Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader // Masterlist
Summary: After a brutal fight with a demogorgon, Steve’s bloody again and you’re doing your best not to fall apart. As the adrenaline drains and the world becomes quiet once again, the only thing scarier than the monster becomes the thought of being left alone tonight.
Content warnings: Post demogorgon fight, blood, injuries, mention of scars, at-home medical treatment, fear of abandonment, emotional vulnerability, steve being hurt :(
Wc: 1.1k
Author's Note: i've been suffering through writers block lately so apologizes for not posting, i hope you enjoy :)
The fight was rough.
You’re bruised, but he’s bloody. That’s what matters.
Red drips onto the carpet in uneven dots as the two of you limp down the hallway, shoulder to shoulder but pretending not to lean too much on each other. The bathroom light flickers when you flip it on.
He lowers himself onto the closed toilet lid with a grunt. You don’t comment on it. You just open the cabinet and start grabbing things. Gauze. Alcohol. Peroxide. The good bandages you were saving.
You catch your reflection in the mirror.
Hair falling out of its tie. Dirt smeared across your cheek. A shallow cut slicing the soft curve of your face. The new shirt you bought last week—ruined.
Your nose flares. Your eyes burn. The adrenaline is fading, leaving you raw.
Not now.
You blink the tears back and turn.
Steve shifts, sliding down until he’s propped up against the porcelain bathtub, hands clutching at his hair. His breathing is uneven. Shaky. Like he’s holding himself together with every ragged inhale.
You close the bathroom door.
Your knees press into the bathmats littering the floor. You spread everything out, placing it just within reach, your fingers brushing the cold tile.
“Steve,” you say softly. “Let’s take your shoes off. We’re done running for tonight.”
His fingers fumble at the laces, and he kicks them off, dropping to the floor with a dull thud.
You soak a rag in alcohol. The smell is sharp and bitter. You bite your tongue avoiding the nausea.
“Where’s the worst of it?”
He points to his forehead.
You stare at him.
“Okay,” you murmur. “And the truth?”
His breathing stutters.
You move closer, knees sliding between his thighs. You hover above him, pressing the rag to his forehead first. He flinches, a quiet gasp leaving him.
“I know,” you whisper. “It’s cold and it hurts.”
He exhales slowly through his teeth. “Are you okay?”
You nod automatically, even though your cheek burns and your ribs ache with each inhale.
“Yeah. I’m all good.”
You clean the blood from his jaw, his neck. He lets his head fall back against the tub, eyes closed, trusting you with each movement.
You notice it then, the uneven rise of his chest.
“Steve.”
He hums.
“Your breathing’s off on the right.”
His mouth twitches. “Didn’t know you were—” A pained pause. “A doctor.”
“Max and her skateboarding over the years,” you mutter.
He gives a skeptical look.
“I might have studied to be an EMT at my old school too,” you admit, head swaying slightly.
His eyes open at that. “Yeah?”
You don’t answer. You nudge the fabric of his shirt upward, letting him take control. He gets the hint and lifts it.
You scan.
Old scars. New damage. Angry red clawing across his ribs. Blood dried and clotted but still raw in your mind.
You swallow.
“It’s not too bad,” you say lightly. “Unfortunately for you, you’ll live.”
He huffs a laugh that twists into a groan.
You clean him carefully. Methodical. His hands brace against your thighs when it hurts, fingers curling into fabric like you’re the only solid thing left in the room.
“I’m almost done.”
You press gauze to the worst of it. Your fingers brush his skin; he shivers.
“Hold this,” you instruct softly.
He does.
You begin wrapping the dressing around, securing the gauze. When you finish, you lean back slightly, eyes flicking to his face.
“I can be smarter than I look,” you reply dryly.
He watches you a beat too long.
“You’d be a good one,” he says quietly. “An EMT.”
Something in your chest tightens. You shrug it off.
“You’ll need to change it daily.”
“Will you help?”
“Only if you absolutely can’t.”
His hands settle on your thighs, warm and steady. “I absolutely can’t.”
You roll your eyes but don’t move away.
The silence stretches. It shifts.
You become aware of everything— the closeness, his thumbs tracing absent circles against your pants, your knees bracketing his hips.
You start to stand, but his grip tightens.
“Wait.”
You look at him.
“Let me take care of you.”
Your eyebrows furrow. Confused. You open your mouth to argue but don’t, giving in.
He reaches for a clean cloth, soaks it in peroxide like he watched you do. His hand cups your jaw, the cloth brushing just below the cut.
The burn makes you flinch.
He freezes instantly. “Too much?”
“It’s fine,” you whisper. “Keep going.”
He cleans you like you’re fragile, like you might break if he presses too hard.
His breath occasionally ghosts over your lips when he leans closer.
He wipes the last smear of dirt, looking at you as if he's locking you into his memory.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
You blink. “Steve. I know I look like I crawled out of a war zone.”
He pretends to consider it.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “You kinda smell, too.”
“Steve.”
He grins, but it fades quickly. His hand drops the rag next to the other one.
“You always look beautiful,” he corrects, voice quieter now. “Even like this. Especially like this.”
Without thinking, he pulls your face to his. Foreheads touch. The air disappears.
His nose brushes yours, breath stuttering. Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking.
“Don’t leave,” he whispers. It cracks in the middle. “Just— stay.”
The words hang in the air.
You glance at him, his eyes pleading, your own chest tight. But instead of replying with words, you kiss him. Soft. Grounding.
He kisses you, then pulling back slightly, exhaling against your mouth like he’s been holding that breath all night.
He wastes no time before he kisses you again, slower this time. Not urgent. Not desperate.
Scared.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
“Don’t leave me alone tonight,” he whispers before you can speak.
You nod too fast.
Both of you stand, swaying, arms wrapped around each other. Your hearts pound simultaneously at the thought of a dark hallway, unaware of what is lurking.
“Or,” you murmur, glancing at the floor, “we could just—”
He follows your gaze.
The tub behind him. The wall beside you. Small space. Safe space.
He doesn't hesitate, nodding. "Yep."
He slides down first, lying fully against the bathmats this time. You settle beside him. He pulls you closer until you’re half on his chest, legs tangled.
The bathroom is cold, but his skin is warm.
Your ear rests over his heart, still beating too fast.
His hand moves slowly into your hair, absent-minded but steady.
“You’re never alone,” you whisper.
His breathing evens gradually. One hand stays fisted in your shirt, as if afraid you’ll disappear.
You don’t move.
The light hums. The night quiets.
His lips brush your temple, kissing it softly.
“Stay,” he says again, softer now, pulling you in closer.
Pairing: Roommate!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader // Masterlist
Summary: Another breakup means another excuse for Eddie to show exactly how much better he can make you feel
Content warnings: MDNI +18, smut, oral (f!recieving), fingering, mutiple orgasms, rough sex, drug mention (weed), cursing, eddie being possessive
Wc: 604
Author's Note: another roommate eddie, i may be obsessed, requests are closed :(
You and your boyfriend had been off and on for months. He hated that Eddie lived with you, but you couldn’t see why it was wrong—or why it bothered him so much. Eddie was a great roommate.
Sometimes, too great.
Your boyfriend had come over earlier and you broke up with him again. Eddie had accidentally overheard the entire thing, and when the front door slammed, he made his way to your room to comfort you.
But somehow, in between the words and touches, Eddie ended up between your legs.
His grip is firm, fingers pressing into your thighs as his mouth devours you. You’ve already fallen apart once on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he grows more feral as if he has something to prove.
Judging by the way your hands claw at the headboard, the way your body trembles above him, the point was lost awhile ago.
Your legs tighten around him as another wave crashes through you, stealing the air from your lungs. You go slack, sensitive and shaking.
