eddie munson would see you butt naked, laying on your belly because of the heat and get his credit card and just go "cha-ching" on the crack of your ass.
𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: Eddie x fem reader, he treats your daughter like his own.
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1070
[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]
-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-
It was high school when you got pregnant; the father was a friend...or he claimed to be. You'd known him so long that you'd assumed he'd never do that to you, never use you like an object...why would he ruin such a deep friendship? But he did... You got pregnant and became the talk of the town, the girl no one wanted to be around because she "couldn't keep her legs closed."
Eddie was always there for you; he'd always tell people to fuck off when they got too close or bitched about you breastfeeding at school, even though they couldn't see anything cause he'd covered up Ella with his jacket. Eddie was there for it all, the birth where you squeezed so hard he was afraid that you'd crush his hand into dust.
"Okay, Killer. Careful there, that's the hand I play with." He had said before, earning a groan of pain from you, and that shut him up because he quickly realized you had been in pain. Eddie stayed all night in the shitty chair beside your bedside to watch over you and your little girl.
The nurse had asked if he was the father, and before you could say anything, he signed his name on the birth certificate. Of course, this wasn't random or overstepping; you had spoken to him extensively about the fact you didn't want her birth father on the paper; he didn't deserve it. Eddie was more than willing.
The endless nights in the small "home" that you two share after she was born, where Ella would scream and cry at night, but he didn't wake you unless it was for feedings because you "needed the rest," no matter how much you insisted. Eddie would get up every day regardless of how tired he was and go to work without a single inch of a complaint. This wasn't something you discussed because he'd always act like it was so natural. Eddie taught you it's okay to want help, that you should demand it when it comes to the people that claim to "care" about you.
That was years ago though, and nothing has changed for the worse, but he's on tour now. You and Ella are at home because she has school, but without fail, no matter how late the night gets or how tired he is, without fail he calls you to check up on you both. "How's my beautiful girls?" "How's your day been, Baby?" "How'd her soccer game go?" "They won?! Oh my god, I knew they had it in them."
A few months on tour actually passed by quickly, thankfully, and he's now pulling into the drive as he blasts his music.
"Daddy! Daddy's home!" Ella screams with her eyes already watering at the thought of him. Eddie and Eddie had never put labels on any of your relationship, never told her not to call him Daddy, and you never corrected him when he had started calling you Babe or a brush of the hand against your back had become a kiss on the lips, making out or having sex when Ella was out.
Eddie scoops her up with one arm, his other hand dragging in a suitcase. This suitcase was not full of his own things. No, that one is still in his truck. This suitcase is all the things he's bought for you and Ella. A bear, bubbles, a yo-yo, a doll, and so many other little toys he's found in the shops while he's missing his girls. Ella, of course, jumps down from his arms and gets into the bag as she's done before.
"Daddy, what is this?" She holds up a little square box, and he stiffens a little; this is not how he wanted you to find out he had gotten you a ring or that he wants to marry you.
"I- Um...I guess now's as good as any time." He grabs the box from her and kneels in front of you; you're already in complete shock...not only is he home, but he's going to ask you to marry him. "Bear with me, the box is kinda a pain to open, Honey." He fiddles with it for a good few minutes, awkward but so very cute. "Ah okay, got it." He opens it, and it's a bat-shaped ring.
This is something you'd offhandedly mentioned when the TV had turned to those all-night infomercial types where they try to sell things to people. You had been wrapped up laying against his chest, one of the few nights that Ella slept in her own room since she sometimes psychs herself out and then she can't sleep.
"Look at that one, you want an old granny ring, Baby?" He had asked as a joke as he ran his hands through your hair, down your back, and down to your ass before going back up your body.
"No, God. I want something unique like a bat or something. Like most women get these big diamonds and shit, and I can only imagine how upset I'd be if I lost it."
"Hey? Earth's down here..." He waves a hand in your face, and you focus back on him. "Will you marry me or do you wanna wait until the state declares us married because we've lived together so long?" Eddie jokes with a nervous smile. Of course he's sure the answers yes but there's always the off chance you say no.
"Yes! Oh my god. Yes!" You kneel with him, kissing his face softly as he slips the ring on your hand.
"Mommy, I get to be flower girl?" Ella had been your friend's flower girl, and she had loved it so so much. Your friend had commented about how maybe Ella could be flower girl again once "Mommy gets married." And I guess that's now.
"Yes, of course." You reassure her. I guess forever with him is official, even if forever started ages ago when you sat next to the "weird" guy in high school who never has and never will judge you, the same way you won't judge him. DND campaigns, rock concerts, very odd yard decor, and everything else. He's been Ella's dad and your lover way before either of you fully knew what it meant. Forever would never be enough time with him, but it sure is a great place to start.
Summary: Insecurities after Eddie casually mentions the perfection that Chrissy Cunningham is. What if the unspoken feelings are mutual between the two?
The furious scratching of your pen halted when Eddie's voice broke through the silence.
"Do you think I could ever do Mrs. Wheeler?" Your head snapped up, disbelief flashing across your face. Eddie leaned back, blunt dangling between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his grin. That grin always managed to look both reckless and stupid while remaining devastatingly charming.
"What." The word came out flat, sharp, your chest tightening at the audacity of his question.
He exhaled slowly, eyes glinting with mischief. “You heard me. I mean, do you think I could realistically bag Mrs. Wheeler?”
You licked your lips as you stared at the man in front of you. The old wooden table creaked as he shifted to face you fully, curls falling into his eyes. You stared at him, trying to find the right words, trying not to betray the fact that you were hopelessly and irreparably in love with him. No matter how stupid his questions could be.
"No."' you shrugged your shoulders a bit and looked at the now deflated smile on your best friend's face. A triumphant smile creeping up on your own. All this before looking down at your sheet of paper, going back to writing the essay you had been putting off, one that you would surely have to convince Eddie to do.
“Why not? Think about it- me and Mrs. Wheeler would be the hottest couple in Hawkins.” His voice carried that theatrical cadence, the voice that painfully screamed Eddie. The same one he used when narrating Hellfire campaigns, except now it was about Nancy Wheeler's mother not to mentions mikes mother.
You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself. “Okay, number one: she’s Mike’s mom. Two: she’s married. And three: she’s waiting for me to turn a respectable age so she can leave her husband and marry me.”
Eddies mouth a gap. Eddie Munson's theatrics came in full kick.
Eddie’s jaw dropped, hands flying wildly in protest. “You’re insane. She’d pick me over you any day. I’m her dream man.”
“You don’t have boobs, Eddie. Everyone likes boobs. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight- boobs are boobs.”
The argument spiraled, your essay forgotten, laughter and sharp words bouncing between you. Then, in a rare moment, Eddie passed you the joint.
A rare occurrence for Eddie Munson. When he first met you, he noticed you hated the smoking. He always noticed the way your nose scrunched when he smoked, the way your eyes lingered on the burning paper. He offered every time, and sometimes you accepted. Not because you liked it, but because it felt like sharing the blunt was sharing something deeper, something intimate. Like every inhale was a kiss you’d never get to have. You hated the idea and sight of him burning up his lungs and ruining them. You constantly joked about how he would die with his lung suddenly bursting and him blowing up.
It started when life got harder, and you needed comfort, that, and you just felt that it brought you closer to Eddie as if the high bonded your souls together.
Eddie rambled on, his theatrics pulling smiles from you despite the heaviness in your chest. But then his tone shifted.
“I’m gonna need you to write down Cunningham’s name in that list thing you keep.” His gaze landed on your face once again, scanning over you as he played with his rings, his untamable curls framing his face.
Your head snapped towards him. “Cunningham? As in Chrissy Cunningham?”
He nodded, lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “Yep. That one.”
Your brows furrowed. “She’s buying?” You had never heard of or imagined perfect little Chrissy Cunningham near Eddie, much less buying from him.
“Yeah. Shocked me too.” His grin widened, rings glinting as he toyed with them.
“And you’re selling to her?” Your voice was sharper now, suspicion lacing every word. Your eyes squinting at Eddie to see if it was one of his thoroughly played out jokes
“Yeah. We talked earlier. I was debating it, though. I wouldn’t want to ruin her.”
The words hit like a punch to your gut.
Wouldn’t want to ruin her.
Your stomach dropped. The sudden spiral of thoughts going through your head overwhelming every sense of your being. Did Eddie think you were ruined? Damaged goods because you occasionally smoked with him, always laughed with him, and lived in his chaotic orbit? Was Chrissy untouchable, pure, while you were already a damaged good? Were you a lost cause for not being an untouchable being that Eddie couldn't obtain?
You swallowed hard, his voice fading into background noise as he rambled about Hellfire.
I wouldn't want to ruin her.
wouldn't.
want.
to.
ruin.
her.
Sure, the comment was made with no malice behind it, but you knew about Eddie's middle school crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You had met Eddie in 8th grade. Well, his 8th grade your sixth. You only realized your crush on Eddie in the 8th and his sophomore year.
But the words hung in the air. You swallowed.
Did Eddie think he ruined you? Were you damaged goods now that you indulged and hung around him? Was Chrissy this untouchable being pure of sin or whatever made you ruined? Did the smoking make you broken or ruined? Did he mean to say that Chrisy was worth more to a degree, or was she held to a higher pedestal than you because she was Chrisy?
"They have no idea what's coming, I mean, I have been working on this for weeks-" Eddie, being caught off guard by the look on your face.
"Ruin her?" the slight hurt and pit in your stomach fighting hard to be masked and hidden away, or at least attempted to be hidden from Eddie.
"You think you will ruin her with weed?"' confusion took over, rather than that overbearing feeling in your chest.
Eddie froze, wincing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean… she’s Chrissy. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. Not that it’s bad. It’s just… she’s Chrissy.”
He gave a half smile, still wincing as he heard his own response leaving his mouth.
"Oh." you swallowed hard trying to shake the sinking feeling in your gut.
Shes Chrissy.
You felt yourself slipping into your head and rubbed your fingers against the table. Eddie opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed.
The name echoed in your head, heavy and cruel. You weren’t Chrissy.
You smiled up at him with a tight line.
"So, at what time is your next campaign I need to know what Henderson has to say about it."
Eddie hesitated, guilt flickering across his face, but then he launched back into his rant, words tumbling out with his usual flare. You nodded, pretending to listen, eyes drifting back to your paper.
But the essay blurred, meaningless. All you could hear was the echo.
A week had passed since you had become hyperaware of Chrissy Cunningham's existence, your eyes would linger as she passed by the halls. Chrissy Cunningham’s name had become a ghost that haunted every hallway, every classroom. Your eyes lingered on her without meaning to, tracing the way she laughed with her friends, the way she seemed untouchable. Even when Eddie’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, the warmth that used to feel protective now burned with doubt. It wasn’t the same flare of happiness it once sparked it felt hollow, like a reminder of what you weren’t. You told yourself Eddie didn’t think of you as ruined, that he loved you in his own way, maybe not the romantic kind you dreamed of, but something deeper, something platonic and safe. And wasn’t that better than nothing? Better to be loved in fragments than not at all. Still, the words hung in the air. I wouldn’t want to ruin her, echoing like a curse, twisting every smile into a question you couldn’t answer.
Movie nights with Eddie were your sanctuary, the one place where the world blurred into laughter and comfort. You couldn’t always afford the tapes, but somehow Eddie always managed to pull one out of thin air, grinning like he’d just robbed the universe.
“Alright, sweetheart, tonight’s feature presentation: low-budget horror with questionable acting and even worse wallpaper choices,” Eddie announced, throwing his arms wide as if he were on stage.
You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. Who paints their kitchen lime green?”
“The true horror isn’t the killer, it’s the interior design, blind, I tell you. All of them blind,” Eddie quipped, leaning forward with mock seriousness.
The movie played, but Eddie was louder than the actors. He imitated the protagonist’s screams, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh no! I’ve been stabbed! Tell my story, Y/N!”
You shoved him, laughing. “You’re such a dork, Munson.”
“Correction: I’m a loser and a dork. I'm a double threat, sweetheart. We have to get my title right.” He lunged at you, and suddenly, you were wrestling on the couch, laughter spilling out of both of you. His fingers dug into your sides, tickling mercilessly, and you squealed, begging him to stop.
"Eddie Munson i mean it, stop it right-" your breathless laughs and heavy breaths being pushed out of your chest without your permission.
You flipped him, breathless, hair falling into your face, and Eddie grinned up at you, curls wild, eyes shining. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.” His voice dipped, teasing, but there was something in his gaze that made your stomach twist with butterflies.
You tickled him back, Eddie yelled and screeched, telling you to cut it out.
Both of you breathlessly lay there, you on top of Eddie. The floor of his trailer digging into his back. Your hair falling into your face, tickling at eddies cheek from the proximity.
For a moment, the world stilled. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you leaned down, heart pounding, breaths mingling. His lips brushed yours, soft, hesitant, electric, and you felt yourself melt into the warmth of him. The kiss lingered, the feeling electric despite your lips not connecting yet, the feelings you bottled up for so long making their way up, ready to be released with a kiss.
Then the phone rang.
You both jolted apart, hearts racing. Eddie gave you an apologetic smile, exaggeratedly groaning as he dragged himself to the wall phone. Your chest still buzzed with childlike excitement, the thought screaming in your head: you almost kissed Eddie Munson. A breathless laugh leaving your chest.
Eddie picked up the phone, his smile and frizzy hair making him look all the more breathtaking, the moment still fresh and new to both of you. You watched him smile brightly on your face, still feeling the proximity both of you shared. But then his smile faltered, voice dropping. “Wait… Chrissy, slow down. What happened?”
And just like that, the butterflies died. The pit in your stomach returned, heavier than before. Chrissy’s name hung in the air, and the comfort of Eddie’s laughter dissolved into something sharp, something that reminded you....
She’s Chrissy. You’re not.
You sat on the couch, chest heavy, the movie flickering across the screen like it was mocking you. Every scream, every chase scene blurred into background noise against the sound of Eddie’s voice on the phone. You tried not to listen, tried to let the static drown it out, but Chrissy’s crying bled through, sharp and undeniable. Each word Eddie spoke carved deeper into you.
“It’s going to be okay, Chrissy, I promise I-”
“Wait, no. Don’t apologize. You needed someone to hear you. There’s no need to-”
“Chrissy, you aren’t a burden. I promise.”
Your stomach twisted, sinking into itself as you stared blankly at the screen. The protagonist was running toward safety, the last survivor, her blonde hair catching the light, her delicate smile untouched by the horrors she lived around her. She looked like Chrissy. She looked like everything you weren’t.
“No need to thank me. Bye, Chrissy. I’ll talk to you soon. Good night.”
Eddie sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up. His mood was dampened by Chrissy's situation, but he couldn't help the giddy feeling in him. He turned, eyes finding you on the couch, hair tangled, face half-lit by the glow of the TV. For a moment, he just stared, like he was memorizing you, before he let out a dramatic groan and flopped across the couch, sprawling until his head landed in your lap.
“Jason’s a real prick, holy crap,” he muttered, looking up at you with a grin that carried a glint of something unspoken. His eyes lingered, analyzing you, searching for a reaction you refused to give. You kept your gaze locked on the TV, pretending the movie mattered more than the ache in your chest.
“Sooooo… about that thing earlier, I think it was-”
“It’s getting late, Eds. I should head home.” Your voice was steady, but the words cut through him. His smile faltered.
“What? Why?”
“It sounded like Chrissy needed you. And we finished our movie. Besides, I need to brush my hair.”
His brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to argue. “You can always spend the night. I mean-”
“No, it’s okay, Eds.” You stood, brushing off your shorts, forcing a smile. “Thank you for the movie night. See you tomorrow. I hope Chrissy’s okay.”
“Wait-” His voice cracked slightly, softer than usual, but you didn’t let yourself turn back.
You left, practically running from Eddie’s trailer, the night air biting at your skin. Only when you were far enough away did you let out a tired sigh, clutching at the stitch in your side. “Shit, I really have to work on my cardio.” The words came out bitter, half a laugh, half a sob.
And still, the thought gnawed at you: did Chrissy ever feel this way? Did she ever have to wonder if Eddie Munson would choose her over the rest of the world?
You hadn’t really heard from Eddie all weekend. The silence gnawed at you, every hour replaying that almost-kiss until it drove you insane. By Monday, when he waved at you in the hallway, his small smile felt like a knife twisting in your chest.
“I didn’t hear much from you this weekend, Eds.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was busy.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “Chrissy really needed to talk. We kinda smoked, I showed her around town. I was gonna call, but… I needed her advice. Then Jason didn’t drive her to practice, it was this whole thing.”
Your chest caved in. That moment between you and Eddie hadn’t stopped replaying in your brain, the proximity, the way your thoughts short-circuited. And now it was all overshadowed by Chrissy Cunningham. Again.
He kept talking, voice casual. “Then the cheerleaders are having these tryouts since one of them broke her leg. They’re looking for a replacement and…”
That was when the idea hit you. If Eddie liked Chrissy so much, if he cared about her practices, maybe he could care about yours. Maybe if you were more like her, he’d look at you differently.
“I’m actually trying out.”
His head snapped toward you. “What?”
“I’m trying out to be a cheerleader.” The words felt foreign, heavy, like they didn’t belong to you. Your stomach turned, but the thought of Eddie caring about your practices the way he cared about Chrissy’s made it worth saying.
“Since when do you like cheerleading?” His tone wasn’t cruel, nor was it meant to mock you, but it stung.
“What, you don’t think I can make it?” The defensiveness hit before you could stop it, insecurity clawing at your chest.
He shook his head. “No, it’s just… I didn’t think the whole prep thing, skirts, pompoms, makeup, was your thing.”
Maybe the issue was that you weren’t feminine enough. You liked who you were, you thought Eddie did too. But in that moment, you realized he liked those things in a friend, not in a partner.
So for the next two weeks, you worked. Stretching, practicing, forcing yourself into routines that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie asked if you were sure, more than once, his voice carrying doubt you couldn’t shake. The pit in your chest grew. The feeling in your stomach continuously sank as anxiety and insecurity crept up.
Tryouts came. Everything was going well, you felt your palms sweating, your heart beating ringing in your ears. Everything was fine everything was perfectly fine, the anxiety you felt was nothing, or so you told yourself.
That was until you slipped, crashing hard onto the gym floor. Eddie was in the bleachers, you hadn’t known he’d be there. He wasn't supposed to be there. Your heart dropped when you realized he was there for Chrissy. His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he almost jumped from the bleachers.
Chrissy ran forward, concern etched across her features. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine kindness in her voice a panic rising behind her. genuine concern was all that her features showed. And you understood why Eddie liked her. She was light, effortless.
But Eddie’s voice cut through, frantic. “Oh my god, are you okay? Hey, look at me.” His eyes locked on yours, wide and terrified.
Your pride burned hotter than your knee. “Yeah, I’m fine."
They continued asking, especially about your knee, the pain throbbing from it almost distracting you from the humiliation that you were currently facing. Tears burned in your eyes, you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away, anxiety making its way back up.
"That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” Your voice shook your heart beat overwhelming you.
Chrissy shook her head. “Don’t apologise. Don’t stand on it, you’ll hurt yourself more.”
Eddie reached out to steady you, but you pulled back. “I promise I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he insisted, voice breaking, eyes pleading.
Both Eddie and Chrissy crowded in too close, their voices overlapping, Chrissy’s soft, careful questions and Eddie’s frantic insistence that you weren’t fine. Their concern pressed down like a weight, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. Every word felt like pity, every touch like proof of how small and fragile you must have looked sprawled on the gym floor. Your pride burned hotter than the pain in your knee, humiliation clawing at your chest until it spilled out sharp and raw.
