25+ (They/Them) | REQUESTS OPEN | Multifandom writing blog. This one's for the queers and the genderfucked, there shan't be a cishet pairing in sight. | 18+ content ahead, minors DNI
Just the masterlist for this blog! Hopefully I can keep it up to date, I'll do my best, lol. Includes series masterlists. Organized alphabetically!
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Author Info & Fandom List
* = Mature content but not explicit
** = 18+ NSFW (Minors, do not interact!)
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All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
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Baldur's Gate
Astarion
TBA
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Date Everything!
Mateo
TBA
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DC
Telltale!Batman (Bruce Wayne)
TBA
Telltale!Joker (John Doe)
Anything
Telltale!Penguin (Oswald Cobblepot)
TBA
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Marvel
Johnny Storm (The Human Torch)
Imagine Johnny Storm Helping You Overcome a Panic Attack:
Peter Parker (Spiderman)
Costume Prep
Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange)
TBA
Steve Rogers (Captain America)
Imagine Coming out to Steve Rogers as Bisexual:
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Overwatch
Akande Ogundimu (Doomfist)
Imagine Asking Akande for Party Help:
Lynx Seventeen
Harvest Festival
Gabriel Reyes (Reaper)
Imagine Surprising Reaper With Apple Cider:
Mako Rutledge (Roadhog)
*Imagine Trying to Make Homemade Candy… and Roadhog Trying to Distract You:
Aleksandra Zaryanova (Zarya)
Imagine Surprising Zarya by Decorating her Apartment While She's Away:
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Stranger Things
Series Masterlists
N/A
Eddie Munson
Imagine Finding Out Eddie Munson Stole Your Fuzzy Socks:
Jonathan Beyers
Sleepover
Steve Harrington
Figuring it Out Pt. 1
Figuring it Out Pt. 2
Figuring it Out Pt. 3
Just watched I Saw the TV Glow for the first time and have been thinking about writing Stranger Things things again so uh. Get ready for whatever that accumulates into ig
Hey team, I'm alive, just trying to get some art comms finished while also enduring life as the hellscape it currently is, I will at some point consume more fun media and get back into it lol
Day 01:
Mistletoe Kiss Headcanons (BG3; multiple characters)
Day 02:
Broken Toy Rehab (Stranger Things; Steve Harrington x Reader)
Day 03:
Let it Out (Stranger Things; Eddie Munson x Reader)
Day 04:
Celebrating the Holidays Headcanons (Moon Knight; multiple characters)
Day 05:
Imagine Billy Hargrove Letting You Wear His Earring: (Stranger Things)
Day 06:
Fundraiser (Stranger Things; Robin Buckley x Punk!F!Reader)
Day 07:
Holiday Decor (Date Everything!; Eddie x Reader x Volt)
Day 08:
Mission (Stranger Things; Jonathan Beyers x Reader)
Day 09:
Why Not Me (Stranger Things; Eddie Munson x Poly!Reader ft. Steve Harrington)
Day 10:
Figuring it Out Pt. 4 (Stranger Things; Steve Harrington x Punk!TM!Reader)
Day 11:
Imagine Lyric Trying to Help You Write: (Date Everything!)
Day 12:
Imagine Chance Surprising You on Christmas Eve: (Date Everything!)
(Ficmas Advent 2025) Imagine Lyric Trying to Help You Write:
Notes/CW: Reader is stressed but that's about it.
A/N: Writer's block? Just get meta and weird with it! Also I've heard writing in comic sans is apparently really helpful, never tried that one before myself, though.
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
You poked your head into the office to find the man in question. Your half-tornado of written literature boyfriend was sitting at his desk, perched above the useless office chair as he hand-wrote away in one of his various notebooks.
"What a horrendous wail that was," he teased as you walked over. You threw your full weight onto him in a lean, resulting in a soft Oof from the man, as you let out another whine. He chuckled and turned around, fluttering papers spinning his chair in the process, to wrap his arms around you after tucking his quill behind an ear. "And what's all this about?"
You grumbled into his sweater-clad chest, "I fear I'm dying."
Lyric's little snort of a chuckle ruffled your hair. "Why's that?"
"My brain is mush. I can't write anymore. I simply can't." You paused, breathed deep, and promptly yelled into the thick material of the pillow. When you came out of it, Lyric's chest and shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. You glared up at him. "No, Lyric, this is serious. I have a deadline. Ugh!"
Lyric gave you a smile—nothing but confidence and pride found in it, annoyingly—before kissing the crown of your head. His hands found your hair, carding through the strands and letting his fingernails gently scratch at your scalp. "When was the last time you took a break?"
"Like ten minutes ago! I stopped, I ate, I drank water. I took a little walk! I've done all of the things!" You sighed and stretched up into his touch, trying to get yourself to relax, let your bran unclog. It wasn't working.
"Damn," Lyric muttered, then hummed in thought. "That is a lot of the things that are supposed to help. I can come sit out in the living room with you? Do you think that would help or make things worse?"
"It might help?" You gave a hopeless little shrug. "Having someone to bounce ideas off maybe?"
"Sure!" Lyric gave you a squeeze then slowly released you, making sure you were steady on your own two feet before turning back to his work. "Let me grab my things and I'll join you."
You nodded and hobbled back out to the living room. Just as you were getting ready to collapse face first onto the couch, Lyric whirled in and gave you a shooing hand. One thing the two of you often did when you wanted to work in the same space but had to stay focused was sit back-to-back, which is what you did now. The two of you took your place in the center of the couch, backs pressing flush together as you each faced your own arm of the couch, Lyric with his journal and quill and you with your laptop.
For a moment you just sat there, leaning your head back and taking in his presence, the smell of ink and old books that he always carried with him. You let out a deep sigh.
"What are you writing?" he asked after a few quiet moments passed. He leaned his head back to rest on top of yours, papery hair mingling with your own. "Any ideas yet or just staring at a blank page?"
"I got nothin'," you moaned. You caught a flicker of papyrus in your peripherals and reached up to play with it, much to Lyric's pleasure. "It's fiction, though, so..."
Lyric hummed thoughtfully again. You could hear the gentle tap-tap-tap of him flicking his quill between his fingers as he thought. "Well, maybe you should write about me. Bizarre paper man, god of literature."
You snorted humorlessly at him gassing himself up but at least something about his suggestion made a muscle move in your brain. "Hm. Could be fun."
"And it's the holidays!" Lyric went on, straightening up and flinging his arms outward before relaxing against you again. "Surely you could do something with that. I know you write romance. Romantic and festive, plus fiction? That's a perfect recipe right there!"
You blinked, tapping random keys on your keyboard as you continued thinking. "What if we... wrote each other a story maybe?"
"Ooh, like a competition?"
That sparked a creative flame in your belly. "I was thinking more of a Christmas gift kinda thing but... You know what? That sounds much more interesting."
Lyric's smirk was audible. "Whoever can write the best Christmas romance? Fantasy is more my thing, personally, but—"
"Throw fantasy in there," you chimed in with a shrug. "Why not? Fantasy romance is a big genre?"
"Should we give it a time limit? A prize?"
You looked at the clock in the corner of your screen, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth as ideas finally began to form— and, even better, stick. "An hour? And... I don't know, winner chooses what we eat for dinner?"
"Oh-ho, sounds like a challenge!" There was some shuffling behind you as Lyric got comfortable and readied his paper and quill. "Ready then?"
You rolled your shoulders, sat up a little straighter, and put your fingers to key. "It's 4:15 now. One hour."
(Ficmas Advent 2025) Imagine Chance Surprising You on Christmas Eve:
Notes/CW: Nothin', just Chance and reader bein' cute.
A/N: Do you like my choice of gif? Am I funny?
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
You sighed as you trudged home in the snow, trying to be extra careful due to the glass in at least one of the grocery bags you were hauling with you.
This holiday season was quickly turning into a bust. The worst snowstorm of the year kept you stagnated in your hometown— and almost in your home entirely, if it weren’t for your trusty shovel and the fact you were still expected to work. Speaking of, you were expected to work through the holiday season, except for Christmas Eve, which ruined any other at-home plans you had come up with. Then the one plan not ruined by you, hanging out with your partner on Christmas Eve, was destroyed by him. Well, his work. The games store making Chance work an all-day shift on Christmas Eve. Fucking devastating.
You slipped your way up the stairs to the front door of your tiny, cold, lonely apartment, almost dropping all of your groceries in the fight to get your front door unlocked. And then into the darkness you went. Or so you thought.
Tiny apartment? Yes. There was nothing that could be changed about that.
Cold? Very much the opposite. You stepped into a heated apartment lit with the flickering amber light of your portable heater that was built to look like a small fireplace. And lonely? Most surprisingly not. There, lying posed on your couch in a costume that could only be described as a suave but medieval-inclined Santa, with a mimic-themed gift box sitting on his lap and a gloved hand holding a sprig of mistletoe just overhead, was your boyfriend Chance. Chance, who was supposed to be at work until quite late tonight. Chance, who was here instead, in your home, grinning an adoringly goofy grin as his eyes found your in the dim lighting.
“Welcome ho-ho-home!”
Once again, you almost collateral-damaged your groceries in the scramble to get your boots and jacket off, until you remembered you were in fact capable of putting them down. Your hands stayed hovering nearby the collection until you were sure things wouldn’t be falling over and rolling around, then you whipped back around to where Chance was still eagerly waiting. A loud, wordless exclamation escaped you as you ran over, tackling him and peppering him with kisses.
"Agh— Careful, the gift!" Chance winced a bit at the sudden full force of a whole human body landing on him. It was quickly replaced by a laugh as he squirmed around to accommodate you, your storm of smooches, and rescue the gift from between squashed between your bodies. When the present was safe on the coffee table to the side, he settled into your affections and even managed to catch and return a couple of your kisses. "Merry—mmph—Christmas!"
Falling into a soft laugh, you finally relented your kiss attack in favor of leaning into your partner's warmth, which he welcomed by wrapping you into a warm hug. You nuzzled your face deep into the crook of his neck, and thus the soft white fur collar of his festive jacket, and mumbled, "How long have you been here? What are you doing here? I thought you were working late!"
"Eh," Chance replied into your shoulder, "shut down early. I'll put in some extra hours on New Year's or something if I need to. As for here, 'bout an hour ago. I thought you got off at six. In this position? Like a half hour. My left arm is almost entirely asleep."
"Oh no!" You dragged out the phrase as you reached over to massage the mentioned arm, which was in fact subtly quaking after being held aloft in the same position for so long. "Sorry about that. I did get off at six, but my car's snowed in and it's hell outside, so it took me a bit."
Chance chuckled and kissed your temple, followed by a trail of others down the side of your face. "Glad you made it home safe either way. Oh, I also don't work tomorrow. Maybe we can do something?"
The most dismayed pout you've ever felt came over you as you looked at him with big eyes. "No, but I do."
Your boyfriend's eyebrows furrowed in vague concern at your distraught expression, but he smiled sweetly and planted another kiss on you, this time to the tip of your nose. "Yeah, but it's only a half-day or something, right? We can still do something fun."
The pout remained but you gave him an appreciative hum as you leaned down to peck his half-asleep forearm. Then you kissed his lips and sat back to look back at the mess you left over by the front door. "Well, we can talk about it later. Let me put groceries away and get cleaned up and then we can hang out? I brought sparkling cider~"
You moved to get up and Chance quickly followed, suddenly flustered. He maneuvered passed you and started snatching up the groceries. When he turned back to you watching him with raised eyebrows, his cheeks tinted a rosy pink. "Why don't you go ahead and get cleaned up and I'll take care of these. I've, uh, got a surprise set up in the kitchen."