He eases you back gently, guiding you down onto the bed. His fingers linger across your skin.
“You’re doing so good, angel. That was so good.”
Your eyes are glazed over but you hum acknowledging him.
“You think you’ve got one more in you?”
Your chest rises and falls shakily at the thought. “Y-yeah.”
That’s all he needs. He spreads your legs again, dragging himself slowly through your slick folds, watching your reaction like he’s studying something precious.
“If it’s too much, tell me, and we can stop, alright?”
You nod, a shaky smile tugging at your lips. “Never too much.”
He grins darkly, then drives himself inside you. Your back arches, walls stretching around him as he stills for a moment, letting you feel the weight of him. He pulls back and slams forward again, burying himself over and over, each thrust consuming you completely.
Every moan that escapes your lips only feeds him. He leans closer, hair brushing your shoulder, eyes locked on yours as he fucks you harder, faster. The bed frame rattles against the wall, sheets twisting beneath you, and he doesn’t let up for a second.
“Fuck—you feel so good,” he growls, voice rough, teeth grazing your skin. “God—I can’t believe it. Do I make you feel better than he ever did?”
You don’t respond, breathless and lost, so he tugs your hair, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“Do I fuck you better than he ever could?”
Your head nods furiously, a stammered ‘yes’ escaping.
“Look at you, going dumb on my cock,” he growls, thrusts snapping hard into you. “So perfect. No one but me is ever gonna fuck you like this.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” you moan into the pillows as your third orgasm crashes toward you.
“Squeezing me so tight—you gonna cum for me?”
Before you can answer, your body shatters around him, walls clenching and convulsing. He buries himself fully, following you over the edge, and his release fills you, hot and overwhelming. He pulls out just enough to admire the mess he’s made, then scoops it up with his fingers and pushes it back inside.
“Mine,” he mutters under his breath, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You’re so gorgeous.”
You release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and flip to cup his face, pressing your lips to his.
“Thank you, Eddie,” you mumble against him.
He pulls you close, arms wrapped tight around you. “Anytime, angel. You deserve to be treated right.”
Tangled together, you both drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Pairing: bf!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader // Masterlist
Summary: On your first, real, Valentine’s Day together, you and Eddie finally “do it right" with flowers, a romantic movie, and a slow-burning night that turns into something intense, messy, and full of love.
Content warnings: MDNI +18, smut, oral (f!recieving), mutiple orgasms (f), piv, unprotected sex (briefly), protected sex (stay safe), masturbation (m), enzo's mention, cursing, some rough sex elements, overstimulation, pet name (angel)
Wc: 2.1k
Author's Note: this idea originally came from a request, the smut is a little rushed, but happy valentines day!
It was your first February 14th together.
Last year, you and Eddie had only just started dating — still new, still figuring each other out, so you’d both agreed to skip Valentine’s Day and “do it right next year.”
And now it’s next year.
You stand outside his trailer, a dark bouquet clutched in your hands. Deep reds. Moody purples. Something that felt more like him than pastel pink ever could.
You lift your hand to knock, but the door swings open before your knuckles hit. Eddie stands there proudly, holding a bouquet of his own.
For a second, neither of you speaks. Then you both break into the same wide grin, words in sync. “You got me flowers?”
Eddie explains first. “I overheard somewhere girls like that. Figured I’d try not being an idiot this year.”
“You’re my idiot either way.”
You rise onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, a blush creeping up your neck at the simple affection. He smiles, soft and boyish, before stepping aside to let you in.
On the coffee table sits takeout from Enzo’s, a romantic comedy he’s clearly willing to suffer through for you, and two glasses of water with ice.
Your lips part slightly as you take it in, flowers hanging loosely at your sides. You glance at him, then back at the scene.
“All of this—”
“For you, angel. For us.” He hesitates. “Do you like it?”
You turn to him fully. “Like it? It couldn’t be more perfect. Thank you, Eddie.”
He hums, happy, and for a second, he just looks at you like that’s all he needed to hear.
You glance down at the bouquet in your hands. “Where do you want these?”
He tilts his head. “I’m not sure. They look kinda perfect right there.”
“In my hands?”
He nods, stepping closer to press a kiss to your forehead before gently taking the flowers from you. He disappears into the kitchen to set both bouquets on the counter.
You move toward the living room and settle onto the floor, leaning back against the couch. Your eyes close, taking in the moment and how loved you feel.
He jumps over the couch, then slides down beside you. He kisses your forehead again.
“Thank you for being here.”
You smile, pressing a light peck to his lips. “Always.”
His eyes flutter open, a deep breath leaving his lungs. “Do you wanna eat and we’ll watch the movie?”
“Yeah, sure.” You smile and begin to unbag the food.
- - -
As the movie plays, Eddie occasionally spoons you a bite with a grin and pecks the corners of your mouth. You giggle and talk through most of the movie, making it more bearable for him.
As you both reach the last few bites, your head falls into his lap, getting the perfect angle of him. His hand caresses through your hair, pushing the strands from your face. The credits start to roll on the movie, creating the perfect background music.
Looking down at you, he whispers, “You’re really pretty.”
You bite your lip with a soft smile. “And you’re really handsome.”
He laughs, head tipping back.
“Shut up.”
Your fingers trail over his Adam’s apple as it bobs, and he swallows hard. His hands tighten slightly in your hair.
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs.
But he doesn’t move you away.
You grin and sit up, swinging a leg over his lap. He looks up at you like he already knows he’s done for, completely wrecked by you.
Before he can speak, you start kissing down his neck, sucking and nipping lightly. He sighs, hands wandering all over you.
A thought slams into the front of his head, one he had forgotten through this. He has a surprise for you.
“Hey angel,” you pull back from his neck. “Let's head back to my room?”
Your eyes light up, and you both climb to your feet. As you walk back, he covers your eyes with his hands like a blindfold.
“What are you—”
He shushes you. “Do you trust me?”
You hum a yes and let him guide you to his room.
The door is already open, a faint smell of roses drifting out. He stills, and his hands move away from your eyes, and you can hear him inhale nervously. You gasp, hands flying up to cover your mouth.
The room is covered in rose petals, with a distinct pathway to the bed, where a heart has been drawn.
You turn around with a pout on your lips. “This is so beautiful. I could cry over this. You're so sweet and thoughtful and—” You look around for the words. “Perfect.”
He kisses you, murmuring words that sound like ‘I love you’ against your lips.
You move toward the bed without breaking contact, flipping so he’s beneath you. His teeth nip at your lip, and you pull back, grinning mischievously.
“Eddie, I have an idea.”
“What would that be?”
You lean close to his ear, warmth twisting his stomach. “We both strip down. Slow. Teasing. Whoever kisses the other first loses.”
He hums. “What happens to the loser?”
Your heart skips. Finger trailing down his chest. “Whatever you want.”
You pull back, meeting his eyes that are dark with desire. He kisses your forehead before lifting you off him.
You step back, letting your hair down and turning to shake it out teasingly. Your hands move to the back of your belt loops, causing his breath to hitch. Then shift to the front of your shirt. You shimmy out of it, still facing away.
He groans, “Let me see you, angel. Please.”
You turn, revealing a red, see-through mesh bralette. Eyebrow raised, hip dropped, hair falling behind your shoulder.
“You’re supposed to strip too, you know.”
“Yeah, no. Screw your little challenge. I like it when you undress me.” He stands and grabs your waist, kissing you hard.
You giggle, throwing your head back.
He kisses down your neck to your chest, hands groping politely.
“You’re so hot. So unreal.”
He kneels to the floor, mouth and hands guiding him. Your fingers circle the button of your jeans teasingly before he kisses them away.
