#greasy trailer park boys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madelynraemunson · 5 days

Text

CASUAL part 2

see part one here.

modern!incel!asshole! eddie x fem!reader

It’s 7 in the morning. Eddie is seen doom-pacing in the halls of Hawkins High.

a/n: i promised y’all part 2 so here ya go. let’s make him pay. 💋 also shout out to @love-anonymous-writer for bringing this universe to life. a little angst here and there is good for the soul <3

who got the last laugh?

[WC: 1.1k words]

“Please respond…please respond…please respond…”

The soles of Eddie’s shoes slam against the tiles of Hawkins High as he rushes to your locker. Meanwhile his entire soul has left his body.

You didn’t answer any of his phone calls. All the texts he sent you were left on read. Having been so accustomed to your instant replies, Eddie essentially catapulted himself into a full-blown panic last night when he saw the ominous text you sent him...and the nothingness from you that followed soon after.

The crickets of Forrest Hills that taunted his eardrums later that night served as a vengeful metaphor of the brick wall you built between you and him. The girl who once gave him everything has now started giving him nothing. You’re nowhere, but everywhere. It’s like you’ve become a ghost.

When he sees you, color drains from Eddie’s guilty face. You look so beautiful today, hair curled down to the small of your back, a nice simple dress and some slippers, with makeup ever so gracefully applied. A class act, even when plagued with the utmost disrespect.

“Hi," he says to you as he approaches.

“Hi.”

As far as Munson knows, he no longer exists to you. He's a shadow now, a carapace of a boy you used to love 'cuz now — after hearing what you heard in his trailer — you know he's not the same boy that made you feel all the butterflies. That boy is long gone. You even start to wonder if that version of Eddie even existed.

“C-can we talk, please?” he requests.

“What’s to talk about?” you challenge him, stoically. “Don’t wanna annoy you with my rambling.”

“You never annoy me…” he attempts as you mindlessly comb through your locker for your homeroom notebook.

“Mm.”

You were casual about it. Too casual about it.

“You… uh…” he clears his throat. “You made me cookies yesterday?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I was at your door for quite a while so you must’ve been busy. Cookies were taken care of though.”

“I see…” Eddie mutters as the pieces all start coming together.

He thinks about how he always leaves his windows cracked open. His uncle would whoop his ass if he hot-boxed the trailer again, so it became a habit. But the trailer park is small, and on certain afternoon, if someone from a nearby unit had dropped a pin, Eddie would hear it. Suddenly, fear arises in him.

Surely, you didn't hear everything he and The Boys™️ said. He had his headphones on and he couldn't have possibly been that loud, could he? Unless technology failed him again.

The warning bell sounds throughout the halls and you excuse yourself from the narrative. Eddie tags after you like a lost puppy, nearly tripping on his shoelaces along the way.

"W-wait!"

The first class of the morning is homeroom. A class you unfortunately shared with Eddie, Grant, and Harmony.

You didn't want to see any of their faces. Eddie's face would serve as a reminder of how fake and construed the fucker is. Grant's would remind you of how insignificant you were to the guys (despite how welcomed they made you feel at the start). And Harmony. Harmony's beautiful face — with a body far too developed for a girl in her grade to match — would only remind you of the fact that the girl didn't inherently do anything to you... other than be beautiful and get caught in the crossfire of horny, greasy teenage boys.

It’s a fucking mess.

You swallow hard and keep your chin up regardless. Because what other choice do you have? You either feign your confidence or let irrelevant boys crush it.

You continue strutting over to your seat as Eddie trails behind at a measurable distance. Along the way, you inevitably run into the Junior Queen of Hawkins High herself, Harmony Heathers.

Harmony issues you a sweet smile. You smile back at her in return. And you didn't even need to turn your back to know that Eddie most likely did a double-take when sliding past her.

The late bell rings, indicating the start of class.

