looking up and searched your purse for your wallet.
“Friday the 13th?” Steve asked, making you break your own rule about not making eye contact. You frowned at his question looking down at your watch.
“No, it’s Wednesday the 3rd,” you replied softly, frowning in confusion. Eddie sniggered, making your heart tumble in your chest, as he tried and failed to hold back his laughter. Steve grinned rubbing a hand on the back of his head.
“No, the movie, Friday the 13th?” He pointed to the tape you placed on the counter, watching as you finally took in the title.
“O-oh, yeah,” you stuttered, your voice wavering. You wondered if your face had become radioactive with how hot your cheeks were. Maybe they wouldn't notice if you just turned and ran.
“Didn’t peg you as a horror fan,” Eddie chuckled, swinging his legs back and forth.
“Uh, yeah, I’m not really,” fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater, pulling them down to cover your hands. “s-sorry, I’m just gonna…,” you gestured lamely toward the door, hanging your head as you shuffled away from the counter when a hand on your arm put a stop to your escape.
“No, hey, I’m sorry, we were just teasing. It’s just really cute the way you get all flustered,” Eddie grinned, a blush of his own staining his cheeks.
“Cute?” You squeaked, looking around at Steve who nodded in agreement.
Eddie looked back at Steve and the two of them seemed to share a silent conversation, before Steve nodded slightly.
“Listen, why don’t we introduce you to the horror genre properly,” Eddie suggested, still holding your arm. “How about Steve and I come over to your place and have a good old fashioned movie night, would you like that?”
Your heart leapt at the thought, butterflies swooping dangerously in your belly, ”like, just friends watching movies together?” You asked, feeling a little silly.
“We were thinking more like a date,” Steve said casually.
“But-,” you looked between them, pondering how you could date two men who were already together.
Eddie thankfully cut you off saying, “we’ll talk over everything later, ok? But would you like to go on a date with us?”
There was a tense moment of silence before you finally said, “yeah, I’d- i'd like that.”
Eddie and Steve sagged slightly in relief, “Awesome, Friday work for you?” Eddie asked, grinning at his own joke. Rolling your eyes playfully you gave your number to Eddie before prancing out of Family Video enjoying the view from cloud nine.
Now you’re a ball of nerves, waiting to hear the knock at your door, fighting your self doubt every step of the way. When the rapping at the front door finally comes you force yourself to count to ten before answering.
Eddie and Steve look ethereal backlit by the setting sun. Steve’s hair is perfectly quaffed, his blue jeans hugging him perfectly. Eddie looks devastatingly disheveled, his many rings gleaming in the dying light. They both grin at you taking turns looking you up and down, making you shiver in anticipation.
“Are you gonna invite us in, sweet girl?” Steve asks, propping his forearm against the door frame allowing him to lean into your space. You swallow thickly, nodding before stepping out of their way. They saunter in, Eddie making a b-line for the kitchen to put away the plethora of snacks they brought. Steve looks around the room nodding appreciatively, smiling softly at your various pictures and decorations.
He turns back to you, grinning broadly, “alright here’s the plan.” Steve pulls open the plastic bag filled with tapes, pulling a familiar title out first. “We start with the slasher classics, and then, if there’s time, ease into some supernatural horror flicks. Sound good?”
You bite your lip, trepidation shadowing your excitement. You actually hated horror movies, they always gave you terrible nightmares. Stuffing those thoughts away, you smile, nodding your approval.
Eddie steals your attention by asking where the bowls are as he rummages around the kitchen.
“I can do this,” you say, attempting to snag the bag of chips from his hands.
“No, no, baby, let me do this. I’d love your company though,” You smile brightly helping Eddie fill bowls with different kinds of junk food. You start to notice how touchy Eddie is, brushing his fingertips against yours, gripping your waist as he moves around you, closing the space between you with each pass.
“S’cuse me, sweetheart,” he says seemingly unaware of the effect he has on you. You let out a shaky breath, berating yourself for getting worked up. Eddie continues to take snacks to the living room, making sure to brush his fingertips across your skin when he takes the bowls from you.
Cursing your high libido, you press your thighs together trying to release the ache before making your way back to the couch, seating yourself in your favorite spot. Steve finishes setting up the first movie as he and Eddie ignore the other seats, choosing to sit on either side of you. You stiffen at their proximity, breath stilled in your lungs as your brain tumbles over different scenarios this night could end in. The movie starts and you force yourself to relax, breathing deeply.
As you get absorbed in the story, you don’t notice Eddie and Steve moving in, crowding closer to you. Your heart stutters as the music swells and you nearly scream at a jump scare, covering your eyes. Eddie huffs a laugh, his breath fanning across your ear, “it's ok, princess. It’s just a movie.”
Keeping your hands firmly over your eyes you whisper, “mm-hm,” peeking out between your fingers. On screen Jason chases a camp counselor, who screams in terror, you gasp as the terrified teen barely escapes the swing of his blade. You cover your ears, whimpering in fear as you huddle in on yourself, wishing you had a stuffie to cuddle with.
“You ok, sweet girl?” Steve asks, trying to coax you out of your makeshift hiding spot.
“Maybe we should turn this off?” Eddie suggests, concern shining in his umber eyes.
You wail as Jason delivers the fatal blow, blood spraying everywhere, “Turn it off, turn it off!” Throwing yourself into Steve’s arms, you squeeze your eyes shut, sniffling into his soft sweater. The death of the character playing over and over again behind your eyes.
Eddie jumps up to turn the tv off as Steve warps you in his arms, rocking you gently. “It’s, ok, it’s gone,” he soothes, rubbing your back. Calming down slowly, realization washes over you, you’re currently snuggling with Steve Harrington, because you started crying during a horror movie no less. Cringing at yourself, you wiggle out his embrace.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you whimper, looking from Eddie to Steve, shame making your face heat.
“Princess, why didn’t you tell us you don’t like horror movies?” Eddie asks, crouching in front of you.
Shrugging, you twist your fingers nervously. “I don’t know, I was just excited to hang out with you guys and… fuck, I’m so embarrassed.” You clutch your head in your hands, waiting to hear the sounds of Steve and Eddie walking out of your apartment and your life forever.
You jump slightly when you feel Eddie’s hands gently lifting your head. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetness. We can just make it a different kind of movie marathon!”
Shocked, you look over at Steve who is preoccupied searching through your VHS collection. “Ah!” He exclaims waving The Princess Bride triumphantly in the air.
“You’re both ok with this?” You ask doubtfully.
“Are you kidding, I love this movie!” Steve beams, switching out the tapes, “Plus this is much more appropriate for our baby girl, don’t you think Eds?” he adds as Eddie nods in agreement. You’re about to ask what he means when the two men take their respective places on either side of you. Eddie wraps a soft blanket around the three of you as they snuggle in close, giving you permission to relax back into them.
Sinking into the warmth of their shared body heat, the last remnants of fear evaporate as you watch one of your favorite movies. You don’t realizes you're quoting along with the movie until Eddie chuckles, “you’re so fucking cute.”
“Thank you,” your voice is pitched low as a shiver runs down your spine.
“What good manners,” Steve praises, brushing his hand on your knee, squeezing gently. You tense as his hand moves up your thigh, stopping at the hem of your skirt. The warmth of his palm makes you shiver, the ache between your thighs making itself known. Steve fingers start to tickle at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh and you found yourself wishing he would do that under your panties instead. Squirming in your seat, you trap your lower lip between your teeth, biting back a moan. You feel Eddie’s hand on your stomach, rubbing over your shirt until the hem rides up allowing him to stoke the soft skin on your belly. Huffing, you squirm again, wishing you could relieve the ache burning in your core.
“You’re quite the squirmy little one, are you ok?” Eddie asks, his nails tickling gently across your skin making you giggle.
“Y-yeah, I’m ok,” you clear your throat, hoping you won't have to elaborate. When their focus remains on you, you sigh, adding, “your hands feel-they feel really good.”
“Aw, are we making your princess parts feel funny, pumpkin?” Steve asks, making you frown.
“My what?” Steve and Eddie chuckle at your question, turning their bodies toward you.
“Don’t worry about that baby, let us help you,” Steve says, kissing your cheek. You jump at the feeling of Eddie's lips on your neck, as he presses gentle kisses at the exposed column of your throat and down to your shoulder.
Your eyes fall shut when Eddie licks and sucks at your skin, feeling the sensation acutely in your core. Eddie turns your face toward him, capturing your lips in a languid kiss. You feel Steve’s broad palm sweep up your thigh, coaxing your legs apart. Eddie’s lips are all consuming as he kisses you, swiping his tongue against the seam of your mouth. You open up to him, allowing him to tangle his tongue with yours. Turning into putty in his hands, you let Eddie consume you with his kiss, chasing him when he pulls away too soon.
“Uh, uh, baby. It’s Steve’s turn,” he smirks, nudging you toward Steve encouragingly. Steve picks up where Eddie left off, claiming your lips in a searing kiss. Eddie tugs at your top, revealing more of your shoulder, trailing kisses across your collarbone, occasionally nipping at your soft skin. Pulling your top down further, Eddie exposes your bra, cupping your clothed breast before yanking at the cloth, freeing your breast from its confines. Steve palms the back of your head to keep you from pulling away and you moan wantonly into his mouth as Eddie sucks on your pebbled nipple.
You squirm between them as Eddie swirls his sinful tongue around your hard nub, your brain fuzzy with sensation. You break away suddenly when you feel Steve’s fingers on your panty covered core.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you grip Steve’s wrist, breathing heavily. “Let’s slow down, I need a moment.”
Neither man moves, Steve fingers still dangerously close to your throbbing center. Eddie releases your nipple with a pop making you miss the warmth of his mouth immediately.
“Why?” Steve asks, eyebrows pinching together. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
You shift, attempting to dislodge Steve's hand, but he holds firm. Gnawing on your lower lip, you fight the hazy lust swirling in your head to try and get a handle on the situation.
“It's ok to like it, it’s supposed to feel good,” Eddie says, swirling his finger around your nipple teasingly. You whimper, hips bucking softly off the couch.
“I’ve just never…” you trail off, unable to voice your insecurity.
“Oh we know, baby,” Steve grins. “We know you're a virgin, we know that nobody has touched this pussy except for you.” Your face heats in embarrassment as you hang your head.
Eddie lifts your chin, kissing you sweetly. “There’s no need to be embarrassed! We think it’s sweet and we can’t wait to show you all the ways we can make you feel good.”
“Just relax and let us take care of you,” Steve breathes, moving to cup your mound in his warm palm. You whimper, debating with yourself, completely losing your train of thought when Steve starts to rub circles over your soaked panties. Eddie claims your mouth in a brief kiss before looking at Steve, “I wanna taste her.”
“She’s gonna lose her little mind,” Steve chuckles darkly.
Before you can ask what they’re talking about Eddie looks at you, his hand joining Steve’s under your skirt. “I want to show you something that will feel really good, ok?”
Without waiting for your response the two men move swiftly, with Eddie kneeling on the carpet in front of you and pulling you down the seat of the couch until your ass is perched on the edge. You gasp as his hands glide up your thighs, gripping the elastic band of your panties. Eddie pulls the cotton barrier down, moving your legs up to your chest so you're splayed open for them. Whining you try to cover yourself, feeling your entire body heat with embarrassment.
“It’s ok sweetness, you’re gonna love this,” Eddie soothes as he gently strokes his fingertips along the seam in your cunt. “I’m just gonna give you special kisses,” Eddie says condescendingly, rubbing his thumb gently over your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, but you frown at his choice of words.
“You mean you wanna eat me out?” You ask, feeling overly exposed between the two men.
“Look at you, using big words. That’s right baby, but we call them special kisses, ok?” Steve reprimands gently.
You’re still unsure about the phrasing but don’t have time to argue when you feel Eddie’s warm tongue drag across your button unannounced. Your legs snap together involuntarily as he sweeps long slow licks across your pussy. “Keep those legs open sweetness, or I’ll have to help you,” Steve chides. After another failed attempt at keeping your legs open, Steved drags you into his lap, your back to his front, wrapping his hands around your thighs so he can pull them up and open. The next time Eddie’s tongue invades your quivering folds, Steve is there, holding you in an iron grip.
Eddie’s talented mouth drives you to the point of insanity as he kisses and licks your center. Your fingers tangle themselves in Eddie’s curls, holding on for dear life as he brings you closer to your climax. Steve groans behind you, “yeah, he’s good with that tongue, isn’t he, bunny?” Your breath leaves in stuttering gasps as you nod in affirmation. Eddie moans sucking your clit into his mouth, making you gasp. You’ve never been brought to orgasm so quickly and Eddie shows no signs of slowing down. Eddie starts to move his head side to side, his plush lips dragging over your clit, triggering your release as you cry out, muscles straining against Steve. You whine pathetically as Eddie stays firmly latched to your clenching core, lashing at your overstimulated bundle of nerves. You push at Eddie’s head, trying to stop him only to have your wrists pulled away by Steve. Eddie grips your thighs, in Steve’s pace, keeping you splayed.
“Naughty girl, you don’t get to decide when we’re done,” he admonishes.
“S’too much,” you stutter, thighs trembling uncontrollably as Eddie licks and sucks at you as if he hadn’t just given you an earth shattering orgasm.
“Gimme your bandana, babe,” Steve instructs, holding a hand out to Eddie, who fishes in his back pocket depositing a black bandanna in his hand without breaking away from your core. With a little maneuvering, Steve ties your wrists behind you, hazily you think you should protest or fight back, but the feeling of Eddie’s tongue makes it impossible to think clearly. Once your wrists tied Steve quickly grabs hold of your thighs again.
“Please, no more,” you beg, pulling against your new bonds. Twisting your hips in vain, you blubber continuously until Eddie growls lifting up, only to stuff your soaked panties in your mouth unceremoniously before lowering his head once more.