“Let me. Please.”
The button comes undone, as well as the zipper slides down with his help. Your red mesh underwear peeks through, and he kisses them before rolling your jeans down and helping you step out.
Both your breaths hitch as his hands spread your legs slightly, lowering himself so his mouth meets the center of your underwear.
He licks teasingly. “I can taste you through your panties.” His eyes squeeze shut before he licks a long, wet stripe up. “Let me taste all of you.”
The thought makes your legs weak, but you shake your head. “Not tonight. I want to ride you. Please.”
He straightens instantly. “Anything for you.”
You lie on the bed, accidentally messing up the heart of petals. Your eyes stay on him as he undresses like he has all the time in the world.
He turns around, instantly freezing as his eyes meet you.
You’re on your side, one leg bent slightly, arms pressing gently against your chest.
He throws his head back with a disbelieving chuckle, then moves to climb over you. Giggles escape both of you as you shift until you’re on top.
You grind down on his cock, hard in his boxers. His head falls back, a deep groan leaving his throat.
Your fingers interlace to take off your underwear, but he stops you suddenly.
“Keep them on.”
“I can’t—”
His fingers meet the middle and, by some miracle, rip them perfectly down the center.
“You can.”
“Eddie, I just bought these.” You pout.
He props himself up to kiss you softly. “And I’ll buy you as many more as you want.”
He falls back onto the pillows as his finger dips between your folds, pushing the fabric to the side.
“You're soaked, angel.” His eyes grow darker than you thought possible. You squirm under his touch.
His fingers recoil as yours crawl underneath the elastic of his boxers. Slowly, you pull them off, lifting your hips as needed.
His cock is throbbing against his lower abdomen, desperate. You align yourself with him, then sink down.
His body tenses underneath you, eyes shut, hips struggling not to buck. His hands fist the sheets, knuckles white.
Your lips curve upwards at his reaction briefly before your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling back at the sheer size of him. Your hands use his chest as support, lifting yourself up and down.
Both of you moan, unable to contain yourselves. His knees come up, allowing his hips to lift and keep pace with your rhythm. His eyes flutter open as you struggle to keep moving. Your eyes are rolled back, face twisted in pleasure, walls tightening around him sporadically.
He looks between the two of your bodies, mesmerized by the sight, but instantly realizes he isn’t wearing a condom. Panic flashes across his face and he pulls you off of him.
Before you realize what's happening, he slides himself down on the bed, mouth connecting with your folds.
He devours you, relentless.
Your hands grip his hair, tugging, walls clenching around nothing. The fabric of your underwear caresses his cheeks.
No coherent words leave you, the pleasure is all-consuming. He moans as his hand meets his cock, jerking himself off at the taste of you.
Your grip tightens more, hips jerking to ride out the high as you cum. But he doesn’t give up, continuously lapping your juices as they spill.
“Ed—Eddie.” You cry out, overstimulated. Your hips try to pull up, but the muscles are too weak.
He assists and slides himself up toward the pillows, wrapping his arms around you to hold you.
Your eyes meet his, glazed with love, and he kisses your forehead. Your breath stutters and he notices.
You pull off and turn around so he sees your back. The air swoons as your hair falls over your back.
You lie forward, on your knees, hands aligned accordingly.
His eyes linger over you on full display for him. Breath pausing without meaning to.
You’re not even sure which one of you said it, but the words, “Fuck me,” littered through the air.
He quickly grabs a condom from the nightstand and slips it on.
Teasing you, he circles the tip of his cock around your weeping hole. But instead of whining, you push yourself back onto him. His hands wrap around your waist, helping you sink back.
“You feel so big Eddie.” You say as skin meets skin.
One of his hands meets the curve of your back, the other leaving bruises on your hip.
“I know angel. I know.”
He wastes no time pulling out, then slamming back in. Your legs shake, back arching under his touch.
He moans loudly, and you do the same, only encouraging him to keep going. The sheets carry you forward with each thrust, hair mixing with the petals.
“You’re so gorgeous. Holy shit. You take me so well.”
You squeeze him and try to respond, but all that comes out is whimpers and moans.
“You going to cum for me angel? Am I making you feel that good, huh?”
Your head nods profusely as you grip him so tight he has to slow down.
Your vision goes white, stars collecting behind your eyelids. He follows, weakened by you, as his release collects inside the condom.
- - -
As you both come down, the room feels quieter somehow. The petals cling to your skin, caught in your hair and between your fingers.
He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before pulling away just long enough to toss the condom into the trash beside the bed. Then he draws you back, settling you on his lap like you belong there.
“I love you,” he whispers against your ear, softer than he’s been all night.
You reach blindly for the blankets, tugging them over both of you. “I love you too.”
You lie skin to skin, chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly syncing with his. It still doesn’t feel close enough.
He exhales, fingers tracing slow circles along your spine. “I just… I don’t want this to end,” he admits quietly. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
Your head lifts slightly from his chest. “You okay, Eds?”
He nods, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah. I just—” His thumb strokes your hip. “Can we try something?”
“Of course.”
“You trust me?”
You smile without hesitation. “Always.”
His hands slide down your thighs, slow this time, unhurried. When he eases back inside you, it isn’t rushed. It’s careful. Intentional.
You gasp softly, a bit overstimulated, but more grounded than before. Like this is where you’re meant to be.
Your body relaxes over his, skin to skin, interlocked. His breathing steadies beneath you.
Summary: You're drunk at a party and unsure how Eddie found you, but he did. You'd seen the way he looked at you. The way he wanted you as bad as you wanted him, so you took your chance.
Content warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, alcohol usage, weed usage, implied drug mention, unprotected sex (piv), slightly inebriated sex, oral (both!receiving), fingering, cursing, kissing, creampie, mutiple orgasms, brief mention of abandonment, brief mention of society being mean to eddie, eddie's inner turmoil, eddie being a little down bad, porn WITH plot
Wc: 3.5k
Author's Note: this is built off of personal experience with alcohol, not everyone is the same. also first time writing smut, ik it's a tinsy bit rushed, but advice is always welcome. and did i "accidentally" work on this for 10 hours? yes i did.
The music is loud. The bodies are close. The lights are flashing. The drinks are pouring.
You can’t focus on what’s in front of you, but you smile, head thrown back. The liquid in your cup sloshes back and forth, spiked with whatever was in the punch bowl. Everything is so perfect.
Except for the urge to pee.
You begin to push through the crowd, but your muscles feel weak. Drunk. You stumble over yourself and someone catches you. The words are a haze, so you ignore them and keep pushing forward. Your hand grips the stair rail, and you work your way up, slowly, but you get there. The hallway is dark, and the bedroom doors are all shut. Moans ring through the air, and the floor vibrates around you, music just as loud up here.
At the end of the hall, a light shines through the crack in the door. Your legs carry you there before you even think about it. Your hand rattles the door, making an attempt to open it, but you just can’t. Maybe it’s locked. You look to your other hand for help, but it doesn’t help because it’s holding a drink. A drink that’s not even there. You don’t recall putting it down or giving it to someone.
As you stare at your hand, words make their way to your ears, but you can’t understand them. You look up but your head falls back before you can stabilize it. You’re so drunk.
More words move through the air, and your eyes glance over. You blink once, then twice. Eddie Munson!
His frizzy hair falls behind his shoulders, black shirt highlighting the shadows on his face. If you were more aware, you would be getting as far away as possible. Your friends have warned you, saying he’s no good, a freak, to stay away from him. But you don’t see it. You’ve seen him as kind and protective. He stands up for what he believes in, and you admire it.