“Okay,” your homeroom teacher Mrs. Helleck exhales as she clasps her hands together. “Good morning everybody. For Red Ribbon Week this week, we’re gonna be doing a group project. Worth 20-percent of your grade.”

The class erupts in agonistic groans while Mrs. Helleck attempts to calm them down. You feel Eddie’s gaze burn into you, indicative to the fact that he was looking forward to using you again like he always seems to do. This time around it would be for a grade instead of a two-pump fuck. But you had something else in mind.

“You will be doing a presentation,” Helleck continues. “With a partner of your choice. Your job is to create a slogan along with a list of reasons why you should stay away from drugs.”

“Drugs Instead of Hugs,” Grant mutters to Eddie.

The general vicinity collectively praises his lukewarm wannabe 4-Chan edged joke.

You roll your eyes while your poor homeroom teacher tries to proceed with her instructions, despite the immature snickers.

“You will be presenting with your partner on Friday. Do not wait until last minute to do this assignment please. Deadlines catch up to you fast.”

Mrs. Helleck makes her way over to you.

Like Dungeons and Dragons, everyone in the class is assigned a “classroom role”. You’re the leader of the pack, the ‘foreman’, to which you never understood because up until today you never had the confidence to call the shots. The alphabet has never been on your side anyways.

“Now dear,” your teacher smiles down at you. “Since your last name starts with an A, you get first choice. Who would you like to work with?”

Eddie’s gaze is extra fixated on you now. It gives you a greater deal of satisfaction than tossing those cookies ever did. It was you who had the reigns now, instead of those woman-patronizing incels.

You start to smile connivingly, to which the guys start to gulp over. You can tell they’re putting two and two together, their two brain cells collectively working over time to discover that you had a delicious upper-cut up your sleeve.

It’s the very least they can do. If they wanted to taint your name to smithereens in your absence, you’re sure as hell going to give them something else to lose their minds about in Math 3.

And when all eyes are fixated on you, you tilt your chin up to project your voice. You want to make sure everyone, especially Grant and Eddie, hear you loud and clear when you sinisterly announce,

“I pick Harmony.”

tag list: @damp4eddie @eddiesguitarskills @babygirl229 @love-anonymous-writer @ziggeddie @socially-awkward-eliza @shesahellfirebabe @ali-r3n @yourdailymemedelivery @mincloud @jupitersnights @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @whisperingtales @fearlessreid @emma-munson

divider by: @benkeibear

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson mini series #requests #maddy’s requests 🍸#part 2 #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you

197 notes · View notes

riality-check · 1 year

Text

i have once again been inspired by a tweet! have fun with this, and i’m only half sorry for continually putting steve through angst.

Since the "earthquake," Wayne has gotten a little suspicious of knocks on the door. Eddie doesn't knock since he's got a key. Anyone else who wants to make a visit comes with one of them. Knocks are unexpected, and since his boy got called a satanist and a murderer, Wayne ain't too keen on unexpected visitors.

There's a knock on the door.

Wayne doesn't look out the window before he opens it. He just gets up, makes sure his shotgun is nearby, and cracks the door open.

What the hell is Steve Harrington doing in the trailer park? he thinks.

It's night out and the porch lightbulb goes in and out, but Wayne sees Steve's messy hair and his split lip. He cracks the door open a little more and sees that he's got a black eye, too.

Shit.

"Is, um, is Eddie home?" Steve asks.

No hello, sir or excuse me or anything of the sort. Not that Wayne really cares for pleasantries, but he would have expected them from Dick Harrington's son.

He decides to throw his expectations out the window. "No, he's at band practice. He'll be back in an hour or so."

Steve just stares for a minute. "It's Wednesday, isn't it?"

"Yep."

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I thought it was Tuesday. Sorry to bother you."

He turns to leave, and that's when Wayne spots the bag on his shoulder.

He thinks about how Eddie showed up years ago with a backpack and a jacket and greasy hair. He thinks about how Harrington is here with a backpack and bruises and a tired look in his eyes.

"Come in," he says.