You sob unintelligibly into the cloth as Steve rubs the back of your thighs soothingly, shushing you gently, “I know it feels icky right now, sweetheart, but it’ll feel good again soon.” Eddie digs his tongue deliciously into your swollen flesh making your eyes roll back in ecstasy.
A familiar warmth builds in your belly as tears of overstimulation tickle at your waterline. You didn’t think you were capable of having multiple orgasms but the tingling in your center tells a different story. Your breath is heaving in and out of you as Steve eggs Eddie on, “fuck yeah, lick that sweet little pussy, bet she tastes so sweet. Cum for us again, baby. Just let go,” Steve encourages. You wail as Eddie expertly twirls his tongue against your clit, triggering your second climax. Your body convulses uncontrollably as pleasure rolls through you. Again Eddie refuses to stop, licking and sucking at your ruined cunt.
You sob as you push uselessly against the two men only to be shushed by Steve, “I know, honey. It’s so much, isn’t it?” He pouts patronizingly, kissing your tear soaked cheek.
You squirm in Steve’s lap as he holds you against his chest, watching his boyfriend devour you. Eddie’s mass of curls bobs up and down as his tongue plunges through your folds over and over again.
“I’m so fuckin’ hard right now,” Steve husks behind you, grinding his cock against your backside. “Can’t wait to get my cock in ‘er.”
Fear strikes through you as a distressed noise leaks through your makeshift gag. Everything was moving so fast, if you could just take a breath, have a moment to think clearly. Shaking your head vigorously you try to clear your mind. “Oh bunny, it’s ok, it’s not gonna hurt,” Steve coos at you. “We’d never hurt our precious baby girl. It’s gonna feel so good to finally have something in that achy little pussy.”
Without warning, Eddie plunges two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them against the spongy spot inside you while sucking your button into his tortuous mouth, making stars burst across your vision. Eddie sets an almost punishing rhythm, pounding his fingers in and out of your cunt as your stomach clenches painfully with a sensation that you know all too well now. Steve grips your trembling thighs tighter, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. “Make her squirt in your mouth,” Steve says suddenly, his voice rough with the command.
You don’t have time to ponder what that means as your climax rips through you, making your back arch painfully as your release squirts out of you and into Eddie’s waiting mouth. Embarrassment seizes you so swiftly that tears stream down your cheeks and you turn your head away unable to look at the two men you're trapped between.
Eddie seems to sense these tears are different and pulls your panties from your mouth, “Bunny, what’s wrong?”
A sob escapes you as you shake your head, unsure how to explain what you’re feeling, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I don’t know why that happened.”
“What?” Eddie asked, confused. Your cheeks burn as you look significantly at your core, where Eddie’s fingers are still buried in your heat. “You mean when you squirted? Princess, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and now that we know you can squirt, Steve and I are gonna do it over and over again.” Steve chuckles behind you, peppering kisses across your neck and shoulder.
“Wanna take this into the bedroom, sweet girl?” Steve asks as Eddie pulls his finger reluctantly from you, sucking them into his mouth. You’re not sure when it happened but you’re struck with a sudden feeling of being used and not in a fun way.
You weren’t ready, and you didn’t know how to tell them, or if they would even listen. You wanted your first time to be special, looking back, you couldn’t believe you had let it get this out of hand. Shame burned in your belly and you had a sinking feeling that Steve and Eddie didn’t care if you were ready or not. They jumped at the chance to get into your pants and seemed like they didn’t care if you had wanted to get to know them better or maybe go on a couple dates before things progressed to where they are now.
Your eyes watered at the thought, you didn’t mean anything to them except a hole to use. Maybe you should just get it over with, be done with the anxiety around having sex. You're vaguely aware of the bandana being united as you muddle your way through your anguished thoughts, unaware that you’d become nonverbal, eyes glazing over and unresponsive to Steve or Eddie’s worried questions.
“Just get it over with,” you whisper softly, staring at a spot on the floor.
“What?” Steve asked with an edge of desperation in his voice. He cups your cheek in an attempt to see your eyes, “get what over with?”
“Just fuck me and then you and Eddie can leave. It’s not like I’m good or much else anyway,” the words burn bitterly on your tongue. You miss the heartbroken looks the two men exchange.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” Steve coaxes, finally lifting your chin enough to make eye contact. “Why would you say that?”
Sighing, you bolster yourself for a heartbreaking conversation. “Kinda seems like you and Eddie have a specific goal in mind and, you know- might be nice just to rip the band-aid off.”
“Rip the- shit,” you flinch at Eddie’s tone, watching him rub his face in frustration. Feeling brave you wiggle out of Steve’s grasp, fixing your clothes hastily.
“It’s pretty obvious that you both only wanted one thing from me so, you can either do it and be on your way or get out,” you didn’t want to be their pawn any longer. You clasp your hands in front of you to keep them from shaking, as Steve and Eddie share another silent conversation.
“Oh Bunny, no. We- fuck, I guess we got a little carried away,” Eddie blushes, scratching the back of his neck nervously.
“We don’t want to just fuck you and leave,” Steve says, looking at Eddie. “We want you to be with us, like we want to date you-together,” Steve stumbles over his words looking flustered. “We’ve been trying to figure out how to get you to go out with us for a while now. I guess we got a little too excited,” Steve sags, rubbing his forehead regretfully.
“We fucked this up, didn’t we,” Eddie mumbles at the floor, pulling at his long tresses.
Watching the two men berate themselves, you can’t help but feel a fondness for them. There’s a niggling sense of wrongness beating in your chest, but you ignore it. Smiling you ask, “do you wanna get something to eat?”
They look up at you with a mix of shock and hope. “You still want to give us a chance?” Steve asks, mouth tilting at the corners.
“We’ll see how it goes,” you answer teasingly. The duo chuckles as they rise to their feet, Eddie extends his hand to you which you gladly tangle your fingers with his.
summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.
word count: 17.8k
warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff
a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D
༄
You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.
New city, new apartment, new tattoo.
It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.
The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.
Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.
“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.
“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”
She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”
“Thanks, Nancy.”
She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.
A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.
A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.
“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.
“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”
He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.
He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.
Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.
“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”
“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.
“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”
“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”
“Alright. Got an idea for size?”
“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”
You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.
You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.
“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”
“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”
“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”
His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.
The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.
He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.
“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.
“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.
“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.
He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.
“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”
There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.
“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.
“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”
“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”
“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”
“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”
He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.
“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.
“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.
“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”
You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”
“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”
Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”
“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.
You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.
“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”
“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”
“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”
“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.
That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.
-
He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.
Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.
Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.
-
It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.
Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”
“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”
“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”
You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.
“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay, see you-”
He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.
You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.
Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.
His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.
“Why are you still here, Steve?”
“Why are you still here?” He retorts.
“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.
“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”
Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.
“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”
“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”
“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”
No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.
“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”
Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.
-
You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.
The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”
She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.
“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.
“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.
“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.
When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”
“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.
“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”
You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.
“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.
“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.
You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.
“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.
“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.
“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”
“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”
He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.
“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”
You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.
“This one. It’s really good.”
He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”
He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.
“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.
“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”
That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.
Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.
When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.
Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.
“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”
“It’s great. Really.”
“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”
He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.
“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”
“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”
“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
He manages to ease you with very few words.
The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”
It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.
“You okay?” He checks.
“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”
“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.
Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.
He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.
It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.
Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.
“So, why the moon?” He asks.
“Huh?”
“Why’d you choose the moon?”
“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”
He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.
“That’s really…wow.”
“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”
“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”
He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.
Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.
That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.
“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”
“Please,” you nod.
He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.
You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.
“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”
So are you, he thinks.
“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.
“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”
“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”
He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.
“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.
“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”
“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.
You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.
“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.
Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.
“How was it?” Nancy asks you.
“Good! I’m really happy with it.”
“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”
You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.
It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.
You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.
-
You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.
It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.
You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.
You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.
Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.
The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”
“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.
“Hey! How can I help you?”
“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”
“He did?” She sounds surprised.
“Um. Yeah.”
“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”
“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”
Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.
It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.
“Hello?”
You can tell that it’s Eddie.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”
Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”
“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.
“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”
He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.
“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”
“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”
“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”
He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.
“‘Course. See you soon, then.”
“Bye, Eddie.”
He hangs up.
You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.
“Welcome back,” she says.
“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”
“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”
Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.
His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.
“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.
“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”
“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”
“Perfect. How much do I owe?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.
“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”
“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”
“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”
“Bye, moon girl.”
You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.
“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.
You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”
“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”
You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.
“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”
Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.
You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.
“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”
You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.
“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”
You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.
-
As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.
He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.
Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.
“What do you want?” He sighs.
“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”
“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.
“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”
“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.
He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.
So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.
“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”
“What she said!” Robin adds.
“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”
They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.
“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.
He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.
He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”
“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.
“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.
Just in case you care.
He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.
He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.
Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.
“That’s nice,” he settles for.
“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.
He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.
“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.
“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”
“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.
Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.
I like being single, he’d said.
And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.
-
Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.
The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.
You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.
It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.
“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.
“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”
“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”
“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”
“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.
“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”
You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.
“Yep, ready.”
She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”
She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’
You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.
This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.
You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.
Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.
Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.
Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.
It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.
You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”
She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.
It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.
When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.
He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.
“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.
“Thank you.”
The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.
Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.
“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”
“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.
You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.
Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.
“He likes you, you know?”
“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”
“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.
“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”
Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.
“I don’t know, Robin.”
“You’ll see, trust me.”
Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.
He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.
When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.
You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.
Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.
“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.
“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”
You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.
“C’mon, it’s dark out.”
“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”
He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.
The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.
He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.
“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”
Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.
“What? You’re not,” he says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”
He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”
“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”
He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.
The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.
He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.
Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.
“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.
You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.
“Thanks,” you breathe out.
You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.
Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.
It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.
He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.
He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.
When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.
He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.
There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Eddie-”
“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”
He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.
You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.
Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.
You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.
-
Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.
You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.
It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.
He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.
He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?
He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.
Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.
“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.
He plays guitar? Fuck.
“Shit, yeah. I did.”
“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.
“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.
“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”
They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.
“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.
Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.
“Really?” Eddie asks softly.
“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”
He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.
Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.
“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”
Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.
He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.
“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.
“We’re just friends. Seriously.”
“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.
Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’
He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.
Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.
You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.
When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.
“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.
“It’s nothing special,” he replies.
“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.
He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.
Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.
The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.
When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.
This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.
“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”
Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.
“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”
The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.
One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”
He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.
“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”
Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.
He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.
The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.
“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“You are?”
You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.
“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”
“Why did you?” Is what you say next.
“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”
He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’
He could, but he doesn’t want to.
“You think I’m pretty?”
He nods, almost ashamed about it.
“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”
“What?”
“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”
You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.
The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”
You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.
Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.
You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”
When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”
He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.
“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”
“I can look at it, if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.
“‘Course I am, let me see.”
“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”
He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.
“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.
You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.
Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”
He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.
For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”
“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”
The compliment warms your insides.
“Thank you.”
“Want me to clean it for you?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.
His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.
They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.
Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.
“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”
You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.
There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.
Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”
The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.
“Yes. Please.”
Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.
He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.
Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.
He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.
“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.
“Eddie, come on.”
“What is it?”
“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.
He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”
It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.
He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.
Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”
“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.
“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”
“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”
Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.
“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.
The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.
He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.
“Holy shit,” you breathe.
“You okay?”
“More than okay. You’re really good.”
“‘M not done yet, babe.”
He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.
His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”
You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.
You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”
“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”
He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.
While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.
The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.
He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.
“You still want this?” He asks.
Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”
I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.
You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.
You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.
He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.
You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.
Yeah, you like him a whole lot.
Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.
He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.
“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”
He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.
“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.
“Dirty girl.”
He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.
He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.
“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.
It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.
Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.
His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.
Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.
“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.
“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”
“Eddie.”
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”
He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.
If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.
“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”
You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”
He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”
It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.
“Oh my god,” you choke out.
“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.
He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.
When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”
“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”
He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”
Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.
He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.
His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.
The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.
He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.
He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”
“What?”
“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.
“Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, moon girl.”
You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.
-
You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.
For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.
You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.
You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.
There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.
He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.
“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.
“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”
Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.
His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.
“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”
The tips of his ears go pink.
He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.
“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.
That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.
-
It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.
You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.
Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.
So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.
You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.
You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.
“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.
“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”
“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.
“Hi, Eddie.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”
“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”
He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.
“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”
“You know you will,” you say.
“‘Kay, see you soon!”
She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.
“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.
“What’s this?”
“I want you to give me a tattoo.”
Your eyes widen, “sorry?”
“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”
Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.
“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”
“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”
It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.
Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.
He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?
“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.
The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.
You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.
It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.
Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.
His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.
As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.
He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.
He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.
“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.
“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”
He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.
“What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” he says.
You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”
He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.
He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.
“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.
-
Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.
You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.
There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.
“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.
“Close the door, would you?”
“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”
Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.
“No. That’s not- I need your help.”
“Oh. Okay, hit me.”
“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”
Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.
That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.
He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.
“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”
“Not even a thank you?”
“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.
Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.
He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.
Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-
The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”
As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.
“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”
He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.
“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”
“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”
“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”
“Not exactly,” he says.
Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.
He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”
It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.
“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.
“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”
“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”
He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”
He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.
When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.
Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.
-
After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.
“Hello?”
“Hey, moon girl.”
“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”
You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.
Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.
He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”
“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”
You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.
He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.
He’s an absolute dream.
He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.
In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.
You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.
“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.
You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.
“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”
“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”
“At what, sweetheart?”
“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”
He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.
He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”
You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.
“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.
“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”
The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.
“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”
“My hands?”
“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”
He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.
You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.
Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”
You shake your head.
“Can I show you my place, then?”
“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”
He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.
He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.
The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.
-
Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.
He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.
You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.
His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.
You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.
There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.
“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.
“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.
You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.
“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”
He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”
You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.
Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.
“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.
If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.
“No, it’s- these are all for me?”
“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”
You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.
“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.
“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”
You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.
“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”
No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.
It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.
“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”
You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.
It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.
He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”
You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”
You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.