His fingers snap in front of your face, more words incoherent. Your eyes fall to a red solo cup filled with red liquid. Your drink! A grin forms on your face as you make an attempt to thank him, reaching for it. But he pulls it back behind him, and you slam into his chest. His heart is pounding.
You step back out of his space, his eyes analyze you. Words mumble from your lips before you can stop yourself. He squints. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to say. His lips move, and you stare blankly before returning to the door. Your head wobbles as you try to open the door. Maybe it’s locked. You step back and accidentally fall into the wall, sliding to the floor.
His eyes widen, and he comes down to your side. His fingers filter through the back of your hair. It feels so good. Your eyes close, head dropping in front of you, but he lifts it, setting you softly against the wall. He stands and opens the door.
A warm glow of light caresses your eyes. You fail to understand how he did that. You look to Eddie and back to the room, helpless. You feel arms hoist you up, helping you walk in.
The room is quiet, almost noise-cancelling. A bed sits right ahead and two nightstands sit on each side. To your left, a closet door. The same closet door you’ve played 7 minutes in Heaven in too many times to count. A bathroom door is on the right.
Your legs begin to move, but somehow go nowhere.
You slur your words, “I,Pee. I-the bathroom.”
Eddie turns and looks at you, confused, meeting your gaze.
“Do you need the bathroom?”
His voice pierces your ears, it’s so quiet and clear compared to all the noise. You nod, and he carefully walks you over, letting you stabilize yourself against the counter. You watch him through the mirror.
“Uh-I’ll be here. I mean, I’m going to be out here.” He points to the bedroom. “You’re in here.” He runs a hand over his face and exhales deeply. “Yell if you need anything.”
He walks out, closing the door behind him. The bedroom is nicer than anything he's ever had, and it angers him more than he'd like to admit.
He sets the solo cup down on the dresser beside the bathroom door, then makes his way to the window. The front yard is littered with drunk people, some lying down, some half-naked on top of each other, and some puking. This will definitely be the talk of the year.
His hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a blunt he saved for himself. He had sold everything else tonight. It’s terribly easy when people are desperate.
The bed creaks as he lies down, blunt dwindling between his fingers as he smokes it. The room is quiet, so quiet he forgot you were in the bathroom until the door flies open, and you stumble out more sober, but just as confused.
“What is going—Oh! My drink!” You pick it up and slide it up to your lips. Eddie jumps off the bed and snatches it from you before you can take a sip.
“Absolutely not, you are not drinking anymore.”
The air stills between you two. Then you pout.
“Why not? We’re supposed to be having fun and I’m getting too sober.” You drag out the last syllable, and then sniff the air. “Have you been smoking weed?”
“Uh, yeah.” He shifts like a kid in trouble as you scan him up and down. He inhales sharply looking for any kind of grounding but instead your perfume fills his nose, and he has to fight his eyes from rolling back.
Your tongue runs over your teeth with a smile, and you step into his space, “Am I making you nervous, Edward Munson?”
His eyes widen and he stutters. To be honest, you’ve always made him a nervous wreck. Anything you do, his heart pounds through his ribcage—and right now might as well break free.
“Eddie?” You drag out, walking him back toward the wall. Your finger runs down his shirt. The alcohol is making you braver than you've ever been. He hits the wall, a squeak escaping his lips that he hopes you didn’t hear.
You get on your tiptoes and hover close to his ear, “Do I make you nervous?”
He clears his throat, “You’re drunk, we-” He feels your mouth on his jaw and his eyes roll back. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“No, I think we should. I want you Eddie.” You kiss under his ear.
“You’ll regret this tomorrow. I’m drunk, you’re high,” his knees buckle as you suck on a sensitive spot. “I mean you’re drunk and I’m high. We-” His breathing become stutters as you move down.
“We can. We should. I know you want me. I’ve seen it. Tell me you want me Eddie—please.”
Your hands travel down to the bottom hem of his shirt, lightly brushing against his lower stomach. His cock grows painfully against the confines of his jeans. But he knows. He wants you to want him for more than a one night stand.
You push off of him suddenly and step back, sobered up by the rejection. You bite your lip and then turn on your heel to walk out. The door you couldn’t open 30 minutes ago, you easily pull it open, but then it slams shut.
Eddie towers behind you, hand on the door. His voice husks, “Go on a date with me.”
“I thought you didn’t want me!” You spin around.
“I’ve always wanted you—but for more than sex.”
You smile. “Tomorrow night? We can go wherever you want.”
His heart swells. “Pinky promise?”
“I pinky promise.”
Your fingers interlace, and the heat drains from your system. Your eyes dwell on him a second too long, you always wanted him for more than sex, and he's been too blind to notice. Suddenly, he can’t wait till tomorrow.
You move to leave, but he pulls you into him, crashing your lips onto his. The door locks behind you with a click. He breaks the kiss to scoop you up and carry you over to the bed.
“I thought you said—”
He lays you down like you’re made of porcelain, slotting himself between your legs. His lips continue on yours, dodging the question. His hands run down your sides, stopping on your hips. You break the kiss, breath coming fast.
“Eddie.”
“I know what I said," he pants, forehead resting against yours. "But it'd be a sin to let you walk away now. This doesn’t change tomorrow. either.”
You smile and bite your bottom lip, before craning your head to kiss him again. This time it's desperate and consuming. Your lips slow as your lungs strain for air, head going fuzzy—but he doesn’t stop. You put your hands against his cheeks and lightly lift his face.
“Sorry, sorry.” He pecks your lips. “You’re so intoxicating.”
Your lips curl into a smile and he kisses you again, rougher. Your teeth clash against one another before his tongue slips against yours. His hand laces in your hair, tugging it back, and you let out a moan. You feel his cock twitch against your thigh.
His fingers move to the bottom hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss to take it off. Your fingers meet his and slowly peel the shirt upwards, revealing a lacy black bra. His breathing shallows.
“Are you even real?”
Giggles escapes and you blush hard. Your fingers meet the bottom of his shirt and tug, silently asking him to take it off. He does so without hesitation, tattoos appearing one by one. You run your fingers over them reverently.
“I like these.”
He grins at the compliment. “And I like you.”
His lips attack your neck, sucking and nipping. There’s definitely going to be marks tomorrow. His hands palm your breasts through the bra, but it’s not enough. You need to feel his skin on yours.
“Take it off, please.” You whine.
He freezes afraid. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he never gotten this far before. He’s seen things before in films from Family Video Store or magazines, but that's nothing compared to this.
“I—Uh, Okay.”
You sit up. “Eddie, do you know how?”
He nods his head. “Yeah, I’m just," he swallows hard, "I don’t want to mess this up.”
You reach for him, voice gentle. “We don’t have to do this.”
His eyes widen, panic flashing for a second. “No—No, I really want to. I do," he inhales sharply, "I just don't want to make a fool of myself."
You shake your head, dismissing the thought. Your hands move to his thighs, grounding.
“Can I take care of you?” You tenderly ask.
He nods, words not forming properly. You sink to your knees in front of him. His chest heaves as your hands slowly unravel the components of his jeans. You stop your movements, opening your mouth to speak, but he does instead.
“Don’t stop. Please.”
His hips restrain from bucking forward, as you tug down his jeans. The tent in his boxers is impossible to ignore. He’s huge.
Your hand traces the outline of him, and he whimpers. His hand smacks over his mouth, unbelieving he would let out such a noise, but your walls flutter.
“Don’t hide those pretty sounds." You murmur. "I wanna hear all of them.”
His knees weaken at your words.
Your fingers hook in the elastic and drag his boxers down. His cock springs up, slapping against his stomach.