Steve stops in his tracks. "What?"

"Come in," Wayne repeats. "You can wait here for him."

"It's fine-"

"Where else are you gonna go?" Wayne remembers asking a much younger Eddie the same question when he first showed up. Now, just like then, he doesn't think the answer is home.

Steve pauses. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Says, "Joyce Byers's."

"That's across town. I don't think you should be driving in this state."

Steve considers it for a moment before he walks in.

Wayne's already taken in a kid. He figures he might as well grab another one while he's at it.

Part 2!!

#ria writes #steve harrington #wayne munson #stranger things fic #ficlet #stranger things #i'm too tired to keep tagging #tw abuse #eddie munson #steddie

1K notes · View notes

loversofthegrave · 3 months

Text

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

#I wrote a wincest thing #teenchesters #should i write more #i did write a whole story to this like 13k words but I didnt like it much in the end but #here is a snippet #sammy pov figuring his feelings for his brother out #wincest #wincest one shot #weecest #weecest one shot #wincest fanfic #supernatural #spn #sam/dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #pre series sam/dean

80 notes · View notes

apuckishwit · 1 year

Note

For five sentences thingie: Steve/Eddie - “How do you want to do this?”

“How do you want to do this?”

Steve stands back from the open passenger door, glancing between his open front door and the passenger seat’s occupant. Dustin and Mike have already stampeded into the house, shouting about getting things “ready” like Steve hasn’t had that covered for the last week, ever since they got word that Eddie was being released from the hospital. His…friend? They’re friends, now, aren’t they? You can’t really go through the things they’ve gone through together and not come out the other side being friends…stares at the short walk to the door as though it’s the first leg up Mt. Everest. He’s dressed in a simple black button up and sweatpants (the best Steve could do under the circumstances—it’s not like there’s a lot of stores still open in Hawkins, and the trailer park is squarely a no-go zone), but underneath Steve knows he’s still wrapped almost head to toe in bandages. He’s pale and sweating just from the effort of sitting up in the car for the drive from the hospital, and Steve would bet money if he tries to stand unassisted, he’ll just keel over.

Damn, maybe he should have listened when Mike suggested they steal the wheelchair they’d rolled Eddie out to Steve’s car in.

Eddie sighs, raking a hand back through hair that hangs in greasy clumps around his face. He probably hasn’t bathed properly the entire time he’s been in the hospital. “I can make it,” he says, and Steve very politely ignores how completely unbelievable that sounds. Eddie’s lips twist unhappily. “Uh…maybe if you help me?” He looks away, embarrassed. Steve keeps his expression neutral, remembering very well how much he hated constantly having to ask for help while his own bat bites were healing. Thank God for Robin.

Robin had kept up a steady stream of complaints and insults while she helped him in and out of his shirts, helped him rebandage his wounds, helped him wash and disinfect the mess of his back every night, her touch always quick, gentle, and completely impersonal. He doesn’t think he and Eddie are quite at the point where he can distract the other man with a well-timed “oh my God, this looks like raw hamburger! I thought you said it was better!” but he can certainly provide a brisk, neutral touch.

“You want me to carry you, or you want to just lean on me?” he asks, and waits patiently while Eddie chews over the options before finally sighing, his shoulders slumping.

“Much as I would love to macho it out—you think you can just, uh, piggy-back me in there?”

He snorts, despite himself. “You sure you want to let Henderson have that visual?”

Eddie groans, but smiles a little. “If he gives me a hard time, I’ll just slaughter his character next campaign. Ugh, if there is a next campaign.”

“I’m sure you guys will get to play your nerd game plenty more times.” He tries to feel as confident as he sounds. He doesn’t think he quite succeeds. “All right, just let me do all the work.”