“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.
༄
if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3
summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend. his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.
contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.
a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍
fem!reader 5.3k words
gif by @barneswayne
Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.
Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.
A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.
He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.
“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”
Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.
“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”
There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.
“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”
Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”
A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.
Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.
“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”
Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.
“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”
You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.
“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.
He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”
You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.
Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.
Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.
“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.
Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.
“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”
Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.
“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”
Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.
Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.
Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.
You shrug. “No, not really.”
With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.
“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.
You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”
“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.
You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”
“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.
You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.
You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.
Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”
You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.
“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.
You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.
“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”
‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.
“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.
Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”
You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”
Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.
“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.
Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”
He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.
“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”
You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”
Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.
“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”
Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”
Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.
“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”
Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.
Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”
You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”
Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.
“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”
Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.
You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.
“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.
You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.
Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.
“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.
You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”
Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.
Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.
He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.
“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.
Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.
“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.
You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.
Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”
You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.
He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”
You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.
“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”
Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.
When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.
He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.
“Y/N?” He whispers.
You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.
He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.
“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”
A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.
He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”
-
You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.
You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.
He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.
“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”
Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.
“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”
Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”
Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.
“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.
Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”
Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”
Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.
“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”
“Steve!”
A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.
Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“
“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”
Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”
He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.
“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.
“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“
You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.
“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”
Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.
“What happened?” He demands.
Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“
“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.
“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.
“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”
You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”
Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.
“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.
Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”
She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”
Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.
“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.
“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”
At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.
“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.
Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.
“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”
He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.
-
You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.
He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.
Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.
You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.
“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.
You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”
“Hurting?”
You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”
You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.
“Steve?”
Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.
“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.
You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.
“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”
He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?
You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”
“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.
“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.
Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”
“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”
Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”
“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”
Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”
You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.
“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.
“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”
He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.
“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”
What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”
You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”
He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.
“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.
You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.
Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.
When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.
“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.
“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”
Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“
He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.
He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”
He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.
“Wait, Steve.”
Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”
You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.
His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.
Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.
He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.
“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.
Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”
“She’s tired.”
“But we bought chocolates.”
“Well—“
“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”
Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.
Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.
“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”
Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.
Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.
“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.
But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.
He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”
He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.
“Love you too,” you mouth back.
Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.
thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah
Summary: Eddie’s girlfriend has an insatiable appetite for something in particular tonight.
TW: There is no plot. This is just porn. So much breeding kink. So many cream pies. Begging. Talk about pregnancy. Eddie dirty talking. Little bit of praise. Taking pictures post sex.
Word Count: 1K
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her whole body was vibrating against his, her nails digging into his shoulder blade as she felt her tight hole get filled to the brim for the third time in less than an hour.
Eddie’s head comes up from being buried in her neck, his curly bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. He looked way more fucked out than she did. “Fuck, baby.” He whispers against her lips, barely audible to her. He shuts his eyes, groaning as he shifts slightly. “Gotta pull out.”
“No no no.” She whines, gripping onto him harder. “Again.” She bats her eyes up at him, sliding her hand from behind his neck to hold one side of his face. “Please, I want more.”
“Baby, you’re overflowing with cum. It’s leaking out of you.”
“Eddie,” She whines pathetically, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him inside her. “Just one more, please? I want your cum so bad.” She reaches up to kiss him, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
Eddie’s own fingers dig into her outer thigh as he gives her a few shallow thrusts, really just pushing all of his cum deeper inside her. He feels her whole body go limp under him, making him pull back from the kiss to look down at her.
Her eyes roll in the back of her head, her head following and rolling back on the pillow below her. “Yes.” She gasps.
how about steddie dick measuring contest but reader is the judge? if it leads to smut that’s okay but i know you’ll make it good regardless lol
author’s note: the premise is there i promise, i just used this as an excuse to write threesome smut because it started out as a funny idea and then my brain just melted at the thought of it
cw: 18+ (minors dni), heavy voyeurism, threesomes, unrequited crushes (steddie), established relationships with reader, unprotected sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), mentioned virgin!eddie, steve is overly confident, eddie is a sweetheart, if i missed anything lmk
word count: 4k
It started after Steve and Eddie found out that you had been sleeping with both of them—there was never any exclusivity in your relationship, and the sex with Eddie had started innocently, taking his virginity from him on his graduation night.
Every time with Eddie was something new. He was eager to try things, learn, and it made for some of the more enjoyable sex you’ve ever had. He only lacked slightly in skill, still fumbling around most of the time and getting upset when he couldn’t make you come as easily as he’d hoped.
For Steve, it was after a long-drawn out conversation about how he couldn’t find the right women, the sex was lacking, and he just wanted something—it didn’t even have to be something either of you committed to fully, as long as you two were having fun with it. Steve still went on dates every now and then, had the occasional hookup, but he always ended up back at your place most weekends using the opportunity to vent about his hardships in trying to find a partner—most of it fell on deaf ears, because as much as Steve was a great partner, he also talked about himself way too much.
He was full of himself, to be blunt—which is why this had started the conversation you were being forced to listen to currently, both of them settled on either side of the couch. You were smushed in the center, feet propped up on the table in Eddie’s living room, hands covering your face as you rested your head against the back of the couch and let out an audible groan.
“Okay but,” Eddie begins, another tumultuous conversation that was bound to go one forever if you didn’t put an end to it, “you’ve seen both of our dicks, you be the judge.”
Steve had found a pair of your underwear on Eddie’s floor a couple weeks prior, because of course he knew they were yours. He held them up accusingly, both you and Eddie sharing an awkward glance.
You really had no choice but to come clean. Thankfully, they both took it well—actually, they didn’t have any problem with it, and that’s what you couldn’t wrap your brain around. Not at first, at least.
“It’s okay,” Steve comforts, squeezing your shoulder, “be honest, Eddie can take it.”
You always hung out as a group now, never separately—and you couldn’t ignore the obvious tension that has festered. Truthfully, it felt like an attack on you. They talked about you when you weren’t around, you knew that much, having walked in on them in the middle of a particularly heated conversation about what made you come the quickest. Eddie knew it was oral, but Steve swore you faked it half the time just so he’d skip to the sex, always gawking about how good his dick felt—how big it was.
And obviously, it had boosted his ego through the fucking roof.
“Oh, fuck you.” Eddie insults lightly, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “Come on, sweetheart—let him have it.”
“Oh my god, who cares?” You ask redundantly, exasperated at the topic and almost shouting it out. “The average is—what, five? I’m pretty confident you’re both over that so what does it matter?”
“No way Munson is packing over five.” Steve nags, pointing lazily at the long haired, wide eyed boy at your side. Eddie rolls his eyes, scoffing at the comment.
“We get it, King Steve’s got a big dick.” Eddie mocks, throwing his hands up.
You snort at the nickname, “Don’t call him that.” You tell Eddie, watching as Steve’s face falls slightly. “See—he’s too confident.”
“Why are you avoiding the question then?” Steve counters, growing increasingly irritated. It’s not directed toward you, or at Eddie even, he just wants to get to the bottom of it.
“Why are you so worried that I might say it’s Eddie?” You tease, hearing Eddie howl a laugh behind you.
“Is it?” Eddie asks after he regains his composure, “I don’t even care at this point, I just need to rub it in Steve’s face.”
“Fuck this,” Steve says in a clipped tone, “Whip it out, Munson.”
“Excuse you?” Eddie asks in a subtle shock, eyes follow Steve as he stands from the couch. “Take me to fuckin’ dinner first, Steve.”
“I need to pee.” You say quickly, making a weak excuse to escape to the bathroom.
Steve holds up his hand, “No, no—you have to judge.”
You stare up at him with comically wide eyes, growling slightly under your breath when he doesn’t relent, sinking back down on the couch.
“Fine.” You agree, “Hurry up.”
Eddie flicks his gaze between you and Steve before finally settling on you, “Do you—are we actually entertaining this?”
“To be fair, I really don’t know.”
It was the honest truth.
Steve fiddles with his pants as Eddie moves a little slower, more hesitant to expose himself. Steve grew up in sports, he was used to changing in front of other guys, nudity around other’s wasn’t foreign to him—Eddie was obviously less willing, having grown up under constant scrutiny and bullying there was valid reasoning on why he didn’t want to. You gave him a look, touching his wrist as he reached for his belt.
“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” You tell him as he lingers behind you, eyes still locked on Eddie as you turn to him, but something in Eddie’s face changes, a subtle smirk growing.
“Gotta shut him up somehow, right?” Eddie asks.
And they’re both on the edge of shoving their pants down, gaze noticeably locked on one another before you’re panicking, arms thrown up in an attempt to halt whatever was about to commence.
“Wait, fuck—“ You sigh loudly, slumping as they both look at you, “this isn’t fair.”
The silence is telling, both boys completely at your command.
It’s almost impossible not to have fun with this, especially if they weren’t about to let up over the whole ordeal.
“I mean—Steve is definitely a shower,” You admit, “but I don’t think it’s fair unless both of you are—“
“Hard?” Eddie finishes for you, and Steve catches on immediately, that mischievous grin matches yours.
“If you wanted a kiss so bad all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” Steve replies with that puff in his chest, always so sure of himself.
You giggle softly, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek as you lean away from Steve’s reach, looking over at Eddie and back at him.
“Not me, Steve.” You reply sickeningly sweet, eye flicking up knowingly toward Eddie, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.
You weren’t oblivious to the interest that Steve tried so desperately to hide any time he was around Eddie—the teasing, the lingering looks, the constant need to piss him off just to keep him talking. Eddie was just as bad, constantly feeding into whatever game Steve was playing at. They had been friends before, somewhat—but whatever this had become, it brought you all closer. Though, it wasn’t your fault that they were so inherently stubborn and avoiding the fact that they, for a lack of better words, wanted to fuck each other.
And maybe that was a strong way to put it, but they almost seemed scared—scared that it would make you feel a certain way. They were both always so careful with your feelings, two of your closest friends, but your annoyance was at it’s peak and you really couldn’t take it any longer.
“Each other.” You say simply, wagging your finger between the two. “But, of course, drop the pants first.”
“That’s not funny.” Steve retorts.
Eddie shrugs, “I mean, I don’t care.”
You shrug at Steve, pointing at Eddie. “You heard him—get to smoochin’, Steve.”
Eddie laughs at Steve’s shy hesitation, yanking gently at the open hem of his pants, fingers grazing his half-hard cock.
“Come on, big boy,” Eddie teases, smirk pulling at his features, “all talk and no game—seriously?”
That’s what does Steve in, never one to back down from a challenge. He cradles Eddie’s head the same way he does yours, fingers disappearing into his long curls as he pushes toward him, slotting his top lip between Eddie’s, sucking at his bottom gingerly.
It’s just a taste—something to entice Eddie, but it doesn’t take much. He pulls back with a breath, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before diving in fully, tongue splitting Eddie’s mouth open without hesitation, hands idly working at his jeans to shove them down, underwear following as he steps out of them in a fumble, the fabric getting caught at his feet. Eddie takes a little longer, belt snapping in the air as he yanks it from the loops and strips himself too.
“Shirts too?” Steve asks, not directed at any particular person, but you answer seeing as how Eddie is so clearly distracted by Steve’s lips, his neck, the soft pattern of freckles that trace his face.
“Yeah, yeah—“ Your own breath is caught in your throat, despite how good you are at keeping your composure.
This was definitely meant as a joke, maybe a quick peck or two before you’d put an end to their misery—but that wasn’t the case at all.
You felt like you were intruding, but your body was frozen in place and part of you forget the entire cause of this, glancing down at their slowly hardening cocks, shirts being simultaneously ripped over their heads before they fell right back into, Eddie’s hands squeezing along the side of Steve’s neck as he kissed him, letting out the soft sated noises he makes when he’s enjoying himself, eyes closed shut.
Steve’s hand grazes carefully over his own cock, his fingers barely grazing the head of Eddie’s as he squeezes at the base, bringing his fingers up to drag over the tip, openly groaning into Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie chuckles, biting playfully at Steve’s lip, emitting a strained grunt from his chest—and then he’s speaking to you, startling you out of the trance you’ve fallen into, watching two of your best friend’s going after each other so eagerly.
“What’s the verdict, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, pulling away slightly to look at you. He sees the gape in your mouth, the glaze over your eyes and he can’t help it, “Oh shit—you’re into this, aren’t you?”
Steve turns his attention too, “Is that even a question? Look at her.”
“Someone had to force you two to stop ignoring what was obviously there,” You defend, “—I’m not gonna choose, by the way.”
“Oh, come on.” Steve complains, pulling away from Eddie briefly—he’s so unashamed in his nudity that he turns to you, “seriously—what’s it gonna take?”
You shrug stubbornly.
Steve glances over at Eddie, whose pupils are blown to hell with arousal.
“Your bed big enough for three, Munson?” Steve asks, sending you a vivacious smile that makes you blush, shrinking away from him slightly. “We’re gonna settle this.”
“Uh, yeah—should be.” Eddie nods, “But if we’re about to settle who’s better in bed, that’s a given.”
It was definitely not a given—because as much as you’d like to go for one or the other, they were making it impossible.
“Is this too much?” Eddie asks, shifting between your legs as he stretches your thighs open. Steve’s settled behind you, propping you up slightly as he tilts your head up, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation toward this.
“I feel like I should be asking you two that question,” You admit, smiling softly as Steve tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, smiling down at you, “this is my fault.”
“You good with this, Harrington?” Eddie asks idly, kissing at the inside of your thigh before nipping at the skin, causing you to squirm, gasping involuntarily.
Steve nods, making an affirming noise.
“You think you can handle both of us?” Steve asks endearingly, though it’s edged with something else
“At the same time?” You ask incredulously, “No fuckin’ way—“
Eddie’s tongue slides through the center of your cunt, biting gently at your folds. “I don’t think that’s what he means.”
“Good to know it’s on your mind though,” Steve comments, “maybe we’ll try that next time.”