The tip is excruciatingly red and swollen, glistening with precum. You spit on your hand before wrapping it around the base, squeezing tighter as you get closer to the head. He lets out a guttural moan and bucks up into your hand.
"Does that feel good?" You tease before wrapping your lips around him, enveloping him to the base.
His legs tremble with a loud moan as he hits the back of your throat. Your throat spasms around him as you push further, nose meeting his stomach. His hands immediately fist your hair, pulling you back off of him.
You peer up, saliva dribbling down the corners of your mouth. His pupils are blown, cheeks flushed, eyebrows knitted together.
“Don’t—”
“It's okay. Guide me Eds.” You reassure him and prop your hands on his thighs. Your cheeks hallow and guide him until he touches the back of your throat. Then you pull back and swirl your tongue around his tip.
"Holy mother of—"
He tries to watch but it's so overwhelming. Whimpers flood the air and he recollects your hair into a high ponytail. You repeat the motion, occasionally tracing the vein prominent against your tongue. His whimpers turn to moans rattling off deep and relentless.
With each sound, you move faster and harder. Heat pools low, soaking through your panties. The ache for relief twists tighter in your stomach, tears pricking your eyes as your body demands more. You shift, pressing your clit against the seam of your jeans, and when you hit it just right, a moan rumbles through your throat, vibrating straight into him.
His hips stutter, pushing further into your throat. He glances down to apologize but is cut off by the sight. He’s had dreams about this. Too many. The look in your eyes and the way it’d happen. But nothing like this.
“Oh fu—fuck. I can’t—I, I’m gonna—”
His cock pulses, grip tightens in your hair as his vision goes white. His seed hits the back of your throat, dripping down.
He slowly pulls you off, fingers trembling as they brush through your hair. You lift yourself up, hands cupping his face. His eyes are glazed, chest heaving with uneven breaths. Your fingers trace every line with a soft, reverent smile. He’s unbearably beautiful.
His gaze catches the subtle swallow of your throat before his lips meet yours. You can feel the faint tremor of his hands on your waist, the way he holding you—like he’s afraid to let go. Maybe he’s been as lost in you as you’ve been in him.
His voice comes out raspy, “Let me taste you. Please.”
The words steal your breath, and he starts rambling. "It's not because you—well, yeah—but because I want to.”
“Are you su—?”
"Please."
A yes that sounds more like a moan leaves your lips. He catches your mouth in a distracting kiss, and his fingers move behind your back. You feel him smile against you as he unclips your bra, gently tossing it into the pile of clothes.
He leans down and places soft kisses in a trail to your breasts. Each motion is deliberate—tongue swirling, fingers teasing—every movement igniting fire on your skin. He glances up quickly, catching your half-lidded stare, and his pulse hammers. A whine escapes at the loss of contact, thighs squeezing together—needing more.
He looks down at your jeans, then kisses his way toward the buttons, kneeling on the ground, eyes locking with yours.
“Can I?”
“God, yes please—” You close your eyes, overwhelmed. “Please.”
His fingers fumble with the buttons and as the zipper slides down, black lace panties peek through—a matching set. He groans at the thought before tugging both layers of fabric down. The sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses, making him dizzy. His cock throbs once again, straining with need.
"Lay back on the bed for me angel."
You step back and collapse softly onto the sheets, the bed creaking under you. He follows on his knees, hands wrapping around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to meet his mouth. His breath fans across your folds, eyes devouring you before his lips do.
Your thighs try to close, aching for friction, but he moves first. His tongue traces a slow, teasing line up to your clit and the most sinful moan spills from your lips. The sound only drives him deeper into you. He sucks harshly at your clit before moving lower, fucking you with his tongue. The pleasure is blinding.
Your fingers reach down, tugging at his hair, coaxing soft moans from him in return. He pulls back for air, chin slick with your arousal. A light touch grazes between your folds, and before you can look, he’s sliding a finger inside you, curling it just right. He pumps it slowly in and out, and as your back arches, he adds another finger without hesitation.
“Holy fuck! I—” You cry out, hips bucking forward.
He hums before attacking your clit once again. The added stimulation is too much and your eyes roll back, walls squeezing his fingers. He carries you through your orgasm and doesn’t stop what he’s doing until you're writhing away.
When you lift your head, vision hazy, you find him licking your release from his fingers. Your head drops back against the comforter at the sight. He moves to hover over you, capturing your lips in a kiss—you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your hand floats down, wrapping around his cock.
He mumbles against your lips. “I don’t have a condom.”
You break the kiss. “I don’t mind, I know the risks. But if you’re not comfortable we don’t have to.”
He huffs out a breath, half a laugh. “No, I know the risks too. And I think—” he inhales, like the thought alone rattles him, “I think I’m ready to be a mother.”
You laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Jesus Christ Eddie. I think sex-ed failed you.”
“Good thing I have you.” He raises his eyebrow teasingly.
Your legs wrap around his and pull him into you. His hand reaches down, sliding his tip between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. You quiver at the sensation.
He pulls back abruptly and you look up, confused.
“Ride me, please.” He begs and you nod.
He lies down, and you flip over—knees meeting each side of his hips.
He lines himself up at your entrance before moving his hands to your hips. Your hands brace against his shoulders as you sink down slowly. Streams of curses and praise fill the air.
Your nails dig into his shoulders as you inhale sharply. “Holy hell, you’re really big.”
He lets out a breathless laugh that melts into a groan when you accidentally flutter around him, an apology tumbling from your lips.
Your fingers graze across his tattoos, and his skin twitches beneath your touch. You trace up to his collarbone, slow and deliberate.
“You’re beautiful.”
Before he can respond, you roll your hips and drag your nails lightly down his chest. The sound he makes is soft and broken, like he didn’t mean to let it out, but all it does it egg you on. You roll again—once, then twice—settling into a steady rhythm that has his breath stuttering beneath you.
Your moans grow louder as the pace builds, fusing with his, filling the room. You dip down to his neck, lips and teeth grazing the sensitive spot you found earlier, and he starts to twitch inside you.
His hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to hold on but you slow, grinding against him, teasing, drawing it out. He lets out a choked sob, this might as well be torture to him, and he can't withstand it another second.
His hips snap up to yours harshly, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises. But can’t bring himself to stop. You feel too good. And this feels too right.
Something tight and overwhelming snaps inside you as he presses his forehead to your shoulder, a sound leaving him that'll replay in your head forever. Neither of you is sure who gave in first, only that you held onto each other through it, trembling, breathing each other in, as if letting go might wake you from the dream.
He’s not sure how long you stayed like that, before your forehead rests against his, lips brushing in a soft, lingering kisses. You drop your head down to rest in the crook of his neck, murmuring something incoherent. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself as he notices your breathing evened out, a deep sleep taking you under.
He tries to stay with you as long as possible, but his thoughts won’t slow, won’t quiet. He was never deserving of any of this. He’s a freak. Freaks don’t belong with girls like you.
He slides you off of him and tucks you under the covers. Part of him wants to leave you there, give you the chance to wake up and decide he was a mistake. But the other part wants to lie next to you, and give you the chance to wake up and love him—even if it scares the hell out of both of you.
You stir and reach out to where he should be, brows furrowing as you realize he’s not there. Your hands come up and rub the sleep from your eyes, tears falling heavily.
He immediately tiptoes over and slides into bed. “Hey—hey, I’m right here.”
You reluctantly open your eyes as if this was a dream. There's a pout across your lips. It’s a look so wounded it almost breaks him.
Pairing: ExHockeyPlayer!Steve x Fem!FigureSkater!Reader // Masterlist
Summary: On a freezing cold day in Hawkins, Steve Harrington takes the group ice skating. When watching from the bleachers, his curiosity gets the better of him and leads him to a nearby empty rink, where a figure skater is practicing her skills.