That earns him another weak snort of laughter. “Any time, big boy,” Eddie murmurs as Steve turns and crouches down. He lets Eddie kind of collapse down across his back and carefully, so, so carefully, slides his hands under the backs of his thighs. Eddie’s arms slide around his neck, the soft grunt of pain impossible to miss this close, with Eddie’s hair tickling the back of his neck, the puffs of his breath warm against Steve’s throat. It’s strangely intimate, and he feels oddly humbled that Eddie’s trusting him this much, is willing to show this much vulnerability to him instead of trying to tough it out the way Steve knows he would have.

“Ready?” he asks and waits for Eddie’s hesitant nod to stand slowly. He leans forward rather than straightening his back, so Eddie doesn’t have to work as hard to hang on. He won’t say carrying Eddie is no effort—they’re basically the same height and while Eddie isn’t as broad as he is, he’s not exactly a string bean—but it’s not as difficult as it should be. Eddie’s lost a lot of weight in the weeks since Steve literally dragged him out of the Upside Down.

“Hey, uh, I don’t think I ever said—thanks for doing this,” Eddie says softly as they make their way up the short walk to the front door. His voice is already strained, a tinge of pain to the words that makes Steve want to move faster, but he doesn’t want to jostle his wounds further.

“Carrying your ass? Kind of becoming a regular thing.”

Another huff of laughter, and the arms tighten slightly around his neck. “No, just…all of it. Pulling me outta there. Hanging around while Hopper was getting my name cleared. Fuck, letting me stay in your house. Hell, Henderson told me you plugged my fucking femoral artery with your hand while Wheeler was getting us to the hospital.”

Steve swallows hard, remembering the gush of hot blood over his fingers, the pulse of it getting weaker and weaker as Dustin screamed and cried and begged Steve to do something. “Don’t worry about it. You’re one of us, now.”

And it’s as simple as that, for Steve. Eddie’s in the Upside Down shit now, and he’s refused to take the very sensible out that was offered to him and leave Hawkins on the government’s dime. He’s determined to help them against Vecna, determined not to run away from the horror that they’ve all been dealing with for so long. He’s one of them now. That makes him one of Steve’s people. One of the people he’s responsible for. One of the people he has to protect.

He comes to the first step up to his front door and hears Eddie hiss softly. He slows his steps even further, tries to make his movements as smooth as possible. “Almost there. I gotcha,” he says.

He feels Eddie press his head against his shoulder for a moment, and there is something warm and soft in his voice when he replies, “I know you do.”

#my writing #steddie #stranger things #fic prompt #this is more gen than shippy but I think we all know where it goes from here

154 notes · View notes

r04ch4ch3 · 1 year

Text

#tpb ricky #ricky lafleur #trailer park boys #tpb julian #tpb bubbles #liquor #dope #kitties #smokes #greasy

262 notes · View notes

bug-fics · 11 months

Text

I need posh boy old money king steve turned hero to fall in love with the (and i mean this affectionately) the most grubby slob of a girl ever. Like imagine clean, put together Steve “the hair” Harrington with the type of girl who sleeps in her makeup, has acne, lives in a trailer park, is like missing a front tooth from fucking around with her friends or like from eating shit on a skateboard, just a greasy, grungy, stoner, dude bro type girl.

The switch from being in love with princess Nancy wheeler, to flirting with these cute preppy girls at work, to befriending and falling for this walking garbage pile who is super sarcastic and bitchy, burps in ppls faces as a joke, never has her shoes tied, wears dirty wife beaters and flannels with ripped up patchy jeans that have grass stains on them.

I’m TIRED of soft clean small preppy characters who get emotional and are so shy and quiet. I just feel like the dynamic would be so fun and Steve would have like a moral dilemma like he did when Dustin convinced him he had a crush on Robin.