“Eddie, stop it! Just stop already — I get it, okay? !” The words tore from you before you could stop them, tears blurring your vision as both of them froze, their kindness suddenly unbearable.
Tears spilled down your cheeks. Eddie froze, startled. “What do you mean? Hey, hey, look at me. You’re okay.”
“Just stop.”
You turned, limping out of the gym, leaving Eddie and Chrissy behind. The parking lot was empty except for his van and a few teachers’ cars. You sat on the sidewalk, knee throbbing, tears burning. You hated being seen like this. You hated that you’d snapped at Eddie when all he’d done was care. You hated that Chrissy was everything you weren’t.
The gym doors slammed behind you, and Eddie stood frozen, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to spiral like that. He hadn’t meant for you to think Chrissy mattered more. Hell, he hadn’t even come for Chrissy, he came because he knew you’d be here, because he wanted to see you try, wanted to be the one cheering you on.
But then you fell. And the look on your face when you pulled away from him, that hurt worse than anything.
He grabbed the ice pack from the nurse’s office, snagged some painkillers, and pushed through the doors into the parking lot. The night air was heavy, and there you were, sitting on the curb, shoulders shaking. Eddie’s chest tightened.
He walked over, slow, uncertain, holding the ice pack out like it was some kind of peace offering. You didn’t look at him, but you didn’t push him away either. He sat down beside you, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.
You sighed, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”
Eddie shook his head, eyes locked on you. “Don’t be. You think I came here for Chrissy?” His voice was quiet, raw, stripped of its usual theatrics. He winced slightly as he asked.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curls falling into his face. “ I don’t care about cheerleading, or pompoms, or whatever. I care about you. I wanted to see you out there because it mattered to you. Because you matter to me. I wasn't there for Chrissy. I was there for you”
His words hung in the air, heavy and trembling. He wanted to reach out, to steady you, to make you believe him. But he stayed still, afraid you’d pull away again.
“I know you think Chrissy’s perfect. And yeah, she’s kind, she’s sweet. But she’s not you. She’s not the one I spend every night with, laughing at dumb horror movies, wrestling on the couch, and always wondering if it's the right time to kiss you or hold you close. I mean we almost-” He stopped himself, biting his lip, heart racing.
Eddie glanced at you, eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. “I don’t want you to change. Not for me, not for anyone. You’re already… you’re already everything.”
The silence pressed down again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged, aching, full of everything Eddie couldn’t quite say.
"I'm sorry", your voice small.
Eddie’s eyes softened, his voice quiet but steady. “Don’t be. I was there for you, not Chrissy. And I’ll always be there for you.”
He swallowed hard, curls falling into his face as he leaned closer. “And you aren’t ruined. That came out so wrong. You’re the most perfect person I know, and it scared me half to death. I love you. I’m so, so, so sorry.”
Your breath caught, eyes burning as the insecurities that had weighed you down seemed to lift, replaced by something warmer, lighter. Tears welled fresh, but this time they carried relief. You smiled through them, voice trembling. “I love you, you big loser.”
You leaned in, lips brushing his, and Eddie met you halfway. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were afraid it might shatter. But then it deepened, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, the taste of smoke and sweetness lingering as your lips moved together. It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that felt like home. Every second carried unspoken promises, every breath shared like it was something sacred.
When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you smiling through the tears. “I think I fucked my knee up. We might have to go to the doctor. And I hate cardio.”
Eddie laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, breaking the heaviness in the air. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to a doctor before you start running laps out here.”
He helped you up carefully, his arm steady around your waist, and for once the pain in your knee didn’t matter. Because Eddie Munson was holding you, and he wasn’t letting go.
could i request a fluffy steve x gf! reader fic where the reader and steve accidentally eat edibles are they’re extremely high
(or sex chocolates by accident and it’s smutty)
⋆˙⟡ tastes like candy
ᯓ★ boyfriend!steve harrington x f!reader
⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, masturbation (m and f), very heavy breeding kink, lactation kink..?, sex chocolates, pet names, praise kink, steve talks you through it, big dick steve obviously
⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — after eddie convinces steve to buy these chocolates from his dealer, he thinks nothing of it. he even convinces you to try them because they’re really good. not even an hour later, the effects are kicking in.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys! i literally have nothing appropriate to say about this so… also please excuse the beginning, i lowk suck at writing build up so lets just look past that. please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p
⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 3.31k
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.
you were sitting lazily on the couch in your bikini, watching some random movie you’d found lying around while you waited for your boyfriend to return when you heard the front door to your shared home open.
“babe!” steve called out, stepping inside and kicking the heavy wooden door shut behind him. “c’mere. i want you to try something.”
your brows furrowed in confusion as you got up, your socked feet padding along the wooden floor over to him. “hi, baby,” you smiled sweetly, pecking his lips and taking a seat at the high chair beside the marbled island. “what is it?”
he slid over a bag of colorful squares. “you look pretty,” he grinned, his hand lingering around your waist. “so i went with eddie this morning to run some errands and we stopped by that smoke shop he’s always talking about. he convinced me to get these little chocolates and they’re really good. you’ve gotta try ‘em,” he explained excitedly, taking one out and biting into it. he almost moaned at the taste. “so good. i thought it was kinda expensive for this little bag of candy though.”
you hummed as you picked one from the plastic, examining it with uncertainty etched in your features. hesitantly, you bit off one of the corners. it was delicious. “wow. oh my god. yeah, these are really good.”
steve nodded along with a proud grin. “told you,” he bragged, his fingers lightly digging into the bare skin of your waist while his free hand grabbed another piece. “you should come check it out with us next time. they had some other pretty cool flavors.”
you plucked another piece from the plastic and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. “mhm. i’d love to,” you said with a warm smile before gently poking at his side. “now hurry up and go change before the sun goes away and the water gets cold.”
he cupped the side of your head to bring it closer to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. “yes ma’am,” he quipped, grabbing a piece of chocolate for the road before jogging up the stairs to get changed into his swim trunks.
it had only taken an hour for the effects to start kicking in with him.
you’d been playing around, splashing in the water with him to cool off from the beaming sun, when something in his eyes shifted. the pretty brown was almost completely overshadowed by the black of his pupils.
steve was crossing the pool in a few, long strides. his hands were already sliding around your waist in the water, his chest pressing into your back as the pool lights rippled beneath the surface. you felt his breath hot against your neck before his mouth followed, open and wet, dragging slow kisses along your shoulder.
“stevie,” you giggled, twisting a little in his arms. “what are you doing?”
he didn’t answer right away. his lips kept moving, sucking lightly at your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver but not enough to leave a real mark. “just wanna hold you,” he mumbled against your collarbone, voice already rough. his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him.
that’s when you felt it—thick, heavy, and unmistakably hard pressing against your ass through his trunks. your breath caught in your throat. steve let out a shaky exhale and curled tighter around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“mmph. fuck… i need to be inside you, honey,” he whispered, almost pleading. “please. right now. i can’t—fuck, i’m so hard it hurts.”
he was fully rolling his hips into you now, seeking any sort of temporary relief. you had to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress the whimper crawling up your throat. “stevie, baby,” you breathed, feeling a similar heat start to burn deep in your stomach. “what if someone sees?”
“fences,” was all he could whimper out as his hands kneaded at the soft skin of your bare waist. the bikini you were wearing wasn’t helping his little predicament either. you just looked so fucking sexy like this. “please. just need to feel you.”
before you could answer, his hand was already tugging at his waistband. he shoved his trunks down just enough to free his cock, the length of it springing free in the water. one quick motion and he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms, yanking them to the side. the head of his cock nudged against your entrance, hot and insistent.
steve pushed in with one desperate thrust. a loud, broken moan tore out of him the second he sank deep inside of you, his whole body shuddering behind you. “oh my god—fuck, you’re so warm. so fucking tight.” his arms locked around your middle, holding you still while he buried himself to the hilt, his tip kissing your cervix.
a choked gasp left your lips at the sudden intrusion, your thighs squeezing together and your hand reaching back to claw at steve’s thigh. you were entirely too full. “mph! baby— holy shit! fuck!”
he didn’t wait. his hips started rocking immediately, short, needy thrusts that made the water softly splash around you. one hand slid up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing, thumb rubbing over your peaked nipple. the other stayed low, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he fucked into you with frantic, hungry strokes.
“need you so bad, honey,” he panted against your ear, voice cracking with desire. “hmph! can’t stop. feels too good. you feel so fucking good around me.” his mouth found your neck again, sucking and biting between every thrust, completely lost in the sudden, overwhelming need to be buried inside you.
the chocolates have him wrecked—his cock buried deep inside your pussy, hips snapping forward in quick, desperate thrusts that send you jolting forward slightly each time. he’s moaning loud and completely carefree, whimpering your name like he’s losing his mind, every punch against your cervix harder than the last.
“fuck, baby— your pussy’s so fucking addictive,” he groans against your neck, voice trembling. “can’t stop— this pussy’s too good, shit, i need it, need you.” his hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up to squeeze your tits, fingers digging into your ass as he pulls you down onto his cock over and over. “please—just fuckin’ take it, take all of me. just let me fuck this pretty pussy.”
he doesn’t wait for a response, not that you can really speak right now anyway. steve spins you around, lifts you easily, and carries you to the pool steps. he sits down on the lower step so the water laps at his waist, then pulls you onto his lap, settling your legs on either side of his thighs. his cock slides back inside your dripping cunt in one smooth thrust and he starts fucking up into you hard, hips driving upward while he drags you down to meet every stroke.
“oh!— yes! yes, yes, yes,” you cried out brokenly, clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to ground yourself. “feels so good, stevie. so— so big!”
his mouth finds yours in a sloppy, messy kiss—tongues sliding, spit mixing, both of you panting into each other. steve’s eyes are glassy, drunk on the feeling of your cunt squeezing him. “so fucking sexy,” he mumbles against your lips between thrusts. “can’t get enough of this pretty pussy. so warm and wet f’me. need to keep fucking you like this.”
every upward snap of his hips punches a moan out of both of you, his grip on your waist bruising as he uses your body to chase the overwhelming pleasure the chocolates have forced on him.
one of his hands slides down your body, fingers finding your clit under the water, rubbing tight circles as he keeps thrusting up into you on the pool steps.
“please, baby— cum for me, squeeze my fucking cock, i need it so bad,” he begs, voice hoarse and desperate, hips snapping faster. the pressure builds fast and you bite down hard on his shoulder when you finally cum, a muffled cry vibrating against his skin while your pussy clamps down around him.
he groans loud, holding you through it, but the need doesn’t fade. “there you go, baby. fuck— just fucking sucking me back in, huh?”
you’re practically limp in his arms now, choking out small gasps and whimpers each time he hit that gummy spot inside of you. you’ve completely lost the ability to speak as he fucks up into you forcefully.
“shit— holy shit, honey. i’m coming! fuck, i’m coming!” he pressed his hips up into you as tight as he could as his mouth came down on yours, hot and desperate, licking at your tongue and sucking on it hungrily.
soft whimpers spilled from deep in his throat, thick ropes of hot cum filling up your spent hole. you couldn’t help but moan into the wet cavern of his mouth when you felt just how much of the milky liquid was being pumped into you, absolutely filling you to the brim and beginning to leak out around him.
you pulled away for air, eyes blown wide and dazed as you looked at steve. he had the same look on his face with a lopsided grin to accompany it.
your skin began to felt too tight, your pulse pounding between your legs, and every brush of steve’s hand made you ache worse. you glanced at him again—his swim trunks still half down, his cock half-hard again already— and the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“stevie… shower with me?” you asked, voice small and shy even though your thighs were slick from the mess you two had created together.
he pressed a sweet kiss to your palm and tucked himself back into his swim trunks, nodding and taking deep breaths to get his composure back. “yeah. yeah, i’ll be up in a minute.”
you climbed off of him and slowly stepped out of the water on shaky legs, draping a towel around yourself. it was no match against the droplets of water running down your legs onto the polished floors. the second the cold air hit your sun-kissed skin, the desire sparked in the pit of your stomach again. only this time, it was so much worse.
it only took a few minutes for steve to join you in the bathroom. the second the door behind shut him and he stepped into the shower behind you, you turned to face him, pushing your dripping hair back away from your face and dropping to your knees. “woah, baby? what are you—“ his cock bobbed heavily in front of your face, already hardening fast. you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked him in deep, moaning at the taste of him mixed with pool water.
steve groaned loudly, one hand flying to the back of your head. “oh, fuck—baby, that’s it,” he gasped, hips twitching forward. you took him deeper, bobbing your head while your free hand slid between your own legs. two fingers pushed straight into your pussy, fucking yourself in time with the way you sucked him. he cried out when his gaze followed your hand down your body, watching the way it disappeared between your legs. “sucking my fat cock turns you on, honey? fuck! hmph! y’look so fucking pretty on your knees f’me.” wet, obscene sounds filled the shower as you fingered yourself harder, clit throbbing against your palm.
he was fully hard now, thick, warm, and heavy on your tongue. you slowly pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to his cock, then stood and turned around. palms flat against the shower wall, you pushed your ass back. “need you so bad, stevie. please.”
he didn’t hesitate. he yanked your hips closer to his, lined up, and pushed into you in one devastating slow thrust.
“oh! yes, please! right there,” you cried out, forehead pressing to the tile as he started pounding. his hips snapped forward again and again, drilling deep, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls. water streamed over both of you while he fucked you hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to rub your clit in fast circles.
“god, you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, voice completely wrecked. “pretty pussy’s taking me so deep— fuck, i can’t stop.” every thrust punched the air out of your lungs. he leaned over your back, biting at your shoulder, pounding into you with frantic, desperate strokes that made your legs shake. you kept fingering yourself even as he fucked you, two fingers buried inside alongside his cock, stretching you wider while he drilled harder and harder.
it was all too much. the stretch, the fullness, all of it. your hand moved instead to brace yourself against the wall. you clenched around him and his pace falters, his thrusts turning slower, deeper, each one dragging through your soaked pussy like he’s savoring every inch. water streams down his back while he presses his forehead to your shoulder, panting hard. “fuck… mhm, baby, i’m gonna cum again,” he mumbles against your wet skin, voice shaky and wrecked. his hips roll forward in a lazy grind, cock pulsing inside you as he fights to hold back. “feels too good—can’t stop, don’t wanna stop.”
he whimpers when you clench around him again, the sound raw and needy. “keep fucking yourself on your fingers, pretty girl,” he begs, one hand sliding down to guide your own fingers back to your puffy clit and pussy. “please, just like that— oh, wanna watch you stretch yourself while i’m inside you.”
you obey, sliding two fingers in alongside his cock once more, pumping them in time with his slow, deliberate thrusts. the stretch is filty and obscene, your walls straining around both him and your fingers, the burn sharp and perfect. steve groans loud, punching deeper on the next thrust, the head of his cock nudging right against your cervix. it still hurts—too much, too thick, too deep—but the ache only makes you hungrier. you can’t stop grinding back, chasing that painful fullness even as your body trembles from the intensity.
his thick, toned arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “gonna fill you up so good, baby,” he whimpers, hips stuttering as he fights the edge. every slow thrust pushes his cock impossibly deeper, the stretch making your eyes roll back. you keep working your fingers in rhythm with him, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing off the tile.
his breathing turns ragged, his grip bruising. “can’t hold it—fuck, baby, need you to cum for me,” he mumbles desperately. the moment your orgasm hits, your whole body shakes, pussy fluttering and clamping hard around his cock and your fingers. steve cries out, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hot pulses flooding deep while he holds you tight through every tremor.
the shower doesn’t last long against the burning desire within each of you. he’s quickly turning the stream off and guiding you onto the bed with shaky hands, still dripping, his eyes glassy with need. he drops between your spread thighs without a word, pressing his mouth straight to your cum-slick pussy. the first taste rips a broken moan from his throat—loud, desperate, almost pained. he licks at you broad and hungry, tongue pushing inside to scoop out the thick mess he left there earlier, groaning into your folds like he can’t get enough.
“o—oh! stevie, so good,” you babbled mindlessly, your hands making a home in his damp hair. “mmph! feels so fucking good, baby.”
his lips seal around your clit, sucking hard while two fingers slide back into your soaked heat, pumping slow and deep. every slurp is wet and filthy, his tongue lapping at your entrance, circling, then thrusting back in to chase more of his own cum. he strokes himself with his free hand, fist tight around his cock, hips jerking into his own grip as he makes out with your pussy like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
“fuck, baby—your pussy tastes so fucking good with my cum inside her, could stay right here for hours,” he whines against your skin, voice muffled and broken. his tongue drags through your folds again, collecting every drop before pushing it back inside you with his fingers. he moans louder, the sound vibrating through your core, his nose bumping your clit while he sucks and licks like he’s starving.
you’re already shaking when he finally pulls back, chin shiny with your slick, breathing hard. steve crawls up over you, his cock heavy and leaking as he drags the head through your messy slit. the tip catches at your entrance every few passes, slipping in just enough to stretch you before he pulls back again. your eyes blur with hot tears, overwhelmed by how desperately turned on you feel, how your body clenches and weeps for more even though you can’t explain why.
“please,” you whisper, voice cracking.
steve’s forehead presses to yours, his breath shaky. “i know, baby. i got you.”
he finally pushes in, slow and thick, sinking all the way until his hips meet yours. the stretch punches a sob from your chest. he hooks your knees over his arms, folding you into a deep mating press, and starts rocking into you with long, deliberate thrusts. each one drags his thick cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, grinding deep against your cervix.
“holy shit. gonna get you pregnant,” he mumbles against your mouth, voice low and shaky. “wanna watch your belly grow with my kid. see these pretty tits get all big and full.” his hips roll slower, deeper, every thrust pushing his cum even deeper inside of you. “fuck—imagine how swollen you’ll look. how fucking tight this little pussy will get around me.”
you’re fully crying now, overwhelmed and so fucking full, tears slipping down your temples while he fucks you slow and steady. steve kisses them away, still whispering filthy promises between moans. “gonna fill you up every night until it takes, honey. keep you just like this forever—stuffed and leaking and mine.”
his pace stays deep and unhurried, the wet sound of his cock moving through the mess between your legs filling the room. every time he bottoms out you whimper, the pressure perfect and too much all at once. steve’s arms tighten around your thighs, holding you open as he grinds in slow rolls, savoring every flutter of your walls around him.
he leans down, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking while his hips keep that relentless, deep rhythm. “can’t fucking wait to see how these leak for me,” he groans, switching to the other side, completely enamored by you. “you gonna let me drink from you while i fuck another load into this pretty pussy? huh?”
your body trembles under him, brain completely mushy, tears still falling as the pleasure builds again, slow and devastating. steve’s cock drags along every sensitive spot inside you, the stretch constant and so perfect. he keeps mumbling between kisses, voice cracking with how much he wants it. “gonna breed you so good, baby. mmph. make you mine forever.”
he stays buried deep, hips rolling in tight, grinding circles, refusing to speed up even as both of you edge closer. the room is filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, wet and filthy, and steve’s broken whimpers every time your pussy clenches around him. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking apart again, sobbing his name while he follows right after, pumping another hot load deep inside you with a long, wrecked groan.
this is a 13 part series, currently ongoing, updated weekly. 18+ MDNI.
series created on March 4th, 2026
summary: you and your husband, Steve, are inching closer to 40, and as you continue to struggle to conceive your sixth child, Steve cheats out of frustration and stress; only to come home to his dream coming true.
warnings are detailed in each part.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11
Part 12
Part 13 (Epilogue): coming soon
other works: masterlist, navigation, request rules, taglist
summary: it’s Hope’s first birthday, Steve and her family have a party to celebrate but it all falls apart when the cake is brought out.
warnings: mention of sex, toxic/jealous/possessive Steve, mention of NICU, mention of birth trauma
A/N: alright guys, this is the last chapter before the epilogue, buckle your seatbelts. It’s a long ride. I'm sorry for the long gap in updating, I needed to go on a hiatus for my mental health and wriets block, but I'm back!
word count: 5.4k
Twenty two balloons. You had blown up and recounted twenty two white and pink balloons, decorated with tiny bows in the opposite colour before double checking Hope’s cake was still in one piece, sitting pretty in the fridge without a single smidge of frosting out of place.