Content warnings: Brief mention of parental pressure, absolutely no figure skating or hockey knowledge
Wc: 845
Author's Note: ive actually been thinking about this lately, inspired by the olympics and my love for ice skating <3 i hope you guys see the vision im seeing and enjoy
It was a cold day in Hawkins, Indiana. The low was 4° and the high wasn’t much better. Everyone had been holed up in Mike’s basement for what felt like months. Between the endless snow days and then weekends, they were growing restless. Fortunately, down the street the Hawkins Recreational Center had just reopened for the season, providing more promising options of entertainment.
As soon as Steve had put the Beamer in park, everyone sprinted inside. They had so many activities – rock climbing, swimming, hot yoga – but the choice of the day was ice skating.
Everyone paid their fair share and struggled to tie their laces. Steve, thankfully, was a pro at this. He made everyone line up on the bench and slid down one by one making sure no one was capable of breaking their ankles.
Robin was the first one on the rink, immediately followed by Will accidentally knocking her over. Steve sat in the bleachers, alone, watching. Everyone had their person on the rink – Max and Lucas, Dustin and Eddie, Will and Robin, Mike and El – and he didn’t want to disturb that.
It was bittersweet to watch how much they'd grown up under his care. Maybe it was the constant stress of the upside down or just the fact they’re graduating this year. Deep down, he was proud of them, especially Dustin, even though he was just pushed down by Eddie for the third time. As the laughter rings through his ears, he also hears faint music floating through the air.
It's coming from the empty rink across the way.
His curiosity gets the better of him and he gets up, wandering to the empty rink. The feeling hits him like no other. The way he used to come practice before a big game or how his parents swore he could always be better, even when he was giving 110 percent. It hurts.
His hands curl like he still expects a stick before the sound of ice skates cutting through the rink snaps him out of it. There you are, gliding peacefully. His feet carry him to the bleachers before he can stop and his eyes never peel away.
Your hair swings politely, skates nearly tripping over one another as you pick up speed, getting ready for the next sequence. He sees your lips moving, whispering to yourself, and then you twist, lifting into the air. You spin once, then twice, and then a third before hitting the ice again, nearly losing balance. You throw your hands up and head back.
His head tilts, confused as to why you’re frustrated even though you hit that perfectly from what he's seeing. Your feet pick up again, going in for a second attempt, but this time he finds himself holding his breath. You lift up and land perfectly.
His hands start clapping before he can stop and you whip around at the sound. A smile gleams across your face and he makes his way to the bench. You slowly meet him at the ledge.
“I wasn’t aware we were doing live audiences today.” Your head tilts softly, the smile never leaving.
“I couldn’t help but watch. You’re amazing.”
“Oh thanks! I messed up a few times.” You shrug your shoulders. “But it’s all a part of the fun.”
He chuckles. “I remember those days. I’d try to quit but my parents would always force me back out.”
You stop in the middle of removing your gloves. “You skated?”
“Not exactly.” He shakes his head. “Hockey.”
“I see, I see. Do you still play?”
He shakes his head. “My parents had other plans. Basketball. Baseball. Didn’t leave much room in my schedule.” He takes a deep breath, looking around. “But something keeps calling me back.”
You nod, understanding. “It never hurts to get back out here.” You gesture to the ice. “It’s just as you left it.”
His head dips down with a chuckle. “Maybe another day. I’ve got a bunch of disasters in the other rink pretending they know how to skate.”
You can’t help but laugh and he just smiles. You open the door to the bench and start searching through your bag, pulling out a pen and a slip of paper.
You start writing. “This is my name and number. Call me if you ever decide to get back out here and we’ll see who’s better.” You lift up your eyebrow challengingly.
He fidgets with the paper between his fingers, “Could I call you if I wanted to take you out on a date instead?”
You think, stepping back onto the ice. “I suppose so.”
A shit eating grin stays on your face and he just stays staring. The eye contact fails to break until voices ring from the hallway yelling ‘Steve.’
His head whips back and you skate backwards into the middle of the rink.
“I guess I’ll see you around, Steve.” You shoot a wink his way.
He nods, smiling, happier than he’s been in awhile.
Robin sees him curve the corner and shoots him a squint.
He clears his throat. “I was supervising. Other rink. Safety hazard.”
Summary: Caught in the middle of a Weasley prank, you’re blamed and sent to detention. Only to discover none other than George Weasley is there as well. What should be a short punishment turns into an adventure to the Forbidden Forest.
Content warnings: Flirting, mild tension, unjust detention, George Weasley being charming
Wc: 1.4k
Authors Note: This is my first published fic, any suggestions or comments lmk :)
Some days, Hogwarts was quiet.
Today was not one of those days, thanks to Fred and George Weasley.
On the way to charms, you take the long route, practicing wand motions taught in the previous lesson. But unknowingly, the hallway you’d chosen had been claimed for the prank of the week.
Hidden around the corner were the Weasley twins. They hadn’t noticed your footsteps down the hall, and you hadn’t cared to notice the unusual silence, or even the bucket in the middle of the hall.
From the flick of a wrist by Fred Weasley, an ungodly amount of frogs accompanied by green slime like fluid erupt from the bucket.
Quickly, you look up in an attempt to find the culprit at the end of the hall, but are met with the eyes of Hagrid instead.
Immediately, your mouth opens to explain, “I didn’t do that.” You look back at the scene and then Hagrid, “You know I wouldn’t-”
“Ah don’t think yeh did it, but yeh’re the only one here, an’ yeh’ve got yer wand out, see…” Hagrid pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah gotta give yeh detention after school, or else ah’ll be in trouble meself.”
“But I didn’t do that, that’s so unfair. I was practicing from the lesson previously.” You argue, hands running down the sides of your robe.
“Ah’m sorry, this ain’t fair on yeh. Jus’ the one night, ye? Ah know yeh didn’ do it, but rules areh rules.”
You look down the hall defeated and nod, glancing to the floor.
The walk down to Hagrid’s hut is painfully long, feet sliding in the dirt every other step, pure frustration coursing through you knowing this is all the twins fault. You shouldn’t be doing this, it should be them in trouble.
Before you get the chance to knock, the door flies open, Hagrid voice booming, “’Bout time, eh? Weasley’s been waitin’ on yeh.”
This has to be some kind of joke.
Taking a deep breath, you step into the small space, only to be met with George’s brown eyes. No Fred.
An open chair sits beside him and Hagrid motions for you to sit down, before beginning speaking, “Ain’t right, neither of yeh bein’ ‘ere so I’ve got yeh a bit of an easy task, can’t really mess it up, but it’ll take a while. Yeh’ll need ta take this message,” he holds up a folded piece of paper, “to the centaurs in the forbidden forest.”
George lets out a scoff muttering under this breath, “It literally says forbidden in the name.” He speaks louder. “I have no problem going but I’m not sure it’s safe,” he jerks his thumb toward you, "for her.”
You repulse back and stand up to face George, arms crossing defensively. “Excuse you. Unlike some, I can do this without any trouble being caused and I’ll be safe the whole time.” Your eyes glare at him and tone drops, “You know, maybe for fun bring a bucket of toads with some slime,” George’s expression begins to twist into guilt, “maybe we can even have it explode.”
Hagrid clears his throat. “Now’s no time fer goin’ ‘round blamin’ anyone fer earlier. He’s in ‘ere cause he’s been nothin’ but late to class, that’s all.”
Silence coats the room.
"Erah wasn’ s’posed ta tell yeh that. Sorry, George. ‘Ere- take the letter," he places it in your hands and begins to shoo you out. “Go on, be nice.”