Curiosity immediately piqued, you craned your neck to see if you could catch a glimpse of anything interesting in the kitchen. All you saw were some garlands and maybe a wine glass on your kitchen table before Chance was moving to block the doorway with narrowed eyes and a mischievous smirk. In a tone that was usually reserved for warning unruly players during TTRPGs—meaning, you; you thoroughly enjoyed getting under his skin while he was dungeon mastering, even if it did often come back to bite you in the ass later—he commanded, "No peeking! Get goin', you."
You gave him another little pout before breaking into a smirk and heading for your room. "Fine, be back in a minute. Nice outfit, by the way!"
It really was a nice outfit, warm and cozy to snuggle against. A long, dark red velvet jacket with white fluff decorating the collar, bottom hem, and wrist cuffs over dark pants and a thick knit sweater. Shiny, heavy duty black boots and sleek black gloves to match. Elements of medieval fantasy came in the details of the jacket's fabric and boots, accessories attached to the belt and lapels and basically wherever else a bit of extra pizzazz could be added. It was definitely more of a closet cosplay than an actual costume—each piece could be separated and worn more practically, outside of maybe the very Santa-reminescent jacket—but it matched the festive theme while keeping Chance's own D&D-related interests perfectly.
Chance preened at the compliment. "Thanks! The kids helped me out."
The games store Chance was a manager at was a small, locally-run place that specialized in board and card games. It also allowed people a place to host their own game nights there in the evenings, and Chance often volunteered to DM one shots for a group of frequently-returning young players.
You let out a little Aww before disappearing into your room.
Getting cleaned up didn't take too much effort. Warm from the heater and cuddling Chance, you didn't feel the need to shower away the winter chill like you had walking home, so you just opted for throwing off your work clothes. You'd have to toss them in the laundry at some point but they remained discarded on your bedroom floor for now as you threw on comfortable pants and a cozy Christmas-slash-D&D-themed sweater that said Naughty or Dice in gaudy cursive on the front— a gift from Chance earlier this month, one half of a matching pair. Then you slipped into some slippers that looked like yeti, but arguably also dragon, feet and strolled back out to meet with your partner again.
Chance was in the kitchen doorway again, leaning smoothly to block you from sneaking inside. He exchanged the groceries for the gift he had left by the couch earlier, which he held out to you with a grin as you approached.
You took it, quirking a brow. "You want me to just open it right here?"
Chance rapidly nodded, grin widening. "Yup. You'll see why."
So you did.
The mimic-box served as a bit of a puzzle, requiring you to grab a key pressed into a compartment on the bottom to unlock the box. The toothy lid popped open, revealing a mimic tongue pull-tab that was hiding whatever the gift was behind it. You pulled the tab and watched the detailed card stock covering pull away to reveal an ancient-looking scroll wrapped with a delicate red ribbon bow. Without any hesitation, you snagged the scroll, toss the ribbon aside, and unfurled it.
There was a message inside, written in beautiful cursive: You are hereby invited to parley with the Head Mayor of the town Nicety and founder of Claus Corporation, Saint Nicholas Claus. As Head Mayor of the village of Naught, your people have frequently been at odds with those of Nicety and, thus, the Claus Corporation. In recent weeks, however, our people face a bigger threat. Children are going missing from Nicety and Naught alike, their parents' memories of them vanishing entirely. A monster roams the outskirts of our villages, keeping us trapped inside while any outside help has quickly abandoned us. If you are as concerned with the state of our people as I am, and I pray that you are, please join me at the Claus Corporation posthaste to discuss further action. Signed, St. Nicholas of Claus Corp.
By the signature was a Claus Corp symbol stamped in red ink. At the very bottom of the letter was a polished, handmade card for a homebrewed item, a Christmas-red Bag of Tricks, that you carefully peeled away.
When you giddily looked back at Chance, he had moved out of the kitchen doorway, instead standing just inside the kitchen in a charming bow. He looked up at you with that same mischievous expression from earlier and, in a character voice that you could only assume was Saint Nick himself, he said, "Shall we begin?"
Figuring it Out Pt. 4 (Steve Harrington x Punk!TM!Reader)
Summary: Steve being scared of Gremlins was news to you but, hey, at least it helped drawing the two of you closer.
Word count: 3,004
Notes/CW: Transmasc, bisexual reader. Punk reader. Use of the words queer/fag by reader (non-derogatory). Mentions of reader having body hair (happy trail). Suggestive content ahead (mentions of kinks a la hanky code), you have been warned!
A/N: Oohoohoohoo, almost over! I'm excited! But also kinda sad, I like these two a lot, lol. Maybe I'll have to write more of them outside this series, idk. Anyway, enjoy pt. 4 as a little Ficmas treat~
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
It took a couple more scenes of a more active Gizmo animatronic to send Steve careening over to your side of the couch. First it had been an arm around your neck while he grumbled curses and complaints at the creature’s robotic mannerisms. Then the Mogwai got antsy over some bright lights and Steve was flinging a leg across your lap and holding onto you like his life depended on it. Gizmo gave furball birth and he was actively cringing into your body.
"I hate the furry eggs," he hissed into your ear, his face pressed closed to yours. "I hate them."
"I hate you calling them furry eggs, to be honest with you," you replied.
You were, admittedly, having the time of your life. Steve was all but sitting on your lap with his arms around your neck and, to keep him from yanking you both to the ground in his current jumpy state, you were holding him carefully by the waist. Half the time you couldn’t even watch the film with Steve’s head or shoulder in the way, but you weren’t bothered in the slightest. You were perfectly content resting your chin on whatever limb of Steve’s was readily available and watching him squirm. This was usually accompanied by a teasing smirk or a quirked brow, which Steve would get pissy about whenever he caught you doing it.
He had every option to pull away from you, though. Even when there was a lull in the film that he wasn’t yelping at, he never did. He just slowly relaxed against you and continued on enduring.
"Do you think," you attempted at one point, when you could feel Steve gearing up for the next him-specific scare, "me telling you production facts would be fruitful to your cause or hinder it?"
Steve’s movements were jerky when he looked at you. "Gonna be real with you. I have no idea."
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the smile at bay. His eyes were so uncharacteristically buggy, white saucers surrounding little pools of almost-black coffee. You adored it.
You hummed thoughtfully. Unfortunately, a lot of your tidbits did involve the animatronics. Oh, well, it wasn’t like you were going to scare him more than the movie itself would.
"Did you know that Gizmo has two animatronics?" you said finally. "One small one to be handled by the actors and one bigger one for closeup shots. The bigger one was made so Gizmo could be more expressive. He also had multiple faces that could be swapped in and out depending on the emotion they wanted Gizmo to have!"
"So that’s what I have to thank for that nightmare," Steve grumbled. "Nice."
You thought a bit more, then grinned. "Oh! If it helps any, you're not the only one who hates the animatronic. A lot of his wiring and stuff had to be fed through Zach Galligan’s clothes, which was apparently very annoying to deal with. Gizmo actually caused a lot of production issues, he was apparently a nightmare to work with."
Steve cringed a bit. "Wiry, vine-y, tentacle-y things… are so not my thing."
You offered a solemn nod, although it was hard to wipe the smile off your face for it. "If you want, we can buy one of those Gizmo dolls and take a bat to it out back. Show ‘im who’s boss?"
Steve gave a little huffy grunt, but a mischievous glint lit up his eyes. You felt him slowly relaxing in your arms again as a smile quirked up the corners of his lips just slightly. "Can't be the next hangout, though. Not spending my money on one of those."
"Not even for me?" You fluttered your eyelashes and threw on your best puppy dog eyes. You knew they weren’t very good, but apparently they were working for Steve, because you caught him turning red even in the low light.
He huffed again and looked off to the side. A more defined smile was pulling at his cheeks now. "There’s a lot I’d do for less. That is not one of them."
You dropped the facade with a shrug. It hurt your eyes anyway. "Maybe that’s what we make Robin pay for. The price she pays for traumatizing you—I can only assume—with Gremlins more than once."
Steve snapped his fingers before pointing a finger gun at you. "Smart. Bet she’d love taking her anger out on something that won’t kick her ass back. Finals killed her and I really don’t think she lets loose enough."
"I don’t know," you said, "she might be letting loose with Vickie right now."
Steve stared at you. Blinked. Quirked a brow at you. "You don't actually believe her excuse, do you? She’s talked to Vickie maybe four times and I’m ninety percent sure most of the time it’s in cavewoman grunts."
You scowled back. "Hey, be nice to my baby queer, it’s hard out here. A fairy fagparent can dream."
"A… random guy best friend can also dream," Steve pointed out. Then, completely disregarding your current level of closeness, he leaned in closer. With a lilt in his voice that said he thought about this way too much, he went on, "Okay, hear me out. I just think if she took a couple of my hair tips, traded out those really baggy jean shorts—"
You rolled your eyes and, peeking over his shoulder, cracked a grin. "Oh my god, look out, it’s Stripe!"
"What?" Steve’s head jerked back to look back at the TV screen. Then it flung back to face you and, while you broke into snickers, he scrambled the rest of the way onto your lap and hid his face in your neck. "Fuck! Why would you do that? He’s so ugly."
Your snickers trailed off in a sigh as you ran a hand along his back in a comforting movement. "You could never play D&D, dude. He just looks like a goblin with a mohawk."
"Yeah, bet you like him," Steve grumbled back. His breath snuck under the collar of your shirt, causing goosebumps where it landed. "You have the same hair."
"Oi!" Your back rub became a swat over the cuff of his shoulder as he decided it was his time to snicker. "My hair looks so much nicer than that gremlin’s! And guaranteed he’s never taken care of it a day in his life—he dies before he gets to! I spend so much time on this, it’s practically artwork."
Your consciousness was torn between irritation and embarrassment as Steve’s smirk curved against your jaw. Probably unintentionally. For sure unintentionally.
"And you make fun of me for talking about my hair so much?"
"I don’t talk about my hair constantly as my main and sometimes only trait of importance." You reached up to flick at a few unruly strands. "Speaking of, getting kinda flat here, Harrington. Should I lend you my hairspray?"
Steve didn't respond. Your heart dropped.
"… Steve? We good? Shit, did I overstep? I was just messi—" Your teeth clamped down hard on your tongue as you looked down.
Amidst the chaos of teasing and fixating on Steve’s breath, you hadn’t gotten a chance to take in the new position you were in. Well, not you; you were still seated beneath Steve, one hand on his lower back to keep him from jolting around and breaking something while the other still hovered near his head. Steve, however, was now entirely engulfing you, with his thighs framing yours on either side. His arms were no longer slung around his neck but rather his hands found new spots to curl around. A hip. The lower left side of your ribs, just below your leftmost scar. Due to his position and height, his back was twisted awkwardly to allow his head to rest against your shoulder and chest, an ear pressed over where your heart could be heard pounding the loudest.
You suddenly found yourself very unsure of what to do with your body. You just sat there sitting, staring, hovering for a bit.
Steve didn't do much either. He just sat there. Content. Observant.
Your hovering hand eventually found a place resting just under his nape, in the slope between his shoulder blades. This seemed to have brought him back from whatever thoughts he had burrowed into, as he tilted his head upward in vague recognition. The movement was slow and so cat-like, you half-expected a mrrp? to come from him next. Instead, he hummed curiously at you. Close enough.