Hope was still fast asleep in her crib, looking so different than she did a year ago; inside an incubator looking like a featherless bird. You were still in disbelief that she made it, that she actually survived the odds, now with a full head of hair, a couple of teeth and able to walk around the garden sniffing at the flowers that were just as tall as her.
Steve woke up early and got dressed early, too early. He was ready to go for hours and sat on his couch before occasionally pacing around his apartment, thinking about what he was going to say to you and how he was going to say it to finally make things better, to have you fall for him again. He didn’t care if the love was different or if things would never go back to how they were, but as long as you loved him that’s all he needed.
He wanted you to love him for being someone other than the man who fathered your children.
Ross had woken up early too, focusing a little too hard on what he’d wear to the party. Something to impress you but nothing over the top, he wanted to show off that he could be a family man if given the chance. He picked out what he thought was a casual suit.
He bought Hope the biggest and most expensive child's dollhouse he could find and paid extra for the young woman in the toy shop to giftwrap it with fancy paper and a large silk ribbon to finish it off.
Every mother wanted the world for their kids, you were no different, and Ross believed that this dollhouse would be the cherry on top to reel you in.
“Mom?” Rose called out, dodging the balloons, “Where do you want these going?”
You turned to face her, “Hmm… two out the front of the house, another two by the front door, a few in here and the rest in the garden? The sand on their ribbons should hold them down good enough.”
“We can always tape them to the walls or something too,” Rose took six balloons to start with, three in each hand.
“Do you need any help?” James asked quietly, coming up behind her.
“No. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself.” She snapped, walking towards the front door.
You gave James a sympathetic glance but he shrugged, reminding himself of the talk he had with his dad.
“You can't make up excuses for your behaviour or try to blame someone else. You have to own your choices, you have to think long and hard about making them because you could ruin someone's life."
“James,” you said softly, “the guests will start showing up any minute, could you finish arranging the foods and drinks on the table?”
James was deep in thought, placing the bowl of strawberries away from the deli meat and cheese platter to notice the knocking at the door at first, by the third knock he hurried to the door, the pads of his fingers a little stained from the strawberries.
“Hello?” James furrowed his eyebrows.
Ross was on the other side of the door, dressed in a fancy suit with his hair slicked back, carrying a massive present in both hands.
“Good Afternoon,” Ross smiled, “I’d shake your hand but as you can see they’re quite full.”
James stared at the gift in Ross’s hands before his eyes trailed up to his face, his eyes squinting at him. James couldn’t describe the feeling hardening in his bones, but all he wanted to do was to slam the door in this man's face.
He hated the suit, the smug expression across his face, and the large gift for a tiny one year old in his hands; this stranger was trying too hard.
James didn’t open the door further, he continued to stare at him, “You are?”
“Oh yes! Sorry, I should’ve led with that. I’m Ross, I work with your mother. She invited me here, Hope’s birthday. I take it you’re another one from the clan?”
Clan?
We’re the fucking Harringtons.
He continued to stare at Ross, not bothering to respond until you hurried over to the door with Hope clinging to your hip, her little chubby and angelic face looking from left to right, taking in everything around her.
“James, why don’t you let,” Your eyes fell onto Ross and immediately you opened the door wider, thankful that he decided to come, “Oh, Ross! You made it!” Your eyes then dropped to the large present in his hands, “You shouldn’t have! Please come in.”
James forced himself to move out of the way, dragging his feet as this man entered his home, trailing behind you like a dog. His father had just got out of the car, making his way up the path, watching James bunch his hands into fists.
“You okay, kid?” Steve asked, ruffling his son's hair and following him into the house, the rectangular present for his daughter weighing heavy in his pocket.
James sighed, giving his dad a hug, “Mom invited her boss,” he grumbled, “I don’t like him.”
Steve had never stepped inside your Bungalow before, each step felt like he was trespassing and as he took in the details of the walls without any trace of him in the pictures or decor he had chosen for the marital home, Steve began to realise you had erased him entirely aside from the resemblance in his children’s faces. He didn’t like it at all, considering he still kept his wedding band on and your framed wedding picture beside his bed.
Steve assumed that your boss was an older man with grey hair and a walking stick, with skin decorated with age spots and wrinkles who was only invited because you were sympathetic to his loneliness, but Steve froze by the back door when you were laughing at something Ross had whispered in your ear, and his own daughter, beaming up at him, cooing.
He hadn’t heard your genuine laugh in years.
“Whose this asshole?” Steve grumbled back to his son, “And what's with the ridiculous suit?”
“That’s mom’s boss, his name is Ross, I think,” he shrugged, watching his Dad’s face drop.
She invited him to our daughter's birthday party?
She invited him.
Ross was standing entirely too close to you and Hope and Steve’s chest tightened and his heart thumped as he watched your boss stroking Hope’s cheek with his index finger, talking sweetly to her. You playfully swatted Ross’s arm and Hope stuck her tongue out at him before blowing raspberries, her tiny specks of spit flying everywhere.
Ross’s smile softened into something deeply intimate, his eyes lingering on your lips, which Steve didn’t miss. The ugly jealousy flared up inside of him and without thinking he stormed into your backyard, ignoring the glares from your mother and father and other inlaws who were all praying he wouldn’t dare show up.
Time slowed in front of Steve and he felt as if he had been transported back to high school when a senior student tried to make a move on you. Steve had interrupted back then and you were his ever since, if he didn’t interrupt now, he’d be giving up on everything he ever wanted.
Everything he once had.
"Hey," Steve broke in, his voice making your laughter come to an immediate halt.
You blinked, and turned around in surprise, "Steve?" You breathed, your eyes widening as you took him in, “I didn’t expect you to come!”
You were thankful he showed up for his daughter, even if doing so meant he’d be given shit for hours from your family; you warned him over the phone a few nights ago.
As your gaze lingered on him, you couldn’t help but notice the effort your ex husband made, with his face clean shaven and moisturised, his clothes carefully ironed, his shoes spot cleaned. He was trying.
Ross straightened up and his brow furrowed slightly at the sudden interruption.
"I wouldn't miss it," Steve replied, ignoring Ross staring at him and only focusing on you.
He wanted to pull you in close, kiss your lips gently and nuzzle his nose into your neck and wrap his arms around you, the way that he used to. He could’ve done so over a year ago, he wished he did it more often and regretted how many nights he spent away from home.
Ross cleared his throat, “So this must be your ex husband, Mr Harrington?” Ross asked, turning his attention to Steve, sneering at him.
Steve clenched his jaw and reluctantly shifted his gaze to Ross, his hazel eyes hardening.
“I’m the father of all these kids too,” he growled, stroking Hope’s hair, “I can imagine a career man like you doesn’t have time for kids.”
You wanted to step in before things could escalate but before you could, Steve spoke up again, “Ross, why don’t you get yourself a beer? If you don’t mind. I need a few minutes alone with my ex wife.”
Ross raised his eyebrows and pouted for a moment, “Sure,” his reply to Steve was cold but he returned his attention back to you before heading to the beers, “We’ll talk more later.”
You let out a deep sigh and stared at Steve, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You didn’t need to be so rude.”
Steve nearly bit your head off with a fiery response but quickly stopped himself and lowered his tone, “I’m sorry, alright! I just don’t like the idea of my kids being around men I haven’t vetted.”
It wasn’t a lie but deep down you knew the reality of you knowing other men made Steve’s skin crawl.
“Well I vetted him, okay?” You were stern, “He’s a nice guy. I work with him.”
Yeah and I bet you’ll end up fucking him too.
Steve rolled his eyes, his patience already wearing thin.
“A nice guy, yeah, they’re all nice guys, aren’t they.”
Hope began to squirm in your arms, her little hands reaching out for her father.
“You should know,” you shot back, “You were the nicest guy, weren’t you, Steve?”
Your response was a little louder than you meant, and the guests risked a look up from the drinks, carefully examining you and Steve, not knowing if they needed to get involved. As excited as you were for Hope’s party, you knew how painful it would be. Forced to relive the trauma of her birth, the confession from Steve, even finding out the truth on the kitchen floor. It all came back and you were drowning in it.
Hope began to scream and leapt towards Steve, you were quick to guide her into his arms but Steve was faster. He scooped her up and she tucked her nose into his neck whilst both of her tiny fists clung to his shirt.
“Hello my beautiful birthday girl,” he cooed, pressing a soft kiss on her head.
You swallowed the forming lump in your throat, “Her bag is all packed for tonight,” you reminded Steve.
He focused on hope, not looking at you, “That reminds me, because she’s old enough for overnight stays, I’d like to go over our custody arrangement, I got a new lawyer.”
Your lips parted and you felt unsteady on your feet, the room around you seemed to start spinning, whirling all around you, blending in with the voices of everyone else around you and the music from Rose’s CD Player.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Steve finally gave eye contact, “I got a new lawyer a few months ago, she wants me to have more custody rights with the kids. Hope staying overnight will prove that I’m more than capable and deserving of having them for longer.”
You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.
How could he do this?!
The urge to bring up your hand and strike him across the face took everything in you not to do it because despite his unfaithfulness, Steve had every right to fight for his kids. He had every right and opportunity to see them more and for as long as he could.
Although he was right to want more rights with his kids, it didn’t seem fair to you. You weren’t ready for the kids to decide if they wanted to live with their father instead and you were honest enough to admit that you wouldn’t want them to if they chose it for themselves.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, the memories of your first moments with Hope replaying in your mind. The blood. The NICU. Telling Steve to leave. It still felt as if it had only happened yesterday, and here you were, still stuck, unable to move on.
“Oh,” was all you could say at first before forcing yourself to be polite, “sure, I’ll get in touch with my lawyer then and we can arrange an evening where we can all come to some sort of agreement.”
Steve could see the hurt in your eyes, he saw it every time he looked at you, but this hurt was different. You were letting go of another part of a future Steve had destroyed, a part that you had enough trauma from when going through the initial court proceedings.
“I just want to have more time with them,” he readjusted Hope, “I’m not trying to take them away from you.”
“No, No, I understand,” you replied quickly, knowing he was right, “you deserve every right to have things adjusted for you.. It must've been difficult only seeing the kids on weekends after…”
You didn’t want to mention the better days, whatever those were to Steve because they all seemed ingenuine to you when looking back after what he did in that motel room.
“It’s been tough,” Steve admitted, “it’s like part of me has been ripped apart, like I’m missing my arm or leg.”
I know that feeling.
I get it.
Rose tapped you on the shoulder but quickly hurried over to her dad, giving him a quick hug, dodging Hope’s attempt at grabbing a fistful of her hair.
Since James outed Rose, she had become a lot closer to her dad and found a friend in his old co worker, Robin, who she spoke to on the phone quite often. Robin brought out a new found confidence in Rose and helped her find self acceptance as she came to terms with her sexuality at her own pace.
“I think it’s time you bring the cake out, Mom,” she spoke up, “I’ve got everyone in the garden.”
“I think you’re right,” you smiled at her, “I’ll see you guys out there.”
You slowly placed the large purple candle in the middle of the heart shaped sunshine yellow cake, the number staring back at you before you could bring yourself to light it.
Hope had grown so quickly in such a short time, she had survived all odds, and despite still being on the smaller side, she was perfect; just like the rest of your kids who were constantly changing in front of your eyes.
Her birthday wasn’t just a celebration of her survival but it was a painful anniversary of when your entire world collapsed. You didn’t want to be upset today, it was meant to be joyful and full of excitement, but as you reflected on where you were a year ago today, it was hard not to feel just as broken and betrayed as you did when you found out the truth.
“Need help, sweetheart?” Your mother called out, walking over to you.
You looked up at her and offered a smile, “I’m okay, all I have to do is light the candle.”
She stared at you for a moment, “You’ve been through so much,” she sighed, studying the glassiness in your eyes, “I know how hard it’s been for you.”
Your bottom lip started to wobble, the tears pricking at your eyes with your throat tightening and you hated it. You hated that you were still missing what life used to be, and that you weren’t truly over your ex husband.
“I just still,” you murmured, voice cracking, “I still don’t understand how Steve could do this to me, to us, to our kids. I keep thinking back and I can’t help but wish and imagine what life would be like right now if I didn’t know… or if he didn’t do what he did.”
Your mother placed her hand on your back slowly rubbing it, “I know, I wish things were different too.”
“I loved him so much, Mom.” You started to sob, turning away from the cake.
Steve had left the garden to see if you and your mother needed any help carrying out the cake, when he heard your cries he hid himself out of the doorway and behind the wall, concealed from sight but with an advantage to hear everything being said.
“I still love him and it’s killing me,” you confessed, wiping away your tears, “but I can’t forgive him, I can’t understand how or why he could do this… I hate him but I’m forced to know him forever and that's what makes it so hard. I’ve always loved him and I don’t think that will ever go.”
Steve’s heart could’ve stopped hearing you still loved him, he felt like he had won the longest race in human history but the moment you followed up with being unable to forgive him and hating him, he was transported to the bottom of the ocean, strapped to a chair with his wrists and ankles bound to the wood, unable to break free and swim to the surface.
He knew that you hated him but hearing it was something else, it was twisting the knife deeper and deeper. He knew that he deserved to be hated but it didn’t stop the aching growing in his heart. Steve covered his mouth with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath, trying to accept the settling realistation in his bones that he couldn’t win you back.
By the time the ringing in his ears subsided, the conversation between you and your mother had shifted, and it would only leave Steve feeling much worse.
“So, Ross is the one who brought that massive present? My eyes nearly burst out of my head seeing that wrapping paper and ribbon! He must’ve spent a fortune.”
You smiled instantly, the rising tears dissipating into the corners of your eyes, “Yeah, that’s him. He’s really nice, he seems to care about me and he has a lot of confidence in me at work but…”
Steve’s eyebrows pulled together and he clenched his jaw, he hated Ross yet didn’t have a real reason to. You weren’t Steve’s anymore, and that was his own doing.
“You don’t think you can trust him?”
You swallowed hard again, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust another man for as long as I live.”
Steve selfishly enjoyed the temporary relief, allowing his jaw to relax slightly.
Your mother removed her hand from your back, crossing her arms, “Who says you have to marry him? You don’t have to have him move in and expect the kids to call him dad. You can allow yourself to have a little bit of casual romance in your life, or even a bit of casual sex.”
Steve’s eyes shot open and he caught himself almost blowing his cover and storming into the kitchen. He didn’t want to hear anymore, he couldn’t.
He hurried away as quietly as he could into the crowded garden, his wide eyes locking on Ross from the crowds of people.
You’re not taking her from me.
Before he could close in on your boss and punch him in the face, he was startled by the sound of you and your mother singing Happy Birthday as you both entered the garden.
Steve turned around and joined in singing, although he was trying to contain his voice from breaking. He focused on the beautiful cake you and Rose spent hours making together, and watched as James brought Hope towards the cake, blowing out the large candle for her.
I destroyed this family.
I’m the reason I don’t get another chance.
Applause and cheers erupted in the garden and you were quick to start cutting the cake evenly and handing out the slices on the bright yellow plastic plates with the polkadot napkins.
The twins were fighting over their pieces, Rose was happily enjoying her hard work with every bite, and James sat with your youngest son, helping him eat without clumps of cake dropping on his shorts.
Hope was now strapped into her highchair, enjoying the cake your father had placed in front of her. Her tiny hands pulled apart the yellow icing and squelched the chocolate sponge which got underneath her delicate nails.
“Dad,” you called out, “I’m going to get a drink, please can you keep an eye on her for a moment?”
“You don’t need to ask me, honey, take your time!” Your father replied, not taking his eyes off his granddaughter.
The moment that you left, Ross slowly followed behind with one of his hands shoved deeply into his pocket whilst the other kept it’s grip on the plate carrying his slice of cake, his head was bowed which made the alarm bells in Steve’s head ring out of control.
Steve slowly slipped through the crowd of your family, bringing his cake with him, and loosely tailed Ross, making sure his footsteps were light and his breathing faint despite the rage bubbling beneath the surface.
Your glass of water was already half empty by the time Ross reached you and his shadow in the doorway made you jump. You offered a quick wave, swallowed the last of your water and placed the glass on the counter top.
“Ross! Everything okay?” You smiled, wiping away the excess water from your lips.
Ross walked over, his shoulders were dropped and he looked mellow. He always looked mellow.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, sorry,” he chuckled, getting closer to you and setting his plate down next to your glass, “can I be upfront with you?”
Steve hovered in the doorway like he did earlier, yours and Ross’s backs were against him so he didn’t need to hide.
“Sure,” you were a little nervous, “What is it?”
Ross took a deep breath and sighed, “You know I’m interested in you,” he started, “and I know what you’ve been through with him… I know your most important focus is on your kids but,”
Ross placed one of his hands on your waist, the feeling made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck and rush down your back. You didn’t know how to feel; you weren’t outraged that he was holding you in what you’d once considered to be so personal and it felt nice to be wanted, but you couldn’t ignore the slight discomfort of another man claiming you without words.
Steve couldn’t hold back anymore, his worst nightmare after losing you was unfolding right in front of him. The future slowly unravelling. You giving another man a chance, falling in love with them and rebuilding your future with them and not him, and the worst part? Your kids adoring their second dad.
“I just want to be a positive force in your life-”
Before Ross could finish smooth talking you, Steve grabbed the handful of his cake and pelted it into the back of Ross’s hair. The chocolate sponge and icing immediately sticking to him and the crumbs falling down the back of his shirt and blazer.
The initial contact of the cake and Ross’s head made you jump but you knew who’d done it.
Turning around, Steve had already forced himself into your kitchen, pushing his way between you and Ross, who had by now removed his hand off your waist to pull the cake from his hair.
“You don’t get to touch her,” Steve growled, glaring at your boss.
“Steve!” you hissed, “Go back into the garden, now!”
Ross squeezed Steve’s cake in his hand, “Why’s that?” he teased, “Scared of a better man treating her the way she deserves?”
“Ross, please.” You warned him, “Both of you don’t do this.”
A better man.
Steve tackled Ross onto the kitchen floor and pushed him into the tiles, punching him in the nose. Ross launched the cake into Steve’s face, and gripped at his shirt, trying to use his strength to haul your ex husband off him.
You ran into the garden, panic completely taking over you.
“Dad!” You were out of breath, “They’re fighting in the kitchen and I need help, I don’t think either of them will stop.”
The kids faces shot up when they heard the word fight; they had only seen fights on TV and in video games and their imaginations were running wild at the opportunity to watch it live.
Your mother sat by Hope’s high chair and you hurried after your Dad back to the kitchen, both men still fighting, covered in chocolate sponge, yellow icing, with cuts and bruising beneath. You were too stuck in your own world to notice that all of your kids, but Hope, had piled into the kitchen, eagerly watching the men fight.
Rose turned to James, “My money is on dad,” she said, “Mom’s boss doesn’t stand a chance.”
James couldn’t believe his sister had spoken to him outside of rejecting his help. He nervously risked a glance at her as she watched her Dad deliver another punch before their granddad began to raise his voice at both men.
“Y-Yeah, Dad’s got this,” James quickly replied, a smile creeping up in the corners of his mouth.
The twins noticed the cake smeared in Ross’s hair and all over their dad’s shirt, and as your dad managed to pry Steve off your boss, the twins had launched their cakes at one another before stealing Ross’s cake from the countertop and launching it at James.