Eddie pulls away briefly, laughing into the apex of your thigh. Steve’s fingers trailing down your bare chest, over the pudge of your stomach until his fingers reach your clit, rubbing slow circles until he can feel your breath starting to quicken. Eddie dives back in soon after, his tongue dipping into your entrance, lapping up the thick juices, sounding shamefully wet already. His nose nudges Steve’s finger, the pressure it applies is fucking sinful, causing you to moan openly, a hand wrapping around Steve’s bicep for support. His eyes never leave your face, so when your eyes go searching, he’s right there waiting.
“So, here’s the plan,” Steve explains—and considering he’s a lot more experienced than both of you, it makes sense, “Eddie’s gonna fuck you first, then me—then you’ll have to make your decision, alright?”
“No promises.” You mumble, before Steve’s nudging your face back up again, eyes darkening.
“You will.” Steve decides, “Trust me.”
Eddie moves up, leaning back on his thighs as he rustles around in his drawer for the spare box of condoms—because in hindsight, there was no way he could’ve prepared for this. So, of course, he’s all out.
“Hey—it’s fine,” You assure him, hand pulling his face toward you, “I trust you—considering I’ve been on birth control for the past year I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
“You always make me wear condoms.” Steve grumbles from above, earning a light shove from you.
“Well, Eddie isn’t going around fucking other girls.” You tell him lightly—it doesn’t come off as catty, more matter of fact. Eddie laughs, closing the drawer.
“So, one point me,” Eddie says, pointing toward himself, before shoving a giant goose egg at Steve, “Harrington, zero.”
The conversation dies rather quickly as Eddie settles back down, nudging the head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pressing it along your clit, sliding up through your folds in an effort to drive you mad—it always does, his face lighting up every time. Steve’s not watching you anymore either, eyes lingering toward Eddie, roaming the expanse of his body, his face. He’s never watched another man fuck before, despite his confidence. Steve’s had a threesomes before, though very few and far between, never like this. His sexuality wasn’t something he always openly discussed, no one ever questioned it either. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he even knew what it was. But, he was attracted to you—and Eddie.
Eddie pushes in slowly, face scrunching up in concentration as it always does—it’s almost like Steve wasn’t even there to him, his mouth coming down to latch onto your neck, kiss you gently, savor the sweet taste of your skin. Sex with Eddie is always slower, more sensual, and maybe you could enjoy it if Steve wasn’t snickering above you so flippantly.
“Dude,” Eddie complains, thrusts slowing as he glances up at Steve briefly before glancing down at you helplessly, “either get busy or get out.”
“Actually,” You pipe up, looking at Steve, “talk to him, Steve—god knows you never shut up when we’re fucking.”
Steve snorts softly, peering up at Eddie from underneath his lashes, smiling dangerously.
“It’s nice, yeah?” Steve inquires, eyebrows jutting up slightly in question, nodding toward you. “Probably the best you’ve had.”
Eddie laughs weakly, his thrusts increasing slightly as he pulls at your thighs, hooking them around his hips more securely. He was gawking up at Steve, leaving you to watch the show with baited breath, eyes squeezing shit every now and then when Eddie hit that particular spot inside of you.
“It’s the only,” Eddie admits, “but it’s fuckin’ perfect. Pussy’s fuckin’ perfect.”
And he’s never been a savant with words, but damn if that doesn’t send an immediate jolt of heat to your core, moaning brokenly.
“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Steve asks you, breaking his connection with Eddie briefly to glance down, “I’m not even kissing him and it’s driving you crazy.”
You nod dumbly, Steve’s attention flicking back toward Eddie.
“Tell me how she feels.”
Eddie scoffs lightly at that. Eddie’s always talkative during sex, but not in the same way Steve is—Steve is always about praise and making you blush after every other word, while Eddie has no ability to keep his burgeoning thoughts inside, telling you something annoying about his day or his favorite song that week; it’s all very mundane but it’s Eddie.
“Tight, fuck—“ He sighs, gripping your hip harshly as he moved his hips into you faster, face scrunching up slightly as he glared at Steve, who’s smirk hasn’t faded at all, “god, warm too. So fuckin’ warm and soft—“
You whimper desperately, finger squeezing into Steve’s forearm as Eddie thrusts into you, shoving you up Steve’s chest slightly, their own faces nudging together from the close proximity they were in.
Steve nods knowingly, his lips grazing Eddie’s plush ones, pulling back slightly when Eddie leans forward. “It’s not fair to her,” Steve says in a hushed tone, but you quickly respond with a shake of your head.
“Fuck, please,” You beg, “it’s so hot.”
They both laugh at that, forcing you to giggle despite how close you were to your own orgasm. Eddie presses his lips against Steve’s this time, initiating the kiss as he moves against you, fingers gripping you impossibly tighter as Steve’s tongue traces his bottom lip before slipping inside.
It’s messy, all spit and battling tongues as Eddie's hand struggles against the mattress to keep him upright, limbs shaking from execution and the coiling heat in his stomach, grunting into Steve’s open mouth.
“Gonna come,” Eddie whines, “fuck, I’m gonna come—“
“Come inside her.” He tells him.
It does Eddie in immediately, losing his rhythm. Steve’s quick, sneaky in his motions as his hand ghosts over your clit—the attention was never lacking, it’s the one thing you appreciated the most about him. Your orgasm hits you quick, fleeting, eyes connecting with Eddie briefly as he spills inside you, fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Surely they would, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.
Steve rubs your arms comfortingly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as you come back down, head spinning slightly.
“Still with us?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb along the side of your cheek until you connect eyes with him, offering him a small nod. He grins, “Good, my turn.”
Eddie moves slowly, still reeling from the intensity of it all, feeling floaty as he moves to settle behind you. Steve sits up as he takes Eddie’s place in front of you, leaning back on his heels as he lifts you up into his lap, forcing a small gasp from your chest. His fingers find your cunt, rubbing through the mix of your slick and Eddie’s as he pushes it back up inside of you where it starts to spill out.
“Good girl,” He chides, “I need you to keep it all in until we’re finished.”
Steve grips the base of his cock, pushing inside you slowly as Eddie pulls your hair aside, mouthing at the line on your shoulder, your neck, lazy and gentle kisses to remind you that he’s still there.
“Oh fuck,” Steve groans, “s’not fair—you’ve been letting Munson here fuck you without a condom and deprived me of this—“
“Stipulations, Steve.” You sigh, face scrunching up as he lifts you slightly, wrapping your legs around his hips until you have no choice but to throw over the control to him.
“Can’t help that you're a whore, Harrington.” Eddie chuckles, eyes connecting briefly as removes his lips from your skin, “—tell ‘em, sweetheart. Tell Steve how fuckin’ amazing it feels to have me inside you.”
You nod in agreement, a jerky motion of your head as Steve rams into you harshly, pulling a strained whimper from your lips, adjusting your arms around his neck for purchase. Eddie pushes in impossibly closer—Steve buries his face against the other side that Eddie isn’t occupying, leaving a faint bruise in the skin before pulling away, surprisingly met with Eddie’s lips.
“So good.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper, words failing to reach you, gasping sharply at the feeling of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your clit, still reeling from the previous orgasm. You could feel it though, that deep seated ache in your belly that was lingering there, waiting. Eddie’s other hand is pulling at Steve’s neck, tongue forcing itself past his lips and devouring him on the spot—if there was one thing about Eddie, he could take your breath away with a kiss, which was evident in the way Steve could barely keep up, having seemingly met his match with Eddie.
“Fuck, it’s too—sensitive, I’m gonna—“ You moan devastingly loud, both of them breaking briefly to attend to you—not that they weren’t already doing so, but they’re lips are puffy and red from kissing each other and they can barely keep their eyes for one another.
You’ve created a monster—but, it was a necessary evil. They had been walking around each other for weeks, tiptoeing around the topic, becoming more and more territorial over you to rile the other one up, it was only a matter of time.
“Fuck, yeah—just like that, baby.” It’s the only nickname that Steve calls you that makes your stomach flutter, his voice softer than normal. Eddie leans in too, fingers still rubbing persistently at your clit as he breaths over your ear, murmuring a soft—
“Look at him,” Eddie comments quietly, “he’s a mess.”
And he was—for a brief second, you didn’t even recognize him. Steve was normally so well managed and put together that the helpless look on his face was completely unfamiliar. His head fell back lazily, pumping into you a finally few times before he’s coming with a soft grunt, letting Eddie work you through your second orgasm—it’s overwhelming, almost too much, feeling your nails dig into the skin of Eddie’s thigh as you curse out a string of obscenities, chest heaving as you came down.
Eddie groans slightly, falling back on his mattress as you follow into a fit of laughter, neither of you able to calm yourself until Steve is settling by your side, staring you both down with a comical look of disbelief.
“So, do you have your answer now?” Eddie interjects beside how valiantly you’ve tried to avoid the topic. “Or, do we need to go again?”
And there’s only one real way out of it.
“Yeah,” You nod, “Me.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit.” Steve quickly recovers, flipping down beside you both, shuffling his pants back on lazily, while you and Eddie couldn’t be bothered. “That’s such a cop out.”
“Are you disagreeing with me?” You press further, the lilt in your voice coming off as a warning.
Eddie laughs softly behind you, “Don’t do it, Steve. You’ll regret it.”
And for once in his life, he doesn’t have a comeback.
“Okay, but back to the original question—“
“It’s Steve.” You admit, earning a dramatic gasp from Eddie, hand clutched over his chest. “Look, you two made me choose, you can’t be mad—“
“You could always try it out for yourself, Munson—if you have doubts.” Steve teases, leaning over you slightly to peer at Eddie, eyes raking his body.
“Mmm, but don’t get your ego up,” You warn him, waving a careful finger at him before pointing at Eddie, “Eddie’s technique is—“
“Are you saying I can’t fuck?” Steve huffs out a laugh, “After that?”
“Eddie’s just—eager.” You smile knowingly, watching as Eddie blushes a deep red, his hand covering himself indecently, the blood rushing to his cock again. “Like, really eager.”
Steve grins menacingly, “Clearly.”
Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 \\ eddie's a little surprised when you ask him to come over to platonically stay the night, but he's happy to try to make you feel better however he can.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 \\ 6.5k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 \\ SMUT (18+ ONLY), unprotected sex, mentions/discussions of a break-in, mentions of drug use, there was only one bed, fluff, kinda hurt/comfort (but less hurt more comfort)
"Thanks," you whimpered, sounding just as weak as you looked right now— your eyes were heavy and sunken in, your lips chapped, shoulders slumped. "I just feel safer with someone here."
Not that Eddie was in any place to judge your appearance. He'd walked here in the rain and probably looked a mess. "Of course!" he offered as he stepped inside and you shut your door behind him. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the couch, shaking the rain off his hair in a way not dissimilar to a dog after a bath. "Wow, storm's been pretty relentless, huh?"
"Yeah," you agreed quietly, reaching up to cross your arm over your chest and clutch your opposite elbow. "The cops said that's why they couldn't catch the guy— rain washed away fingerprints, and mud filled footprints, so…"
He nodded, looking down nervously at his shoes on top of your pale blue linoleum. "Can't believe some asshole's breaking into trailers. What valuables does he think you have in here?"
"Well, they said he might have been looking for me…"
Eddie instantly regretted mentioning it. He hadn't even thought of it like that, and it made a surge of emotions hit him when he did; most of all, a strange instinct to make sure you were safe. "Do they think he might come back?"
You bit your lip, glancing down too with a shrug.
"Well, nobody's gonna try and mess with you once they get a glimpse of Smith & Wesson," he added jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Eddie!" you gasped. "Did you bring a gun?"
You said it like it was a dirty word, even though he knew you had a revolver in here at some point. "No, no," he assured, "those are my biceps: Smith—" he flexed one arm— "and Wesson." He bit his lip as he flexed the other, raising and dropping his eyebrows quickly. You laughed, covering your nose and mouth with your hand as you snorted.
He was quite proud of himself for amusing you, and even slightly hopeful that the tank top he was wearing (which he'd made by slicing the sleeves off of an old Zeppelin shirt) actually made him look muscular.
"So… I'll set up on the couch?" he assumed.
"Oh," you mumbled, seeming shy again. "I mean, if you want…"
"What's the other option?" he wondered.
"Well," you said quietly, crossing your arms— damn it, he'd made you uncomfortable somehow. Eddie was perceptive enough to read your demeanor, but too oblivious to understand what he'd done to make you shut down. "The couch is fine."
He sighed, stepping closer to you. "You said over the phone that it would make you feel better if I came over. That's literally what I came for. So, tell me what I can do. I can stay up all night— or I can sleep outside on the porch if you want!"
"No!" you refused, starting to smile again. "If it's not too weird, I thought you could be in my room with me. I just…"
You sighed and began again, while Eddie's heart sped up a bit.
"If something happened, I wouldn't want you all the way across the house."
He looked to the bedroom door, to the couch, and back again. "Sweets, it's a trailer," he announced with a sarcastic tone and a raised eyebrow. "It's, like, five steps across."
"Come on," you rolled your eyes, "you know what I mean!"
"I do," he relented, "and it's fine. I can be in your room if you want."
You smiled bashfully, looking down and pulling your shoulders up to your ears. "Thanks," you breathed.
He hadn't asked the obvious question yet because he didn't want to seem too forward— maybe he'd walk in to your bedroom with you and see a pallet on the floor by the bed already; or, maybe he'd walk in and see a typical trailer bedroom which takes its name quite seriously and barely has room for anything but the bed.
When you guided him down the hall, he swallowed as he realized it was indeed the second. "Sorry, it's kinda messy in here," you offered as you quickly kicked some trash aside, straightening out your bedspread a bit. "I'm not usually this much of a slob, I swear—"
"No, it's okay, I'm in no place to judge," he promised, "and it's been clean when I've been here before."
He hadn't come over that many times, especially after you stopped smoking pot for your job so he didn't sell to you anymore. He considered offering to toke up with you now, he thought it might call your nerves (which is why he brought some in his jacket pocket just in case), but it never really came up— you just seemed excited for a chance to get some sleep, considering you clearly hadn't been resting well.