George stands from the chair quickly, walking around the table to grab the door handle and open it up for you guys to leave.
You walk through the door still upset but also feeling better that this is not even close to a real punishment.
You start walking, not waiting, and George speed walks to catch up.
For a while, all you can hear is the sounds of feet moving the dirt, your breathing, and the rising volume of the forest ahead.
George clears his throat startling you, hands dropping to your sides, “I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t realize you were in the hall. Fred planned it and I should’ve double checked before he did anything.”
He rubs the back of his neck, self soothing, glancing at over you.
You pick your eyes up from the ground to look at him, lips parting to reply, but in the next step you take your foot slips.
Without a second thought, George reaches his hands out around your torso.
You let out an embarrassed laugh and smile, your hands meeting his shoulders to stabilize yourself, “Thanks, that would’ve been bad.”
He holds your waist, as your feet shift finding grip, you continue, “And thanks for apologizing about earlier. Sorry for being short and rude to you at Hagrid’s place.” You look up at him, hands dropping back to your space, but come to find that he’s just looking at you and his hands aren’t moving from your waist.
Your lips purse, not sure how to go about the next sentence. “Um, I’m all good now. Both feet flat on the ground and not planning to slip again,” an awkward smile and laugh meeting your lips.
Immediately, he snaps out of it, “Oh yeah, uh sorry,” he quickly takes his hands off of you and places them at his sides stiffly.
The air shifts lighter with apologies out in the open but now full of tension. You both look at the ground and walk, staying with the path towards the forest.
He looks over at you, scanning your expression, before beginning to speak, “So, what do you think is in that note, letter thing?”
“Umm, maybe its-” you look around thinking, “-a lesson plan on Magical Creatures? That's what Hagrid teaches right?”
He nods. “I’d hope not. I’m tired of convincing 3rd years to write my essays.” He replies, followed by a grin.
You look over at him disbelieving and are met with his grin, unable to hold back, you grin and reply sarcastically, “No wonder you’re always on time, always having others do your work.”
He just chuckles deeply, looking at the ground. You watch as he picks his head back up, looking straight, jawline prominent.
“What do you think is in the note?” You wave it in his face and raise an eyebrow jokingly.
He tilts his head down in your direction, “Blimey, if you really want to know,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, he leans into your ear, feet syncing in pace, “I think it’s Dumbledore’s directions to where his secret stash is hidden.”
You gasp, leaning away, not expecting that answer. Smacking his arm playfully you scold, “George, you cannot just say that.”
“It’s probably the truth, have you seen the guy?” he replies, grin still huge, nudging into you with his side, then chuckling at his own response.
You turn your head to say something, but your breath and voice catches. The moonlight hits his face so perfectly; nose and jaw so defined, hair is messy from a long day, but falling perfectly and the red on his robe is complimenting it perfectly.
It should be a sin to look how he does.
He quickly turns his head to tease, voice laced in a seductive tone, “Like what you see?”
You turn your head away quickly, pursing your lip, attempting to hide a smile, that your tone gives away. “Never in a million years.”
He hums with a stupid smile across his face and you smile too. Silence grows over the two of you, the forest coming closer than ever.
As you approach, George strides to grab a lantern off of the hook. He shines it in your face attempting to intimidate you, but also to just see you.
“You scared to go in?” He nudges his head towards the forest, voice laced with as much genuine concern as humor.
You bite your lip and look over at the darkness, eyes squinting, “Possibly a little bit more than I’d like to admit.” You look back at him to find him still looking at you.
“I’ll hold your hand through it.” A beat of silence crosses the two of you, you swear you can hear his heartbeat. Nervously he keeps speaking, “Only if you’d like? It’s fine if not. You can even stay-”
You grab his open hand, interlacing your fingers, and cutting him off, “I’d love to.” His eyes grow big with the words he’s not saying and a contagious smile crosses your faces.
He lightly squeezes your hand and begins to walk backwards pulling you into the forest, “Let’s waste no time then.” He looks at you following after him, a smirk crossing his face, “I mean unless you want to.”
“Careful, don’t tempt me too much now.” You reply teasing him.
Pairing: Roommate!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader // Masterlist
Summary: A bad hookup, mortifying embarrassment, and one kitchen encounter with Eddie that’s way too hot to ignore
Content warnings: MDNI +18, extremely light smut, one sided sex (the guy sucks), drug (weed) mention, cursing, eavesdropping, tension
Wc: 575
Author's Note: i just loveeee the idea of roommate eddie, it could eat me alive. maybe ill do a part 2??
Honestly, neither you nor Eddie are sure how you became roommates, but somehow it works perfectly. He works nights at WSQK, giving you the chance to get laid—and tonight, the lucky man isn’t doing too well.
He’d already cum once in his pants just from making out, and hopeful, you’d brushed it off as excitement. But now he’s between your legs, chasing his own pleasure, leaving nothing for you to enjoy. In an attempt to distract yourself, your mind wanders to all the things Eddie might be doing right now—anything had to be better than this.
What you didn’t expect is Eddie lying awake in the room over, regretting letting Robin take his shift tonight. He’d meant to tell you earlier, but by the time he woke up, you were already gone.
The guy’s moans cut through both of your thoughts as he finishes. You don’t ask him to stay. You just turn away, staring at the ceiling while he fumbles with his zipper.
The front door shuts, and a frustrated grunt slips from your mouth. Was it really that difficult for someone to be good at sex?
You change clothes quickly before heading toward the kitchen. The faint smell of weed drifts out from Eddie’s room, grounding you. You’ve never been high before, but the scent always feels too familiar.
You end up lingering in the kitchen, perched on the counter for a while. A glass of water in one hand, a lack of dignity in the other.
Eddie notices the silence and decides to slip out, figuring you’re fast asleep in your bed.
He turns the corner, and you speak without fully registering it.
“Oh—hey, Eddie. I thought you were working tonight?”
He recoils, startled by the suddenness. “Oh—hey, uh—yeah. Robin took my shift tonight.”
He scratches the back of his neck, awkward silence settling between you.
“Oh. I see. So—what’ve you been up to, then?”
He stutters under your stare, failing to come up with an excuse. “I’ve just been—chilling in my room. Figuring out what good music is, you know?”
You nod, zoned out. He snaps his fingers, pulling you back.
“Hey—are you doing alright?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m just—” You cut yourself off, realization dawning. “Holy fuck. You’ve been here the WHOLE time?”
He bites his cheek and nods, a faint pink blooming across his cheeks.
Your jaw drops, hands flying up to cover your face. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry. Holy fuck—I didn’t even know—”
“No, no, I should’ve said something earlier,” he rushes. “I forgot, and then next thing I knew—”
You avoid his gaze, mortified. Eddie starts rambling to fill the silence. “If it’s any consolation—that guy didn’t exactly sound like he knew what he was doing.”
You shake your head, trying to dismiss the memory. “God, it was terrible. 10/10 do NOT recommend.”
Laughter fills the room between the two of you. He creeps closer, leaning against the corner.
“What do you think I would score on the do NOT recommend scale?”
You smirk, rolling your eyes playfully, but his eyes linger, and that small pause makes your stomach tighten.
Your voice drops to a whisper before you can stop it. “I’d say—it depends on how good you actually are.”
Your eyes stay locked on his as he slides closer, settling between your dangling legs. His hand rises to cup your jaw, lips hovering just centimeters from yours.
Summary: As a punishment, you and George Weasley are sent to the Forbidden Forest to drop off a slip of paper, but it doesn’t stay simple for long. Between darkness, danger, and instinct, you discover how quickly a friendship can turn into something more, and how terrifying it is to almost lose it.