“What the fuck!” James gasped with cake now in his eyes.
Rose burst into laughter, “Now that’s a much better look than the paper bag I suggested last week.” She began to rub the cake into her brother's face, making the cake cling to his eyebrows and lashes.
When you entered your kitchen, you were speechless. What was once an immaculate room, now had cake all over the floor, the walls, and now your kids, who were enjoying the food fight.
Your dad was in the middle of warning both men to quit whilst they were ahead and reminded them that they were at an infants birthday party. Steve had his head down, he was ashamed and he looked it, whereas Ross was furious and wasted no time in leaving.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve murmured as you walked over, “this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have thrown that cake, I just… I’m sorry.”
The exhaustion from setting up the party, baking and decorating the cake with Rose, and making sure everything was perfect had completely caught up to you, and instead of scolding Steve, you took a calm breath and let it go.
“You’re going to need to get yourself, this kitchen, and our kids cleaned up before you and Hope leave for the night. I’m not doing it all myself and I’m not subjecting my guests to tidying your mess.”
The kitchen was easy for Steve to clean once the other guests had gone home and he had a shower, since living on his own he found his own rhythm for tidying up and deep cleaning in a way that was fast and effective because the longer he spent on tasks like these, the more thoughts piled up in his brain that held him accountable for what he had done to you.
Since moving out of his parents house, he didn’t stay in contact with either of them despite his mother ringing his phone every night before she went to bed. His reflections on how he treated you also turned to how his parents treated you and the kids, and what he allowed them to get away with. If he wanted to be a better father and a more respectable ex husband, he needed to go no contact. So he did.
It was bathing the twins that Steve struggled with, water and bubble bath got all over the floor, all over his jeans and some bubbles managed to spill onto the towels.
“Babe!” Steve called out, quickly muttering a swear word under his breath when he realised what he called you.
He called out again but this time using your name, and you appeared in the bathroom, your hair pushed out of your face.
“Can I get some extra towels?” He asked, halfway through washing the taller twins' hair, “These ones are soaked, I can’t dry them with these.”
You nodded your head, “Sure, just leave the towels in the bath once it’s drained, I’ll sort them in the morning.”
Steve was thankful for the extra towels and as you passed them to him, your hands brushed for a moment, fingers grazing against each other's skin.
You pulled away and stepped back, “I double checked Hope’s bag, everything is in there.”
Steve was rinsing the shampoo out, “Thank you,” he hesitated for a moment, “I’m so sorry about earlier, there’s no excuse, I just don’t want this to affect my custody review when we go forward with it. I’m not a danger to my kids-”
“You’re a good dad, Steve,” you reassured him, “the fight isn’t going to affect whatever arrangement is made going forward.”
You were too tired for more things you could supply your lawyer with to strip Steve of any opportunities and freedoms with his children and you didn’t have it in you to sit through the extra paperwork and meetings that would come with it. Sure, you were angry and disappointed at what happened, but you were more worried about Ross firing you as a result of what your ex husband had done to him, and those worries could be left for another day.
After showering the twins, he got them dressed into their pyjamas and into bed, reading with them until they were settled and ready for an early night.
You were cuddled up with Hope on the sofa when Steve cleared his throat from behind you, pointing towards the bag, “This one?”
You stood up, “Yeah, that’s the one.”
He slung the strap over his shoulder and walked towards the front door and opened it, stepping out before turning to face you, holding his hands out for his youngest.
“Alright,” you were nervous to be without her overnight, but you couldn’t deny Steve from this, it was what you agreed on, “Go to daddy.”
Hope outstretched her hands and Steve held onto her tightly, nuzzling into her again. The creeping silence between you as you stood in the house and he was outside of it made you both feel sick, the transitions that sucked you both back to reality felt like you were standing on shards of glass.
“Well,” you sighed, “Call me if there's an emergency and-”
“I know the drill,” Steve reassured you, “she’ll be fine in her crib, I promise.”
Steve pressed the button on his car keys to unlock it and as he walked away you quickly shut the door and locked it, covering your mouth again so you could sob without your other children hearing you. Sliding down the cool wood of the door, you reminded yourself that although all of this hurt and would do for a long time, you needed to stay apart because the damage had already been done and nothing could repair it.
By the time Hope was fast asleep in her crib next to Steve’s bed, and you were curled up, facing the wall unable to sleep from all of the emotions running high throughout the party, your phone buzzed repeatedly, text after text, from Steve:
God I fucking miss you so much
I’m so sorry for hurting you
I regret it so much.
You didn’t open his texts, you couldn’t let him know you were reading them. Instead, you closed your eyes and turned over, whilst Steve began to delete everything else he had typed, leaving the most important things on his mind left unsaid.
this is a 13 part series, currently ongoing, updated weekly. 18+ MDNI.
series created on March 4th, 2026
summary: you and your husband, Steve, are inching closer to 40, and as you continue to struggle to conceive your sixth child, Steve cheats out of frustration and stress; only to come home to his dream coming true.
warnings are detailed in each part.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11
Part 12: coming soon
Part 13: coming soon
other works: masterlist, navigation, request rules, taglist
Before he could close in on your boss and punch him in the face, he was startled by the sound of you and your mother singing Happy Birthday as you both entered the garden.
Steve turned around and joined in singing, although he was trying to contain his voice from breaking. He focused on the beautiful cake you and Rose spent hours making together, and watched as James brought Hope towards the cake, blowing out the large candle for her.
there are two towels laid side by side on the warm sand, each corner anchored down by yours and johnny’s belongings to prevent the breeze from carrying them away.
the blonde himself, meanwhile, is in a pair of blue and white striped trunks that fit him distractingly well. he’s half-turned towards the board walk, waving to an excited kid or two passing him with their families.
you’d been trying to convince him to put on sunscreen since you got there.
“jonathan storm.”
“don’t full name me.”
your eyes narrow a smidge. between the relentless heat and his stubbornness, your patience was already starting to wear thin. he sighs when he hears the pop of the bottle opening.
“you literally have your butt out on a build board to promote it. you’re being a bad influence.”
he looks back at you then. you’d since shuffled closer on your knees, squirting a generous amount of the white lather into your palm, “the sun doesn’t bother me, babe. you know that.”
you rub your hands together with efficient effort before splaying them against the warm expanse of his back, “controlling fire doesn’t make you immune to sunburn and cancer.”
his jaw works lightly, but this time he lets a protest die on his tongue. instead, his attention shifts out to the rolling waves. you can feel his muscles twitch at the initial change in temperature before they slowly relax beneath your massaging fingers. you take your time spreading it evenly, basking in the skin-on-skin contact as you eventually glide it to his arms, then across the planes of his chest and stomach.
you finally wrap an arm around his neck, pressing against his back and leaning in just enough over his shoulder to wipe the last bit of sunscreen on his cheeks and tip of his nose.
“…okay,” he says after a beat. his ears have turned pinkish, “you’ve gotta stop touching me like that in public.”
♡ ◟♪◝⊹ 𝓢𝑼𝑴𝑴 𓈒 one morning when you and eddie wake up after a sleepover at his trailer , you decide to show him a couple of moves you learned while taking jiu-jitsu classes 𓈒 but you and eddie’s friendship turns into something more when you accidentally grind on him while playfighting . . .
੭ ﹕﹒ 𝓘𝑵𝑭𝑶 𓈒 smut 𓈒 inspired by this post (thought the 7th link was eddie coded) 𓈒 never proofread 𓈒 best friends to…? 𓈒 i always have to write eddie as a yearner 𓈒 grinding/dryhumping 𓈒 pretty filthy if i do say so myself 𓈒 lots and lots of teasing 𓈒 dirty talk 𓈒 praise mixed with degradation 𓈒 position switches too since they’re wrestling 𓈒 reader licking eddie through his boxers 𓈒 oral (m receiving) 𓈒 spanking 𓈒 fingering 𓈒 p in v 𓈒 some orgasm denial ig 𓈒 creampie (be safe horndogs.) 𓈒 pining eddie 𓈒 angsty ending . . .
eddie woke up to the sunlight spilling through the window, a slow gold that slid across the floorboards and crept up the rumpled sheets. he yawned softly, shifting to find a more comfortable angle, and the movement stirred you from sleep—a low, sleepy hum escaping your throat before you even knew you'd made it.
his eyes fluttered open at the sound. the haze of sleep cleared just enough for him to register that you were here, in his bed, your face half-buried in his pillow. something in his chest pulled taut.
“mm. morning," he murmured, his voice rough and low.
"good morning," you mumbled back, not opening your eyes. you nuzzled deeper into the pillow, your breath slow and even.
he watched you for a long moment—longer than he meant to. his gaze traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned against your skin, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. the morning light caught the edges of your face, highlighting every small feature he already thought was beautiful, and he felt something warm bloom low in his chest.
he caught himself and cleared his throat.
“so," he said, quiet, "we didn't finish the movie."
you nodded, eyes still closed. "mhm. i knocked out on the couch."
you said it with a hint of sheepishness that made him chuckle. "i know. i tried to be quiet when i snuck away."
a lazy grin spread across his face even though you didn’t see it, boyish and unguarded in the soft light.
"wow. so careless of you," you teased, your voice still thick with sleep. "not even bothering to carry me over to your bed like a gentleman."
he scoffed, but the grin didn't fade—it softened, turned almost tender, even though you couldn't see it. "why?" he asked, voice dropping to something quieter. "why should i have to be a gentleman? it’s my room."
"cause i’m a girl, dumbass. it’s like an unspoken rule."
a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and the sight of it made his heart stutter. he covered it with a laugh.
"oh, right. 'cause you're too dainty and delicate to sleep on the worn-out couch in my living room, huh?"
his hand found your hair, fingers threading through the mess of it, ruffling gently. you finally opened your eyes, swatting at his hand with a giggle.
“careful. i know jiu-jitsu, y’know.”
eddie’s eyes went wide, a slow grin spreading across his face as the memory surfaced. “oh, shit. yeah—you’ve been taking classes, right? you told me you’d show me some moves.”
you blinked, the haze of sleep parting just enough for confusion to settle in. “oh my god, really? i said that?”
“yeah.” he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with that lopsided smirk that always made your stomach flip. “you said you’d show me your bjj.”
you stared at him. “my what?”
“your bjj,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “your brazilian jiu-jitsu.”
a beat of silence, and then you relaxed, a laugh bubbling out of you. “oh. guess i did.” you stretched your arms above your head, the movement pulling your spaghetti strap tank top up just slightly. “i bet i could show you some moves right now.”
eddie’s eyebrows shot up, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “right now? in the morning? before breakfast?”
“what’s the matter, eds?” you tilted your head, voice dropping into something teasing and sweet. “too chicken?”
he scoffed, pushing himself upright, the challenge landing exactly where you aimed it. “i’m not chicken. i’m just saying—you’re in my bed, in my room, and you wanna grapple with me first thing in the morning?”
“scared i’ll pin you?” you shot back, sitting up slowly, the sheet pooling around your waist.
his grin turned sharp, playful, his gaze dragging over you in a way that was half challenge, half something else entirely. “sweetheart, i’d like to see you try.”
“so it’s an invitation?”
“it’s a warning.” he leaned in, close enough that you could smell the sleep on his skin, his voice dropping to a murmur. “i don’t go easy on people who threaten me in my own bed.”
your heart stuttered, but you held his gaze, a smile curving your lips. “good. i’d be offended if you did.”
the second the words left your mouth, eddie lunged.
you let out a surprised yelp as he crashed into you, the both of you tumbling back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and laughter. the sheets twisted beneath you, and his weight pressed you into the pillows for half a second before you squirmed, hooked a leg around his, and rolled.
he hit the mattress with a grunt, the breath punched out of him. "shit—"
"too slow, eds," you breathed, already scrambling to pin his wrist to the bed.
but eddie was wiry and quick. he twisted beneath you, his hip bucking up hard enough to throw off your balance, and suddenly you were the one on your back again, his knee wedged between your thighs, his hands catching your wrists and pressing them into the pillow on either side of your head.
"who’s slow now, huh?" his voice was rough, his chest heaving against yours. a strand of his hair fell loose, brushing your cheek.
you bucked, trying to throw him off, but he had you pinned good. your breath came fast, a laugh hitching in your throat. "beginner’s luck."
"beginner's—" he laughed, breathless and disbelieving. "nah, this is just talent."
"talent my ass." you twisted your hips, and he made a small, strangled sound as your thigh pressed up between his legs. his grip on your wrists loosened just enough. you shoved, and he went rolling sideways, the two of you grappling across the rumpled sheets in a mess of grunts and half-stifled curses.
"fuck—" he grabbed for your waist, but you were already moving, swinging a leg over his torso and dropping your weight onto his chest. the air left him in a sharp oof.
"gotcha."
he bucked beneath you, strong and stubborn, his hands finding your hips, fingers digging in as he tried to unseat you. "not yet, you don't."
"eddie." you pressed down harder, your thighs squeezing his ribs. his back arched, muscles straining, and you could feel every shift of him beneath you, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. "just tap out."
"no."
you grinned, shifting your weight, and his breath stuttered as you bore down, one hand pinning his wrist to the mattress, the other pressing against his chest. "come on, say it."
“n-no, it's not happening."
he twisted again, and you almost lost your grip, your core tightening with the effort of holding him down. your hair fell forward, curtaining both your faces, and for a moment, all you could see were his eyes, dark and glittering and fixed on yours.
"tap," you said, softer now, but no less certain.
he held your gaze. his chest heaved. and then, slowly, his fingers curled against the mattress, and he tapped twice against the sheet.
a triumphant laugh broke out of you. "yes! yes." you flopped forward, your forehead dropping to his sternum, your body still shaking with the exertion. "i told you. i told you."
"okay, okay." his voice was strained, breathless, but there was a smile in it. his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his heart hammering hard and fast. "that was... that was pretty good."
"pretty good?" you lifted your head, propping your chin on his chest. "i destroyed you."
"you got lucky."
"i got good."
he snorted, but his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. his touch lingered, just a beat too long. "alright, hotshot. rematch."
you raised an eyebrow. "you sure you can handle another round? i’d hate to embarrass you twice in one morning."
"embarrass me?" he laughed, sitting up beneath you, and you had to scramble to keep your balance as he shifted. "i'm just warming up, sweetheart."
"mhm." you slid off him, settling onto your knees on the mattress, already rolling your shoulders. "so, same rules?"
"same rules." he mirrored you, his hands coming up in a loose guard, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "but this time, i’m not going easy on you."
"aw, you went easy on me?"
"i went gentle. i could’ve—"
you lunged.
but this time, he was ready. he caught your wrist, pivoted, and for a second, you thought he had you. but you dropped your weight, twisted, and wrapped your legs around his torso in a move that had him grunting in surprise.
"what the—"
you locked your ankles, your thighs squeezing tight around his neck, and suddenly he was trapped, his face pressed against the inside of your thigh, his body bent at an awkward angle as you rolled onto your back, pulling him with you.
"it’s triangle choke," you said, voice strained with effort.
his response was muffled. something between a laugh and a groan.
you tightened your legs. his hand came up, slapping weakly at your thigh. once. twice.
"tap?" you asked, breathless.
he tapped again, harder this time, and you loosened your hold, letting him pull his head free. he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, a hand pressed to his face.
"holy shit."
you grinned, rolling onto your side to face him. "see? i’m pretty good.”
he let out a breathless laugh, still catching his wind. "you didn't tell me you could do that."
"figured i’d keep it as a surprise."
he turned his head, looking at you with those big, dark eyes, his cheeks flushed, his hair a wild mess. "well, it definitely worked. that was... i didn't see that coming."
"most people don't." you propped yourself up on one elbow, feeling warm and pleased and a little smug. "you okay down there?"
"define okay." he shifted, clearing his throat, and you noticed the way his gaze dropped to your thighs for half a second before snapping back up. "i think i need a minute."
"from one round?"
"from that round." he sat up slowly, running a hand through his tangled hair. "you’ve been holding out on me."
"i told you i’d show you some moves."
"yeah, but i thought you meant, like... a wristlock or something. not..." he gestured vaguely at his own neck. "not getting put in a headlock by your legs."
you laughed, bright and genuine. "you liked it."
he swallowed. "i didn't say that."
"well, you didn't not say it."
he opened his mouth. closed it. looked away, a grin tugging stubbornly at the corner of his lips. "alright, fine. maybe i liked it. a little."
"just a little?"
he looked back at you, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that made your stomach flip. "maybe more than a little."
you held his gaze for a long moment, searching his eyes for something you weren't sure you'd find. that look in his eyes was still there, and it made your chest feel tight, so you looked away first.
there was something tense in the air, thick and unsaid. you cleared your throat.
"well, either way, you haven't pinned me down." you tried for teasing, but your voice came out a little quieter than you'd intended.
eddie scoffed, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "that’s 'cause I wasn't trying. if i did try, i would've pinned you down a long time ago."
you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "yeah, right. you told me you weren't gonna go easy."
"i was joking," he clarified, and there was an edge of sincerity now. "if i did, i’d probably hurt you."
you snorted, not buying it for a second. "sure, eddie."
"don’t 'sure, eddie' me."
"then don't be so full of shit."
“oh, shut up.” he laughed.
“make me.”
so he did.
you two tumbled back onto the mattress, arms tangling, breath coming fast. there just the sound of your ragged breathing, the rustle of sheets, soft curses slipping out as you fought for leverage. his knee dug into the mattress beside your hip. your hand slipped against his forearm, both of you slightly slick with sweat.
then he had you.
he flipped you onto your stomach and pressed his weight down, chest against your back, the side of your face squished into the pillow. his breath was hot against your ear, ragged, triumphant.
"not so tough now, huh?" he was panting. "told you i’d pin you down."
you squirmed, thrashing beneath him, trying to find an angle, a gap, anything. but the movement dragged your ass back against him through his jeans, and he felt that unmistakable pressure.
his breath hitched. "hey—stop."
"i’m trying to get out," you shot back, still writhing.
"then—fuck—try a different way."
you didn't listen. you kept moving, kept twisting, until you heard it—a soft, low groan he couldn't quite swallow.
you froze.
then it clicked.
you went still for a second, letting the realization settle warm in your chest. and then you didn't stop. you moved again, slower this time, more deliberate—rolling your hips back against him with intention.
"jesus," eddie breathed, his voice cracking. his forehead dropped against the back of your shoulder. "you’re gonna kill me."
you didn't let up. you kept moving, slow and lazy, dragging your hips back against him like you were still searching for an escape. your voice came out sweet, breathless, edged with false concern.
"what’s wrong?" you murmured against the pillow. "getting tired, eds?"
he was quiet for a moment, just breathing—shallow, uneven, his chest heaving against your back.
"n-no," he stammered, and you felt his fingers twitch where they gripped your wrist. "i’m not tired. i can—" a sharp inhale as you rolled your hips again. "i can do this all day."
you hummed, a soft, pleased sound. "mm. if you say so."
you shifted beneath him, pretending to search for leverage, but you angled your hips deliberately this time—grinding back against him in a slow, torturous arc. his pelvis met yours, and you felt him through the denim, hot and hard and straining.
his breath stuttered.
"fuck—" it was barely a whisper, punched out of him before he could stop it.
you kept going. kept squirming. kept rolling your hips like you had no idea what you were doing, like this was just part of the game. and he let you. he didn't pull away. didn’t tighten his hold to stop you. he just stayed there, taking it, his breathing growing rougher by the second.
another soft groan escaped him, low and involuntary, vibrating against your spine.
"having fun up there?" you asked, your voice syrupy sweet.
he didn't answer. his jaw was clenched so tight you could almost hear his teeth grinding.
you moved again—slower this time, dragging your hips back in a languid, deliberate roll, letting him feel every inch of the friction. his breath caught. his whole body went rigid.