"Sorry, got distracted." he grumbled, his voice melty and soft. "You know, I thought… your heartbeat might be louder. Since there’s less… skin… there."
Your chuckle practically wheezed out of you. "I think skin is what gets removed the least of actually. ‘S mostly tissue."
Steve turned his head, to listen to your heartbeat, you now realized. You let him. "It’s not different, though. That’s kinda nice. Not that I super remember when the last time I did this but— Anyway."
"‘S okay. Wanna hear something medical-y and weird?"
"About you? Always."
You let one hand drop to where Steve’s was still resting against your ribs. Gently grabbing his wrist, you went on, "It’ll be about a year-ish until I have full feeling in my chest again. This hand? If it were up about here—" You guided his hand slightly higher on your chest, letting it drift over your scarring. "—I can’t really feel it now. And here—" You brought it to rest about halfway up the plane of your chest. "—is where the feeling starts again."
Steve, who had pulled his head back to watch your moving hands, now stared down at them with wide eyes. Slowly, he let his fingers splay out, resting over the surprisingly steady thump thump thump of your heart. "Really? Like nothing?"
You amended, "Well, not nothing. It’s kind of like… when your leg is on the verge of falling asleep. Or— Have you ever had an itch that feels like it’s too many layers under your skin to itch properly? Kinda like that, but not actually itchy. Just… sensation-y. Tingly, kind of. Oh, and there’s these zappy things that happen every once in a while. It’s the nerves healing and also annoying as hell."
"Whoa. Cool." Steve continued to stare down your chest. Somehow, his curious marveling at the new ways your body worked was far more intimate than any romantic encounter you’d had previously. You found yourself flustered and fidgeting under his steady gaze.
"Oh!" That gaze bounced back up to meet yours and suddenly Steve was leaning in far too close. You leaned back to counteract, only to find yourself stuck between him and the soft headrest of your couch. You couldn’t help yourself, your eyes glancing from his to his lips, to his jaw, to his cheek, to his lips again—
Then Steve tilted his head to the side, drawing your attention to the side of his those with a finger. "Not nearly as impressive, but got this one from Johnathan Beyers a few years ago."
You blinked, brows furrowing in surprise. You gently swatted his hand aside and took his face in your hands to get a better glimpse of the thin, white scar following the line of his nose. You brought a thumb closer, tracing the barely raised mark. "Oh, shit. Hell yeah to Beyers. Nose damage can fuck you up. No offense."
"It’s fine. I was being an asshole, kinda deserved it." Steve was unphased, both by your comment and your caressing of his face. In that moment, he just seemed absolutely pleased with himself to be able to share a scar of his own with you, even if it was obtained by drastically different means. He was smiling boyishly between your hands.
You smirked back, gave his cheeks a little pat—that seemed to draw his attention back to the situation at hand if the heat blooming under your touch was any indication—before letting your hands fall away. "Well? Any others to show me?"
Steve’s head cocked in thought, then paused that way. Twisting it farther to show you the underside of his jaw, he pointed out another scar there. "This one was from Billy Hargrove."
"Lemme guess, got your ass beat then too?"
Steve glared at you. "Hey! I did… better that time. I think."
You released an overdramatic sigh and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I’m going to teach you how to fight. We simply cant have this, Stevington."
Steve snorted. Like you had done earlier, he reached over and gently caught your wrist. He pulled your hand away from his shoulder and just kind of held it there, once again observing. Maybe even admiring. "I’m not going to fight you."
You smirked again. It was teasing, with a bit of a snarl to it, and Steve’s gaze quickly dropped to admire there instead.
"Of course you’re not going to fight me," you said simply, shrugging. "I’m going to also beat your ass. But then I’ll have the heart to show you how to prevent it next time. Can't let that pretty face keep getting beat up."
He didn’t look you in the eye. His eyes stayed trained on your mouth, fingers playing lightly against the bones of your wrist and hand. He spoke again, softer this time. "Pretty? Hm. Well… I might allow that."
Your heart did a little skip and it was then you remembered Steve’s other hand pressed to your chest. You wondered what it felt like on his end. You raised an intrigued eyebrow, trying to keep your teasing nonchalance anyway. "Oh, yeah? That a thing for you, Stevie? Good to know."
That got a glare. You grinned back cheekily. The grin faltered a bit when Steve's glare turned mischievous, paired with a raised eyebrow.
Finally letting your hand drop, he murmured, "Cocky, aren't you? Like you're not walking around talking about all the weird shit you're into."
Your eyes narrowed back. "Yeah? Like what?"
"I pay way too much attention to you not to pick up a thing or two." Steve was less leaning into you now, sitting back on your lap and eyeing you under half-closed lids and naturally upturned lashes. No longer gently exploring you, one arm found it's way to the couch's headrest, very close to your face, while the other started counting off the ways. "You know, I even looked up that whole hanky code thing you got going on. Piercing makes sense. Had to look up the meaning of SM. Bondage was surprising—"
"Wearing it on the left means—"
Steve cocked his head. For a minute, he almost looked like that puffed-up know-it-all King instead of the softie scared of Gremlins. "Yeah, I know what it means. Also figured out what doing that thing with handcuffs and your center belt loop means."
Well, the tables had officially turned. You were the flustered one, body blooming warmth and eyes probably looking a little doe-y. It wasn't Steve's confident listing off things that you were into that was causing it; you wore the things you wore for a reason, after all. Instead it was the fact that he admitted to paying so much attention to those things.
It was a standoff and you ended up breaking eye contact first. You rolled your eyes and looked away with a huff and a dismissive wave of one hand. "Alright, alright, I get it. Jesus. If you were curious about my sex life, you could'a just asked. I'm a very open partner, you know. Comes with the territory."
You could see the slight hitch in Steve's shoulders in your peripherals, his briefly-donned smirk from winning the tease-off slipping. Still not quite turning back to him, you eyed his jaw, the scar there, from the corner of your eye. Thinking.
You could turn the tables again.
You let yourself sink back into the couch, the bottom of your shirt and jacket riding up as Steve's hips had to adjust to accommodate. Had to adjust, or had to remove themselves altogether, and Steve showed no signs of moving off your lap despite having every opportunity to do so. He thought he was still winning, arms and body boxing you in and now looming over you, but you had other ideas.
When he looked down to continue his cheekiness, you caught his jaw and turned his face away. At this angle, you had a much better view of his scar there. You thumb brushed over it, then trailed a little lower to find his pulse point, which jumped at the contact.
You let your hand trail farther down his neck where another scar circled around his neck like a collar. Your other arm rested laxly around his hip, fingers toying with the edge of your sweater that he was wearing. "So, got any more scars to show me?"
His jaw free, Steve was able to look down at the tangled mess below him. His eyes caught on the silver of your visible stomach, more pointedly on the patch of fuzz disappearing below your waistband. His pulse stuttered against your hand again. Suddenly shy again, he awkwardly waved a hand over his clothed torso. "I mean most of them are under here, so..."
Ah, softie dork Steve Harrington. All was right with the world again.
"Cool," you said simply with a shrug. You nodded toward your own chest, then locked eyes with him again. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Take off your shirt."
You got to watch in real time as Steve's brain shut down, light flickering from his eyes, before it rebooted entirely. He blinked at you while the lights turned back on, his ever-present blush turning splotchy as the heat had nowhere else to go. "... What?"
You flicked at the edge of his sweatshirt. "I said take off your shirt, Harrington."
Ficmas Advent 2025: Why Not Me (Eddie Munson x Poly!Reader)
Summary: You're openly poly and have been dating Steve for a while now. Your best friend Eddie wonders why he hadn't been an option.
Word count: 7,109
Notes/CW: Reader is poly and dating Steve. Both reader and Eddie are kinda clueless. So fluffy oh my god.
A/N: I love this piece so much lol. Cute Eddie cute Eddie cute Eddie (and bonus cute Steve!)-- Anyway, kinda out of place for Ficmas but I've this sitting around for a bit and figured why not especially since I'm a couple days behind oops.
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
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Steve pulled up to your place slowly, pouting all the way. His non-driving hand kept a strong grip on yours where they rested entwined on the console between the driver and passenger seats. As the car rolled to an actual stop, he threw a literal pout your way: eyes wide and puppy-like, bottom lip poked out just so, hair perfect except for one delicate strand that hung perfectly over one eye. When you smiled, rolled your eyes, and moved to leave the car, he gently pulled you back.
"Are you sure you can’t stay the night?" Steve asked, somehow making his eyes wider and puppier. He tugged your hand to his lips and pressed kisses across your knuckles. "I’m serious, you say you can and I’ll turn this car right back around."
You laughed, letting your thumb brush across his lips as he turned your hand over to kiss the palm as well. "You know I would if I could. I have a job interview tomorrow and I promised to meet Eddie this evening for some school and campaign talk." You paused and glanced over at where your house’s lights were on. "See, looks like he’s already here. I gotta go, you dork."
Steve’s jaw dropped in fake offense at that last comment, before letting out a sigh of defeat. He pressed another kiss to the back of your hand before releasing it, then leaned over to kiss your forehead too. "Fine. Want me to walk you up?"
You rolled your eyes again, but grinned as you returned the forehead kiss. "The walk up is two steps, Steve. I’ll be okay."
Steve let out another pouty grumble. He moved to put the car in park anyway and got out of the driver’s side, tossing a wink at you over his shoulder as he went. He walked over to your side of the car and popped the door open, holding it as you grabbed your things and stepped out.
You remembered you were wearing his jacket and moved to take it off. "Oh, here’s this back."
Steve immediately waved his hand at you. "Keep it." He paused as you leaned in to kiss him properly goodnight and met you halfway. When you parted, he murmured sweetly as your noses bumped together, "Have a good night, hm? Promise?"
You snorted and gave him one last peck for the road. "Promise. G’night, handsome."
"Night," he said after you as you made your way to the front door of your place. He stayed where he was, watching, until you unlocked the door, stepped inside with a wave, and shut the door behind you. Peeking through the window, you saw him offer a final wave back before finally strolling back to his side of the car and getting back in to drive into the night.
Inside, you were greeted with low, warm lighting and soft noises coming from the kitchen. You would have maybe been a little concerned, if it weren’t for Eddie’s bag, that he rarely used, and jacket-vest combo tossed on a nearby chair, and his shoes propped sloppily by your door. Thus you took your time putting away your—well, Steve’s—coat and boots, and grabbing your clunky cell phone and a notebook from your own bag. Then you padded to the kitchen, socks muffling the sound of your feet on hard wood and tile flooring.
A familiar mixtape was playing metal at a low volume from the boombox sitting on your dining room table nearby; Eddie must have gone into your bedroom and snagged the electronic from its usual place on your desk. Spread out across the table was a mess of papers a couple of unopened textbooks, what was probably a vague attempt at studying turned into full-on Dungeons & Dragons brainstorming. Across from the island that separated your dining area from the kitchen itself, Eddie was bent over your stove with his back toward you as he messed with something in a pan. Whatever it was, was causing black smoke to plume around him.
"Jesus. Get off the pan then, ya bastard." He coughed a bit a fanned a hand in front of him, seemingly unaware of your presence.
You grinned and creeped your way over to him. After carefully placing your things on the table, you even added overdramatic creeping T-Rex hands for your own amusement. When you were close enough, Eddie none the wiser, you snuck your arms around his waist and nuzzled your face into his neck.
Well, you thought Eddie had been none the wiser, but he certainly didn’t jump entirely out of his skin like he normally did when he was spooked. Sure, you got a little bit of a bounce, but he quickly adjusted and leaned back into you, keeping busy working at a very burnt grilled cheese with one of your spatulas.