"I'll stay on top of the sheets," he decided suddenly. "For your modesty."
You nodded but started to pull down your pants a second later; he suddenly found the farthest corner of your ceiling quite fascinating and stared at it intently. So much for modesty. "I never sleep with pants," you explained as you crawled into the bed in just your loose t-shirt and white cotton panties.
"Lucky for you, I always keep mine on," he offered with a weak laugh. Normally he would lose his shirt first, though, but it wasn't restrictive anyways, so he just laid on top of the bed carefully. He sighed as he found a semi-comfortable position on his back, interlacing his fingers and resting the joined hands on his stomach.
"Don't tell me you actually sleep like that," you noticed with a smirk, and he looked at your face where it was peeking out from under the puffy quilt.
"Normally I sleep hanging upside down in the closet with my arms crossed," he joked, demonstrating the classic vampire-sleeping-in-coffin pose, and you laughed.
"You always struck me as a stomach sleeper," you informed him. Wait, she's thought about that?
"I usually go for the left side," he corrected. “You?”
“Lately I’ve just been curled up in a ball,” you admitted, “but I move around a lot— and you can wake me up if I’m snoring!”
“No, it’s fine,” he promised.
“Okay, well, goodnight,” you decided, reaching up to your bedside lamp. Eddie began to turn onto his left side, which meant he was facing you, and adjusted the pillow under his head carefully. He could tell you normally used this pillow because it smelled like your hair— was that why his heart was racing each time he took a breath in?
You flipped off the light, plunging the room into near-total darkness except for the distant yellow glow of another trailer’s porch light peeking through your blinds. "It's okay if I sleep, right?" he whispered. "You don't want me to stay up in case something—?"
"It's fine, I just want someone here," you explained. Your voice got softer as you admitted, "I've never liked sleeping alone."
"That… explains a lot."
"Hey!" you yelped defensively, and he heard you turn under the blanket to face him. "Are you calling me a slut?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you denying it?"
You harrumphed. "I know you can see my door from your window, but you've gotta stop spying, Ed— it's creepy. And it's none of your business if guys are coming over."
"I know! That's why I don't look— which is why you don't have a handy eyewitness for your B&E."
"I don't have an eyewitness because you were dead asleep," you corrected, "and so was everyone else. I'm guessing that was his motive for trying to get in at four in the morning."
There was a weighty pause. "I don't spy on you," he insisted again.
"Okay, sure," you agreed, "not anymore."
"I never did!"
"Right,” you said, and he could hear your smirk even if he couldn’t see it. He sighed, relenting to your depiction of him as a creep who watches you from his window— until the silence got longer and longer, and he just couldn’t help himself.
“I just wanted to make sure nobody shifty was coming around,” he blurted out, hearing you let out a quiet laugh.
“Eddie, they were all shifty,” you sighed. He didn’t say anything, because he was afraid if he agreed too quickly it would offend you. “Goodnight,” you offered again.
“Goodnight,” he returned quietly.
There was another long silence, almost long enough that he really thought you would fall asleep— personally, he was wired and would probably spend a few hours listening to you breathe before he drifted off— until you spoke again just a bit later. "You're not cold, are you?" you whispered.
"Huh? No, no," he denied. Yes.
"You can get under the covers…"
God, he wanted to. And he figured he'd be able to control himself and everything— but he hesitated. It wasn't too far, right? Friends can share beds… even if he really didn't think until now that you and him actually were that kind of friends. It's not like you were ever especially close, you just talked sometimes, even less now that you weren't a customer. He was pretty surprised when you called him to ask for this.
And in the dark, Eddie got a little braver.
"Why did you ask me to come here?" he suddenly interrogated, until he heard how sleazy that question sounded. "Uh, I mean, not why did you ask me to come here, but… why did you ask me?"
"Because I trust you," you answered simply. "You always made me feel safe. There aren't a lot of guys in this trailer park that I want here to try to defend me if it comes down to it— I mean, fuck, one of them is probably the guy who tried to break in that night!"
He nodded, already trying to imagine which of those lowlifes might try to hurt you— and wondering if he could take them. He sighed when he realized that he didn't have much chance fighting any of the men here. Unless it was Ricky Lupowski, Eddie had no shot— but even then, he didn't exactly want to beat up a twelve-year-old. Hell, you could take Ricky if he was giving you any trouble, Eddie knew you were pretty tough: that was part of why it was so jarring to see you this vulnerable. "I'm not the toughest guy you could call, though," he reminded you. "I know people think I look kinda scary, but—"
"I know," you agreed. "You're not the toughest guy, but… you're the safest."
Suddenly he wanted to switch his story— me, safe? Nah, babe, danger's my middle name! Hardened criminal, metal guitarist, occasionally maker of an illegal U-turn—
"That's why I wanted you to come," you finished, "and it's why I don't care if you get under the covers if you're cold up there."
From the looks of the guys he'd seen coming to your door when he definitely wasn't spying, it seemed like danger was usually what you wanted between your sheets. And sure, Eddie wasn't exactly the valedictorian in khakis that he assumed every girl wants to bring home to mom— but he knew he wasn't like your usual fare either: no motorcycle, no neck or face tattoos, no prison time (yet).
“B-but don’t feel like you have to,” you suddenly mitigated.
“No, it’s cool,” he decided as he curled his legs up to his chest so he could slip under the blanket and top sheet. “They, uh, feel nice…”
“Thanks,” you mumbled.
“Are they expensive or something?” he wondered as he adjusted himself in them— you were still a few inches away from him, but somehow it was like he could feel your body heat from all the way over here.
“No, they’re just clean,” you explained.
“Right…” he trailed off. “Anyways, I’m glad you trust me— not just ‘cause it means I get to sleep under the covers.”
You snorted. “Sure,” you shrugged.
“I mean it— if I can make you feel safer, that’s good,” he announced. He was, in part, trying to convince himself; because in a certain way, it did sting. You invited him here specifically because you knew he wouldn’t try anything, and you were right, but he sort of wished sometimes that he was the kind of guy you’d invite over for some comfort of the non-platonic variety. But, he still really enjoyed being the guy that made you laugh, and the guy that made you feel safe, and the guy that got to be here with you right now.
"Actually, I thought if Wayne answered the phone, I might ask him to come,” you admitted. “He told me when I first moved in to let him know if anybody here gave me any trouble— including but not limited to you.”
Sounds like Wayne.
“But I figured he'd turn it down— like, he'd say something about how I'm an unmarried young lady and he wouldn't wanna 'disrespect' me," you chuckled.
"Yeah, he's pretty old school," Eddie agreed, "but he'd keep you safe for sure. He actually would have brought a gun. If he decided to come in the damn trailer at all."
“Yeah,” you laughed, “old people are weird. Like, apparently they think if you spend the night here that’s the same as us having sex?”
He laughed too. “Yeah, that’s so crazy. ‘Cause obviously we’re not…”
“Of course!” you agreed emphatically. “You’re just doing me a favor. Which I really appreciate— I know it’s probably harder for you to sleep here.”
“No, it’s great, actually,” he blurted out— realizing it sounded sort of weird once it was out of his mouth. “For Wayne, I mean. He got to upgrade from the fold-out bed tonight.”
“Oh, that’s good,” you hummed, but his eyebrows furrowed when he felt you shake. It happened again, and he realized: “Sweets, are you shivering?”
“Y-yeah, but the sheets are just cold still,” you explained.
“You took off your pants!” he remembered.
“Well, I can’t sleep with them on!”
“Yeah, but you can’t sleep if you’re freezing, either,” he sighed. “Did you ever get your heater fixed?”
“Um…”
He frowned. “Didn’t that break like two months ago?”
“Y-yeah, but who needs a heater in August?”
“It’s not August,” he reminded you.
“But it was when it broke.”
He rolled his eyes, but then you shivered again. “It dropped, like, twenty degrees when this rain came in,” he reminded you.
“Yeah, I noticed,” you replied.
The next time you shivered, he heard your teeth chattering, and he instinctively scooted closer to you. “Is there another blanket I can get you?” he asked.
“No, but—” you began, and his breath caught when he felt your hand— your ice cold hand— reach out and touch his shoulder. “You can just—”
You moved closer to him and he started to move back. “I don’t think I should—”
"Just, hold me?” you pleaded in a quiet, meek voice. “So I can get warm enough to fall asleep?"
God, he was so completely powerless to you asking that, even if he knew it was a bad idea. He wanted to help you so badly— and he knew it was more than your temperature that made you ask him for that. He’d never seen you like this: scared and weak and worried. “O-okay,” he agreed quietly, reaching his arms out and letting you settle between them.
Your face pressed to his chest, your nose poking his skin that was left exposed by the low and jagged cut— and the tip of that was cold too, he could just imagine giving it a little kiss.
“Is this okay?” he asked, and he felt you nod. Carefully, he let his arm rest so it draped around you— but he didn’t let his hand touch anything but the sheets on the other side.
You hummed as you pressed yourself against him even more, your legs tangling with his, your tits— oh god, he couldn’t even think about your tits right now, because if he did he would remember that they were squished up on his torso and he’d wonder if being so cold meant your nipples were hard—
He cleared his throat, knowing that through his sweatpants, his dick was pressed to your tummy. He willed it to somehow not get hard from this, putting all his energy into not moving or reacting at all.
“Thanks,” you whispered. “This helps a lot.”
“Of course,” he breathed in return. “Wh-whatever helps…”
He felt you take a deep breath against his skin, the softest fan of warm air hitting him when you exhaled. Your arm was around him, but he hissed when you slid your hand up and the cold skin made contact with his bare back. “Sorry,” you reacted instantly.
“No, it’s okay— you’ll warm up soon,” he promised.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “why are you so warm?”
Now he understood why the phrase ‘you make me hot’ meant that you were attracted to someone. He nearly said it out loud, guess I’m just hot for you, but amazingly he caught himself. Instead he only shrugged.
“I’m glad you came over,” you told him, and he could hear your voice getting a little more slurred— you were so tired, poor thing, you’d mentioned over the phone that you hadn’t really been sleeping.
“Can you really fall asleep like this?” he asked quietly. Cause I sure can’t.
“No, I was just gonna get warm,” you admitted, “I’ll turn the other way when it’s time to sleep.”
Turn the other way… wait, she doesn’t mean—
Yeah, you did. A few minutes later you flipped yourself around with a sleepy mumble of ‘g’night, Ed’ and made him into your unwilling big spoon.
Okay, not totally unwilling, but completely in over his head. His problem wasn’t with the cuddling, it was with knowing it was all just supposed to be friendly, it was with wondering if you were coming onto him (unlikely) or just stupid (also unlikely), it was with trying not to get a horribly-timed but perfectly-warranted boner.
It was just these stupid sweatpants and your little white panties between him and your ass— he could feel the shape of it, even the warmth of your skin, through everything and he was going to lose his goddamn mind.
You did move around in your sleep, like you warned him that you would, but you hadn’t warned him about those pretty sighs, the soft little hums, the way you’d stretch a bit and arch your back…
For the first hour, he just held you, and listened to you, and drank it all in.
You warmed up quick while he was holding you, you felt so nice to hold— he wanted to hold you tighter and pull you closer and kiss your cheek or your ear or your shoulder, but he couldn’t. He almost wondered if he could, without waking you up, as he started to get sleepier himself and his logic began to slip.
He fell asleep in that way where he didn’t even realize he’d been asleep when he woke up, if you’d asked him he would’ve denied it— but you weren’t asking him, you were holding his arm close to your chest, pressing back against him, rubbing against him.
Oh god, he was hard, he was fucking throbbing, and you were breathing heavier as you grinded up on him.
When he opened his mouth, he fully intended on asking you what you were doing, or maybe apologizing for his boner, but then you arched your back harder, and he realized two things: one, you knew exactly what you were doing; and two, he didn’t need to apologize. So, instead, he let a low groan fall from his lips, and you moaned a bit in reply.
He rocked his hips, pushing his cock right between where your panties were riding up and hugging your ass; you moaned again, still shaky but a bit more confident, and he wondered if maybe he was dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time he dreamt about this.
His hand was already on your chest, so he only had to move his hand down a bit to slip his fingers inside your tight t-shirt and feel your tits. He groaned as soon as he felt how soft your skin was, how hard and excited your nipples were. Your hips gyrated when he played with them, and feeling the control he had over you from such a simple action— just one slight curl of his finger and you gasped and arched your back deeper, your whole body under his command— made his cock twitch and weep inside his sweats.
When he took his hand out of your shirt and moved down to hold your hip tightly instead, you whimpered quietly. “Eddie,” you moaned under your breath, instantly bringing him back to reality; this was actually happening.
Guilt twisted in his chest, but need still controlled his mind. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quickly.
“N-no!” you whimpered. “I like it.”
He sighed and kept going with your blessing, securing his grip on your hips and letting his fingertips toy with the elastic holding up your panties. When he thrusted again, a long drag of his cock against you that let you both feel every detail of each other, your head fell back and your neck was right there for the taking.
He leaned down and latched his lips onto it, kissing all along your pulse, and you moaned louder. "You can fuck me if you want."
That should've been hot— and it sort of was, especially in your whispered voice— but it hurt his heart a little bit and he stopped kissing you. "If I want?" he repeated, feeling you nod against his shoulder. "What do you want, sweets?"
"I… I want you to," you answered.
"Baby," he whispered, feeling you shiver in his arms when he said it— in a different way than before. "I— I know you're feeling vulnerable right now… I wouldn't wanna take advantage."
"You wouldn't be."
"You don't need to do this to make me stay."
"You don't need to do this to make me want you here," you replied. "But I want you. Please, Ed."
He hadn't been trying to make you beg, he almost felt guilty for it— making this poor girl plead with him for some affection when she's scared and alone. But he was too busy feeling turned on like crazy to feel really guilty; because he never thought he'd hear you beg for him like that, and it was beautiful. Sexy, yes, and erotic, but most of all beautiful.