"okay." his voice was strained, hoarse. "okay, what the fuck kind of strategy is this?"
you blinked, all innocence. "i don't know what you're talking about."
"bullshit." but there was no heat in it. his voice had gone soft, almost wondering. "you know exactly what you're doing."
you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his expression from the corner of your eye. his face was close—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his brow was furrowed, his lips slightly parted. he looked wrecked.
your stomach flipped.
"i’m just trying to get out," you said, but even you didn't believe it anymore.
eddie’s jaw clenched. he stared down at you, and for a long, heavy moment, he didn't move. didn’t speak.
his mind was racing.
the two of you had always been touching, teasing, pushing boundaries until they blurred. he’d bite your shoulder just to hear you yelp, and you'd retaliate by stealing his shirts and refusing to give them back. sometimes he'd lick your face when you were being annoying, and you'd shove him into walls, laughing. it was easy. it was fun.
but this?
this was different.
he’d been in love with you for so long he couldn't remember when it started. it had crept up on him slow, like sunrise—imperceptible until suddenly everything was golden and warm and he couldn't look away. he’d watched you laugh, watched you get frustrated, watched you fall asleep on his couch with your mouth hanging open. he’d memorized the sound of your footsteps, the way you said his name, the way your hand felt small in his when you weren't paying attention.
and now you were beneath him, grinding against him like you were trying to undo him, and you didn't even know. you were just playing. just trying to win some stupid game.
but for him, this was everything he'd never let himself have.
he swallowed hard.
"you think i give a shit?" his voice came out low, rough, but underneath it—soft. vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself sound. "i don't care if you're trying to get me to tap." his breath hitched as you shifted again. "it’s not—fuck—it's not gonna work."
he held himself still above you, every muscle coiled tight, his forehead nearly pressed to the back of your head.
"i can do this all day," he repeated, but the words came out broken, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.
you should have stopped. you knew you should have stopped. the game had changed, shifted into something heavier, something that made your skin prickle with awareness. but his voice—that soft, rough edge to it—sent a thrill through you that you couldn't name.
so you didn't stop.
you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, and you heard him choke on a breath above you.
"eds," you whispered, and there was no teasing in it now—just curiosity, just heat. "you sure you're okay?"
he let out a breathless laugh, shaky and raw.
"no," he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "i’m really, really not."
the sound of his voice—that broken, breathless confession—settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and electric. it made you bold. made you reckless.
you moved again.
harder this time. slower, deeper, rolling your hips back against him with deliberate pressure, no longer pretending to search for escape. your body pressed flush against his, the friction sending a shock of heat through your veins. you felt him twitch against you, felt the sharp intake of breath that followed, and something dark and hungry unfurled in your stomach.
a low groan rumbled from his chest. it was guttural, involuntary, the kind of sound that seemed to surprise even him. his forehead dropped to the back of your head, his breath hot and uneven against your hair.
"oh, fuck," he breathed, the words barely audible, more air than sound.
you didn't stop.
you rolled your hips again, slower this time, letting the movement drag out until you could feel every inch of the contact. the denim of his jeans was rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, and the friction was maddening—not enough, never enough, but enough to make your pulse hammer in your throat.
his hands were still on your wrists, but his grip had gone slack. he wasn't holding you anymore. he was just... there. braces above you, trembling, his whole body taut as a drawn bowstring.
another roll of your hips. slower. harder.
his breath stuttered. a soft, broken sound escaped his lips—half groan, half whimper—and it sent a jolt straight through you. you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the space between your thighs. your skin flushed hot, your own breathing growing shallow.
you hadn't expected this. hadn’t expected him to sound like that. hadn’t expected the way it would make you feel—powerful, yeah, but also desperate. hungry in a way you didn't have words for.
you arched your back slightly, pressing your hips more firmly against him, and the sound he made in response was almost too much. a strained, shuddering exhale that turned into a low, guttural moan. his hips twitched involuntarily, pressing back against you, and you felt the hard length of him through the layers of fabric.
he was losing control.
you could feel it in the way his breathing had gone ragged, in the way his body shuddered against yours, in the way his fingers curled weakly around your wrists like he was holding on to the last shred of his composure.
you moved again—a slow, grinding circle of your hips that made his breath catch and then release in a shaky, desperate groan.
"jesus christ," he whispered, the word cracking at the edges. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. barely recognizable.
your body responded before your mind could catch up. a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. you were getting wet. you could feel it—a slick, growing warmth between your thighs that made the friction of your movements even more maddening.
you wanted more.
you shifted your hips, angling yourself differently, and when you rolled back against him this time, the pressure was perfect. the seam of your shorts pressed against you just right, and a small gasp escaped your lips.
eddie heard it.
his whole body went still for a moment, and then he let out a sound that was almost wounded—a low, desperate groan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. his hips moved against yours, grinding back in a slow, instinctual rhythm, and the feeling of him moving with you sent a shudder through your entire body.
your breath came faster now. your skin was hot, flushed, sensitive to every brush of fabric, every shift of his weight above you. you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, could smell the faint, familiar scent of him—cigarette smoke and worn leather and something warmer underneath.
his mouth found the curve of your shoulder.
it was tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against your skin, featherlight. but then you rolled your hips again, and his breath hitched, and his lips parted. his mouth pressed open against your shoulder, hot and wet, and you felt the faint graze of his teeth.
a shiver ran through you.
he did it again—his lips dragging across your skin, his breath hot and uneven. his hips moved with yours now, matching your rhythm, grinding against you in a slow, torturous push and pull that made your head spin.
his breathing was loud in your ear, ragged and uneven, punctuated by soft, helpless sounds that he couldn't seem to suppress. a groan here. a shuddering exhale there. a whispered curse that dissolved into a moan as you pressed back against him harder.
you were both moving now. no pretense. no game. just the slow, grinding rhythm of your bodies, the heat building between you, the sounds of his breathing filling the quiet room.
his hand moved.
it happened slowly—his fingers loosening around your wrist, sliding down your arm, trailing across your skin with a featherlight touch that made you shiver. his palm came to rest on your hip, his fingers curling against the curve of your waist.
he didn't pull you. didn’t guide you. he just... held you. like he needed something to hold onto.
his thumb traced a slow, absent circle against your hip bone, and the tenderness of the gesture, in the midst of all this heat, made your breath catch.
he pressed his forehead to the back of your head again, his breathing ragged, his body shuddering against yours.
"fuck," he breathed again, the word barely audible, wrecked and raw and reverent all at once.
you rolled your hips in response, slow and deep, and felt his whole body tense. his fingers dug into your hip, his breath caught in his throat, and a low, shuddering moan escaped him—longer than the others, more desperate, more broken.
he was completely lost in you.
and the sound of it—the feeling of him falling apart against you—was turning you on more than you had ever expected.
the shift in rhythm was subtle at first—a slight increase in the roll of your hips, a little more pressure as you ground back against him. but eddie felt it immediately. his breath stuttered, a soft, strangled sound catching in his throat.
you did it again. faster this time. harder.
his hips jerked in response, meeting your movements with a desperate, uncoordinated thrust. his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
"god," he breathed, the word barely a whisper, lost in the space between your bodies.
you moved faster. harder. the rhythm of your hips grew urgent, driven by something primal and hungry that coiled low in your stomach. the friction was maddening—rough denim and thin cotton, the heat of his body searing through the layers, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room.
his eyes were shut.
you could feel it in the way his body moved against yours—blind, instinctual, lost. his brow was pressed to the back of your head, his lips parted, his breath hot and uneven against your scalp. his mind was blank. empty of everything except the feeling of you moving against him.
god, she feels so good.
the thought surfaced and drowned in the heat flooding his senses. he couldn't think. couldn’t form words. all he could do was feel—the slow, torturous grind of your hips, the soft sounds you made, the way your body fit against his like it was made for him.
he had imagined this before. late at night, alone in his van, when his mind wandered to places it shouldn't. he had pictured your hands on him, your mouth, your body pressed against his. but he had never let himself believe it could actually happen. you were too good for him. too bright. too far out of his reach.
but you were here. moving against him. making him feel things he didn't have words for.
and he was in love with you.
the thought hit him like a freight train, sharp and undeniable, and it made everything worse. made the ache deeper. made the heat in his blood burn hotter. because it wasn't just physical—it had never been just physical. every roll of your hips, every soft sound you made, every brush of your skin against his—it all meant something more to him.
his breathing grew ragged. shallow. his chest heaved against your back, and a low, desperate groan escaped his lips—louder than before, raw and unguarded.
your hips moved faster, grinding harder, and he felt himself losing the last thread of control.
“fuck," he gasped, the word cracking. "fuck, sweetheart—"
his hips bucked against you, chasing the friction, chasing the heat. his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he couldn't bring himself to care. all he could think about was you. the way you felt. the way you moved. the way you were unraveling him piece by piece.
i’m gonna—
the thought came too late.
his body tensed. his breath caught. and then it hit him—a wave of heat that crashed through him without warning, pulling a loud, broken moan from his lips. his hips jerked against you once, twice, as he spilled into his jeans, the release sudden and overwhelming and completely beyond his control.
he gasped. panted. his body shuddered through the aftershocks, his forehead pressed hard against the back of your head, his hands trembling against your hips.
for a long moment, neither of you moved.
the only sound was his ragged breathing, loud in the quiet room, slowly evening out as the haze began to clear.
then his lips found your shoulder again.
soft, open-mouthed kisses, warm and trembling, trailing across your skin. he wasn't thinking. he was just... feeling. trying to ground himself. trying to remember how to breathe. his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the taste of your skin.
but then you moved.
in a flash, you twisted beneath him, your body rolling with sudden, fluid grace. he barely had time to register the shift before you were on top of him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands pressing his shoulders down against the mattress.
he stared up at you, wide-eyed, chest still heaving. a beat of silence. then a low, breathless laugh escaped his lips.
"you’re kidding me," he said, his voice still wrecked, still rough around the edges.
you pressed down harder, and he groaned—a soft, defeated sound that melted into another laugh.
"fine. fine." he raised his hands, palms open, and tapped twice against the mattress. "i tap. you win. congratulations, you defeated me, you little shit."
a grin spread across your face, bright and victorious. but there was a glint in your eyes. a question.
"did you just... come in your pants?"
his face flushed red.
he let his head fall back against the pillow, one hand dragging down his face.
"jesus christ," he muttered, his voice muffled behind his palm.
you raised an eyebrow, waiting.
he groaned. long and dramatic and full of self-pity. then he let his hand drop, staring up at the ceiling like he was praying for the floor to swallow him whole.
"yeah," he said, the word clipped and frustrated. "yeah, i did. i fucking came in my pants. you happy now?"
a laugh bubbled out of you—bright and genuine, not mocking, but warm. surprised.
"i didn't even do that much," you said, your voice teasing, but soft.
eddie’s eyes finally met yours. there was something in them—something raw and unguarded, something that made your laughter fade at the edges.
"yeah," he said quietly. "you did."
the words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. he meant more than he was saying. you could feel it in the way his gaze held yours, in the way his chest was still rising and falling too fast, in the way his hands had come to rest on your thighs—not pushing, not pulling. just... holding.
but you laughed it off, shaking your head, rolling your eyes with playful affection.
"guess i’m just that good."
the grin returned to his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. he was still looking at you like you were something he couldn't quite believe was real.
"yeah," he said again, softer this time. "i guess you are."
eddie’s eyes searched yours.
he told himself he was just looking. that he was just waiting for your next move, reading your body language, trying to figure out what you were going to do next. that’s all it was. just strategy.
but it wasn't.
he was looking for something else. some flicker of warmth, some crack in the playful facade that would tell him you felt even a fraction of what he felt. some sign that this meant more to you than just a game. some hint that you saw him—not just eddie the freak, not just eddie the dealer, not just eddie the guy who was convenient and willing and pressed against you in the morning.
but there was nothing.
your eyes were bright with mischief, sparkling with the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of winning. there was heat there, sure—a lazy, satisfied kind of desire that told him you were enjoying this. but it was surface-level. fun. a game you were playing because you could, because he was letting you, because it was easy and exciting and meant nothing the next day.
something in his chest cracked, just a little.
he looked away.
the ceiling was suddenly very interesting. water stains. a crack running from the corner to the light fixture. he focused on that instead of the weight of you on his hips, the warmth of your thighs bracketing his waist, the way his heart was pounding in his throat.
"wasn’t fair though," he said, forcing his voice into something lighter, something that sounded like him. "you grinding your ass up against me like that. pretty sure it's cheating."
you rolled your eyes, and he could feel the movement, could feel the shift of your weight as you adjusted above him. "i still won. plus you weren't really in a rush to stop me."
he snorted. "yeah, well. i was being polite. didn’t wanna hurt your feelings."
"uh huh. very chivalrous of you."
"i am a gentleman."
"you came in your pants."
"gentleman," he repeated, louder, and you laughed.
the sound did something to him. made the crack in his chest spread a little wider. he wanted to bottle it. keep it. listen to it on repeat in the lonely hours of the night when he was alone in his van, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.
but he didn't say that. he just grinned, letting the banter carry him, letting it be enough.
"rematch," you said, and before he could respond, you were moving.
this time, you were faster. smarter. you caught him off guard, your body twisting with practiced ease, and suddenly your legs were around his head again, your thighs pressing against his ears, and he was trapped.
"jesus christ—"
he struggled, but half-heartedly. his hands came up to grip your thighs, but he wasn't pushing. he was holding. his breath was warm against the inside of your leg, and he could feel the heat of you through your shorts, could smell the faint scent of your skin, could feel the way your body settled against his with comfortable familiarity.
but you didn't stop there.
you shifted. adjusted. your hips lowered, and suddenly you were positioned differently—not just holding him, but using him. your weight settled lower, and he felt the damp spot there, still cooling, still embarrassing.
your mouth found it.
"oh, fuckkk—"
he groaned, loud and broken, his hips bucking up instinctively as your lips pressed against the wet denim. the fabric was rough against your mouth, but beneath it, he was sensitive, aching, still trembling from the aftershocks of his release.
"fuck, this again?" he gasped, his voice muffled between your thighs.
you paused, just barely. your lips ghosted over the damp spot, and he could feel your smile against the denim.
"want me to stop?"
he knew what you were doing. you were giving him an out. a chance to say no, to retreat, to save whatever shred of dignity he had left.
but he didn't want an out.
he wanted you.
“no," he said, the word coming out rough and desperate. "don’t—don't stop."
your hands found the button of his jeans. the zipper. the sound of it lowering was loud in the quiet room, and eddie’s breath caught in his throat. he stared up at the ceiling, at the water stains, at the crack in the corner, and tried to remember how to breathe.
you pulled the denim open. his boxers were visible now—dark blue, damp in the center, clinging to him. he was half-hard again, stirred by the friction, by the heat of your mouth through the fabric, by the sheer overwhelming reality of you.
your tongue touched him through the cotton.
he moaned—a sound he couldn't control, couldn't hold back, couldn't disguise. it was raw and desperate and full of everything he was trying not to feel.
his hands found your thighs again, gripping tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
the wet heat of your mouth through the thin fabric. the slow, deliberate drag of your tongue along his length. the way you explored him like he was something to be savored, something to be learned. the way your breath ghosted over him between licks, cooling the spots where your mouth had been. you were basically cleaning up his release.
his chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. his hands trembled against your thighs, and he couldn't tell if he was trying to push you away or pull you closer.
"f-fuck," he stammered, his voice cracking. "do whatever you want to me. i’m still not gonna t-tap again."
you laughed against him—a soft, warm sound that vibrated through the cotton and made his hips jerk.
"we’ll see about that," you murmured. “you’re pretty easy to manipulate.”
eddie groaned softly as you licked him again. “s-shit, can you just put it in your mouth already?”
you hummed against him. “that’s not something a gentleman would say, eds.”
“i don’t care,” he panted. “just… please. just put my cock in your pretty mouth, please. instead of just… eating the come while you clean me off.”
you paused, a small smile forming at your lips. “you think my mouth’s pretty?”
he swallowed hard, realizing he had to be careful with his words if he was gonna keep this up.
“y-yeah. i think you’re pretty,” he failed immediately. “whatever. come on, just suck my—“
and then your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers.
he lifted his hips without thinking, helping you, letting you. the fabric slid down, and then he was exposed—hard and aching and damp with his own want. the air was cool against his skin, but your mouth was warm, and when you kissed him there—soft, almost tender—he thought he might die.
"fuck," he breathed, the word barely a whisper.
you kissed him again. slower this time. your lips pressed against the head of his cock, gentle and deliberate, like you had all the time in the world. like you wanted to memorize the shape of him, the taste of him, the way he gasped and trembled beneath you.
and then your tongue.
a slow, flat stroke from base to tip, and his whole body arched. a desperate, broken sound tore from his throat, and his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to leave marks.
you gave him more.
your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and perfect, and he felt his mind go blank. there was nothing but you—the feel of your lips, the stroke of your tongue, the way your throat relaxed to take him deeper. his hands slid from your thighs to your hair, fingers threading through the strands, not pulling, just... holding.
he was panting. moaning. muttering your name like a prayer, like a plea, like a confession.
"god, you—" his voice broke. "you feel so good.”
suddenly an idea popped into eddie’s head.
he arched his back deliberately, letting out a guttural moan that echoed through the small bedroom.
“fuuuuck, sweetheart. just like that. you’re gonna make me come again. right in that pretty mouth of yours—god..." his words were calculated, designed to throw you off your game while his hands gripped your thighs tighter.
you continued your work, taking him deeper as your tongue swirled around the sensitive head. your own arousal was building from the power dynamic, from having him completely at your mercy beneath you. but you weren't expecting what happened next.
the moment your mouth finally released him with a soft pop, replacing it with your hand stroking his length firmly, eddie moved. fast and decisive. in one fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, breaking free from your triangle hold with surprising strength fueled by adrenaline and arousal.
before you could process what was happening, you found yourself bent over his knee, your stomach pressed against his thigh, your ass raised high in the air. your hands braced against the mattress, steadying yourself as shock rippled through your body.
"what the fuck, eds—"
"yeah, right," eddie growled, his voice dripping with dark amusement as he positioned himself behind you. one strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you securely in place while his other hand hooked into the waistband of your shorts. "thought you were gonna get me again, huh?" he yanked your shorts down roughly, the fabric sliding past your hips and pooling around your knees along with your panties, leaving your lower half completely exposed to him.
his eyes darkened as he took in the sight before him—the curve of your ass, the glisten of moisture coating your inner thighs, the way your body trembled with anticipation and surprise. "holy shit," he breathed, his hand trailing possessively over the smooth skin of your rear. "look at you. all that just from teasing me, huh?"
"you’re such a good little slut for me, aren't you?" his thumb circled your entrance teasingly, feeling how wet you actually were. a low groan escaped him at the discovery. "this is what you wanted, wasn't it? to get me so worked up i couldn't think straight?"
the sharp crack of his palm against your bare flesh sent a jolt of sensation racing up your spine. you gasped, your fingers curling tightly into the rumpled sheets beneath you as the sting bloomed across your skin. a full-bodied shudder ran through you, and you whimpered—a sound that was equal parts pain and desperate need.
"eddie..."
hearing his name on your lips did something to him. something beyond the physical. the sight of you bent over his knee, your back arching involuntarily, your thighs trembling, your skin flushed pink wherever he'd touched—it hit him somewhere deep. like a punch directly to his heart.