You pouted a bit at the lack of response before shrugging it off and running a hand through his curly mane. "Hey there, pretty boy. How’s it goin’? Honestly expected more of a reaction."
Eddie finally freed the grilled cheese from its hellish prison and moved it over to the nearby plate where three others were resting, each one a little worse looking than the last. Then he pointed the spatula he holding to the nearby window, where you could see yourselves reflected. Eddie’s eyes caught yours briefly in the reflection before dancing away, his cheeks red. He never quite knew how to handle a compliment, you noticed.
"Damn," you mumbled against his shoulder, "here I was, thinking I was sneaky."
Eddie, moving as little as possible to keep himself in your arms, flicked the stove off and nudged the pan and spatula to a different burner. Then he leaned further back against you, letting his hands tap beats in tune with the music playing against your exposed arms. "Hope you didn't eat yet because I have the world’s shittiest grilled cheeses waiting for you."
You snickered and gave his waist a squeeze before releasing him, much to his visible disappointment. You reached around him to snag the plate of grilled cheeses before pulling away completely and walking toward the dining table. Picking up the second most burned sandwich and tearing a bite off one corner with your teeth, you mumbled, "You know I’m a burnt food lover. This is perfectly made cuisine to me."
You pulled out the nearest chair with a foot and plopped down into it. Eddie followed shortly after with a couple of steaming, chocolate-scented mugs.
"Ooh, hot chocolate," you purred, pulling out Eddie’s seat next you for him. "How sweet."
Eddie set the mugs down before sitting and throwing out his arms in a flourish. "Dinner of champions. So, how was Stevie-boy?"
"Pouty," you replied, "but he’s alone in that giant house again and getting a little attention-starved, I think. I mean, I get it. Also, no, told Steve I was hanging with you tonight and had to come hungry."
Eddie nodded. He took two of the grilled cheeses, the worst and second-best, for himself before passing the nicest looking one over to you. So attentive. The sweet domesticity of it all was almost enough to make your teeth ache.
Eddie put on a vaguely European accent as he lamented, "Ah, the rich and their gluttony for much land. Other than that?"
You hummed in agreement as you took another bite of your sandwich. "Can't imagine the why of it. Things were good, though. It was nice!"
"What’d ya do?"
"Well, I helped him format a better resume. He asked if he could let Robin use it, too, and of course, I said sure. Neither of them are really into the movie store scene. Anyway, we also ended up going to a movie. Shit, what was the name…? It had Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson…"
Eddie was as good a listener as he was a talker when he really wanted to be, nodding along while commenting and questioning about your day. He didn’t have too many opportunities for it, being the talky leader of a pack of not super talky younger folks and the only other people involved with him being his quiet uncle, teachers who were none too fond of him, and, well, you. You, talker supreme. You, who matched his energy to a T most of the time and were happy to pick up the reigns whenever he decided to let them loose. He let the reigns go to you quite a lot, especially these days.
You didn’t mind.
"So," you said when you were done rambling, and gave Eddie’s foot a tap with your own, "what about you? This… does not look like studying to me, Mr. Munson."
Those couple of sentences, and maybe the casual footsie, sent an array of emotions flickering across his face. First, his cheeks turned pink and both his gaze and foot darted away from your attention, quickly followed by a scowl at himself as he tried to play it off cool with a rebuttal nudge to your shin. Then he blushed for a different reason—you had set up study hangouts for the purpose of helping him finish school, which he was continuously neglecting in favor of the hanging out part—before his face finally twisted up into a look of clear and visible disgust at being called "Mr. Munson." That last one made you laugh.
"This whole thing is unfair, and also a cruel and unusual punishment," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you. "How come you're never doing homework?"
You smirked at him. "Because I graduated when we were supposed to."
Eddie’s outstretched hand clapped back to lay over his heart as he gasped at you. Then, in another accented, incredibly offended tone, he said, "Cruel. Very cruel."
You snorted before, deciding to play along, whipping up a character voice of your own. Putting your sandwich aside and leaning over, you slowly walked your fingers up Eddie’s arm nearest to you. "And, now, see, since you’ve defied me and the rules of the game… you owe me not only the two assignments from the previous study sessions where studying didn't happen, plus all of your catch-up work. So—" You paused, moving your hand to catch his jaw in your hand. "—what are we going to do about that, hm?"
You had Eddie squirming in his seat with the walking fingers shenanigan, but the grip on his jaw turned him rigid and beet-red. After a moment of silence and big, pretty awestruck doe eyes staring back at you, he tried to play off his flustered state again, give some kind of quip back. He practically choked on his tongue instead.
You took a moment of your own to admire your handiwork. Then you gave his jaw a tender squeeze and he released him to turn back to your food. As you tore a piece off your sandwich and dipped it into your hot cocoa, you heard Eddie wheeze next to you, "Fucking Christ… You're going to kill me."
"Well, if I do, I’d prefer you to be out of high school when I do it." You tossed a cheeky grin over your shoulder at him before popping the chocolatey piece of sandwich in your mouth. You waved your hand over to your notebook and continued once your mouth was free to talk again. "So, here’s what I’m thinkin’. Those two assignments and a chip into the makeup work. That’s it. Tonight, or you don’t get to see my new D&D sketches."
Eddie scoffed and slumped over onto the table with a clattering thud. Initial embarrassment faded, he wailed, "But that’s so much work!"
You gave him a sympathetic pat on the back but continued on anyway. "Ed, it’s honestly a miracle they keep letting you back in the first place, let alone even giving you makeup work. Makeup work is a big win! And you don’t even have to do it well, you just have to do it. You got this."
Eddie huffed and turned his face toward you. It took some fighting with his hair to get it out of his face, but then he turned to you with a defeated pout. You rolled your eyes. Apparently Hawkins was home ground for pouty boys.
Then the pout turned into something more sincere, visible insecurity, and you found your edges softening. "You really think I got it?"
You reached over to brush his hair back with a hand, a touch that made his eyes flutter as he gratefully leaned into it. "Absolutely you got it."
Eddie sighed, but at least the sound didn't come off defeated this time. Maybe a bit harrowed. Brooding worked for Eddie, though, as little as you saw him act that way. He let the mood sit and settle before sitting back up and pushing his hair back, once again in a dramatic nature. Dropping his head to the side and looking at you, a bit more determined this time, he said, "Fine. Let’s do it, baby."
You threw up a devil horns symbol in celebration as you grinned at him; a smile of his own slowly formed in response. "Woop! Let’s do it, baby!"
~~~~~
After dinner and cleanup, the two of you moved to your living room to properly spread out and work, the kitchen left designated for D&D talk later. A few different textbooks were cracked open and set up in a haphazard semicircle on your living room floor, Eddie stretched out on the carpet in front of them. Also surrounding him were an array of barely used notebooks, uncrumpled pieces of loose paper—both notes and homework printouts—some much more well-kept folders and notecards courtesy of you, and various writing utensils. Currently, Eddie was lying on his back, one foot using his history textbook as a footrest, and tossing your empty notecard holder into the air with one hand to catch it with the other. He was waiting for you while you sat on the couch chewing on the end of a red pen as you graded his work.
"Shit, Eddie," you mumbled with a growing smile as you nudged the paper to the side, "I knew you could do this shit."
Eddie, mid-toss, shot up into a sitting position. The little holder he was throwing came down at the same time, colliding with his forehead and getting flung across the room. You both stared after it, dumbfounded, before Eddie turned to you with eyebrows raised up into his forehead. The movement made him wince and reach up to poke at the reddening spot on his skin. "Seriously?"
You grinned and handed the paper over to him, which he looked over with increasing curiosity. "Seriously! It’s not perfect, obviously, but definitely not an F! Not even a D! I mean, one of your biggest hobbies includes insane amounts of math and writing, it’s really not a surprise. You just needed to find a way to make it stick. And… probably not be in a classroom where people are assholes all the time."
"Well," Eddie murmured, running a hand through his rumpled hair, "it, uh, helps having a good-looking teacher that does their job, too."
You chuckled, watching the way his gaze danced away from yours as you tried to meet his eyes. You would never get tired of flustered Eddie.
"Maybe so," you agreed. You capped your pen and slipped to the floor, picking up another of Eddie’s assignments and a notecard with a fantastical map sketched out on it. Looking over both, you hummed in approval and slid the card over to Eddie. "It helps having the time and space to do things your way, too."
Eddie ran his fingers across the card, over the detailed sketch you did in just a few minutes with red and black pen. You had basically built a campaign around his schoolwork. It actually seemed to be working.
"I don’t know, sometimes I just think it’s you."
It was your turn to blush this evening, but you waved the compliment aside. You weren’t going to let Eddie take his work for granted. "Sweet. Very, very sweet. But everything on these pages is that big, beautiful brain of yours at work, Ed. It just needed a little extra time and a push."
A sound rumbled in Eddie’s chest, a strange mix between a sigh and a groan. He still wasn’t sure about that fact, and you knew it, but he had no chance winning such an argument with you. So he flicked the notecard with a little smile and leaned back on his hands. "Well, how far did we make it? Make up for my indiscretions yet?"
You hummed again, this time thoughtfully and to the tune of the boombox now sitting on the coffee table nearby. You gathered up the assignments scattered around the floor and flicked through them, going through your mental checklist. "It looks like… two assignments that are currently due—check, and O’Donnell can suck it both times—and, damn, at least one makeup assignment for each class. Not bad! If we can knock out some those heavier extra credit ones over the weekend, you might be sitting pretty by Monday, Eds."
Eddie groaned and flopped over. You went to correct yourself, thinking he misunderstood, but stopped when he then threw two fists into the air. A few triumphant air punches followed, then a full-body shake as he half-whooped, half-yelled in celebration, before collapsing completely onto the floor once more.
You watched him and laughed. When he was done with his fit of excitement, you leaned over and clapped a congratulatory hand on his shin. "Nice job, m’love. Told you that you could do it."
Eddie released another grumbly sound. "We did it."
You rolled your eyes and but smiled at the sentiment regardless. Sitting back up proper and starting organize the mess around you, you said, "Yeah, we did it."
There was a comfortable lull in the conversation, the only sounds being the rustling of the papers and the boombox switching over to the next song. Eddie, tapping a toe to the beat of the music, basked in the afterglow of finally doing something academically right while you chipped away at cleaning up. His finished assignments that needed to be turned in went into a highlighter yellow folder that the two of you had agreed upon as something that would be hard to lose and too ugly to forget about. The rest of the notes and chaos got a little less care, being organized into general piles by subject and moved over to their respective textbooks for later use or better pickup in the future, depending on what Eddie decided to do. You had a feeling he would pick the latter, having done his fair share of work for the day.
After a while, Eddie’s voice sounded, loud in the otherwise quiet of your home. "I like we."
You snickered and leaned back against the couch, happy with your cleanup for the time being. "I like we too."
Eddie didn't respond right away but you could see his restlessness kick up in the quicker bouncing of his leg and the way he started fiddling with his rings. You watched him with a quirked brow, curious but wanting to give him his moment.
He piped up again after a bit. "Can I ask you kind of a weird question?"
You nodded even though the way he was laying wouldn’t allow him to see it; it obstructed you from seeing his face as well. "Of course. You can ask me anything, Eddie."