Author's Note: Here’s part 2! I tried a new writing style so lmk what you prefer, also i'm procrastinating part 3, so it may or may not come out
He lightly squeezes your hand and begins to walk backwards pulling you into the forest, “Let’s waste no time then.” He looks at you following after him, a smirk crossing his face, “I mean unless you want to.”
“Careful, don’t tempt me too much now.” You reply, teasing him.
----
George’s eyes go wide, his face flushing as he registers your words. His lips part like a witty remark might follow, but nothing comes—just a nervous chuckle.
As you walk deeper into the forest, your footsteps fall into rhythm, your breathing matching until it feels like your hearts follow. The air dampens, colder, darker. A breeze cuts through and you shiver.
George notices. His hand stiffens in yours before he lets go, sliding an arm around your shoulders instead.
“This alright?” he whispers, gentle, just above your ear.
You hum, leaning into his warmth.
A branch snaps in the distance. Your stomach drops and your head whips towards the sound, eyes wide. George instinctively rubs the curve of your shoulder with his thumb.
“I don’t like being in here at night without a clue of where we’re going.”
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Ron once told me a story about this place. Apparently, in his 2nd year, he and Harry Potter followed hundreds of spiders from the castle into here. He says they went through a tunnel where they found a talking spider the size of a car.”
You both chuckle, chests rising and falling in sync.
“He was probably trying to impress you and Fred.” You smile, feeling a pang of sympathy for Ron.
He pauses, then adds, “He’s scared half to death of those eight legged creatures anyways. He once saw one on his bed and fainted then and there.”
You pout, “Poor lad.”
Your shoulders relax, the tension slipping as his story distracts you.
“I probably should’ve asked Hagrid where we are supposed to be going before we left," you admit.
George shrugs, “Not that I doubt your brilliance, but I don’t figure it would’ve made a difference. It’s just trees on trees. Nothing forbidden here!”
You smack his chest, “George! You cannot just yell, we don’t know what’s out there.”
He looks down at your eyes and his thoughts slip away.
"Merlin knows I’d be dead without you," escapes his lips before he can stop it. Embarrassment floods his face, but you giggle, flattered.
Closer than before, a snap echoes. You reach for your wand and point it towards the sound.
“Who’s there?”
Ahead, a tall, dark figure faintly appears.
George sets the lantern down as he steps in front of you, shoulders tense, arms awkwardly still. He pauses to figure out what Fred would do, for he always takes the initiative.
“Lumos Maxima." A ball of light gleams from the tip, but the figure is gone.
You step into him, robes tangling slightly. Your hand slides your wand into your pocket, but it slips into his instead. Then your fingers meet, intertwining. For a split second his mind wanders. You can feel it in the way his breath hitches.
Then more branches break. Your grasp tightens, fingernails beginning to dig in the surface of his skin. He points his wand where the last movement came from, reciting indistinctly.
His body tenses preparing to cast the spell, but falls short as a voice squeaks out. “I mean no harm!”
You both recoil back, confused. A centaur creeps into view.
“I’m sorry to frighten.” The centaur says timidly. George lowers his wand.
“I’m assuming you are here on business…by Hagrid? A letter perhaps?”
You nod, reaching into your robe to pull the letter out. As you step forward, George nudges you to stay. You glance back, advising him to relax.
The centaur snatches the letter from your hand using his teeth. “Leave before it’s too late, these woods and creatures aren’t forgiving on a night like this.”
You accidentally retreat into George's chest, head bumping against his sternum. But his arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. You can smell his cologne, an unfamiliar warmth spreading throughout your chest.
“We should go.” His chest vibrates, shaky but certain.
The contact prevents him from stepping forward and then it hits him. He’s holding you.
“Oh, blimey me,” he murmurs, “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh”
His heart pounds out of his chest, but he makes no effort to let you go.
A pink tint blooms on your cheeks, “No George, really it’s fine,” you step back, breaking out of his arms.
“I-” Your hand nervously smoothes your hair. “It was my fault, I, uh, stepped into you, the centaur it, I-”
Biting your lip, you look to the ground. “Yeah.”
You look up and he jolts back, startled by the eye contact. You can’t help but grin.
“No, no, seriously,” he stammers. “I-it was my fault. I shouldn’t have-”
A shrill neigh slices through the woods.
His gaze finds yours and holds. Just for a second.
Your chest rises, then falls. The forest falls silent, and then a howl.
In a thought shared without words, you both take off in a sprint towards the fields.
Another howl rings in your ears.
You glance at him, then focus forward again. You’re almost there.
The pace increases and then, before you can stop yourself, you trip. A scream rips through your throat as you reach the ground. George’s feet slide as he halts, turning to find you.
Eyes catching the glimmer of your house colors, he slides to the ground on his knees, but collides with the tree root. His upper body slams onto your back. Both of you let out an airless groan, then a heavy cough gushes from your throat.
George slides off of you, hands grabbing your ribs to flip you over.
He reaches for his wand. “Lumos Maxima.”
Your eyes adjust poorly to the light, but see his scanning over your body for injuries.
Two reflections in the distance glisten in the distance. You squint, trying to figure out what it is.
Eyes.
“George, 2 o’clock.” Another cough escapes your throat.
He stands and glances over.
“I don’t see anything. How hard did you hit your head?” His hand moves to your hair.
The creature takes the moment and races forward with a growl.
Your feet thrash against the ground but stabilize on nothing.
“George!!”
George whisks and is met with a creature less than a meter away.
“Everte Statum!”
The blast sends the creature backwards and it lands with a hard thud. Within a second, George casts another spell you fail to recognize.
You reach for your wand but the pocket's empty. You begin to breathe heavily. George notices and focuses on you.
“We need to run. C-can you?”
You nod violently, and he helps you to his feet. His arm tucks under yours, holding you up as you both run together.
Warm wind hits you, moonlit grass blurring past. His feet slow you, but you tear forward continuing in a run. He mutters something under his breath, frustrated, and breaks into a sprint after you.
His arms wrap around your torso, pulling you to a stop. You squirm, feet kicking in the air.
"George, let me go!"
His arm gets tighter, pain bursting through your stomach.
"Hey- hey! Stop! I've got you."
"That thing! It's- we need to go now!" Your nostrils flare, vision blurring as tears collect and your head starts to pound.
"Stop moving!" He grunts. "It's down. I paralyzed it!"
Your breathing stutters and his grip drops. "I paralyzed it."
You turn, meeting a pale face but his eyes avoid yours. His hands tremble, "It was the only way. I-"
Your hand caresses his cheek, "George. You saved us."
His attention returns to you and he steps back, brushing off his robe. He chuckles, "I’ve had detention with Snape before. That was nothing."
Your blinking stops and you avoid his gaze. His brows furrow.
“Are you alright?”
You glare at him. "Don't do that."
"Brush off my robe?"
"Brush it off as if nothing happened! We could’ve died! You could have died!"
George fidgets with his fingers, then clears his throat.
"You almost died and you're making a joke about it!”
Fred would’ve joked. His mouth opens but instead of replying like Fred, he apologizes.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to-"
"We need to get back to Hagrid’s." You cut him off, guilt knotting tight in your stomach.
The grass stills and moonlight dims.
You start to walk, and he follows a few paces behind. Your arms swing naturally, and he can’t help but watch, hand aching to reach for yours. You fight the urge to look back. You shouldn’t.
The quiet finally gives your memories room to breathe.
His arms around you.
His fingers in your hair.
The look in his eyes.
He never put himself first.
He protected you.
And neither of you questioned it.
Not then, not now.
Behind you, George’s footsteps slow.
For the first time, pretending it didn’t happen feels worse than admitting it did.