"yeah? you like that, sweet girl?" his voice was rough and low, vibrating with barely restrained desire. his thumb traced slow circles over the reddened spot on your ass, soothing and tormenting in equal measure. "if you tap, i’ll play with you. i’ll make you feel reeealll good, i promise."
he gave you a moment to consider it. his hand rested warm and heavy on your hip, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you exactly who was in control now.
but you didn't tap.
of course you didn't. because you were competitive. because tapping meant admitting defeat. and you'd rather burn than give him the satisfaction.
eddie noticed. a slow, knowing grin spread across his face as he read your silence loud and clear.
"that’s what i thought," he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker. possessive. "my stubborn girl."
his hand lifted, hovering in the air for one agonizing second—letting you anticipate, letting the anticipation build to almost unbearable levels—before his palm came down again with a firm, resounding smack against your other cheek.
"ah—!" the moan tore from your throat before you could stop it. your hips bucked involuntarily, pushing back against him in a way that was entirely contradictory to your attempt at maintaining composure. your walls clenched around nothing, your body betraying every ounce of defiance your mind was trying to cling to.
"there we go," eddie praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. his free hand slid between your legs, his fingers parting your slick folds with ease.
the sensation of his finger dipping into your heat was overwhelming, a sudden intrusion that made your breath hitch violently. he didn't rush; instead, he used his fingertip to circle your entrance, dragging through the thick, honeyed slickness he’d already observed. the sound of his movements—the wet, rhythmic sliding of skin against skin—was deafening in the quiet of the trailer.
"god, look at you," eddie groaned, his voice cracking with a primal sort of hunger. “you're fucking drowning in it, sweetheart. absolutely soaked. every time i touch you, you just... you melt."
he pushed a single finger inside, testing your tightness, and you let out a broken, high-pitched whimper that sounded nothing like your usual self. you tried to keep your jaw clenched, tried to maintain some semblance of that stubborn pride, but your body was a traitor. your hips were practically begging for him to fill the void, tilting back toward him instinctively.
"all you gotta do is tap, sweetheart," he whispered, “just one little tap and i’ll play with you. i’ll give you exactly what you’re aching for. you think i don’t know how much you want this? i’ve known you for so long, i’ve picked up a thing or two about what makes you lose your mind."
he pulled his finger out almost entirely, only to drive it back in deeper, pushing past the initial resistance until he hit that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.
"mmmgh—eddie, please—"
“please what?" he mocked softly, though his breathing was coming in ragged, heavy bursts now. he was losing his own battle with control, his cock twitching rhythmically. "tell me what you want. tell me you can't take it anymore. tell me you're ready to tap."
despite the mounting tension, you still didn't tap. you clung to the sheets, your knuckles white, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps as you fought the urge to give in.
eddie let out a low, dark chuckle. "still no, huh? you’re really going to make me edge you? it’s just one little tap, baby."
the nickname hit you like a physical wave. the word 'baby'—spoken in that specific, low register—sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, causing your internal muscles to clench tightly around his fingers. eddie groaned softly as he felt the sudden, desperate grip of your walls. it turned him on viciously, but it also made his heart clench with an intensity that terrified him. the raw intimacy of it, the way you reacted to him, made him want to make you feel good.
"yeah, you like it when i call you that, baby? fuck, you look so pretty like this. come here."
he shifted his weight, leaning over you more aggressively. he didn't let go of your heat, but he reached around, pressing his thumb firmly against your lips. you didn't hesitate; you leaned into it, sucking on his thumb with a desperate hunger, your whimpers muffled and wet against his skin.
"yeah, suck on that, sweet girl. drool on it if you want to," he groaned, his voice sounding strained, almost pained. "just take it. take everything i’ve got."
his fingers inside you shifted gears, moving from a slow tease to a rough, demanding pace. he was driving into you now, hitting that precise spot over and over again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. he could feel your body shaking, your breath hitching in a way that told him you were seconds away from shattering.
eddie pulled his thumb from your mouth. before you could even gasp for air, he slid his hand down, pressing that same thumb directly onto your swollen, hypersensitive clit. he began to rub in a fast, relentless rhythm, perfectly synchronized with the rough pace of his fingers inside you.
the dual stimulation was too much. your head snapped back, a loud, broken cry escaping your throat as the world dissolved into white noise and pure, blinding pleasure.
as waves of pleasure crashed over you, eddie kept up the relentless pressure. his fingers curled inside you, grinding against that perfect spot while his thumb circled your clit in tight, deliberate motions that had you seeing stars.
“come on, baby, you're so close, aren't you?" he taunted, his voice a mix of dark amusement and genuine wonder. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade, breathing heavily. "so fucking close to coming, huh? your wet, sloppy pussy's just aching to come, yeah? not until you tap though."
he punctuated his words with another sharp slap to your ass. the sting shot through the pleasure, intensifying it to an almost painful degree. you cried out, your whole body convulsing as a second orgasm threatened to tear you apart.
"c’mon, tap. i tapped for you earlier, baby," he murmured, his voice shifting into something sweeter, almost tender despite the cruel teasing. his thumb slowed its rhythm, becoming gentler as he coaxed you. "don’t you want to come? don’t you want to come for me?"
he knew you were fighting it. could feel the tension in your muscles as you battled against your own body's demands. it was infuriating and beautiful all at once. his heart swelled with something far deeper than simple lust.
"just one tap, sweetheart. give in. let me win this round," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.
“please... eddie... please, i can't..." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking. you tried to pull away, to find some relief, but his hand on your hip was an anchor, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. "let me... just let me come, please!"
eddie’s grip tightened. he didn't relent; if anything, he increased the pressure, his fingers curling deeper, driving into you with a newfound, predatory urgency.
"no, baby, not yet," he purred, the teasing sweetness still there mixed with raw, commanding hunger. "don’t fucking come until i tell you to. you gotta tap."
"you’re... you're such a dick!" you sobbed out, a mixture of a laugh and a cry. you hated how much you loved this. you hated that even through the haze of ecstasy, your pride was still standing, stubborn and ridiculous. "fuck, i hate you, eddie!"
"yeah? you hate me?" his thumb worked your clit with a frantic, punishing speed that made your hips buck uncontrollably. "is that right? no, you don't hate me, sweetheart. you love—“ he paused. “…this. you love being told what to do by me, don’t you?”
he leaned down, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, leaving a mark that made you whimper.
"yeah? you’d rather i just edge you like that?" he taunted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register that sent a fresh chill of arousal down your spine. "just drill that fucking pussy with my fingers? is that what you want? guess i should just fuck you then, huh? i’ll flip you over, pin you down, and pound you until you can't even remember your own name, let alone how to be stubborn."
the mental image was too much. your breath hitched, your lungs feeling too small for the air you were trying to pull in.
eddie’s gaze was unwavering; he watched every tremor of your muscles, every frantic roll of your eyes, looking for any sign of surrender. but even as his lust burned white-hot, a deep, aching pang of longing throbbed in his chest. he didn't just want to conquer your body. he wanted to pull you into his arms and kiss you until neither of you could breathe, to tell you everything he had been hiding behind jokes and hair-ruffling for years.
“yeah," he breathed, his voice a jagged edge of desire. "i’m gonna pump that pussy full of come. is that what you want, baby? to feel me inside you, filling you up?"
you were a broken, moaning mess. your protests had dissolved into incoherent pleas, your pride finally buckling under the sheer weight of the sensation. you were hovering on the precipice, your entire being vibrating with the need to shatter, but eddie was a master of torment. every time you reached for the peak, he shifted his rhythm, pulling back just enough to leave you gasping and empty.
suddenly, the friction stopped. the sudden absence of his fingers felt like a physical wound.
before you could even find your breath to protest, eddie moved. with a surge of strength that caught you off guard, he gripped your hips and flipped you over. you landed hard against the mattress, your legs falling open instinctively, your chest heaving as you stared up at him through a veil of damp hair.
he didn't care about the game anymore. the competition, the tapping, the teasing—it had all been burned away by a sudden, primal necessity. he needed to be in you.
eddie hovered over you, his eyes dark and hooded, looking like a man possessed. he guided himself to your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick, swollen folds. he paused for a heartbeat, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.
then, with one heavy, decisive thrust, he drove himself home.
"oh god—oh god, fuck," he groaned, the sound tearing from his lungs as he buried himself deep within you. the sensation of your tight, pulsing heat swallowing him whole was almost more than he could bear.
your hand immediately found his arm, fingers digging into the taut muscle of his bicep as you tilted your head back against the pillow. the sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, sent sparks cascading behind your eyelids. a raw, guttural moan escaped your lips, his name tumbling from them without thought.
"oh fuck, eddie, you feel so good..."
the praise hit him like a freight train. his cock twitched inside you, swelling thicker as a shudder rolled through his entire body. the way you looked beneath him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed crimson, your nails leaving crescent marks in his skin—it was beautiful. devastating. everything he'd ever wanted and more.
it wasn't just the sex; it was the fact that it was you. hearing you worship him, feeling your hands clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth, sent a wave of possessive, overwhelming love through him.
"yeah?" he panted, his hips finding a slow, rolling rhythm as he settled into the depth of you. "that feel good for you, baby? take that cock, sweet girl, take it all in." his voice was reverent, almost worshipful, despite the crude words. one hand slid under your lower back, arching you slightly, changing the angle just enough to make you gasp.
he began to move. slowly at first, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him like a glove, then gradually building momentum. each thrust was deliberate, deep, pushing to the hilt before withdrawing almost all the way, only to slam back inside with a force that made the bed creak in protest. the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting filled the trailer alongside your cries.
"hold onto me," he grunted, his pace quickening. "don’t let go, okay? not... not ever."
your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, and eddie’s control fractured further. he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in while kissing at the skin—taking in the scent of sweat mixed with your perfume—as his hips pistoned into you with increasing desperation.
"i’m not gonna last," he admitted as he pulled back, his voice cracking. "not without you. come with me, baby, please. you’ve been so good. you can come now."
as your moans grew louder, more desperate, eddie’s gaze flickered downward. for a split second, he looked at your lips—swollen and parted and glistening—and something in his expression shifted. raw vulnerability flickered across his features before he masked it with another thrust.
you noticed.
"what, y-you wanna—fuck—kiss me, eds?"
you couldn't help yourself. even now, even with his cock driving into you and your entire world dissolving into sensation, you had to tease him. had to push him just a little further.
he swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. he saw the desire, the need reflected in your eyes, and suddenly, the longing that had been building beneath the physical urgency erupted. it was a desperate bid to bridge the gap between the physical act and the soul-deep connection he craved.
he closed the distance in an instant. his mouth crashed onto yours—deep, messy, and passionate. it was hungry, a furious expression of every moment of wanting, every unspoken feeling that had coiled inside him for so long. he kissed you with the ferocity of a man who was pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that kiss, trying to communicate everything he couldn't say aloud.
your initial surprise melted away instantly, replaced by a reciprocal fire.
as you met his mouth with a desperate, frantic hunger, your movements were driven by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of him—the friction, the heat, the primal urge to feel more, to lose yourself in the pleasure he was providing. you were chasing the peak, riding the wave of physical ecstasy that threatened to drown you.
but eddie... eddie was somewhere else entirely. every time his lips pressed against yours, it wasn't just about the sensation; it was almost like a prayer. he was trying to anchor himself to you even as the world blurred around the edges.
he broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged, uneven hitches. his lips migrated from your mouth to your jawline, trailing hot, wet kisses down to the sensitive dip of your neck. his nipped at your skin, his teeth grazing you just enough to make you arch your back, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.
"come on, baby... come on my cock," he groaned against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that thrummed through your entire body. he found your clit again, his thumb working with a rhythmic, punishing precision that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. "i got you, i got you. fuck, you look so pretty... you look so fucking beautiful..."
the praise, delivered with such raw, unadulterated devotion, was the final catalyst. your world fractured. a sharp, high-pitched cry escaped your throat as your muscles convulsed around him, the orgasm crashing over you in violent, delicious waves.
eddie let out a low, guttural groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he felt you tremble beneath him. he didn't slow down; if anything, the feeling of you tightening around him drove him closer to the edge. "oh, fuck... atta girl. atta girl, you did so good," he murmured, his voice thick with pride and adoration. he peppered your neck with frantic, soothing kisses, trying to steady you even as his own control began to disintegrate.
his body continued its relentless, insistent rhythm, each thrust a testament to the building storm within him. his words were a low, husky promise, his voice scraping against your skin like a gentle rasp. "oh, i’m gonna come... gonna come inside you, baby, you want it? you want me to come in that wet little cunt of yours?"
your response was a desperate, whimpish nod, your voice barely audible over the thrumming of your pulse. "yeah, eds, i want it. give it to me." the words were a siren's call, beckoning him closer to the edge.
and then, in an instant, he was over it. a low, breathless groan escaped his lips as he came hard inside you, his body locking up in a spasm of release. soft curses and a string of muttered oaths accompanied the violent, shuddering convulsions of his climax.
“f-fuck, oh god, yeah…”
as you both panted, struggling to catch your breath, his gaze met yours in a fleeting, shining moment. his eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with the aftermath of his orgasm, but beneath the haze of pleasure, a glimmer of something else lingered. something that looked almost like hope.
he kissed your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips tracing a soft, comforting path along the delicate curve of your skin. his hand rose to your hip, resting there lightly as if anchored to your very existence.
then your hand moved up to tangle itself in his damp curls, fingers threading through the long, wavy strands with a gentleness that made his heart ache.
to eddie, that gesture was everything. that simple, innocent touch told him more than any confession ever could. for one fragile, suspended moment, he allowed himself to believe—that maybe, just maybe, you saw him differently. that the connection he felt wasn't just one-sided.
but he knew better.
"come here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and tender. he tilted your chin up with careful fingers, guiding your lips toward his. the second kiss was a revelation compared to the first. softer. slower. still carrying the embers of the previous passion, but burning with something deeper—something patient and aching and brave all at once. his lips moved against yours with a reverence that bordered on worship, savoring every millimeter of contact.
you hummed against his mouth, and the sound made his chest tighten painfully.
he kissed you until neither of you could breathe, and then he kissed you some more.
but as you pulled back, a soft giggle slipped from your lips. eddie smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. “what?”
you shook your head, still a little breathless. “nothing. just… didn’t expect us to become fuck buddies, i guess.”
your words landed like a knife between his ribs. fuck buddies. two words that reduced everything he'd just experienced—the emotional nakedness, the quiet desperation in his own kisses—to something casual.
like it was something transactional
he kept his expression carefully neutral, but the muscle in his jaw tightened. he looked away, staring at the wall of his cramped bedroom as if it contained the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. his thumb traced an absent circle against your hip, the motion mechanical now rather than intentional.
"yeah, me neither," he said quietly. too quietly. the words carried far less weight than the silence that surrounded them.
he expected this to happen, but it still pained him to hear how casual you were about it. he felt like an idiot for even letting himself hope.
you laughed lightly, and he forced a small smile, still not meeting your eyes. he could feel the shift between them—a subtle, imperceptible cooling, like a cloud passing over the sun. you probably didn't notice it. or maybe you did and simply didn't care.
he cleared his throat, disentangling himself slowly. the loss of contact was immediate and acute—like a phantom limb, he felt the absence of your warmth against his skin with painful clarity. he sat up on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled curls, trying to collect himself.
"so," he started, his voice settling back into its usual easy cadence—but something underneath it had shifted. a guard going back up. walls rebuilding brick by brick. "guess we should, uh... probably get breakfast or something."
he stood, stretching his tall frame, deliberately keeping his back turned to you. he needed a moment to compose himself—to push down the ache that was blooming in his chest like a bruise turning purple. he grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, the mundane act helping to ground him back in reality.
it’s fine. it’s just sex. just because you caught feelings doesn't mean she owes you anything.
he glanced over his shoulder, forcing that signature lazy grin. "unless you wanna stay in bed all day. i’m not complaining either way." the joke fell flat in his own ears, and he hoped you didn't hear it.
you didn't notice the flicker of pain in his eyes or the way his smile didn't quite reach them. as he sat back down, you simply leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. to you, it was a sweet gesture of affection; to eddie, it was a gentle twist of a knife, a reminder of how effortless this was for you while he was drowning in it.
“can’t. i gotta get home soon or my parents will freak,” you said, your voice light and cheerful. you stood up, grabbing your panties and shorts from the floor and tugging them on with a casualness that made his heart sink. eddie sat there, frozen, watching you with a longing so profound it felt physical. he traced the line of your silhouette, memorizing the way you looked in the morning light, knowing that the intimacy he’d just felt was a secret he would have to carry alone.
“fuck, where are my keys?” you asked, glancing around the room.
“probably on the dresser, sweetheart,” he answered softly, his voice lacking its usual theatrical energy.
you found them and let out a sigh of relief, stepping back into his space one last time to plant a quick, friendly kiss on his cheek. “thanks, eds. and thanks for… whatever this was,” you added with a little chuckle, the phrase 'whatever this was' echoing in his mind as a definitive label for their new arrangement. “i’ll see you later, yeah?”
you were already halfway to the door, your energy buzzing and untroubled. eddie just sat there, his shoulders slumping slightly as the silence of the room rushed back in to fill the void you left behind. he nodded, his gaze softening into something mournful.
“yeah,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “see ya.”
he waited until the sound of your footsteps faded and the door clicked shut before he let out a long, shaky breath. he sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, the ghost of your scent still clinging to his skin and the crushing weight of an unrequited love settling heavily in his chest…
Summary: Eddie got too drunk after his gig at the Hideout, and reader has to come save the day.
Content Warnings: Eddie is DRUNK (embarrassingly so), the reader is AFAB with female body parts, Eddie is handsy when he's drunk (in a good way), Eddie and reader live together
This is super short and has been sitting in my drafts for months but yolo
divider by me
You hadn't even slipped your jacket off when you got home before the phone rang on the wall. You had been out with Robin and Nancy, having dinner and seeing a movie, while Eddie had his gig at The Hideout. Usually, you'd be with him, but this girl's night had been planned for weeks, and the opening at The Hideout was only given to Corroded Coffin a few days ago. Eddie had told you it was fine, that you could miss one show to hang out with your friends.
You move towards the ringing phone, leaning against the wall it's perched on as you hold it to your ear. "Hello? Munson Household."
You hear a relieved sigh over the phone, muffled by loud music and people chattering. It's Jeff, and he's immediately rambling into the phone.
"You need to get here. Eddie's gone off the rails and he drank way too much. He keeps talking about you in ways we never wanted to hear—just, please, come get him." Jeff is barely done rambling when you hear the phone being shuffled.
"Baby?" Despite it, you smile at the sound of Eddie's voice. "I's loves you—" He sighs into the dreamily, and you can't help but stifle a laugh.
"Eddie, I'm coming to get you, okay?" You hear him whine over the phone, saying something about 'having fun.' You smile anyway, before continuing. "I'll see you soon, okay? Give the phone back to Jeff." He grumbles, but you hear the phone being passed back.
"Thank you. You are a saint." Jeff speaks before the two of you end the call. You head back to the door, slipping the shoes you had just taken off back on.
When you park outside The Hideout, the place is buzzing. There are a few groups of people lingering outside, but you push past them to get inside. You are bombarded by whichever band is playing up there now, loud drums echoing and you can feel the rhythm in your chest.
Your eyes roam the dive bar, searching for a familiar pair of eyes or that curly mop on his head. You see Jeff first and he immediately waves you over. In front of him is Eddie, gesturing wildly, no doubt telling some ridiculous tale.
Eddie doesn’t hear or see you as you approach him. You wrap your arms around him, voice soft as you interrupt his story. “Guess who?”
He turns immediately at the feeling of your touch, no doubt that he hadn’t registered your words because he looked half tempted to curse you out. His expression softens exponentially, his grin widening.
“Baby!” He slurs slightly, his arms tightening around you as he stumbles closer. “Missed you. When dids yous get here?”