They would meet through Eddie or Robin and she’s just like the walking loser and at first Steve is like off-put bby her behavior bc like gross but like finds himself falling for her or something idk I didn’t think that far ahead but I need more diverse readers bc all of them are pink frilly preppy shy girls or soft bookworms which are great but like… JUST THINK ABOUT NEW DYNAMICS!!

as a writer (I rlly can’t call myself a writer) I try to make reader loud and confident and outgoing bc every other reader fits in the soft girl aesthetic. I need bitchy, messy, dirty, adventurous, loud, just grubby girls! Dirty bed sheets, trashed rooms, scuffed shoes, ketchup stains idk it doesn’t even have to be a Steve fic literally any fic in this fandom could have this type of dynamic bc reader personalities are lacking in diversity lowkey and I love grubby

OMG LIKE IMAGINE NANCY X GRUBBY READER!! Fuck Steve this, this right here would be such a hilarious dynamic and I NEED it. Nancy is like the opposite of what I described she’s pretty, and clean, and headstrong, and focused. With like a dirty adhd tomboy gf (ronance but grubbier) like it’s so perfect.

Even Robin with a gf who like has no concern for her own safety and Robin is spitting facts about how the mold growing on the cups on R’s bedside table could result in life or death sickness or something idk it would be so perfect

I LOVE GRUBBY DIRTY GIRLS I’m tired of unrealistic cleanliness in fics girls are gross and it’s ok

#stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #🪲 blurb #johnathan byers x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things blurb

87 notes · View notes

bowiebond · 2 years

Text

Hey Babe, Your Hair’s Alright (Hey Babe, Let’s Stay Out Tonight) - Chapter 2

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39597543/chapters/99122538

Summary: After Eddie is humiliated at graduation by the town who still believes him to be the murderer, he breaks. He recluses. Steve isn't taking his shit for a second, and he's not letting Eddie's fire burn out.

CW: Depression, Lack of Hygiene, very slight disordered eating, Minor Drinking, Self Esteem Issues.

Eddie doesn’t hear the knock at first. He’s become used to tuning out his Uncle’s presence, tucked into the divot he’s made in the mattress. His Uncle has given him some leniency; he’s seen how Eddie reacts over the years to being forced out of his slumps, though they had grown fewer and fewer over time.

They usually didn’t last more than a week, but Wayne had a dreadful knot forming in his stomach every time he had to send those insistent teenagers away. Gareth had understood when Wayne told him Eddie needed space, knowing not to question the days when Eddie wouldn’t come to school at all but show up at practice with a tired smile and a languidness to his notes. He never asked and Eddie never said, but Gareth knew Eddie would laugh it off if he did.

Dustin and Mike were a little pushier, Dustin fuming besides his friend who pleaded with big dark eyes. If Wayne were a weaker man, he may have let them in, but a bunch of kids fussing and making noise in Eddie’s space was not what his boy needed.

Robin had been a snarky, worried mess when Wayne said Eddie wasn’t feeling their movie night on day six. But after catching her eye, standing firm, she deflated and asked him to pass on that she’d be by next week the same time and he better be ready to hang out properly. Wayne promised and she left with a slump in her shoulders.

When day eight rolls around, Wayne wonders if its time to try and rouse the young man, to remind him he has a show at the Hideout two nights from now with his band, the one he usually does every Tuesday, and that he shouldn’t miss it again.

He expects that maybe Eddie will argue with him like he did as a young teen, so full of hormones, but he just stares at him with blank brown eyes and says nothing as Wayne tries to convince him to get up, to eat more. He knows he’s not making contact and can only really sigh when Eddie rolls over and pulls the blanket back over his head.

Eddie was...a special boy. That much he knew. A sensitive boy beneath all the bravo.

So Wayne says goodbye and heads to work, leaving a tenner on the bench in case Eddie wants to leave the house and grab food - though he doubts it. The kid never takes his money anyway, hasn’t dared to since he started making his own pocket money with that rusted old lunchbox of his.

“You barely make enough to scrape by as it is, Uncle, I can take care of myself. Hell, one day I’ll be famous and take care of you, got it?”

Eddie rolled over in his bed and felt his muscles ache from disuse, stretching and promptly sinking back into his pillow. It was easier to sleep through the days then to get up and do stuff. And maybe the constant sleeping only made him sleepier, groggier, but he didn’t care.