"Why…?" Eddie started, then faltered with a thoughtful hm. He swapped his rings to different fingers before trying again. "So, you don’t owe me anything. Obviously. Just putting it out there. That’s not what this is about. I don’t feel, like, entitled to you or anything like that. I’m just… confused, I guess? Wondering. Seriously. It’s just pure interest. Anyway. You date Steve, and that’s cool. And then you’ve got that girl in… New… York? Jersey? Right?"
You answered slowly. "Yeah. Sure. Why?"
"So—" Eddie cut himself off again, this time to clear his throat. Both legs were jiggling anxiously now, and he had played musical chairs with his rings enough times to make you forget which one was originally on which finger. He apparently got bored of that finally, too, because he switched to tugging on the fraying hem of his long-sleeved band tee. Then he moved to pushing up his sleeves.
Finally, he took a quick, deep breath, and on the exhale, blurted out, "So why not me?"
You blinked at him. "Why not you? Why not you what?"
You watched Eddie raise his arms from his position lying on the floor and wave them around as if it would help conduct the flow of his words. "Like, what’s so different between me and, say, Steve? Or anyone you date? I mean, besides the obvious. Now, again, it’s fine that you don’t pick me. I get it. We’re best friends, that’s weird, whatever, it’s cool. I’m just wondering what… flicks that switch, I guess. Why not me, y’know?"
Eddie sat up suddenly and got to witness the incredulousness blooming across your face, brows furrowed in confused fascination and a little smile playing on your lips. Aside from a slight raise of his own eyebrow, he didn’t comment on it, and instead waved an anxious hand you. "You get what I mean, right?"
"No, Eddie," you said, your smile still slowly growing, "I actually, really, don’t think I do."
Eddie huffed out a breath, getting more flustered the more he rambled on. "Why don’t you pick me?"
"Eddie, I did pick you."
Eddie’s hair fluffed out around him as he shook his head and waved his hands in a you're not getting it manner. "No, no, I don’t mean like— I mean—"
You were fully grinning now. "Eddie, we’ve been on like three dates now."
That statement stopped Eddie in his tracks, quite literally freezing him in place with his hands still mid-wave; it was a full freeze frame in real life. He blinked, bug-eyed, as he looked at you, and it took several tries of opening and closing his mouth before words came out again. "What’s that now?"
You threw your head back in a laugh, the action so fast it caused your head to smack against the couch with a sharp thud. You choked out a gasp and grabbed at your head, but the giggles continued as you then crumpled to the floor. It was a long, loud, deep laughing fit that left you curled up on the carpet, your lungs begging for breath and your stomach muscles burning by the end of it. As the snickers eventually died down, you rolled over onto your back, breathless and wiping tears from your eyes, to see that Eddie had crawled over and was now looking down at you. His eyes were still wide and doe-like, and he was pink from neck to ear tips.
One last giggle escaped you as you reached up to brush his curtain of hair back. You slowly made your way back into a sitting position and Eddie followed your lead, moving back from leaning over you to sit back on his heels. His hands rested awkwardly, restlessly in his lap, back to fiddling with his rings.
"Eddie," you finally breathed, "I asked you out on a date."
Eddie just blinked at you and said in an embarrassingly strained voice, "When?"
Your grin was killing your jaw. Even if you wanted it to, it wasn’t disappearing any time soon. "Last month? I asked you out to dinner at that cute new diner."
Eddie blinked again. His brain was short circuiting.
You went on, equally disbelieving of the situation, "I picked you up? Paid for everything? I told you to dress up nice. Eddie goddamned Munson, I know you knew that I was stressed out the entire time. I bought flowers for the table. There was a candle."
"Wh… when was the second one?" Eddie wheezed out. He had fallen almost entirely still.
"Well, I thought it was when you returned the favor when you took me to the arcade," you admitted. You scratched your cheek as Eddie’s blush became contagious. "You picked me up—"
"I always do that."
"You paid for everything—"
"I was returning the favor!"
You barked another laugh. "You kept trying to win my favorite prize for me! You called it a date! Like twice!"
The blinks of pure shock kept coming. At least you could finally see the gears behind his eyes start turning again as he raised a hand and dragged it through his mane.
Mostly under his breath, he muttered, "Oh my god…"
"And— And then I took you to the record store— Your birthday— I bought you— Eddie. Eddie, I made you a mixtape."
He waved a hand weakly at you. "I’ve… done that for you?"
"It consisted of love songs of the rock variety." Your entire being was a mix of embarrassment-induced pain and general elation from being able to witness Eddie’s realization firsthand. You leaned forward and grabbed Eddie’s face in your hands, forcing his dancy-glance to look at you. "Eddie. I call you my love and tell you I love you all the time. You get baby and pretty eyes and pretty boy and puppyface— Do you think I’m going around calling everybody that? Steve could tell you we’re dating. We’ve cuddled damn near naked more than a couple times, and have definitely showered together at least once. Quick question, Ed, are those things you're doing with just your friends? Does Gareth come around hugging you from behind and digging their hands under your shirt to play with the happy trail you got hidden down there? Just curious."
"Oh my god," Eddie repeated, the puzzle pieces finished clicking into place. You watched, between too much blinking, as the realization—quickly followed by excitement—caused his eyes to light up. He was still blushing and his chest rose and fell like he was out of breath, but a borderline childish grin was crawling its way onto his face. There was suddenly far too much energy wound up in his body again, causing him to shift restlessly in his seated position as he finally reached out to touch you. It was to grasp at your arms, gentle despite everything, as he leaned his face into your cheek and laughed out, "Holy shit, I am… so fuckin’ stupid."
You laughed with him as you relaxed into him, letting your face nuzzle against his. Your hands dropped from his face to drape around his shoulders. As much as you could with Eddie still clinging to them anyway. "Not sure about that but apparently I haven’t been very good with my communication skills. Although… not sure what else I can do outside of asking you to go on a date with me… which I did in fact already do."
Eddie nodded against your face, his flushed skin warm against yours. He used one hand to poke a finger against the side of his head. "No, I am actually a dumbass. Seriously, there might be something wrong with my brain."
You shushed him, Eddie gulping so big you actually heard it, with a light smooch to his temple. "Quiet. I like your brain."
Eddie did quiet, opting to just sit and absorb your attention instead. Eddie had never necessarily shied away from you—he would lean into most of your affections, and even if your handsiness made him flustered, he would play into it; he would even try to fluster you back sometimes, if he was feeling bold—but you noticed the shift in this moment immediately. It was like a total and complete surrender, his lean body curling into and around yours, without a lick of tension, as your fingers dragged through his hair. Keeping your lips pressed into his skin, you suddenly realized you had been silly before. This, this is what it was supposed to feel like.
"So…" Eddie’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and he slowly pulled himself back from you. His trailed down your arms to catch your hands in a much shyer action than you were used to when it came to holding hands with him. It was a very strange conflict between that and the half-lidded, mischievous look in his eye as he unabashedly eyed your lips.
You felt your cheeks burn and you looked away. "Here we go again…"
Eddie’s dimpled grin reappeared. You could hear it in his voice, see it shining in your peripherals. "So. We hold hands and cuddle, stuff like that. I guess we’ve been out on a few dates. We really are kinda couple-y, huh?"
"Mhm," you hummed. "So?"
"So—" Eddie suddenly leaned in close enough to let his nose bump against your cheek. "—why haven’t ya kissed me?"
You scoffed. The flush pulled its way up to your ears. "Did I not just kiss you?"
"You know what I mean," Eddie lilted.
Still not looking at him, you quipped back, "Well, why haven’t you kissed me?"
Eddie’s lips moved against your jaw as he grumbled in playful frustration, "Because I just found out we’re dating."
You snorted and pulled farther back from him. Chancing a look his way, it must’ve been your turn to look all soft and flustered, because you watched in real time as Eddie’s brain fogged over momentarily. Pupils blown wide and exhaling all the air in his lungs, Eddie’s lips parted in a silent, wordless Whoa as he stared back. All there was to him, in that moment, was you.
The initial blushing was now gone, replaced by a full-body tingling heat of… embarrassment? Shyness? You weren’t sure. Eddie shooting longing glances or looking at you in a way that you thought was lovingly—perhaps a misunderstanding on your end, at least at the time—was nothing new. The pure, unfaltering look of adoration and infatuation that he gave you now, however, blew any other previous look out of the water. It was like basking in the heat of the sun. Staring directly into it. You had to look away, chewing on your lip.
"Dunno," you said after a bit. You shrugged and slipped one of your hands from his to pull at the suddenly too-tight collar of your shirt. "Thought of kissing you… Kind of intimidating, I guess."
"Me? Me. I’m intimidating." Eddie’s voice was dumbfounded.
You looked at him again from under your lashes as he slumped against the nearby couch, his expression matching his voice as he continued staring back. You smiled a bit and nodded, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head in reaction.
"Not every day you realize you’ve fallen in love with your best friend and kinda wanna kiss ‘em on the mouth. Dunno, it’s just…" You trailed off, waving a hand at his general presence. "I mean, it’s you. It’s… different."
Eddie didn't seem to be taking in any air at this point. Just wheezing out breathless huffs.
Being polyamorous was an interesting thing. Every crush and relationship was a little bit different. With Steve, it was easy. The most natural thing in the world. You had pined after him in high school—because who didn't at one point or another—but only ever really met and became friends after the summer of bouncing around part-time jobs in the mall. He, surprisingly, remembered you from school, and the two of you lamented over having a poor time keeping a job and not being able to get deal with college. Your crush rekindled, he apparently picked one up. He asked you out on single date and was wildly surprised when you asked him out for a second, and a third, and a fourth. It was about a month in when he realized you were serious about him and, more importantly, realized that he was just as serious about you. The rest was history.
Your girlfriend, Jackie, was a little bit trickier. Directly out of high school, you had tried the college route and ended up in Iowa—not New York or New Jersey, but you weren’t going to give Eddie flack for that. You went for half of a semester, had a breakdown, dropped out, and moved back to Hawkins. During this time, though, you met a girl named Jackie, who, despite all this, thought you were cute and wanted to keep in touch. She asked you out mid-panic attack one day, which was so surprising that it actually snapped you out of said attack. A couple weeks and two dates later, you told her that you were moving back home, and the two of you agreed to try out a long-distance thing. Your relationship with Jackie was considerably more low-key and casual, but it was filled with love letters and postcards and gifts and holiday visits. Perfect in its own way.
Eddie was your friend from childhood turned best friend during high school. You had stuck it out and helped him through scraped knees and black eyes and bad parenting until he was eventually turned over to his uncle Wayne’s care in eighth grade. Eddie supported and encouraged you through all your self-exploration, bad ideas, and advancing your art skills when you were at the point of believing they weren’t worth anything. You defended Eddie’s love for Dungeons & Dragons and blossoming metalhead nature with tooth and nail, and Eddie—darling Eddie, "would never hurt a fly" Eddie—went to war with the entire Hawkins sports culture when rumors of slut and whore and fag started spreading around about you in high school, headed by cheer and wrestling captains alike.
There had never been a time where you didn’t love Eddie Munson, and you would continue to love him regardless of whether it was in a platonic or romantic fashion. You were simply each other’s forever and always. It just had happened as a slow shift over the past year or so that your feelings shifted to be more romantically-inclined, and you got lucky that Eddie was feeling the same way these days. Even if the two of you had been a bit clueless about it thus far.
So there you were, a couple of awkward, blushing kids in your early twenties, sitting on your living room floor.
"You do wanna kiss me, though?" The question came out in another exhale. He must be breathing.