Rolling you onto your back, he climbed up over you and felt your legs spread instantly— god, that was just too perfect.
In the dark, he still couldn’t see much, but there was just enough light to see your eyes blinking up at him. It reminded him why he called you sweets as much as he could get away with it: because you were just so sweet, the sweetest eyes, the sweetest smile, the sweetest lips that he wanted to kiss until they were swollen and wet—
He grabbed your panties at the seam on your hip and snapped them in two; you gasped as he tossed them away, wiggling under him excitedly. When he laid his body on top of yours now, he could feel your pussy through his pajamas. Speaking of swollen and wet…
“Oh my god,” you breathed, reaching up to hold onto his bicep— Wesson, specifically. “Eddie, you’re— fuck, get these off…”
Your free hand started tugging on the waistband of his pants, and just your fingers ghosting over his hip was enough to make him moan. He grabbed where the gray fabric gathered, about to help you pull them down, until he remembered. "Shit, I, uh," he choked, "I didn't bring any condoms."
Obviously. Because what kind of creep brings condoms when his friend asks for help? But now he was kicking himself wishing he'd had the foresight somehow.
"I could go back and—"
"No," you interrupted, clutching at his tank top. "Don't leave, you don't need to wear one anyways."
Oh, dangerous territory. Compulsory, cautionary health class videos flashing through his mind…
"I mean, you're clean, right?" you assumed.
"Yeah, I've never— well, I've never actually done it without protection before, so—"
"Me either," you explained, "and I'm on the pill— and I… I wanna feel you."
"That's… hot," he admitted with a tilted grin. "Shit, really?"
You bit your lip as you nodded, and he growled playfully at you as he leaned in and kissed your neck. You writhed beneath him happily, your plump little mound rubbing on him through his sweats— and he would give you anything you wanted after you did that.
"Y'wanna feel me, sweets?" he taunted lowly. "Wanna feel my cock stretching you out? We can do that. Gonna fuck you raw."
You whined and arched your back. "Please, Eddie— that's what I want."
"Shh," he soothed, reaching down to push the stretchy waistband over his hips to his thighs. His cock sprang free and brushed on the inside of your leg for a moment, making you move your hips again— so he held them down with one hand. "Baby, I'm gonna give it to you, okay? Calm down."
"I just need you," you whispered, tugging on his shirt again. "Eddie, I just need you inside me—"
He moved his head between your lips, groaning at how warm you were already— god, you must be like an oven inside.
When he found your opening, he didn't waste much time before pressing forward and sliding himself in. It was a specific feeling— overwhelming, yet irresistible. It was nearly too much for both of you and yet he had to keep going, had to fill more of you until his pelvis was grinding on your clit and the tip of his cock was reaching right to the end of you.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned the second he was buried inside— not just because it felt good, but because he knew instantly he couldn't go back now. Feeling you bare, getting drenched by your sticky, hot walls… how was he supposed to be satisfied with anything else again? Or maybe it wasn't the lack of a barrier that made it so good— maybe that was just you.
Either way, he didn't want to go back: to condoms, to other girls, to any of it. He didn't want anything but this.
"Baby," he said again, holding you a little tighter. "Is this how you want it? Deep and slow?"
You whined quietly, clutching at his back. "Y-you can go a little faster," you offered.
"Mm," he moaned as he rocked his hips more quickly, your heat gripping him so well he struggled to control himself. "Like this?"
"Yes," you praised, "oh, Eddie, just like that— fuck me like that."
Christ. You were gonna make him lose it too fast, talking like that and feeling so damn good. You were like heaven inside— cozy and warm like a living room on a Christmas card. Which, yes, he was well aware was a bizarre thing to compare a vagina to, but he wasn't gonna say it out loud or anything! Babe, your pussy's like a Norman Rockwell painting might not even be Eddie's worst attempt at dirty talk in his life, to be honest.
"Ah, fuck," you panted, arching your back as he gave you a little more force with his thrusts. "Did you ever… did you think about this?"
"Yeah," he admitted instantly. "I mean, a few times. It's hard not to…"
"Did you hope something would happen tonight?" you pressed, voice all wavery and breathless.
At best, he had hoped the way you hope you're gonna win the lottery or that a unicorn will appear in your yard. "I didn't think about it like that," he assured, "I knew you were scared, I just—" he hissed as he struggled to focus on this conversation with everything he was feeling— "wanted to protect you."
Then the thought hit him, and he had to ask.
"Did you know something would happen tonight?" he returned.
"I told myself I wouldn't," you breathed, "but you… smell really nice."
Holy shit, I owe Wayne my life for getting me this cologne for my birthday last year.
"And you're so sweet," you added with a pant, "and honestly I've wanted you since—"
"Don't tell me," he interrupted, "I don't wanna know— unless you're about to say since you walked in the door, I'll drive myself crazy knowing I could've had you sooner, that we could've been doing this for months."
You sighed in agreement; it seemed like you were getting even wetter the longer he went on, and he groaned as he heard the beautifully filthy noise of his cock churning inside your walls— and it felt even better than it sounded.
"Feels so good," he blurted out, resting his forehead on the pillow just beside yours.
"You too," you sighed. "S'big, Eddie, and without anything I can feel how warm you are…"
"Warm, me?" he laughed thinly. "Shit, you feel so hot inside I figured I felt like a popsicle to you."
You giggled, and god, what a beautiful sound. Making you laugh was an honor enough— if he could make you come, too, he'd be king of the world.
In the spirit of that goal, he started fucking you a little faster, pressing in all the way with every thrust.
"Oh god, Eddie, so deep, you're so deep," you groaned. "Fuck!”
He grinned proudly, reaching under you to move your hips— he lifted them just how he wanted them, forcing his cock even deeper inside you the next time he thrusted, and he got to grope your ass a bit so it was really a win-win.
He saw your eyes roll back and it just made him want to fuck you even harder.
“Tell me what you need,” he asked. “Tell me how to help you, sweets.”
“I— I just need you to touch me,” you returned, your voice sounding a little hoarse.
“Where?”
“Anywhere,” you choked, “everywhere… your hands feel good.” He groped your tits first— easy choice— and heard you mewl happily. “Fuck,” you breathed when he pinched a tender nipple, and he felt your walls bare down on him for a moment— so he did it again.
“You’re so sensitive,” he noticed proudly, beginning to drag his hand down over your abdomen as he watched the anticipation build on your face. “How about your little button, s’it sensitive too?”
“Yeah, fuck,” you encouraged, moaning and dropping your head back onto the pillow as he gently pressed his thumb to your bud. He’d barely started rubbing in circles before your moans got louder and higher-pitched; maybe it was a stupid comparison, but it reminded him of playing his beloved guitar— the other lady in his life. He wanted to play your body like his instrument, he wanted to make music even more beautiful come out of you.
So he rubbed harder, and picked up his pace again— he had to flex his gut and keep it tight to try to stave off his own orgasm, his balls were already tightening up a bit as he got closer, but he knew he could hold off as long as it was to keep you satisfied.
“So good,” you praised, “it feels— fuck, I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he cooed. “I know, you can come, sweets— I wanna feel you come around me. Just tell me what you need.”
“Jus’ don’t stop,” you begged, “don’t stop, Eddie, just like— fuck! Right there, oh my god—”
Is it just me, or is she liking this a lot more than the other girls did? Did I get awesome at sex sometime in the last few weeks?
But really, he knew it was just that it was you and him together— it felt like you were made for each other, like he fit inside you perfectly. He rubbed your clit even harder, technically disobeying your command of just like that, but it went over okay since you nearly screamed at the feeling. "Eddie, I'm coming, I'm coming!" you kept saying, voice thin and strained, tightening up around him so hard he nearly struggled to pull back so he could keep up his pace.
"That's my girl," he praised, loving the way it felt to call you that— so he kept doing it. "My girl, my girl," he chanted with each thrust into your flexing channel.
“Oh god,” you sobbed, pushing his hand away from your clit; it must have become too sensitive right after coming. Your hands reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him down to lay more of his weight on you. “Eddie, I— f-fuck, it’s so—”
“Shh,” he cooed, “it’s okay— it’s not too much is it?”
“Almost,” you whimpered, “b-but I don’t want you to stop.”
He fucked you faster, feeling you quiver under and around him; he wrapped you up in his arms tightly, keeping you still so he could slam everything into you at once, letting your somehow-even-tighter-now walls massage his throbbing cock. "I-I don't know how much more of this I can take," he grunted, "you feel so—"
"I want you to come," you encouraged.
“Where?” he asked roughly, lips by your ear as he laid his head next to yours on the pillow.
You hesitated, and he could almost hear the gears in your head turning. He knew you were considering it, and it made him groan just realizing that you wanted to let him fill you.
“You want it inside, baby?” he asked in a rough whisper, and you nodded with a quiet moan.
“Yeah,” you admitted, hands holding onto him tighter until he felt your nails bite his flushed skin. “Yeah, fuck, that’s hot.”
He fucked you faster with a groan; his balls were starting to get sore from trying to hold back, but he didn’t want it to end yet— he couldn’t even be sure you would wanna do it again. He couldn’t let this moment be over so soon—
“Eddie, I’m yours, make me yours,” you pleaded. Nevermind, he could let this moment be over, because god damn hearing you talk like that didn’t leave him any other option but to come right fucking now.
"You're sure it's okay to come inside?" he breathed. "I can pull out—"
"It's more than okay," you insisted, "Eddie, I want it so bad, please—"
"Don't say please," he instructed, "I was just checking— I'm gonna give you whatever you want, okay? You want me to fill you with my come, I will. You don't have to beg me for anything, it's all yours."
"Oh," you moaned, "say that again."
"All yours, it's all yours, sweets," he promised. "Whatever you want from me. Which, right now, is all this fuckin' come in your cute little pussy, right?"
"Yes," you sighed.
"I'll give you everything," he assured as he fucked you faster. "Every drop, all this come is for you, baby."
“Oh god,” you hissed, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
“You really mine, sweets?” he whispered— you wouldn’t be able to hear him over the slamming of his hips on yours if he wasn’t speaking right by your ear.
“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly.
“Promise,” he demanded.
“Yours,” you insisted, “m’yours, Eddie, had such a big, stupid crush on you—”
“Fuck!” he spat, digging his fingers into your soft thighs as the first ropes of come sprayed from his cock; it felt so different, knowing it wasn’t just filling a latex reservoir but filling you, your perfect body, your warm pussy—
You sighed out his name one more time, tightening your arms and legs around him, keeping him close and whimpering with each soft breath; you sounded so beautiful, he almost felt guilty for dirtying you this way, but it was worth it… and you seemed to be enjoying yourself too.
He let out a long, hot breath as he stilled, feeling the last few drops of his come dribble out and into you; “Shit,” he hissed, “that— fuck.”
You laughed quietly in agreement. “Yeah.”
He started to try to pull out, but you whined and hugged him again. “Don’t go yet,” you begged.
“Okay,” he relented, relaxing on top of you. “Am I crushing you?”
“No,” you laughed, “you’re not that heavy.”
“Good,” he mumbled as he planted a quick kiss on your temple.
You moved a little bit and he hissed, having to hold you still by your hips.
“D-don’t,” he choked, “I’m still— it’s really sensitive…”
“Oh, really?” you grinned, clenching on him on purpose to make him grunt and laugh quietly.
“Fuck,” he warned, “you’re tryin’ to drive me crazy, huh?”
“A li’l bit,” you admitted mischievously.
“Can you… feel it?” he wondered. “Like, without a condom, can you feel my, uh, come?”
You considered it for a second. “Not really, m’all, like, numb right now,” you admitted with a little giggle. “But I could feel your cock, like… moving. Even when you weren’t moving. I dunno if that makes sense…”
“No, it does,” he nodded.
“What did it… feel like for you?” you asked, sounding almost nervous and shy again. How could you act shy after that?
“Uh, fuckin’ amazing,” he laughed. “You’re incredible. Did you really mean what you said? About, um… being mine?”
He felt your breath catch, and he reached up to pet your head for a second, moving some stray hair out of your face.
“Listen, it’s okay if you were just caught up in the moment,” he offered. “I understand.”
“Do you understand because you just wanna be friends after this?” you asked. “Or do you understand because you’re super sweet and don’t want me to feel pressured to sleep with you again?”
“Um… guess it’s the second one,” he decided, face getting warm. “I mean, I’m okay being friends after this. I’m extra okay being friends with benefits. But if I’m being honest, sweets, I wanna be your boyfriend.”
“Yeah?” you encouraged, the smile in your voice making his heart twist.
“Yeah,” he answered.
You held his face and kissed him— soft, gentle, sweet just like you. He kissed you back, lifting his head and deepening it as much as he could get away with; you moaned against his lips, and it was so sexy he almost wondered if he could give you another load inside without even having to pull out—
But you broke away and looked up at him with heavy eyes, and he realized how tired you really were. “We can talk in the morning,” he decided, “you just need to get some rest, okay?”
“Okay,” you agreed. He carefully pulled out, trying not to overstimulate his softened cock, and laid behind you to be your big spoon again. “This feels nice,” you hummed. “I mean, m’kinda sticky and gross and all, but I feel safe.”
“Mm,” he agreed, fluttering his eyes shut— he was more tired than he realized, and the dark was already pulling him deeper as he held you. “Me too, actually.”
tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth
summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.
a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.
It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn’t belong in such a world as nice as this one.
But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.
When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.
That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.
Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty.
The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door.
Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does.
“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”
The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”
“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”
“Disgusting.”
He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”
And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard.
Fuck.
A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.”
And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”
Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too.
And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive.
Fuck me, he thinks.
The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks.
“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.”
Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows.
He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats.
Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.
In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”
His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”
You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”
“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”
And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved?
He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites.
Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.
“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”
“Madonna?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”
Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.
But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”
“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”
His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.