Eddie jumped when the knocking got louder, closer, rising his head with a loud groan, glaring at his door. Couldn’t people get the hint? He wasn’t home. He didn’t care if his car was parked out front or his body laying inside this piece of shit trailer, he didn’t have energy to be home and people should respect that.

“Munson, open this goddamn window!” Eddie’s head whipped around in alarm towards the window above his bedside table, Steve Harrington’s perfectly dumb face peaking through the murky plastic window.

“Steve?” He groaned, head throbbing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed a hand down his face and pushed his greasy hair from his face. He felt gross, and he probably looked it, and why the hell is Steve Harrington here?

He was tempted to just lay back down and ignore the man, but Steve smacked the window with his palm and pointed at him like a scolding mother, like he knew what he was thinking.

“You open this window right now, I can see you, Munson.” Eddie sighed, long and heavy before forcing himself to sit up properly and stretch his arms across his dresser to unlock the window and pull it up - though Steve seemed to be impatient since he did most of the pushing on the jammed up junk. It only got about half way up before refusing to budge, but it was enough to see Steve’s face clearly. His swooping hair, his furrowed brows, the slight parting of pink lips and the wayward dotted moles on his left cheek and down his neck.

Eddie feels like rotten garbage compared to Steve right now and it’s not helping his self esteem.

“Where the hell have you been, man? You’ve been off the grid for like a week and I only just found out from Dustin.” Steve’s concerned eyes fell to his window sill, hands grasping the edge. He looked like he was contemplating jumping in through his window and Eddie knocked his hands off it.

“Don’t even think about it, you’ll take my whole damn wall with you.”

“Then open the front door next time.” Steve sassed with a quirked brow and an unimpressed purse to his lips.

“Look, I don’t wanna deal with this right now, man, can you just...leave me to wallow in my tarnished pride?” Eddie gestured for him to leave, back to his fancy car and away from Eddie’s grossness.

“I’m not leaving.” Steve crossed his arms, stubborn as a mule. “I heard one of your band mates talking about how you blew off one of their shows last week, and then your Uncle won’t let Dustin check in on you, and you totally bummed out Robin by ditching the movie night you guys have had planned for like two weeks!”

“Yeah well, people are disappointing.” He rolled his eyes. “Surprise surprise, Harrington.“ He knows he’s being a dick, but he’s tired and oily and his headache is only getting worse. He goes to close his window but Steve grabs the frame first and he’s more determined than Eddie right now.

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t you dare close this window on me. I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on considering nobody will tell me squat, but keeps moaning over your moping to me.” Steve’s eyebrows jump up his forehead expectantly and Eddie just stares.

“...You’re not gonna leave, are you?”

“Nope. I will sit outside your door until you let me in. I don’t have work until tomorrow.” Steve shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Jesus Christ - fine! Fine, you can come inside.” Eddie grumbled, his fingers sinking into his hair and scratching roughly at the base of his skull. With a few shakes of his hands, he got out of his bed. He was irritated now, and he made it clear in the stomps of his bare feet. He jiggled his lock and roughly yanked it open, waiting expectantly for Steve who was making a pit stop at his car. Eddie tilted his head with a ‘seriously?’ expression as he watched Steve rummage through his backseat. His eyes dipped lower to his backside and knocked his knuckle against the door frame before tearing his gaze away and smacking the frame in frustration.

Could he not be a freak for two seconds?

“Cheer up, I brought a peace offering like a good guest.” Steve showed off a carton of beer with a shameless grin, jogging up the steps of the porch and slipping past Eddie. His front brushes his arm and Eddie flexes his fist, rubbing the base of his middle finger with his thumb, aware of the rings hes missing.

“Dude. You stink.” Steve wrinkled his nose and Eddie rolled his eyes, snatching the carton from his hands.

“You’re a shit guest.” But he brought beer, and Eddie has never craved it more. Steve buys the good shit too, sparing a hearty dime on him, and it makes Eddie’s stomach flutter.