"I mean… yeah," you mumbled back. It was the first time you were admitting it aloud, you realized. "I’ve think I’ve kinda always wanted to kiss you. To be fair, though, I think everyone who has ever lived wants to kiss you. Don't see how anyone couldn’t."
Eddie snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes, but you could tell he appreciated the compliment. At this point he was playing with a strand of his hair and eyeing you under his own long, pretty lashes. He was looking bashful in a way that new to you and you were honestly surprised that you hadn’t already completely melted under his gaze.
"I think there’s plenty of people would disagree with you there. Don't really care about them anyway, so…" He continued to eye you, then gave you a little nod as the small smile tugging at his lips pulled a little wider. "Why don’t you then? Kiss me?"
You blinked at him. "… Like now?"
"Yeah."
"Well… why don’t you kiss me?"
Eddie simply shook his head at you. He pushed the hair that he had been playing with back, showing off his full, cheesy grin, as he shuffled closer to you again. Not nearly close enough— He just pushed away from the couch and kneed his way closer until your legs were barely brushing against his own.
You felt the need to yank him the rest of the way to you but something stopped you. One part curiosity and two parts that trouble-making hint to Eddie’s smile. So you let the electric tension vibrate between your bodies for a bit longer. "Why not?"
"I don’t want to kiss you," Eddie answered simply. "I want you to do it. Missed your first move once. Don't wanna again."
You huffed a flustered breath and turned to look away, feeling prickly under his gaze. Your jaw, however, was caught by a ringed hand and maneuvered back to keep you in place, eyes on him.
"It belongs to you, you know," Eddie went on. His voice dropped lower, still playful but also incredibly sincere, as his thumb ever so gently traced a line against your cheek. "Has for a long time."
You raised your eyebrows at him, a bit surprised. "How long?"
Eddie’s restlessness got the better of him again finally, and he shimmied forward. His knees and thighs slotted perfectly into place between yours, and he leaned forward. The movement was a little too excited, causing your noses to knock together in a way that shot a dull pang of pain through you, but it barely registered as Eddie’s hot, chocolate-tinted breath landed on your lips. "Forever, I think. So take it from me. Whatever you what. It all belongs to you."
The sound you made was, simply put, inhuman. You pushed the rest of the way forward and captured Eddie’s lips with your own.
The first touch of contact was an electric pulse. The first chord of a guitar playing into the silence before the rest of song kicks in. It was slow motion, a moment quivering alone in time and space. Then your lips started to move and the dam cracked, shattered, collapsed completely.
Steve’s kisses were usually calm and sweet, sometimes a bit silly and awkward. Jackie's were excited welcome-homes, lipstick marks on postcards, and blowing kisses and you boarded busses and cars. Eddie’s was that of a man starved and waiting for who knows how long.
Not that you were any better. Maybe you should have been a little embarrassed about how hard you threw yourself at him but… oh, well. It was like a shaken champagne bottle finally bursting open, overflowing with light, excited bubbles. Liquid emotions—joy, excitement, want, adoration, love, things you weren’t even sure how to name yet—frothing and mixing together.
If Eddie was bothered by it—hard to believe; you didn’t think there was anything you could do to anger him at this point in your lives—he didn’t show it. Quite the opposite, actually.
Eddie moved with you like a surfer following a wave, a singer’s riff dancing with the notes of their bandmates. When you gripped at his face, awkwardly and shaky in your excitement, fingers scratching cheeks and tangling in the strands of hair framing his face, he just laughed against your mouth and caught handfuls of your waist with ringed fingers that caught on your shirt. His giggly exhales travelled down your throat like oxygen while you traded him giddy gasps and pants in return. His lips followed yours, slotting perfectly into place when flustered teeth weren’t getting in the way, and his tongue chased after yours whenever it tried to dance away, creating a playful push and pull as they flirted from his mouth to yours. When one of you finally had to pull away for a breath, the other retreated like a tide pulling back—only to crash back over the other as soon as an inhale was taken.
For the second time that evening, you felt the fleeting feeling of silliness. How have you been going months thinking you and Eddie were already together when this—whatever this was; power? Passion?—had been missing until now. You couldn’t even remember what things had felt like before. Nothing between you two would ever feel that way again.
Eddie tugged on you. You followed the pull and the two of you tumbled over in a heap on the carpet, entangled in each other. Eventually, the initial exhilaration lessened into something more comfortable and slow as you and Eddie fell into rhythm in movement and kiss. You basked in each other’s touch, Eddie’s fingers leaving tingly trails down your sides and back—and occasionally, almost hesitantly, over the slope of your backside and thighs. When your fingers weren’t playing in his hair, they were taking languid strolls along his jaw, the length of his neck, the exposed parts of his neck and shoulders thanks to the worn out, ill-fitting fabric of his shirt.
The makeout ended with a kiss that was sweet and lingering. Followed by another, quicker smooch. Followed by one more for good measure, edged with a returning giddiness as the moment to speak again was quickly approaching.
When your eyes finally fluttered back open, Eddie was already staring at you with irises of melted copper and pupils twice their natural size. His expression was that of dreamy surprise, a smile of shifting intensities playing on his lips as he tried to figure out whether what had happened was actually real or if he was just in a really fantastic dream.
You leaned in and pressed another kiss against his smile, hopefully proving reality to him.
One of Eddie’s hands moved up to gently caress your cheek and jaw. You snagged it with a hand of your own and entangled your fingers with his, which he welcomed with a squeeze. He continued watching you, starstruck, as you pushed a smooch against the back of his hand too.
Then he finally inhaled, held it a moment, and breathed out, "Go out with me?"
You laughed softly against the skin of his hand before nodding. "Mhm. Where?"
"Movie or somethin’?"
"M‘kay. Sounds fun."
The least tangled of Eddie’s fingers reached up to run along your bottom lip. You caught it in your teeth and gave a gentle bite.
Eddie chuckled, partially to cover the low sound that rumbled in his chest, one that you certainly didn’t miss. "Love you."
You let your combined hands fall to rest on the carpet and you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. He was pliant underneath you, completely content to simply let his eyes follow you as you did whatever you pleased with him. Right then, all you wanted to do was lay there and watch him back, noses and foreheads nuzzled together.
"Love you too," you softly replied. Eddie’s eyes crinkled at edges, indicating a grin just out of sight. You smiled back.
Those words had been traded between you and Eddie a thousand times before, and would be taken and given a million times more. They just tasted a little bit differently on your tongue now.
Ficmas Advent 2025: Mission (Jonathan Beyers x Reader)
Summary: While babysitting Will until Jonathan gets home with dinner, Will asks you for a favor. Jonathan freaks out a little bit when he finds out, not so unreasonably.
Word count: 3,289
Notes/CW: Takes place before the show starts, so Will is a lil baby. Reader gets injured. Will gets sad.
A/N: The more I write Jonathan, the more I like him lol. Really didn't like the stoner vibe for him in S4 but he really is just,,, good. Good boy. 10/10
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
You shivered as cold wind danced up under your coat and raced across your torso and arms. You really weren’t prepared to climbing around in the woods in the middle of the night, with your lightweight pants, thin sweater, old tennis shoes, and too-big coat that did very little to help keep the chill away. But you had a mission to accomplish, so you pulled the scarf you borrowed from Joyce—well, it belonged to her, but Will was the one that offered it to you when you agreed to help him—up to cover your mouth and nose, stuffed the gloveless hand not holding a flashlight deeper into your pocket, and kept on walking.
The mission? To secure Will’s favorite teddy that he accidentally left at Castle Beyers early that morning. In his haste to complete his kid-schedule of finishing D&D campaign notes at Castle Beyers, rushing to school on his bike, going over to Mike’s after school for said D&D campaign, and then getting picked up a couple hours ago by you and your boyfriend Jonathan, he had left his buddy behind. While Jon left to pick up dinner that Joyce had ordered for the three of you in advance, Will went to his room to hang out while you set up the kitchen. It was moments later that Will realized the betrayal he had committed and ran out of his room with tears in his eyes. After some quick comforting, a conversation where Will tried to come with you on the hunt, and a promise that he would stay put in the Beyers household, Will let you go with a scarf, a flashlight, and an extra walkie talkie.
A walkie talkie that stopped you in your tracks now as Will’s somewhat urgent-sounding voice crackled through its speaker. "Elmer Fudd, this is Will the Wise. Please come in, over."
You snickered, both at the hasty callsign you had picked and the fact that Will was actually using it. You found a tree that looked old but sturdy enough to relax against and snagged the walkie from your other pocket. "This is Elmer Fudd. Hearing you loud and clear, Wise. You okay over there? Over."
There was a few moments of silence before Will got back to you. When the speaker sounded again, there first was a scuffling, followed by some muffled sounds that sounded vaguely like voices. You frowned and, your heart jumping at the thought of the young boy in danger, turned back in the direction of the Beyers house. Or, at least, the direction you thought it was in.
Luckily, an explanation came quickly and you leaned back against the tree with a sigh of relief.
"—Ee? They're fine!" Will’s voice wailed from the background. There was more scuffling, what you now realized was Will trying to wrestle his walkie talkie back from the thief, before a different voice came through.
You grinned at the worried sound of Jonathan’s voice. "[Y/N]? Are you there? Will, is this working?"
"You have to take your finger off the button, dingus," Will huffed back. "And you're supposed to say ‘over’."
Jonathan started to say something else to his little brother, but the walkie’s audio cut out as he did what he was told.
Now that you were able to talk, you said with a teasing tilt, "He’s right, Jon. You're supposed to say ‘over’, over."
Jonathan came back with a sigh. "Where are you? Will said you went to grab something for him? It’s late and it’s dark and it’s cold, you shouldn’t be out there wandering… over."
Oh, your sweet, worried boy. You loved him and his worry-ridden family to death.
"I’m like—" Keeping the button pressed, you paused as you shined your light ahead. You grinned again when you saw Castle Beyers just ahead. After picking out a safe path through the roots and branches and icy patches, you started walking again. "Just touched down at Castle Beyers. Will left Beartrum here this morning, Jon. You should’ve seen how upset he was when he realized."
You could picture Will complaining about saying as much to Jonathan, but the ends justified the means.
You went on, "I told him to stay put while I went and got him. I’ve only been gone like ten minutes and I knew you’d be home soon. Please don’t be mad. Over."
Jonathan answered immediately, "Of course I’m not mad. I’m just… worried. And don't say it."
I can’t say it when you’re still holding the button down, you thought with a smirk. You knew what he was referring to, your and Will’s habit of teasing him for his permanent state of being stressed about everything. It was something you both loved about him—it certainly made him extra gentle and attentive when anything happened to you—yet worried about. It couldn’t be good for his health, being concerned as he was all the time.
"Stay where you’re at, okay?" your partner went on, followed by some rustling and a jingle of what was probably keys. "Grab Beartrum and just hang out for a minute, well come get you."
Wills giddy voice sounded, growing clearer as he moved closer to his brother. "I get to come?"
You waited for Jonathan to say something else but nothing came. After a moment, the static on the other end cut out again.
Ah.
"You forgot to say ‘over’," you said, "but yeah, fine. I am actively touching the Castle Beyers sign as we speak. I’ll just, uh, pace around inside to keep warm, I guess. Over and out."
"You’ll get plenty warm when you’re back home," Jon replied. A door shut in background as he and Will left the house. "Just stay there. We'll be there as fast as we can. Over."
"There’s also blankets inside! You can use one if you want." Will offered. "Over and out!"
You fully intended to go inside and wait for your boys to come get you.