You try not to laugh, your smile widening as you steady your boyfriend. Pushing him slightly to get a good look at him. Eddie preens under your gaze, already trying to lean back in to your hold.
“I just got here. We’re going home, okay?” You tell him softly, watching as he begins to frown, shaking his head in a way that resembles a stubborn child.
“But the fun is just starting—“ Eddie tries to argue, turning to reach for his beer when Gareth swipes it out from his hand, giving him a stern look.
“Honey, you look like you’ve been having fun for the better part of the whole evening.” You say softly, hands sliding up his back in what is supposed to be a comforting move. Eddie turns back to you, brown eyes wide with affection.
“But now you’re here. It’ll be even more fun.” It’s obvious Eddie is doing his best to convince you, and an amused grin falls on your lips as you shake your head.
“We should go home, Eddie.” You say softly, tilting your head in a way you know he can’t resist. You feel his large hands slide down your back and squeeze your hips, a surprised laugh leaving your lips. But before you can say anything Eddie leans down to your ear, voice deep.
“Oh, it’s like that?” He drags his nose down the line of your neck, the whiskey on his breath infiltrating your senses. Despite his obvious suggestiveness, you use this as a tactic to get home, quickly nodding your head.
“You should say goodbye. I left the car running.”
Eddie turns at your words, barely giving the boys a passing glance, just nodding at them before turning on his heels to drag you out of the bar. You laugh under your breath, doing your best to keep up with him. However, his eagerness is only his downfall as he nearly falls off the curb, causing you to laugh louder.
When he turns to pout at you, you playfully roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his back, his on your shoulder, to steady him.
“Let’s get you to the car, ‘kay?” He follows your lead, stumbling only slightly until you get him situated in the passenger seat of your beat up red truck. When you lean inside the car to buckle him, you aren’t even shocked to feel his hand cup your ass. Your eyes shoot up to him, smacking his hand away with a laugh. “No funny business—“
Eddie whines. Like a child. With a full pout on his face.
“I’m serious, Eddie.”
“Me too!”
You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips before you shut his door, walking around to the driver’s side and getting in. “Are you ready to go home now?” You glance up as you speak, only to find Eddie somehow fast asleep. A fond look overtakes your features and you twist the key in the ignition, heading home.
“go on, baby,” he cooes, gazing up at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes. “finish the rest of the song.”
you shake your head, lids closing in a dramatic fashion as the tip of his cock brushes against that one spot deep inside of you. “i-i can’t,” you choke, small tear droplets prickling at the corner of your eyes.
“you can,” he demands softly, “and you will.”
when eddie came home that night, you hadn’t expected him to react the way he did to your little surprise. to the corroded coffin top you had made earlier that day. you figured he might’ve gotten emotional, probably just a little bit turned on even, but you didn’t expect this.
the rough, possessive side of him you had yet to see, showed itself fully. he took you right there on the couch, told you to put it on and nothing else, all while he buried his cock in your tight, wet little cunt and had you singing the lyrics to their most popular song — the one eddie had written about you.
the catch? if you stopped, he stopped.
while in the beginning it seemed fairly easy for you to get through, with each drag of his cock through your tight walls, and the filthy words of praise spilling from his plump lips, it became increasingly more difficult.
his thrusts slowed, waiting for you to start reciting the words again. the soft whine that clawed it’s way out of your throat made him smirk. “come on, pretty girl. finish those last few verses and you can cum. i know how badly you want to.”
that was all you needed to keep going. as you got closer to the end of the song, his thrusts sped up, hips pounding into you with fervor, chasing his own release.
with the last line rolling off of your tongue, eddie brings his hand to your cunt, rubbing harsh circles against your throbbing clit. “fuck, baby. cum for me. go on, it’s okay. let go. let go for me, baby.”
you cum right before you’re supposed to finish, the feeling so intense it has your vision blurring and hearing going fuzzy. eddie’s release soon follows yours, hot spurts of cum painting your spasming walls.
“jesus,” he pants, partially collapsing on top of you. “that was so hot.”
you giggle, entangling your fingers through his unruly hair. “i take it you really like the shirt, huh?”
“i love it,” eddie chuckles breathlessly, carefully pulling out of you to lay on his back, bringing you with him against his chest. “shit, if you wear that to our show on tuesday i’ll prolly fuck you on stage. wouldn’t be able to control myself, sweetheart.”
“oh yeah?” you look at him with a raised brow. “i don’t believe you.”
summary: you knew that the final battle would be gruesome- everyone knew that. you just didnt know how much youd lose in the process- or how much youd gain after. requested by anon
warnings/tags: angst, almost dying, coma, protective sad boy steve harrington, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex, making loooove), happy ending
masterlist // join the taglist
The old Creel house feels exactly like you thought it would. The Upside Down didn't just exasperate the heaviness that oozed from the walls— it made you feel like you were choking on it. The horrific memories of the house live inside like ghosts.
You’re pressed against the far wall beside Steve, sawed off shotgun heavy in your hands, while Nancy reloads with shaking fingers and Robin keeps watch on the stairs.
Nancy’s voice is tight. “He should be right up here.”
The lights flicker. The temperature drops so fast your breath fogs. Then the veins on the walls start to pulse—like something huge is breathing on the other side of the plaster.
You didn't hear the bats coming until they’re already there.
A black wave explodes through the broken window, wings and teeth and wet, clicking shrieks. Eddie and Dustin’s voices crackle faintly over the walkie—safe. They did their part of the plan and that should be the end of it. It isn’t.
Of course it isn't.
The swarm turns on you four and locks in.
Steve shoves you behind him on instinct. You shove right back, because there’s no time for that.
“Go!” you shout, already moving. “Get to Vecna—I’ll hold them!”
Nancy hesitates half a second. Robin doesn’t. They bolt for the door while Steve curses your name and tries to drag you with him. You plant your feet, raise the shotgun, and fire into the mass of leathery bodies. The first blast buys three seconds of space. The second buys two. Then the bats are on you.
Claws rake across your shoulder, tearing through jacket and skin in one wet drag. Pain blooms white-hot. You stagger, fire again, feel teeth sink into your forearm and wrench. Blood hits the floorboards in thick drops. A wing clips your temple hard enough that the room tilts.
Steve is still there, swinging his nail-bat, yelling your name over the shrieking. You catch his eyes for one fractured second—wide, terrified, furious—and shove him toward the others with everything you have left.
“Steve, go!”
He doesn’t want to. You see it. But the plan is bigger than either of you, and the bats are already closing ranks again. They need him. In order for the plan to work and for Vecna to die he needs to be there and he knows it. He stumbles after Nancy and Robin, looking back every other step like he’s leaving pieces of himself behind.
You’re alone with the swarm.
They hit you like a living wall. Weight and teeth and the wet slap of wings. You go down hard on one knee, then both. The shotgun skitters away across the floor. Something sharp punches through your side just under your ribs and drags. Your vision tunnels. Blood is warm down your side, sticky between your fingers when you press them there without thinking.
You still try. You grab whatever is closest—splintered wood—and swing until your arms feel like they’re filled with sand. One bat latches onto your thigh and tears at the muscle like it’s trying to break it free. Another finds the back of your neck. The pain is everywhere now, overlapping, drowning out thought.
Somewhere past the noise you hear Steve’s voice again—distant, cracking, calling your name like it’s the only word he has left.
You open your mouth to answer.
Nothing comes out but a wet, broken sound.
The attic tilts harder. The bats keep coming.
Steve’s ears are still ringing from the last shotgun blast when Nancy empties another round into Vecna’s chest. He finally staggers. Steve fires up the makeshift flame thrower. Robin doesn’t wait. Molotov cocktails leave her hands in a perfect arch— the two of them setting Vecna ablaze.
He collapses.
The lights stop flickering. The air stops pulsing. For half a second the Creel attic is just an attic again—dust and blood and the wet, twitching bodies of bats scattered across the floorboards.
Steve doesn’t look at the corpse.
He’s already moving.
You’re still where he left you—half-curled against the far wall, one hand pressed uselessly to the gash under your ribs, the other limp in a dark pool that’s spreading too fast. Bats are still twitching near your legs. One of them has its teeth locked in the meat of your thigh even in death.
“Hey—hey, look at me.” Steve drops hard onto his knees, hands already on you, shaking. “Baby, open your eyes. Come on.”
Your eyelids flutter. That’s all.
He makes a sound he’s never heard come out of his own throat before—high, cracked, animal. He yanks the dead bat off your leg and throws it so hard it hits the opposite wall with a wet thunk. Then he’s gathering you up, arms under your shoulders and knees, hauling you against his chest like the weight of you is the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Nancy!” he barks. His voice breaks on the second syllable. “Robin—we’re leaving. Now. Now.”
They don’t argue. Nancy is already kicking the attic door open. Robin is scrambling after her. Steve doesn’t wait for them. He’s half-running, half-stumbling down the stairs with you clutched to him, blood soaking through both your jackets and into his shirt. Every step jostles a fresh wet sound from your side and he feels it like it’s happening to him.
“Stay with me,” he keeps saying, over and over, voice raw. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just stay awake. Please—please, just look at me.”
You’re trying. He can feel the shallow, wet pulls of your breath against his neck. That’s all you’ve got left.
The gate is still open in the living room, that swirling red wound in the air. Steve doesn’t hesitate. He steps through with you back onto solid ground.
He hears Lucas yelling from upstairs.
He doesn’t care.
He keeps moving, arms locked so tight around you that his muscles burn. Nancy and Robin are right behind him, shouting something about Max, about where the hell Eddie and Dustin are—but Steve can only hear the too-slow thud of your heartbeat against his chest.
“Don’t you fucking do this,” he chokes out, forehead pressed to your temple as he half-falls down the front steps into the overgrown yard. Tears are already cutting clean tracks through the dirt and blood on his face. “You don’t get to leave me. You hear me? I can’t—I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
Your head lolls against his shoulder. A soft, broken sound leaves your mouth.
Steve makes a wounded noise and clutches you tighter, almost running now, lungs burning, vision blurred.
All that matters is the fading heat of your body against his and the desperate, endless litany pouring out of him between sobs.
“Please. Please, baby. Stay. Just stay with me. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you—"
Steve doesn’t leave.
Not when the paramedics load you into the ambulance. Not when the ER doors slam shut in his face and a nurse tries to steer him toward a waiting room. He follows the gurney until someone physically blocks him, and even then he just stands there with your blood drying stiff on his clothes, staring at the double doors like he can will them open again.
They put you under almost immediately. Medically induced coma. The words land like a bomb in his chest. Your body needs time—ribs, organs, the torn muscle in your thigh, the infection risk from Upside Down filth. Three months, they say, if you’re lucky. Maybe longer.
Steve hears “lucky” and almost laughs. It comes out as a sob instead.
He takes the chair beside your bed and doesn’t get up. The first night he still has blood under his fingernails. By the third day someone brings him a change of clothes and a toothbrush. He uses the toothbrush. He doesn’t change the clothes until the nurses start looking at him like he’s going to pass out.
Time turns soft and wrong.
He talks to you constantly. Quiet at first, then not quiet at all when the nights get long and the monitors keep beeping the same steady lie that you’re still here. He tells you about Dustin’s latest antics. About Robin almost setting the video store on fire again. About how Nancy checks in every other day even though she pretends she’s just “in the neighborhood.” He tells you he loves you more times than he can count. Sometimes the words come out clear. Sometimes they’re wrecked, dragged through tears he can’t seem to stop.
He cries a lot.
In the beginning it’s loud—ugly, gasping things that leave his throat raw. Later it gets quieter. Just silent tears tracking down his face while he holds your hand and stares at the slow rise and fall of your chest under the thin hospital blanket. He presses his forehead to your knuckles for hours. He kisses the inside of your wrist like the pulse there might answer him if he’s careful enough.
The nurses stop trying to make him leave after the first week. One of them starts leaving an extra sandwich on the tray table. Another brings him a blanket that smells too clean for how he felt.
Three months.
Ninety-three days of fluorescent lights and the soft mechanical hiss of the ventilator. Ninety-three days of Steve Harrington living in a plastic chair, hair growing too long, eyes permanently red-rimmed, existing only for you.
Then one afternoon in early summer the numbers on the monitor change.
Steve is half-asleep with his head on the mattress beside your hip when your fingers twitch against his. Just once. A tiny, useless little movement.
He freezes.
Your eyelids flutter. Once. Twice. The third time they stay open a fraction, unfocused and glassy under the bright lights.
Steve makes a sound like something inside him is breaking open in the best possible way. He’s on his feet so fast the chair skids backward. Both hands cup your face, thumbs trembling against your cheekbones.
Your eyes find him slowly. Recognition filters in like light through water. Your lips part. No sound comes out at first, just a dry little breath.
Steve is already crying again—happy this time, wrecked and shining and endless. He leans in until his forehead rests against yours, careful of the tubes and the healing scars, and his voice cracks wide open.
“There you are,” he whispers. “There you fucking are. I’ve been waiting. God, I’ve been waiting so long.”
He doesn’t let go of your face. He doesn’t look away. He just stays there, crying quietly against your skin, breathing you in like oxygen he hasn’t had in three whole months.
“Welcome back,” he says, soft and breaking. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Steve lies on his side in the dark of his childhood bedroom, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest under the covers.
You’re home.
Not the hospital. Not the sterile white room that still lives behind his eyelids every time he blinks too long. Home. His house. The big empty Harrington place that stopped feeling like anyone’s house years ago. The sheets still smell faintly of the detergent he used three times in a row the day before they discharged you, like if he washed everything enough times he could scrub the last three months out of the fabric.
Your hair is longer now. Softer against the pillow. There’s a thin, raised scar just visible above the collar of one of his old basketball tees—he still can’t look at it without his throat tightening—but you’re breathing on your own. You’re warm. You’re here.
He reaches out carefully and lets his fingers rest against the inside of your wrist, just over the pulse. Still there. Still real.
And just like that, the memory slides in like it always did during nights like this.
Junior year. Late October. The kind of cold that made your bones hurt.
You were sitting on the sidewalk in the school parking lot after practice, knees pulled up under one of Nancy’s old cardigans, looking like you were trying to disappear into the fabric. Nancy had already gone home. Steve had stayed behind to talk to Coach about something he already knew didn’t matter. When he came out, you were still there.
He almost kept walking. Almost got in the car and left you to whatever quiet storm you were sitting in. Instead he leaned against the driver’s side door and said, “You look like somebody just told you Santa isn’t real.”
You didn’t smile. You just stared at the dark stretch of road leading out to Hawkins and said, very quietly, “My parents are in Switzerland. Again. For the third time this year. They sent a postcard. It has a mountain on it.”
Steve had laughed once, short and humorless. “Mine are in Cabo. Or maybe Bali. The postcards stopped coming last year. Now it’s just the housekeeper telling me which credit card to use.”
You looked at him then. Really looked. Like you were seeing past the hair and the letterman jacket and the carefully practiced smirk for the first time.
“Nancy says you’re an asshole,” you said.
“Nancy’s usually right.”
"You two dated."
"Briefly."
“She’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
"You're not a secret serial killer are you?"
"Wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you."
You laughed. Genuinely laughed. It was the best sound he'd heard all day.
Something settled between you in that moment. Not romance. Not yet. Just the quiet, ugly recognition of two people who had been left in the same shape of empty house with the same set of impossible expectations. Be perfect. Be impressive. Be anything except needy.
You started sitting with him at lunch after that. Not every day. Just enough that Nancy raised an eyebrow the first time and then never mentioned it again. You helped him with English papers he would’ve half-assed. He drove you home when your own car was in the shop and never once tried anything. It stayed easy. Almost painfully careful.
He told himself it was because you belonged to Nancy’s world more than his. That crossing that line would be selfish. Messy. Unfair to the one friendship that had never asked him to be better than he was.
He fell for you anyway.
Slow. Inevitable. The way water finds the lowest place and just stays.
It happened in the smallest moments—watching you argue with the librarian about overdue books, the way you always saved him the last fry without asking, the night you fell asleep against his shoulder during a movie marathon at the Wheeler house and Nancy just quietly draped a blanket over both of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Nancy never made it weird.
That was the part that still undid him a little. She could have. God knows she had every right. Instead she just looked at the two of you one afternoon in senior year, when Steve finally stopped pretending he wasn’t completely gone on you, and said, “Took you long enough,” like she’d been waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
Steve blinks hard in the present dark, the memory dissolving like smoke.
You’re still asleep beside him, one hand curled loosely near his chest like even unconscious you know he’s there. He shifts closer—carefully, always carefully now—and presses his lips to the top of your head. Breathes you in.
“Should’ve known,” he murmurs to the quiet room, to the girl who somehow became the only thing in this house that ever felt like home. “Even back then. Should’ve known it was always gonna be you.”
He settles closer, careful of the healing places, and lets his eyes close. The memory stays with him like a second heartbeat—warm, steady, and finally, finally safe.
Steve doesn’t let you out of arm’s reach for weeks.
It’s not dramatic. It’s quieter than that. He just… follows. If you move to the kitchen for water, he’s already there, hip braced against the counter, fingers finding the hem of your shirt like it’s automatic. If you sit on the couch, he sits first and tugs you down until you’re half in his lap, face buried against the side of his neck. At night he sleeps wrapped around you so tightly the blankets barely move—one arm locked under your ribs, the other curved over your waist, palm flat against your stomach like he’s still counting the rise and fall.
Touch-starved doesn’t cover it.
Three months of nothing but sterile hospital air and the wrong kind of quiet had hollowed something out of him. Now that you’re here—warm, breathing, his—he can’t stop taking. He needs the weight of your leg thrown over his. The press of your fingers against the back of his neck when you’re half-asleep. The way you sometimes turn your face into his chest and just breathe him in like you’re making up for lost time too.
You let him.
More than that—you lean into it. Every time his hand finds yours under the table, every time he crowds you against the bathroom sink just to rest his forehead against yours for thirty seconds, every time he wakes up at 3 a.m. and pulls you tighter like the alternative is watching you disappear again, you answer. You curl closer. You press your mouth to the underside of his jaw and stay there until his breathing evens out.
The government locked Hawkins down tight after the gates tore open. No leaving. No outsiders. Just the same cracked streets and the same people who all knew too much and couldn’t talk about any of it. So you made do. You and Steve turned the big empty Harrington house into something that almost felt lived-in. Robin came over most days. Dustin claimed the basement for campaign nights. Nancy and Jonathan dropped by with groceries and updates on the rebuilding.
And when Halloween rolled around, Steve simply decided everyone was coming to him.
The house is warm when the first knock hits the door.
Steve answers with you tucked under his arm, his hand settled low on your hip like it’s the only place it belongs. He’s wearing an old Hawkins High basketball jersey over a long-sleeve shirt—half-assed costume like always—and the second Dustin sees the two of you he makes a gagging noise so dramatic it nearly knocks him backward off the porch.
“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, pushing past them. “Are you two glued together now? Are you being held hostage? Should I call Hopper?”
Steve doesn’t even look away from you. He just tightens his arm and snaps back, “Shut up, Henderson.”
Robin appears next, arms full of cheap plastic spiders for some reason. She takes one look at the way Steve’s thumb is stroking absent circles against your side and her face softens even as she rolls her eyes.
“Disgusting,” she declares, shouldering inside. “Absolutely vile. I love it. Move, I need the kitchen.”
Nancy and Jonathan arrive next, quieter, carrying a couple of six-packs and the kind of tired that only your group knows. Nancy’s eyes flick over the two of you—Steve’s hand still possessive on your hip, the way you lean into him without thinking—and she just smiles, small and real.
“Looks good on you,” she tells Steve under her breath as she passes. Then, louder, to you, “Both of you.”