Eddie sees you again.
And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all.
Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches.
Summer has never felt so long.
Again.
Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares?
Again, anyways.
You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.
And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.
He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful.
You’re completely devastating.
You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”
Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”
“Why do I even do that?”
“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”
“You said…”
“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”
You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”
“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”
He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to.
“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”
“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”
And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes.
You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.
So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration.
“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”
Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him.
Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”
You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?”
“Only because it made me think of you.”
For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”
His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter.
“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”
“No girlfriend.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”
“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”
“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”
“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.
Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest.
Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.
“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation.
“Nope.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”
Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it.
Please.
A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.
And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?”
You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin.
He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.
And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”
You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.”
“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”
“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”
Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”
Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”
“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.
This is what he’s wanted. This is it.
And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven.
Just like heaven.
“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”
He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”
“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”
“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”
“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”
“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”
Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”
Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”
“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”
“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”
Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”
“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”
He’s earned it.
“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.
Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”
Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”
“Christ, please.”
And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks.
He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’ before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.
Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.
He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.
“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”
Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.
You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex.
Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.
“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers.
“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”
“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”
Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him.
You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin.
For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.
“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”
You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath.
Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.
He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”
“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”
“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, baby.”
You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.
He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.
You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”
“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”
“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”
“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”
And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.
“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.”
You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls.
Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”
You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”
“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”
“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”
“Please, s’too hard.”
“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”
“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”
“No.”
You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you.
You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.
“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”
You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more.
“You’re s-so big.”
Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”
“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”
“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”
“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”
Fucking hell.
You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.
How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know.
He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!
He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”
“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”
“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”
“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”
“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”
“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”
“Suits you better.”
You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away.
“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”
“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”
I adore you.
I adore you.
You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.
You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive.
He’s milked. Spent.
Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.
It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.
My good boy, you think.
“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick.
“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”
“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”
Oh. It’s a joke.
And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alive.”
“Barely.”
“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”
“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”
“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”
Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces.
“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”
A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.
You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with.
He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs.
Fucker.
“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”
You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”
“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”
You stare at him like he’s crazy.
“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”
He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.
Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning.
Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door.
And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night.
So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood.
God forbid they have coyotes, right?
But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.
warnings - bullying and ostracization (lmao), ADHD eddie and ADHD reader (living vicariously through you)
summary - Eddie gets severely jealous of Dustin’s babysitter, but then he meets you and finds that you two are similarly wired (neurodivergent and misunderstood in the 80s).
“You’re fourteen and you still have a babysitter?”
“Shut up,” Dustin Henderson is fuming, face red and lips pursed, “She’s cool.”
Mike nods, showing more intrigue than his typical for a conversion, “Sometimes she uses a fake ID to get us into R-rated movies.”
Lucas points at his friend as if just remembering something, “And takes us out for good slop.”
Will sighs overdramatically, a hand pressing into his gut, “She is the reason for over half of my junk food intake. It’s bad.”
“I wish my parents would just let her babysit Erica.”
“Same,” Mike pitches in, “but, you know, with Holly.”
Eddie throws his hands up, exasperated with the gaggle of teenagers, “Am I not good enough for you people? I’m insulted,” he places a hand over his chest and groans like he’s been shot, “I’m earnestly insulted, boys.”
“Well, you’re like our estranged parents,” Dustin pats Eddie’s shoulder, more condescending than comforting, “We love you both equally.”
Will and Lucas lock eyes, shaking their heads, and that sets Eddie into a more genuine huff. He glares at the boys, trying to play off his offense as lighthearted.
“Alright, let’s meet the lady of the hour then, huh?” he crosses his arms, “I wanna see what has you all so impressed.”
Dustin looks across the other boys’ faces, shrugging before doing a sweep of the cafeteria. Eddie watches the boy as he searches, following his gaze when he excitedly sits up and points across the floor - at the double-door entrance of the cafeteria. You.
You're picking at the peeling sage green polish on your nails while the girl seemingly glued to your side, Tai McNamara, pulls you into the lunch line. The boys turn to Eddie, watching him gather his bearings beneath a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Eddie’s gaze twitches between where you’re standing in line and where his idiots are staring at him.
“Her?” he points right at you and Dustin has to lower his hand, lest you notice, “Space-case? She’s a total pinhead.”
Lucas leans over to smack Eddie’s arm, “Don’t call her that, she’s nice.”
“Nicer than you,” Mike adds, “Mr. Fucking Won’t-let-me-re-roll-stats for a new character.”
“Eat shit, Wheeler,” Eddie flings a fry from Dustin’s lunch at the boy, “She’s got bubbles for a brain,” when something along the lines of guilt hits him for such words, he backtracks, “I mean, she’s gonna graduate first try, but she’s just a little weird.”
“In no way are we,” Will raises his brows, nudges his head towards Eddie, “especially you in a position to talk about ‘weird’.”
And that’s true, but it doesn’t exactly change things. Eddie, since the first day of your freshman year, thought you were a little bizarre. Not in the overbearing, try-hard, she-wears-sneakers-with-her-dress way but more in the she-makes-jokes-nobody-else-gets and can’t-hold-eye-contact way. You’re a little bizarre in the way that he is, and that does excite him.
But you two aren’t friends and he feels no innate need to defend you to people that already adore you.
“You’d like her,” Dustin speaks with finality, waving to you as you follow Tai towards a lonely table at the very corner of the cafeteria.
And Eddie’s sure that’s true, you seem likable to people like him. People that society doesn’t consider to be all there. People that are on the frays.
But that ended up being the beginning. It was strange. Like a detail you can’t miss upon rewatching your favorite movie, you began to stick out like welted skin. He saw you everywhere.
That very next morning, he’s sitting in a front row seat of Mr. D’s (Mr. Dzininski, technically, but shortened for student convenience) biology class. It’s before the first bell rings and he TAs for the man first and second hour anyway (an honor hard-earned from getting his elective credits in his first senior year).
Mr. Dzininski has been Eddie’s favorite teacher since he mentioned The Rolling Stones in his freshman year. Dzininski has a soft spot for the outcast kids, that’s why Eddie is returning as his TA even in his third senior year. It certainly helps that he buys pot from Eddie on weekends.
There’s no such confounding variable for you.
But you push the door open and strut into the room like you own the place anyhow, you pay no mind to Eddie, “Mr. D! This morning, when we were about to eat those donuts my mom bought, we saw that they were super moldy,” you clench one strap of your bag between both hands, wringing it nervously as you bounce on the balls of your feet, “So we had to go out and get muffins and guess what?” you don’t even bother waiting for him to ask before you’re continuing, smiling big and sweet, “I got two chocolate chip muffins - I haven’t had chocolate chip muffins in years!”
Dzininski gives you all the mind he used to give Eddie. Not that he doesn’t now, but they’re more comfortable now. You’re tense, as though now that you’re speaking, you realize this tale is pointless.
But Dzininski treats you to all the kindly responses you could want, and after you leave he gives Eddie a plain and simple, “Nice girl.”
Later that day, at lunch, he sees you again. You’re early into the cafeteria this time, without Tai, before the boys arrive.
You’re not so much cornered against the wall, but you definitely can’t shoulder past Jason and his meatheads. They stand around you, some with their hands in their pockets, some with their arms crossed, some glaring, some smiling, all looking very cartoonishly menacing. Jason is close, terribly close.
"Are you dumb or something?" he taps the side of your head and you jerk back, glaring.
"I'm not the one who needs to beg for a rounded grade, Carver," you swat at his hand and step back, pushing yourself closer to the wall, "Besides, how was I supposed to know he was asking me out?"
"Andy was giving you all the signs!"
"He didn't say anything!"
Eddie gets that. Misunderstanding cues. It's frustrating, and that frustration is clearer than crystal on your face.
"You should've figured," Jason, though, he always seems to understand. What people are saying, what they aren't.
Eddie has to really know someone to be able to read them as well as Jason can read strangers - so he's baffled that he can get you so immediately.
None of the boys are there to stick up for you, and Eddie doesn't quite know you. But it’s a coward's move to wait for children to do something when he's older and bigger and more capable.
Eddie’s up and at the wall you're trapped against before he fully realizes that he's moving. He grabs Jason by the shoulders and pushes him back,
"Let's not pick on people who can't fight you and your lackeys at once, alright, Carver?" Eddie smiles thinly.
And as much as it may suck to see the way people are intimidated by a little metal paraphernalia, he does enjoy seeing Jason's friends shake in their sneakers. Jason isn't so easily frightened, but the rumors of Eddie's devil worship certainly drive him away. He makes sure they’ve returned to their seats before looking at you.
You’re staring up at him already, seeming to snap to reality when you finally notice his gaze - you grin and twiddle the hem of your shirt, “Thanks.”
Eddie shrugs, spotting his boys - your boys, too, apparently - enter the cafeteria, “Just stay safe. I don’t feel like playing hero every day.”
You roll your eyes, still smiling though, “I wasn’t spooked any, silly. Only dangerous thing here is you.”
You pinch his arm over his jacket and he’s surprised by your boldness. But then he can see the regret in your face, and in a strange way, he feels the need to make you feel better.
“That’s good,” he pinches you back, “wouldn’t want you to upchuck those muffins.”
He sees you again after school. Or rather, he sees your back. He’s driving home when he spots a car pulled off to the side of the road - half nestled in the grassy patches and half still on the pavement. It appears abandoned, and he debates stopping off to check around for the driver when he spots you. Your back is to the world and you’re gently shaking an open can of tuna in front of a shaking kitten mostly hidden within a bush.
He wonders if you usually carry those around.
Maybe he’ll have Dustin ask you for him tomorrow.
You’re sitting in the back of Dzininski’s class the next morning. Eddie knows from having Dzininski for almost seven years that that’s not your seat - the only kids sitting in the back are the ones he doesn’t like. He decides to not ask.
He doesn’t see you at lunch. Or in the halls.
But after school, that’s it. You’re cheerier than earlier, bouncy and fluttering as you approach his infamous picnic bench in the woods behind school. He’d been approached by your friend, Tai, and while he assumes you’re here to pick up for her, he wasn’t warned.
It feels familiar between you two now. Not so familiar that he can treat you as he would Dustin, but familiar enough that he can employ his trademark teasing.
“I didn’t take you for the type,” Eddie slides his hand into his lunchbox of drugs, ‘tsk’ing, “How could you? You’re a role model for Henderson, you know?”
You cover your mouth as you chuckle, still standing as he pulls out the bag Tai said he’d have, “Good thing it’s not for me, then,” it’s quiet until you can think of another thing to say, “Besides, what would he say about you selling the stuff? He looks up to you.”
He wrinkles his nose at that, shaking the bag for you to take, “Does he?”
“He thinks you’re funny.”
“Good enough,” he takes your money, counting it despite the fact he trusts that Dustin trusts you, “You can sit, you know?”
“I would, but I don’t like sitting in dresses,” you gesture down to yourself and that’s the first time Eddie realizes that he hadn’t looked away from your lips since you uncovered them.
“Well, do you have pockets in that dress,” he plays it off successfully, though, or at least he hopes he does, “or do you plan on rawdogging your way through Hawkins High on your delivery?”
Eddie’s doe eyes leave the money in hand when you giggle and he watches you jam your hands into two slits that he hadn’t seen before. You stretch your arms as wide as the fabric will allow and twirl. He likes the way you look when you’re excited.
“Good to know,” Eddie steps out from his bench, holding out the baggie Tai demanded. Underneath the bag is a precise half of the money you gave him, he shrugs when you spot it, “Friend of a brother discount.”
“It’s not even my money,” you take the bag and try pressing the cash back into his grasp, “Just take it.”
“Please, my gentle bard heart won’t be able to take it,” he dramatizes, easily resisting your pushback.
Your eyes meet his, just for a second before the contact gets awkward and you stare back down at your hand over his, “I thought you were the dreaded Dungeon Master.”
“I am,” he maneuvers out of your hold and presses the cash into your dress pocket, “I used to be a bard. As you can see, all the charm was natural.”
“Obviously,” you shake your head lightheartedly, shoving the bag into your pocket and casting another look to his big bambi eyes.
“Obviously,” he copies with a nod.
You two stay like that, and there’s understanding. He thinks eye contact hurts the same way you do, but this doesn’t hurt. No judgment. No scorn. Pure kindness. He’s so different from other people, and you think that’s what drew Dustin and the boys to him in the first place. You think that’s what his imaginary pull on you is.
“Thanks, Eddie,” you’re quiet and it feels right when the woods are so silent, “Drive home safe.”
“No promises,” he doesn’t want to let you go, but he suffers through the separation and watches you leave anyway.
The next day at lunch, you bring him an orange. As thanks, you say.
It goes like that for a week. You bring him an orange every day at lunch. He asks you why on Friday.
You pause, blinking down at where Eddie’s palm engulfs the fruit. You snap out of that trance quickly, shrugging and putting a finger to your mouth as you shush him. Dustin’s face is pinched in absolute elation as you walk away and Eddie flips him off.
“What?”
“It’s cute. My favorite people are getting along.”
“Shut up.”
Later that Friday, you’re perched against the hood of your car - waiting patiently for Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will to finally be released from Hellfire. They rush out five minutes later than when they told you they would, but it’s Friday and they’re laughing and jumping and shouting about their campaign so you decide to let them have this. Eddie follows after, twirling a ring of keys around his finger - almost obnoxious, if it weren’t him.
He approaches you when the boys are stuffed inside your car.
“You wanna go out?”
That makes you choke on the air in your throat, Eddie pats your back as if to somehow help. You fold your arms over your gut, a ring of nerves burns there, and you laugh hollowly. So nervous and shaky that Eddie can feel it himself.
“Woah, calm down there, sweetpea,” he squeezes your shoulder, “I know I’m an absolute catch, but that’s not how I meant it,” you shoot him a quizzical glare, “Henderson’s parents should actually get to know each other. No?”