What you didn't plan for was the slick patch of ice that had formed just inside the doorway, hidden behind the curtain of a faded blanket hanging from the threshold. So you stepped in inside and immediately slipped, falling forward. Instead of being able to duck from the sign above, your head smacked into the underside of it, and as you went down, a splintering section of board caught part of your hand, slicing it.
You landed on cold, hard earth with a thud and a crack and a groan. You pressed your bloody hand to your bruising forehead, because why not, and squirmed the rest of the way into the fort. "Fucking hell... Nice going, me."
Snagging one of the blankets Will had mentioned and leaning your head back against the dirty mattress nearby, you did the only thing you could really do at this point: wait.
You didn't have to do so for long. Jonathan and Will, much more familiar with the territory even in the pitch black winter night, arrived in half the time it took you to get out there. You could hear their chattering and footsteps as they grew progressively closer, until they finally stopped outside and a flashlight shone under through the ragged wooden walls of Castle Beyers.
"[Y/N]?" Jonathan called as he made his way up to the doorway, Will in tow. "Are you in there?"
Creaking from the doorway as Will and Jon moved to enter the fort made you jolt forward, way too fast for your poor now-throbbing head. Still, you reached out a hand and hollered, "Wait, wait, wait! There's ice right inside, please be careful!"
"Oh, shit," you heard Jonathan grumble from outside. "Did you slip? Are you okay?"
You eyed your bloody hand, felt the residual blood beginning to crust on your forehead above one eye. "Uh, well, I've been better."
Jon shoved the curtain aside and poked his head in, his eyes immediately widening and your dirty and cold visage. Will's head appeared moments later and Jon moved to cover his eyes, but Will had already seen. The little boy was gasping and scrambling his way inside before you could get a word out, crawling partially onto your lap and moving to check your wounds. Jonathan followed significantly more cautiously.
"I'm so sorry, [Y/N]," Will babbled, "this was all my fault!"
You saw that look again, a tiny boy on the verge of tears, and collected him into a snuggly hug. Careful to avoid your injuries, you pressed the unbloodied side of your face into Will's hair. "Hey! Hey, bud, I'm okay! It looks worse than it is, promise. The blood is just from a cut in my hand. Anyway, look what I got. Mission accomplished, Wise!"
You returned Beartrum to Will with your uninjured hand and Will hugged him so tight you found yourself vaguely concerned for the bear's safety. Still, with the bear safe and you smiling, Will was finally able to relax again.
Jonathan, now crouched nearby, tightened the thin blanket around your shoulders. There was very little any of you could do in the tiny fort, but he ran a hand through your hair and over your forehead in search of any further injuries. When he was able to confirm none for both himself and Will, Will scooted off you and wrapped one of your arms around his neck. Jonathan put his around your waist, giving you his weight to lean on, and the two boys helped you up and safely out of Castle Beyers. Then it was a slow, but significantly safer, walk back to the house.
~~~~~
"You're kinda crazy, you know that?" Jonathan said.
You chuckled in response. "Maybe. I think you kinda like crazy, though."
Jonathan hummed back, somewhat thoughtfully. "Maybe."
The two of you were in the bathroom, you perched on top of the closed toilet while Jonathan sat on the edge of the tub in front of you. He had a warm wet washcloth in hand, dark grey turning darker as he used it to dab away blood from your face. You had been right about your head; you had gotten lucky with nothing but a bump and an ugly bruise that quickly formed on your forehead. Your poor hand, however, had gotten properly sliced up between two fingers and your palm, and it took a good several minutes after getting home to convince Jonathan from trying to drive you to a hospital right then.
The compromise was letting Jonathan taking his sweet time fussing over you, and here you were.
His first order of business with your hand was making sure that you didn't have any splinters or other debris that would cause the wound more damage. Once he was happy with his work there, and had confirmed the stop of bleeding, he had eased up quite a bit to otherwise clean you up.
"That's going to scar, you know." He nodded to your hand, loosely wrapped with another damp rag for the time being, as he stood up to rinse the bloody rag again. "Especially since you're waiting to go to a hospital."
You flexed your fingers, winced, and yet, still shrugged at him. "That's okay. Scars are cool. Will needed his bear."
Jonathan didn't respond. When you looked up at him in curiosity, he was watching you with a soft smile as he wrung the rag of excess water. Getting caught staring, he cleared his throat, ears flushing pink, and turned away to grab the first-aid kit balancing on the sink's edge.
It was warm and quiet as Jonathan sat in front of you again. Also sitting on the sink had been a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen, which he handed you to keep pressed against your forehead now that it was cleaned up. Then he got to work, oh so carefully unwrapping your wounded hand and giving it one more check before moving to open the first-aid kit.
"I'm gonna clean this better now," he warned as he grabbed a small bottle of clear liquid and a wipe. He eyed you from under his lashes, sincere and worried as ever. "It's gonna string probably, especially where it's deeper on your palm. You can hit me or yell me or whatever if you need to."
Your insides clenched in a weird combination of sympathy and adoration. Ugh. What a sweetheart.
You smiled encouragingly back. "I'll be fine. I trust you."
Jonathan smiled back. He took your hand in his and placed the smallest of kisses on the unharmed part of your palm. Then he took the wipe, now soaked with rubbing alcohol, and starting wiping down your hand.
He was right, of course. It stung like hell. Probably the only worse sting would be if he tried to actually do stitches, but you convinced him against that earlier too. The cut was deep, but not too terribly so, and you could still move your fingers and such. You were fairly convinced you'd be fine with bandages until tomorrow.
Jonathan was precious, pressing as lightly as he could while still actually cleaning and mumbling apology after apology under his breath as he did. When he was finished and looked up at you, saw your paled and pained face, you swore you could actually almost hear his heart break.
"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice soft and a near-whisper. His standard posture was an awkward hunch due also bending over cameras and developing images in dark rooms, but he was damn near curled into a ball at the sight of you in pain.
Before you could really think even think about it, you were leaning past the space between you and pressing your mouth against his. The kiss was awkward and, admittedly, not really a kiss at all, but when you pulled away again, Jonathan was blushing and fluttering his eyelashes like he had just experienced the best kiss in his entire life.
He blinked once, twice, to recalibrate himself before looking at you again with his eyebrows raised. "What... was that for?"
You didn't really know for sure. It was just purely, simply, "I like you."
Jonathan stared for a bit, the tiniest of smiles slowly growing bigger and wider the longer he did. "Oh... Okay."
Finally, although reluctantly, he shook his head and turned back to the first-aid kit. He tossed the used wipe aside and grabbed a gauze pad to press against your hand, still cradled carefully in his own. Then he snagged a roll of bandages, using his teeth in lieu of his occupied hand to unravel it, and started wrapping your hand up properly.
The bathroom was quiet again, little sound except for the wind blowing outside and the faint sounds of the TV playing in the living room. You didn't mind. There was something so pleasant about being able to sit in comfortable silence while watching your boyfriend take care of you.
When he was done, your hand now a partial flesh-colored cocoon of bandages, Jonathan turned your hand over in his. First he inspected his work to ensure everything inch of torn skin was covered and protected. Then he laid the sweetest kiss against the back of it.
"There we go," he finally conceded. "Good as new."
You eyed your hand, rolling it over a couple times with your other. "Not so sure about that. Looks like a q-tip."
Jonathan glanced at your hand again as he stood to clean up. He chuckled and shook his head and he stepped back over to the sink to wash the residual blood and cleaner off his hands, off the sides of the sink. Mostly under his breath, he murmured, "Well, for what it’s worth, you’re a cute q-tip."
You stretched over in the small space to lean on the edge of the sink, setting the frozen peas aside and batting your eyelashes up as him as you smiled. "What was that?"
After rolling his eyes, Jonathan’s glare at you was playful. He picked up the bag you discarded and leaned down to smooch—so gingerly, it was hard to notice with your skin now partially numbed by the ice—the aching spot on your forehead before carefully placing the peas back on your head. "I said you're cute. Now go check up on Will, would ya? I’ll clean up and be out in a minute."
You hummed a bit, leaning farther into Jonathan’s space and waggling your eyebrows at him until his anxious shell finally cracked. You were stretched halfway over the sink as he laughed, his shoulders finally relaxing down from being hunched damn near up to his ears, and batted one hand lightly at you in attempt to shoo. Meanwhile, his free hand reached under your back to support your awkward position on instinct and, ever so attentive, help guide you into a safer position. Successful in your breakthrough, you grinned and let him stand you up and maneuver to the other side of the sink, closer to the cracked bathroom door.
He returned your smile and ordered, without a lick of actual command in his voice, "Go. I’ll be there in a minute."
You were happy to listen to his order either way, tossing a wink his way. "Fine. Thank ya for the medical aid, beautiful."
Jonathan snorted. "You're welcome… gorgeous…?"
The way he turned red muttering the compliment made you melt. If you weren’t helping him babysit this evening…
You shook your head and headed for the hallway. You only got a step or so before Jonathan’s hand was catching your wrist and tugging you back to him. Fully back to him, pulling you flush against his soft tan sweater as his other arm snaked around your back.
"Oh—?" was all you could manage before Jonathan was pressing his lips against yours in a proper kiss.
It wasn’t super often that this happened, Jonathan being generally shy and awkward and your relationship still being fairly new. Boy, when he wanted to kiss proper, though, he could kiss proper, lips moving slow and deliberate against yours, teeth playing gently at your bottom lip. Even though you were perfectly happy to let him, he never quite let his tongue join in, save for the occasional tease of it flicking against your parted and awaiting lips before retreating again.
If your brain wasn’t so busy fogging over every time he kissed you this way, you’d wonder where he’d learned the skill.
Standing so close to him with your uninjured hand spanning his chest, you could feel his erratic heart pounding something awful in his chest. Maybe that’s why he didn’t kiss so much. It almost sent him into a panic attack every time.
So it was no surprise that, when he pulled away, Jonathan was still beet-red and now breathing hard as his nose and forehead bumped lightly against yours. You stared dreamily back with half-lidded eyes, wondering vaguely if he ever realized how attractive you found him.
"Like you too, by the way," he panted, cracking the tiniest of smirks.
"Oh," you lilted back, "okay."
Then he released you with a soft peck on the top of your nose. Without another word, he turned back to the mess of medical supplies and pushed up his sleeves before getting to work.
It took everything in your power not to sit and watch him, or push him up against the sink and kiss him again. That wasn’t the mission you had to accomplish, though. So, feeling floaty and tingly all the while, you headed down the hall to check up on Will, who was passed out on the couch with a half-eaten plate of food still on his lap and Beartrum snuggled tightly under one arm.
Ficmas Advent 2025: Holiday Decor (Eddie x Reader x Volt)
Summary: You spend your evening helping Eddie and Volt decorate the Breaker Box for the holidays.
Word count: 2,585
Notes/CW: None! Except reader being in a polycule, I guess.
A/N: Sorry for the late one again! Been hyperfixating on making a playlist for a new OC,,, Anyway, Date Everything! content be upon ye! PLEASE send me Date Everything! requests, I really wanna write more but there's so many characters that I get overwheeelllmmmeeeed
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
You pulled yourself out from under the cabinet you were working on, wiping grime off your work jeans and groaning as you sat up. "Alright, Ed, see how that works."
Eddie was hovering on the topmost steps of a ladder nearby, balancing a string of red and green lights and an extension cord as he waited for your command. He looked just as dirty and exhausted as you felt, but he gave you a smile and nod over his shoulder before reaching overhead to try plugging in the lights for the fifth time that evening. You both watched with bated breath as the lights flickered once, twice, three time… and remained lit.