Eddie arrives later, guitar case slung over one shoulder like he might need it for emotional support. He’s wearing a ridiculous black cape that looks stolen from a thrift store Halloween bin and a grin that splits his face the second he sees the two of you tangled together near the door.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, sweeping the cape theatrically. “If it isn’t Hawkins’ favorite codependent couple. Harrington, you look better. And you—” he points at you with a dramatic flourish, “—you look like you’ve been keeping him on a very short leash. Good. He needs it.”
Steve’s arm tightens around your waist. “Munson. You’re already talking too much.”
“It’s a gift,” Eddie says, and then he’s pulling both of you into a one-armed hug that smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne before bounding off toward the stereo.
Lucas and Max come in next. Lucas takes one look at the way Steve’s hand is splayed possessively across your hip and immediately grimaces.
“Dude,” he says. “You’re like… surgically attached. Is this permanent now?”
Steve doesn’t even blink. “Yup.”
Max snorts. “Leave them alone. They’re allowed to be gross. They earned it.”
Mike and Will show up a few minutes later with Eleven between them. El is quieter than the others, dark hair still a little uneven from the last time someone took scissors to it, but she’s wearing a soft oversized sweater with a giant pumpkin on it and looking around the decorated house with wide, careful eyes. Will hangs close to her side, already half-smiling at the string lights.
Mike, of course, opens his big mouth first.
“This is so weird,” he announces, surveying the living room. “Steve Harrington throwing a Halloween party and not even trying to make it cool. You invited us. You know that right?”
“Maybe I finally like you Wheeler,” Steve shoots back. “Even if you talk too much.”
Eleven tilts her head, studying the two of you. Her gaze lingers on the way Steve’s thumb keeps stroking slow circles against your side, the way you lean into him without thinking. Then she nods once, decisive.
“You are… stuck,” she says simply. “Like Velcro.”
Robin cackles from the kitchen. “El gets it.”
Steve’s expression softens almost immediately. He glances down at you, voice dropping just enough that only you catch the quiet edge of it. “Yeah. We are.”
The night unfolds in overlapping conversations and easy chaos.
Eddie has claimed the boom box and is currently arguing with Dustin over whether The Exorcist theme or the Halloween theme is better for background music. Dustin is standing on the coffee table for emphasis. Lucas is trying to referee. Max is eating candy corn with the detached focus of someone who has survived worse than sugar— El staring at her with wonder in her eyes.
“I’m telling you,” Eddie insists, cape flaring as he gestures, “John Carpenter understood dread. That piano? That’s pure psychological warfare. Your little demon choir is just loud.”
“It’s iconic,” Dustin fires back. “You’re just mad because you can’t do a Gregorian chant.”
Across the room Nancy is leaning against the kitchen counter with Jonathan, both of them watching the chaos with the quiet amusement of people who no longer have the energy to be surprised by anything. Robin is still failing to carve a pumpkin and has now enlisted Eleven for assistance. El is holding the butter knife with intense concentration while Robin tries to teach her how to do it.
“Okay, so the eyes need to be triangle-ish but not too triangle-ish or it’ll look like it’s judging us. Which, honestly, fair. It probably is. ”
Mike drifts over to Steve and you at one point, hands in his pockets, trying to look cool and casual.
“So… you’re good?” he asks, glancing between the two of you. “Like, actually good? After everything?”
Steve’s answer is immediate. He shifts so you’re tucked more firmly against his side, chin resting briefly against your temple. “We’re getting there.”
Mike nods, something complicated and young and relieved passing over his face. “Cool. That’s… cool.”
Later, when the music has softened and most of the candy has been raided, the group ends up sprawled across the living room in various states of sugar-crash. Lucas and Max are bickering softly over the last of the Reese’s. Eddie has abandoned the cape and is now lying on the floor with his head near Dustin’s feet, spinning a wild story about a cursed guitar that may or may not be based on real events.
Steve stays on the couch with you settled between his legs, your back to his chest, his arms locked loosely around your waist. Every so often his mouth brushes the shell of your ear or the hinge of your jaw—small, absent-minded kisses like he still can’t quite believe you’re solid and warm and here.
Robin catches his eye from her spot on the floor and mouths disgusting again, but she’s smiling.
Eddie props himself up on one elbow and points at the two of you with a piece of candy corn.
“For the record,” he says, loud enough for the whole room, “if either of you ever decides to un-Velcro, I call dibs on Harrington.”
Steve doesn’t bother answering. He just presses another quiet kiss to the side of your neck and holds you tighter.
By the time the first snow dusted Hawkins in early December, the frustration sat under your skin like a second pulse. You needed him. Needed the weight of him, the heat, the proof that you were both still here and whole. Touch-starved didn’t even begin to cover what the three months had done to either of you. And Steve—Steve was the worst of the two of you. He couldn’t go ten minutes without finding some excuse to touch you, but he still wouldn’t cross that last line.
Steve had been so careful with you since the hospital.
Too careful.
Every time his hands slid under your shirt in the dark, every time you arched into him and made that soft, needy sound against his mouth, he would freeze. Pull back just enough. Press his forehead to yours and whisper, “Not yet, baby. You’re still healing. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
You loved him for it. You hated him for it a little too.
Then Christmas crept closer, and he started acting weird.
Cagey. Quiet in a way that didn’t suit him. He’d disappear into the sunroom for a long time and come back with those creases between his brows like he'd been thinking too hard. He’d start sentences and abandon them halfway. He’d look at you sometimes like the words were right there on his tongue and then they'd dissipate.
You lasted exactly four days of it before you snapped.
It was late. The house was quiet, Christmas lights glowing soft and multicolored along the banister downstairs. You were already in bed in one of his old sweatshirts, legs tangled in the sheets, when he finally came upstairs. He hovered in the doorway for a second too long, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was trying to talk himself into something.
You sat up.
“Okay,” you said, voice flat. “Spit it out.”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“You’ve been weird. I don't like it. So either tell me what’s going on or I’m going to start inventing worst-case scenarios and I promise you won’t like any of them.”
He let out a short, breathless laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “Christ. You never let me get away with anything, do you?”
“Never have. Not starting now.” You tipped your head, watching him.
"I'm okay baby."
"You're a big liar Harrington."
"Harrington?"
"You heard me. Do you… do you not want me anymore?"
"Jesus Christ honey…"
He stayed in the doorway looking at you. Then he crossed the room, sat on the edge of the mattress like his legs weren’t entirely steady, and took both of your hands in his. His palms were warm. A little damp.
“I almost lost you,” he said quietly. “In that hell house. And then again for three months while you just… laid there and I couldn’t do anything but sit and wait and beg whatever was listening to give you back. I kept thinking about all the things I never said. All the time I wasted being scared of wanting too much.”
Your throat tightened. This is not where you thought his head was at. “Steve—”
“Let me finish.” He squeezed your fingers. “I’ve loved you since we were stupid kids sitting on the hood of my car complaining about our lives. I loved you when you were Nancy’s best friend and I thought I wasn’t allowed to look at you that way. I loved you when the world was ending and you still shoved me toward the others to finish what was started. And I love you now—so much it scares the hell out of me sometimes.”
He let go of one of your hands only long enough to dig into the pocket of his sweatpants. When his fingers came back, they were curled around something small.
A simple silver band. Thin. A small, sparkling diamond in the center. The kind of ring that looked like it had been chosen by someone who knew you would never want anything flashy.
Steve’s voice cracked on the next breath.
“I know we’re still figuring everything out. I know the world is still kind of a mess and Hawkins is still locked down and neither of us has parents who give a damn enough to throw a party or pretend to be happy for us. But I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you. About waking up next to you. About getting to keep you for the rest of my life if you’ll let me.”
He slid off the bed and onto one knee like it was the most natural thing in the world, still holding your hand, ring pinched carefully between his fingers.
“Marry me,” he said, eyes shining and completely unguarded. “Please. Be my wife. Let me spend every single day making sure you never have to wonder how much I love you. I’ve already wasted too much time being careful. I don’t want careful anymore. I just want you.”
The silence that followed was thick and bright and full of everything you've ever wanted.
You stared at him—at the way his hair fell into his eyes, at the faint tremor in the hand holding the ring, at the raw, open hope on his face—and felt something in your chest finally unclench.
“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking on a wet laugh. “You’ve been walking around like a ghost for a week because you were nervous about this?”
Steve’s mouth twitched. “A little bit, yeah.”
You tugged on his hand until he rose back onto the bed, then cupped his face in both of yours and kissed him hard enough that he made a soft, startled sound against your lips.
“Yes,” you said between kisses. “Yes. Of course yes. I’ve been yours since high school, Harrington.”
Steve laughed—wet and shaky—and slid the ring onto your finger with fingers that wouldn’t quite stop trembling. Then he pulled you into his lap, buried his face in your neck, and held on like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin. “God, I love you so much it makes me stupid.”
You carded your fingers through his hair and closed your eyes, the silver band warm and new against your skin.
“Good,” you whispered back, kissing him softly. “Stay stupid with me forever.”
Steve’s mouth is gentle at first—careful presses of lips against yours, like he’s afraid you might bruise if he pushes too hard. His hands stay light on your waist, thumbs stroking slow arcs over the soft skin just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. You can feel the restraint in every line of him, the way he’s holding himself back even now, even with the ring still warm and new on your finger.
You don’t want careful.
You fist both hands in the front of his shirt and drag him closer, deepening the kiss until it’s open and wet and desperate. A soft sound slips out of you when his tongue slides against yours. Steve makes a low, broken noise in answer and follows you down when you tip backward onto the pillows, his body covering yours without quite putting his full weight on you.
“Baby—” he starts, voice rough.
You cut him off with another kiss, harder this time, teeth catching his lower lip. Your legs shift restlessly beneath him. “I need you,” you breathe against his mouth. “Steve, please. I’ve needed you for months. Don’t make me wait anymore.”
He goes still for half a second, searching your face. Whatever he finds there makes his eyes go dark.
He nods once.
Then his mouth is on yours again—hungrier now, less controlled—and the kisses start trailing lower. Along your jaw. Down the side of your throat. He mouths at the spot just beneath your ear until your breath stutters, then keeps going, pushing the collar of his borrowed sweatshirt aside so he can press open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, the soft slope of your shoulder, the upper swell of your chest.
You arch into him when he finally shoves the sweatshirt up and off, leaving you bare from the waist up. His hands shake a little as they settle over your ribs, careful of the places that still carry scars, but his mouth is less careful. He kisses down the center of your sternum, then lower, dragging his lips over the soft skin of your stomach, tongue flicking out to taste you.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, voice already wrecked. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How many times I almost—”
He cuts himself off, nuzzling lower, and you feel the warm drag of his breath right above the waistband of your sleep shorts. Your hips lift without thinking. Steve’s hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking the insides, and then he’s hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling.
The shorts slide down your legs easily. He tosses them somewhere behind him without looking and settles fully between your thighs, shoulders spreading you open. For a long moment he just stares, breathing hard, eyes fixed on the place where you’re already soaked for him.
“Christ,” he whispers. “Look at you.”
Then he leans in.
His mouth finds you in one slow, deliberate press of lips and tongue, and the sound that leaves you is high and helpless. Steve groans like the taste of you is something he’s been starving for. He stays gentle at first—soft licks, careful suction—but when your fingers fist in his hair and your hips roll up against his mouth, the careful edges start to fray.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against you, voice thick and filthy. “Take what you need. I’ve got you. Not going anywhere.”
His tongue works deeper, flatter, then pointed and focused right where you need it most. One of his hands slides up to pin your hip when you start to writhe too hard; the other stays splayed across your lower stomach, grounding you while he eats you like he’s been thinking about nothing else since you got home.
You can already feel the heat coiling tight and low.
Steve doesn’t rush. He just stays right there between your legs, mouth working you open with devastating patience and filthy, wet sounds, every so often lifting his eyes to watch your face while he does it—like he still can’t quite believe you’re real and his and finally letting him have this again.
You come with a broken, high sound that tears out of your throat, thighs clamping hard around Steve’s head as the pleasure rips through you in long, shaking waves. He doesn’t pull away. He stays right there, mouth gentle but relentless, licking you through every aftershock until your legs are trembling and your fingers have gone loose in his hair.
Steve sits up on his knees between your spread thighs, chest heaving, mouth shiny. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips and just looks at you for a second—wrecked and soft and completely gone on you—before he reaches over his shoulder and yanks his shirt off in one motion. The rest of his clothes follow fast. Sweatpants shoved down, boxers kicked away, until he’s bare and painfully hard, the head of his cock flushed dark against his stomach.
He crawls back over you carefully, settling his weight between your thighs, and the first press of his bare skin against yours makes both of you suck in a sharp breath. His forehead drops to yours. One of his hands finds yours and laces your fingers together tight, pinning your joined hands to the pillow beside your head.
“Hi,” he whispers, voice wrecked.
You tip your chin up and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kisses you back like he’s drowning in it.
When he finally reaches down and guides himself to you, he does it slow—pressing in inch by careful inch, eyes locked on yours the whole time. You feel every stretch, every thick slide of him filling you after so many months of nothing. A soft, punched-out sound leaves him when he’s finally seated all the way inside.
“Fuck—baby—” His free hand cups the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “You feel… God, you feel perfect. Missed this. Missed you.”
He starts to move.
It’s not rushed. It’s deep and rolling and devastatingly tender, every stroke deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the way you take him. Your joined hands stay locked together against the pillow, his grip almost desperate. Every time he bottoms out he grinds a little, chasing the soft broken noises you make, and his mouth never stops moving against your skin—cheek, temple, the corner of your mouth.
“I love you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I love you so fucking much. Thought about this too many times to count. Thought about getting to hold you again. Getting to be inside you. Getting to keep you.”
His hips roll deeper. The wet sound of him moving in and out of you fills the quiet room. You can feel the fine tremor in his thighs, the way he’s still holding back just enough not to hurt you even while he’s falling apart.
“Was so scared,” he breathes against your mouth, forehead pressed hard to yours. “Every day. Every single day I sat there and watched those machines and I kept thinking—what if you never woke up? What if I never got to tell you again how much you mean to me? What if I lost the only person who’s ever felt like home?”
You squeeze his hand tighter. He answers by driving into you a little harder, a little deeper, the rhythm turning more urgent without ever losing that aching tenderness.
“You’re here,” he keeps whispering, almost like a prayer. “You’re here and you’re mine and I’m never letting go again. Never. I love you. I love you. I love you—”
The words spill out of him in a continuous, broken stream as he makes love to you—slow and deep—holding your hand the entire time like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
Your free hand slips between your bodies.
Steve’s eyes flick down the second he feels your fingers working between you, rubbing tight circles over your clit while he’s still buried deep. The sound he makes is wrecked—half groan, half broken laugh—and his hips stutter hard.
“Yeah—fuck, just like that,” he rasps, forehead dropping to yours again. “I want to feel you come on me.”
His thrusts lose the last of their careful restraint. They turn deeper, more desperate, the wet slap of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room as he chases the way your fingers move. Every time he drives in, your knuckles brush the base of him and he shudders like it hurts in the best way. His grip on your joined hands tightens until it almost aches, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go even for a second.
“Missed you,” he chokes out, voice cracking open. “Missed this. Missed being inside you. Missed the way you look at me when you’re close—fuck, baby, you’re close, aren’t you?”
You are. The pressure is coiling fast and mean, every roll of his hips and every frantic circle of your fingers pushing you higher. Steve can feel it. He starts fucking into you harder, messier, the headboard knocking softly against the wall as he loses the last of his control.
“Come with me,” he begs against your mouth. “Please—come with me. I need it. Need to feel you—”
The orgasm hits you first, sharp and overwhelming, your body clamping down around him in pulsing waves. Steve follows with a broken, almost sobbed sound, burying himself as deep as he can go and spilling inside you in long, shuddering pulses. His hips keep moving through it in small, helpless rolls, like he can’t stand the thought of separating even for a second.
Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes without permission. When you blink them away you realize Steve’s are wet too—shiny tracks cutting down his cheeks as he stares at you like you’re the only real thing left in the world.
He doesn’t pull out. He just stays inside you, still half-hard and twitching with aftershocks, and brings your joined hands up so he can press trembling kisses to your knuckles.
“I love you,” he whispers, voice ruined. “I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”
You free your other hand only long enough to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing away one of the tears. He leans into the touch like it’s oxygen.
“I love you too,” you breathe. “So much. Forever.”
Steve makes a soft, broken sound and kisses you again—slow and deep and full of everything the last months carved into both of you—while the two of you stay tangled together in the dark, still joined, still shaking, still holding on like you’ll never let go again.
The Wheelers’ living room looks like Christmas threw up on it in the best possible way.
Tinsel everywhere. A tree that leans slightly to the left under the weight of too many ornaments. The smell of pine and Karen Wheeler’s famous cinnamon rolls thick in the air. Someone— probably Holly— has hung mismatched stockings along the mantel.
You’re tucked under Steve’s arm the second you step through the door. He hasn’t stopped touching you since the night he put the ring on your finger—palm at the small of your back, fingers laced with yours, the occasional brush of his mouth against your temple like he still needs the reminder that you’re real.
Everyone is already here.
Dustin is arguing with Eddie over the correct way to hang lights. Lucas and Max are on the couch fighting over the last of the eggnog. Mike and Will are trying to teach Eleven how to play some complicated card game. Robin is perched on the arm of Nancy’s chair, gesturing wildly while Jonathan takes quiet photos from the corner. Joyce and Hop were here too— Hopper standing near the kitchen with a mug of something that definitely isn’t hot chocolate, looking gruffly pleased to be included.
You’re helping Karen pass out plates of cookies when Max’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Uh. Hold up.”
The room doesn’t go silent all at once, but it gets quieter. Max is staring at your left hand where it rests against Steve’s chest.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Steve goes still beside you. You feel the way his arm tightens almost protectively.
Max leans forward. “Steve Harrington. Did you put a ring on her?”
The reaction is instantaneous.
Dustin’s voice cracks so hard it jumps an octave. “HE DID WHAT?!”
Eddie whoops so loudly Holly covers her ears. Robin nearly falls off the arm of the chair. Lucas starts laughing so hard he has to set his cup down. Mike looks personally offended that no one told him first. Eleven just tilts her head, studying the silver band with quiet interest before declaring, “It is pretty.”
Nancy is the first to actually move. She crosses the room in three strides, grabs your hand, and examines the ring with the same sharp focus she used to use on conspiracy boards.
“Oh my god,” she says, and then she’s laughing. “You actually did it. You absolute idiot. You actually asked her.”
Steve’s ears go pink, but he’s grinning, soft and helpless. “Yeah. I did."
“When?” Robin demands, already bouncing on her toes. “How? Please tell me he cried. I need the details.”
“He definitely cried,” you say, and Steve makes a wounded noise of protest that no one believes for a second.
The next twenty minutes are pure chaos and joy.
Eddie demands to be best man and immediately starts arguing with Dustin about who has seniority. Max keeps turning your hand this way and that under the Christmas lights, muttering, “Not bad, Harrington. Not bad at all.” Eleven quietly asks if she is allowed to help pick flowers. Even Hopper claps Steve on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger and rumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “About damn time.”
Eventually the noise settles into something softer—carols playing low, people scattered across the living room with cookies and cider, the kind of easy warmth that only comes after surviving the end of the world together more than once.
Steve tugs you into the quiet hallway just outside the living room, away from the worst of the noise. The Christmas lights from the tree throw soft colors across his face as he cups your jaw in both hands.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low. “That was… a lot.”
You smile and lean into his touch. “I’m perfect.”
He searches your face for another second, then softens completely. His thumbs stroke over your cheekbones.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna marry you. And then I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you're always good.
snowghoul
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tangentwithtanner
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