“Jeez, don’t scare me,” you pout in sincerity and Eddie detests the way he wants to fix that, “Yeah. We can go out.”
“Tonight work?”
“Tonight works.”
Eddie picks you up from Dustin’s house at six. A retro diner is where he takes you, set back to the 60s in everything from furniture to uniforms, where milkshakes are two dollars each and not half bad.
“You’re gross, darling,” Eddie points his straw at your shake - half candy yellow and half coral pink - before returning it to his own.
“What?” you pretend to not know what bothers him, slurping at your shake as he grimaces, “Banana and cherry are good!”
“Yeah, separated,” he takes a sip of his own darkly colored treat.
“Easy for you to say,” your disapproving tone is plain and strong, “Peanut butter and chocolate is so overdone.”
“Better than mixing two flavors that just don’t go together,” he smiles in favor of your scowl. Then nudges his head towards you, “What’re the oranges about?”
You look off to the side. A black and white photo of Marilyn Monroe seems to capture your attention entirely. Your fingernails are royal purple this week. It’s nice.
“When I was a kid, I thought ‘fuck’ meant ‘fight’, so I used to tell people I was gonna fuck them when they annoyed me.”
“What does that have to do with fruit?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about it. Just now.”
“Mhm,” he sets his chin in the meat of his palm, watching with careful, unintimidating eyes, “and what made you think of that?”
You point to the wall housing the Marilyn Monroe picture, “I saw Gentlemen Prefer Blondes when I was a kid. Like sixth grade, I think. And that was when I learned what the word ‘fuck’ was, and then started using it for ‘fight’,” you drink more of your shake, “That movie is also why I started copying Dolly Parton’s accent.”
“You what?”
He barks a laugh and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the diner fades away. Like something out of a romance novel. It’s dreamier than that, though. Softer.
“I was in a period where I was in love with Dolly Parton because she was just so in control and secure of her looks. And she’s super smart. So I copied her accent for a little bit.”
“How long is ‘a little bit’?”
“Two years.”
He snorts, shameless in what so many people consider ‘ugly’, and you’re desperate to hear the sound again.
“When I- “ he pauses to gather his thoughts, and you’re kind of intimidated by the way that you find beauty in the fluorescents bouncing off his baby cow eyes, “When I was a kid, my uncle, Wayne, would quiz me on band and music trivia as a ‘treat’ when I did well in school.”
“No way!” normally, that phrase is spat with venom and bile, but now, it’s joyous and eager, “I used to make my parents quiz me about baby animals.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” you shake your head resolutely, “Kid-me would lose her mind when she got things wrong.”
Eddie’s lips are rosy. Sort of begging to be kissed. He holds up his shake until you give in and clink yours against his as he cheers, “To freaks, baby!”
You meet him halfway, “To freaks…” you want to linger there, but you don’t, “baby.”
When the glasses have been drained and the bill paid, the two of you leave. Eddie asks where you live and it hits you there, that you have to leave. And also, you have to tell him your address.
You’re a little embarrassed of your address, though, so you ask if the two of you can go to his house. To unwind.
“My place is kind of a shithole,” he lampshades, “but it’s mine. So, you know.”
“It’s fine,” you fiddle with your fingers in the passenger seat, “mine is, too.”
In fact, the route Eddie is taking feels familiar. You’ve been around the bends and jumped to these speedbumps, and when he pulls into the Forest Hills Trailer Park, the familiarity finally seals into identicality. You laugh unprompted and he asks what your problem is. Very romantic of him, he knows.
You point out the window as he pulls up to his trailer, “I live on the other side of the lot.”
“Shame I never saw you before,” he doesn’t even recall your car, “I’ve never been good at little details like that.”
“Me neither,” you shrug and wave off the concern, “No worries, Eds.”
Eds, he thinks it’s a cheesy name. Something he usually hates but from you, it’s tender and welcomed. Something purely intimate in your tone. He thinks he adores when you call him that - Eds.
Eddie opens the door for you, gesturing towards the interior with all the grandeur of a medieval jester. You take the figurative hand and bow, as though a graceful princess. Neither of you hear the clanging of ceramics in the kitchen, and all giggles pause at the sight of a man in the trailer.
Eddie blanches, stepping between you and the man, “This is my uncle, that I mentioned.”
Wayne turns to you and nods curtly, a thermos in hand and blue-collar work uniform already on. Must be a graveyard shift.
You stick out a hand for him and desperately pray that he can’t see the way it shakes. If he does, he refuses to make it known, shaking your hand politely,
“You two had fun, I bet,” he doesn’t mind when you look at his shoulder rather than his eyes. You wonder if he’s become used to it from Eddie. Wayne pats his nephew’s shoulder, “Eddie can tell me about it tomorrow.”
“I can tell you about it now,” you regret it as soon as you pipe up, hands wringing, “If you don’t have to go now. You probably have to go now.”
“I don’t have to leave yet,” Wayne waves away your worries and you’re baffled by the fact that he’s so easy to feel understood by.
You turn to Eddie, then Wayne, then back to Eddie. He nods encouragingly and steps around you and his uncle, straight into the kitchenette. He watches as you speak, your eyes don’t quite meet Wayne’s but his uncle is a kind man - a compassionate man, for all his old school ways - and says nothing. He accepts it as normal because he decides to see the best in you.
He’s always decided to see the best in Eddie and his choices, and Eddie chose to bring you home.
Wayne doesn’t say it then, but he thinks you’re sweet. A few of your mannerisms remind him of his late sister-in-law, the unsure way you speak, the way you trail off and switch subjects in a way that only makes sense to you. It reminds him of Eddie, too.
He likes you, though.
“Since we’re neighbors and I don’t have to pretend to not live in a trailer park, I’m just gonna walk home.”
Almost wishes he didn’t have to go to work, just so you could finish whatever story you’re prattling about.
Eddie is up from the couch embarrassingly fast, hands braced at his sides, “I can walk with you, if you want. It’s dark out.”
“I know that,” you stand as well, nudging his arm with yours, “I’ll be okay. The Mayfield’s fence goes pretty far back, their dog’ll watch over me.”
“If you’re sure,” he wants to insist, but he can’t tell if this is you two genuinely becoming sweet on one another, or if this is his peculiar derealization of what connection is.
He does that a lot. Not realizing how closely someone actually cares for him - it’s frustrating only because it doesn’t seem to stem from self-critique. He doesn’t know why he’s like this.
“Then at least let me walk you to the door,” Eddie follows you through the short path to a mat Wayne’s had since he was twelve, “There, walked.”
“Thank you,” you press down a wayward lapel in his leather jacket, growing more comfortable in your fidgets under Eddie’s presence, “What a gentleman you are.”
“I know,” he yawns, exaggerated and showy, “It’s exhausting.”
You yawn genuinely following his display, glaring lightly and punching his shoulder when he laughs at you.
Eddie opens the door for you, and you’re standing on the porch when something nags at your stomach. You turn back to him, smiling thinly, “My grandma - she used to bring me oranges. When I was a kid.”
“Precious,” he leans against the door, curls bunching against the thin metal, “Is that why you give them out?”
“In summary,” you nod and lean on the doorframe, nose inches away from his, “and I don’t just give them out…” you gnaw on your bottom lip, eyes darting to a thin, wiry tree, “My grandma would bring us food when I was younger. Especially oranges, ‘cuz she had trees in her backyard. I had a lot of trouble peeling mine so she would do it, and I grew up thinking she was just strong as shit.”
“I was kind of joking earlier but that is actually very precious.”
“I know, right?” you push yourself off the door and wave, “See you around, Eds.”
“See you around,” he wiggles his fingers at you in a wave, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” you take the leap and press a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. It’s warm and grows red at the contact, “Bye.”
You don’t sleep very well that night. Your head is just a little too full, thoughts a little too all-consuming. But they’re thoughts of what tomorrow could contain with Eddie, so it isn’t all bad.
You’re stuffing textbooks in your locker from last night’s homework when you see the hand pop into your peripheral. You jump and Eddie comes to view at your side, an orange in his palm. He punctures the thick, bumped skin with his thumb, toying with the idea of actually opening it.
“Don’t scare me,” you shut your locker and toy with one of your bag’s straps, “It’s rude.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he’s nothing but histrionic, holding the fruit higher to your view, “Wanna go out?”
He almost expects you to choke on your air again, but thankfully you don’t. Instead, he’s graced with you nodding, slow to moderate, you agree sweetly. God, he’s terrified of the way he adores you. How safe he feels, how understood, it petrifies him thoroughly, but there’s something alluring in it.
“On a date?” you turn down the hall and like the lovesick puppy trope he’s falling into, Eddie follows, “Or are you gonna use another lame excuse, like hanging out for Dustin’s sake?”
“On a date,” he confirms, finally peeling the orange.
You watch him peel the fruit. Strong, careful hands like your grandmother. His are a little redder, though. Veins peeking out just slightly. His rings clanging in a way that might be obnoxious if it weren’t him (you think that’s a common thing for Eddie Munson). He shares with you, kind-hearted and eager.
He presents you with more slices than he takes on his own.
“I’d love to,” you tuck yourself closer to his side as people stare, but they’re always staring anyway, and you feel bizarrely safe with Eddie. Safe in a way you don’t usually feel with other people, “I’d love to go on a date with you.”
“Oh thank God, that was gonna be so embarrassing,” he stops in front of Mr. Dzininski’s door, “Wanna skip?”
“Skip while in a classroom?”
“He’ll call you out,” Eddie knows from experience, “Say you’re helping grade or some shit.”
“Does he like me enough?” you say it as though you’re joking, but Eddie also knows that experience. The feeling that you’re not actually wanted even though someone may insist that you are - confliction simply because you’re unable to see inside another person’s head.
He felt the same way about Dzininski and he continues to feel that way even with his friends at times. He hates the idea of you being so miserable.
“How could he not?” Eddie props the door open, handing over the remainder of the orange. A single slice.
Art 3-4 isn’t much of a class to stress about. You could miss it if you wanted. Ms. Moora is an understanding woman.
You take the last orange slice and toss the peel in a lingering trash can, grabbing Eddie’s hand in yours and pulling him into Dzininski’s class.
“Do you really think that?” you whisper, shy again under the presence of someone aside from Eddie.
“Sweetheart, we may not have known each other that long,” he squeezes your hand, like something cherishable, like something he treasures, “but I think the world of you. And I can see why the boys love you.”
And he won’t say it now, but he can see himself loving you, too. Somewhere down the line, when you two are closer.
You seem to glow under the praise, and he’s more than delighted at that fact.
He’s never understood someone so well and he’s never felt more at ease. You’re a little bit like him in that people don’t usually flock to you - you’re a little strange in the way he is, and he likes that. He likes you.
You like being with Tai and the boys because they make you feel like you belong - they’re patient and understanding in a way that you rarely get from your peers. Eddie is different though, a good different. You like being with him.
Like two bizarre pieces of different puzzles that got lost under the coffee table, you hope to stay together.
Personal recs based off of my own picky preferences. These are all bookmarked on my A03. Steddie is the OTP for all of these fics.
1) alone again, or
It’s 1991 and Steve is still in Hawkins, still living with his mother, still single, and still working at Family Video. At least he’s the manager now, for whatever that’s worth. But he’s stuck here while Robin and Dustin and everyone else have moved away. Moved on.
Well, everyone except for Eddie.
They're best friends, spend most of their time together, and it's nice to have a friend like that. But Steve is still looking for love with a capital "L". At least, he thinks he is.
2) stereoscope
Here's Steve Harrington's biggest secret, though: It's not the alternate dimension brimming with monsters or the impossible girl with powers. It's the fact that he and Eddie Munson have been friends all along. In an on-and-off, tangential, fucked up kind of way. Never on his own terms. But still friends.
3) I'll hear you scream
Eddie thinks he may well have pissed himself, and who can blame him? It hurts so fucking bad.
And then Eddie understands why. And that might just be the scariest thing that has ever happened to him.
Steve fucking Harrington is driving an actual real life sword into Eddie’s heart.
4) Some things cosmic
Steve has a dream about Eddie.
And another. And another. And another...
5) What would they say if they ever knew?
But then he sees Robin smiling around him, and he sees Eddie smiling, and he feels like he’s having heart palpitations. It’s obviously because of Robin, there’s no way a guy could ever make him feel this way (and he’s deeply repressing those times growing up, when play wrestling with Tommy H. would make him a bit flustered, he’s not thinking about the times in the locker rooms with his teammates where his eyes would linger just a fraction longer than they should—no, that never pops into his mind at any given moment, not at all).
OR, if Eddie was introduced in Season 3 instead of Season 4.
6) The one in which a time loop is fucking exhausting.
It’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t know what comes next. He’s dove into the water hundreds of times. Screamed as his flesh was torn apart, heard Master of Puppets in the distance and held back tears. Felt Max’s cold, small hand in his as she laid in the hospital bed. There are things that always happen, no matter how hard he tries: El doesn’t arrive in time. Eddie dies. Max is put in a coma.
Steve fails. They lose.
“Steve. How many loops have you been through?”
His head is nodding, and his eyes are watery, and Eddie has approached him like a spooked animal.
“I lost count.”
AKA: The one where Steve Harrington is stuck in a time loop, and Eddie Munson is really fucking hard to save, or: fuck Volume 2, these bitches are in love.
7) Don't imagine you're too familiar
When Robin finally gets to the hospital, there are two things immediately wrong.
One, is that she’s here several hours after she meant to be. The second is that Steve Harrington isn't in a hospital bed.
OR, several moments at Hawkins Memorial Hospital post-battle.
8) I'm odds and ends
Steve Harrington had spent all of his high school years avoiding Eddie The Freak Munson at all costs. But now that Dustin Henderson has started Hawkins High, and joined the Hellfire Club, avoidance is quickly becoming impossible.
9) Nothing quite like this
Wayne Munson does not like Steve Harrington. Hate was probably too strong word to use towards a boy barely out of teens and edging into manhood, but it was a close thing.
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