“No, man, I don’t mean to be mean, but its bad.” Steve covered his nose somewhat discreetly. “When’s the last time you showered?”

“Graduation morning.” Eddie shrugged. He can’t give an actually day count, they blurred together at the third one in bed.

“Dude, it’s been a week and a half.” Steve snatched the beer back.

“Hey!”

“Go shower, and then you can drink your sorrows down the drain.” Steve gave a pointed look to his bathroom door - because of course the guy knew where it was after sitting in his shower trying not to gain an infection from demonic bats.

“That’s so much effort...” Eddie breathed, staring at the door.

“Then you can sit in the shower like a toddler, I don’t care. But you need to wash whatever...” Steve squinted at his hair, pointing at the sticky patch that shined in the light. “...that is out of your hair.”

“Tomato.” Eddie wrinkled his nose and tried to run a hand through his hair but caught it on multiple knots. He was starting to regret not brushing it. He spent forever growing it out, it would be a shame to cut it all off because he let it get matted.

“Yeah, no, that shower is mandatory, go.” Steve patted his shoulder and steered him towards the bathroom. “I’ll grab you a towel - where do you keep them?”

“They’re under the sink, its fine.”

“Okay, good, well...” Steve stood there awkwardly, hand still on his shoulder. The silence drags on and Eddie turns his head to look at Steve’s distant expression. Steve snapped out of his daze when he noticed Eddie looking and sighed. “Are you okay, Eddie?”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek and forces a smile, but it comes out tired and bitter.

“Yeah. Sure, Harrington. Now get out before I hurt your ego.” Eddie thumbed the waistband of his sweats with a smirk and Steve rolled his eyes with a huff of a laugh, punching his shoulder lightly as he left Eddie to his shower.

Eddie stared at the shower as the door clicked shut behind him.

“You’re such a sad sack of shit.” He murmured to himself as he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper, shimming out of his bottoms. There’s no warmth anymore without his armor, and the shower is cold when he steps under its spray. He lets his thick hair soak up the water, lets the past week and a half seep out of it. His headache eases and the shower heats up slowly as he scrubs his hair. He shampoos it twice before he feels semi-human, lathering it in conditioner after and letting it rest over his shoulder as he scrubs away the grease and dead skin from his body. The steam smells like vanilla and sandalwood - sweet smelling hair care and woody body wash he shares with his uncle. It feels good to be clean, even if his body is exhausted.

He shuts the water off after the fifteen minute mark - he’s usually an in and out kind of guy, but he’s reluctant to leave the warmth of the spray and steam that wraps him up like a hug.

He dried himself off with the only towel that doesn’t make him gag to touch. Not because they’re gross or anything, they’re fine, they just don’t have the right texture and he’d rather jump off a cliff than put himself through that. He’s used the same towel since he was fourteen and he refuses to toss it out even as it gets thinner.

Eddie dried off his hair roughly and wiped himself free of water, skin a rosy pink from the heat. He wrapped the towel around his waist and made quick work of brushing his teeth when he thought too long about how disgusting the inside of his mouth was. Spitting the paste out and feeling fresher, he made his way to his room, licking his lips as he watched Steve pick up his laundry.

“Dude.” He spoke up and Steve jumped, a faded band shirt in hand. He cleared his throat and tossed the shirt into Eddie’s hamper, hands finding his hips.

“Uh, sorry. Habit. Kids, you know, they- they don’t know how to pick up after themselves.” He rocked on his heels and shrugged, eyes flickering over Eddie’s body. He clapped his hands with a nervous laugh. “I’ll uh, I’ll let you get dressed, man.” He tried to step by Eddie like he had at the door, and as per usual, Eddie didn’t move out of the way like he probably should have. Steve’s hand finds his bicep and squeezes as he passes, maybe a reassurance or a nervous gesture, but Eddie appreciates the firm touch.