"Hey, let’s go!" Eddie shouted with a grin while you let out a whoop before collapsing against the panel you still had to fit back in place. Eddie finished stringing up the last of the lights in the skinnier-than-preferred hallway. When he finished, he started to climb down the ladder again, hollering as he went, "That work for you, Volt? Not sure what else we can do to fix the stage lights if it didn’t."
"Checking the switch now. Standby!" Volt’s voice sounded back from the Breaker Box’s main room, which currently still seemed dark from what little you could see of it at the end of the hallway.
There was the clicking of Volt’s boots as he walked backstage, followed by a sizzle of electricity and a clang as the stage lights were flipped on. Once again, the lights overhead flickered, but still remained in tact, causing you and Eddie to grin at each other. From the end of the hallway, the Breaker Box finally lit up, its lights flickering in time with the others before settling.
Volt’s voice sounded relieved when he spoke again. "Ah, a few old bulbs, but we have replacements. Other than that, we are a go! Nicely done, you two!"
"The miracles of replacing a fuse and getting a new extension cord," you said. You pushed yourself up onto your knees with a grunt and carefully replaced the panel you had removed. Then you bumped the cabinet shut with a hip as you gathered up your tools and the old bits you had replaced so they could get properly tossed rather than end up back in the equipment closet. The exact reason this mess has happened in the first place.
"That and the rest of the backed-up electrical work," Eddie grumbled, but his scolding gaze at you was teasing. He walked over and helped you up, then started taking the equipment from you.
"Hey, we’re getting there," you said. You quickly pressed your lips to his cheek as he leaned in to unwrap the old extension cord from around your shoulders and neck. "One task at a time."
Eddie hummed appreciatively and returned the kiss. "As long as this show goes well and you, me, and Volt spend the rest of the night in peace and in front of Telly, I can’t complain. Go help him out with the bulbs, yeah? I’ll be out in a sec."
"Not before I watch those pieces go into the trash where they belong," you replied. You crossed your arms and leaned against the cabinet, snickering as Eddie made a show of walking to the far end of the hall and tossing the trash into the trash chute there. "Alright, fine, off I go. See you in a minute."
"In a minute," Eddie echoed back. He gave you a little wave before rolling up his sleeves and getting to work cleaning up the aftermath of his and your handiwork.
Meanwhile, you strolled back into the Breaker Box showroom, which was decorated charmingly simple for the holidays. Small yellow-white Christmas lights were hung and twinkling around the perimeter of the room, keeping the bar’s signature low lighting but with a more festive touch. Garlands hung from the bar counter and a charming bowl of complimentary peppermints was put out next to the tip jar. The tables where customers could sit and drink and enjoy the show were provided a little extra lighting via fake candles—which would be to the disgrace of Scandalabra if he decided to show up… not that Eddie, Volt, or you particularly cared—wrapped in simple holly adornments. In a far corner of the room, near the bar’s main entrance, a Christmas tree was done up all pretty and topped with a custom Breaker Box topper as its "star".
Speaking of stars, Volt was strutting around the stage up front, fiddling with the curtains and making sure the onstage sign’s limited-time red-and-green LEDs were behaving properly. Ever the showman, he was dressed in what would be his holiday garb for the next few nights leading up to Christmas, a deep pine green suit with a red tie and red overcoat somehow staying put while hanging draped over his shoulders. After a playful argument between the two of you ending with the threat of you not giving him any kisses for a whole week, you had managed to convince him out of the general winter theme he was originally planning on doing.
"Ah, there you are, live wire," Volt purred upon catching sight of you. He finished adjusting the sign to make sure it hung just so before spinning on his heel to hop offstage and make his way toward you. "How does it look from over there?"
"Pretty," you replied with a nod as you took in the space. "Christmas-festive but if we pop out the red and green stuff again after Christmas, we could shift into New Year’s-festive pretty easily. I really like the little twinkly lights."
Volt hummed in approval as he met you in the center of the room, although it was hard to tell, with the way his hooded eyes were taking you in, whether that hum was for the room or yourself. He moved closer, slipping behind you and slotting you between his arms.
"Careful," you warned, arching away from him a bit. "I’m nasty from crawling around on the floor. You’ll get your clothes gross."
Volt reacted with only mild amusement, smirking. He leaned in to press his face so close to your ear that you could feel his lips brush against your skin, hear the faint crackle of electricity in his hair and voice, when he spoke again. "Oh, live wire, I can handle a bit of grease just fine, I assure you."
Not only was there the crackle of electricity, but a humid tension grew around you, like that before a lightning storm in summer. Seemingly sourced from the lips against your ear and the fingertips pressing into your hips, a gentle shockwave wracked your body, causing the hair on your arms to rise and a shiver to pass through you. A swirling spike of heat jumping down your spine to curl in your lower stomach quickly followed.
When the strange—albeit very welcomed, when it came to Volt—series of sensations faded, you let out a shaky breath as you shook your head to clear it. Volt just chuckled against you, the sound vibrating low in his chest. You gave him a light swat on the arm for the teasing before clearing your throat.
Pointing toward the rounded bulbs bordering the stage, a few of the lights remaining unlit or flickering like they were close to going out altogether, you mumbled, "So. Think that's a bulb issue or something bigger?"
Volt sighed a sing-songy sound against your ear, sending another soft prickle of electricity down your spine. "Luckily, I watched those ones fizzle out a couple nights ago. Fairly certain it’s just the bulbs. Want to hear my idea?"
"Of course." Since Volt seemed so adamant to hold you, griminess be damned, you let yourself relax into his arms.
He happily pulled you closer, finally flush with his chest against your back, with one arm while the other pointed out a few key bulbs. "I think every third and fourth bulb we replace with red or green. Adding some Christmas flair but much easier to switch back than if we do the entire thing."
"Fun," you chirped back. "Let’s get it done!"
You clapped your hands together and started stepping away from Volt again, who let you go this time in favor of strolling after you as you walked for the stage. Once close enough, he swiftly hopped up onstage before you could to offer his arm, giving you a gentlemanly bow before pulling you up next to him. As you two headed backstage to snag the bulbs for the stage, Eddie’s grumbling sounded from the hallway as he walked in with the ladder.
"Damn hallway," you heard him mutter. "Who makes hallways that small anyway?"
You and Volt shared amused smiles before picking up a box of lights each and walked back out onto stage.
"Need help getting the ladder up?" You set your box carefully down on the stage next to Volt’s and popped the lids off. One of white and one of red and green bulbs.
"I got it," Eddie grunted as he began the ladder’s ascent onstage. He leaned the ladder up against it before crouching below and lifting it by its bottom half. The ladder wobbled as it tilted forward.
Volt was the one to catch the other end pull it up onto the stage as Eddie pushed. He kindly chided, "You always do. Doesn’t mean you have to dislocate a shoulder in the process, spark plug."
Eddie annoyedly clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, but you caught the glimpse of a smile before he joined you and Volt onstage. "Let’s get this finished, yeah? Doors open in a hour. Who’s doing what?"
"Do we wanna do red and green on both top and bottom, or just the top row?" You asked. You stepped to the edge of the stage to look up the bulbs overhead, keeping tabs on which bulbs would need replacements. "Looks like the top row is the one with the burnt out bulb issues."
Volt waved a meek hand upward, feigning weakness. "Just… so far away…"
You snorted and moved to help Eddie get the ladder opened and stood up. "Up I go, I guess. You do the bottom row then."
"I guess that makes me the ladder-watcher and bulb distributor then," Eddie said. He stomped the ladder’s lock in place and planted a sturdy boot on the bottom most step for good measure. He waggled the ladder a bit to confirm its steadiness, then gave you a beckoning hand once he was happy with the result. "Get on up there."
Volt went to turn off the stage lights before jumping back down offstage while you climbed up. With you, Eddie, and Volt divvying out the tasks between you, the flight replacement went smooth and quick, nothing but the occasional chatting and blatant flirting to disturb it. Thanks to your reputation preceding you, Eddie helped guide you safely down the ladder with hands hovering near your lower back in case you slipped.
All that was left to do was get the mic set up and turning the low pre-show music on. Volt offered to handle those with a shooing wave toward you and you moved to help, instead sending you off with Eddie to grab some celebratory drinks. Then it was Eddie shooing you, with a smooch and a wink, off to the table in the center-front position of the bar— Your designated table, it had quickly become upon meeting your two boys, perfectly placed in front of the stage. As Eddie made drinks for your trio, you begrudgingly went to sit down. Begrudgingly became oh so welcomingly as you sank into your seat with a sigh, the pressure of hours of hard work finally easing off your feet and joints.
"See, we’re not the only ones who need a break," Eddie’s voice sounded from above.
Your eyes, which you hadn’t realized even flickered closed, fluttered back open to see him standing above you, drinks and a basket of chips balanced in his hands. He handed the snacks and your drink off to you before getting settled into his own seat next to you.
"Maybe," you admitted, "but I’m not the one spreading myself thin every single day. Speaking of, Bev has been having a hard time with her bar. Maybe you could get some help from her bartending from time to time?"
Instead of replying, Eddie picked up a chip and shoved it toward your face with a smirk. "Stop think. Eat chip. Enjoy self."
You snickered and caught the chip in your teeth, yanking it from his fingers like a dog with a chew toy. As you popped it the rest of the way into your mouth, jazzy instrumental Christmas music tuned in from the bar’s main speakers. You sunk farther down into your seat and took a sip of your drink, swaying slightly. "Ooh, thats nice."
Eddie took a drink from his own glass before nodding. "Better than some of the stuff Holly likes to play."
"Oi, be nice."
"Just an observation!"
"And hello, beautifuls." Volt waltzed over and settled into the seat on your other side, smoothly sliding his drink over to himself to take a sip. Then he reached his drink-chilled hand to run a finger down your cheek as he glanced sweetly between Eddie and you. "My oh so exhausted beauties."
You leaned your head into his hand. One of Eddie’s hands found its way to your shoulder nearest to him and started gently massaging the stiffness there.
"Honestly, not super tired," you murmured, letting your eyes closed as you soaked up the attention. "Feet hurt, but I think I’m just not super used to crawling around on the floor for large portions of the day. It was fun though!"
Eddie let out a low hum of agreement. "Better shoes might help."
You shot a playful glare his way before digging into the bar snacks, Volt following your lead. "Well, Christmas isn’t too far away, so there. I do feel a little… sticky… though. Can’t imagine how I look. Do we think I have time to run and catch a shower?"
"If it’s looks you're worried about," Volt crooned, leaning close into your space, "you look as lovely as the day I met you. You’re welcome to use the bathroom here to freshen up a bit if you like, though."
You smiled into the kiss he pressed against your jaw. "Not saying much, considering I stumbled in here in pajamas that day, but I’ll take it."
Eddie, sunk back in his seat and nursing his drink, stretched his legs out with a groan. Then he kicked one up to lay across your lap, effectively trapping you in place between your men. "Shower later. Then we can fall asleep to the oldest, worst holiday movie we can find."
"Ooh," Volt sounded, "that does sound nice. The showering part, especially, if we're all involved."
With comfortable pressure closing in on both sides and the soft Christmas music and lights convincing you further, it wasn’t too hard to sway you. It wasn’t like you would be trying to impress anyone at the Breaker Box anyway. The only men you had in mind at the moment were sitting right next to you and already perfectly pleased with you just by your being around.
"Fine," you muttered as you reached for your glass, "but only if one of you washes my hair."
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