“Yeah...” Eddie watched Steve make his way to the living room and closed the door behind him slowly. He pushed his bangs back, still damp enough to stick out of the way as he pulled his drawer open. He dropped his towel and shucked on a pair of dark grey sweats along with a Led Zeppelin tee. Majority of his shirts were cheap ones he had made more his style with thread and scissors, or band tees he had got secondhand or saved up for. He cherished every one and wearing the bands he loved made him feel like himself.

Eddie drifted by his bedside table and picked up a ring, playing with it. Feeling the weight, the feel, trying it on and spinning the metal. One by one, he placed each ring where they belonged and gave it a spin to settle it against his skin. He scrounged around for a hair tie, wondering if he had lost his only remaining one until he found it under his tiny bookshelf that he tucked away at the end of his bed. He messily tied his hair back, ignoring the knots for now and just happy to feel it soft and fluffy again.

He took a deep breath and tore his bedroom open, making himself appear bigger and wilder than he felt.

“You better have saved me a beer, Harrington!” Steve jumped at his boisterous entrance, eyes wide as Eddie grabbed a lock of his hair, twirling and tugging, grinning as he practically spun and dipped himself onto the couch, lounging in the space besides Steve. His knee knocked against Steve’s and he began playing with his own loose strands at Steve’s bewildered expression.

“You...look better.”

“Ouch.” Eddie pouted and rubbed his chest as if he had been wounded. “I thought you came here to make me feel better, Stevie, but all you’ve done is insult me. You’ve really lost your touch.” Eddie sucked his teeth absentmindedly, eyes falling upon the beer in Steve’s hand. He heaved himself up to sit properly, stealing one from the carton by Steve’s foot. He twisted it open with the bottom of his shirt and sighed like a content man with his morning coffee.

They drank quietly, Eddie thankful for the quiet, but he could feel the tension in the atmosphere. He’d let Steve decide if he wanted to broach the topic. He got through half the bottle before Steve cleared his throat and leaned his elbow on his knee. Engaging Eddie into a conversation that hadn’t even begun yet.

“Look, I just want to know what happened. I know after the whole...Vecna thing, we didn’t really talk, not like you and Nance or you and Robin, heck even Dustin. I know we aren’t close, but like Jonathan likes to say, shared trauma bonds people. Hell, I care about you, man. A lot of us do. So when you go from making all these plans with people after it was all over to only a few weeks later not talking to anyone, skipping out on your band and your friends, we’re gonna be concerned.”

Eddie brought the lip of the beer to his mouth and held it there, not drinking but mulling over his thoughts. He sighed and let his hands fall into his lap, bottle dangling in his fingers as he tilted his head back against the couch.

“So Dustin really didn’t tell you. No one did?” He lolled his head to face Steve who only shook his head, turning to face him more. Elbow on the back of the couch, knee bumping his thigh and giving him his full attention. Hell, Eddie might have blushed. Probably did by the warmth tingling his cheeks.

He turned his face away as not to get lost in those concerned doe eyes. He stared at the ceiling and heaved a sigh. His chest felt heavy.

“Just good old school public humiliation. Got reminded that everyone in this town hates me, and that I...” Eddie swallowed through the ache, tonguing the upper right of his lip. “...really am...just a freak.” It comes out in a whisper, those last three words and he allows himself to turn his head to take in Steve’s expression, his own brown eyes big and sad.

All he gets is the most earnest response he thinks he’s ever heard out of Steve The Hair Harrington.

“You’re not a freak, Eddie.” He shakes his head subconsciously like he truly means it, baffled that Eddie would think so of himself. Somehow he gets even closer, a pained pinch in his brows. “You’re all kinds of fucking weird, but you’re not a freak. At least, not in a bad way.”

Eddie puckered his lips and moves his head away in an ‘aw shucks’ gesture.

“Flattery works wonders on me, Stevie.”

“I’m serious, man. You’re a good guy. Your freakiness saved our asses back in the Upside Down. El’s definitely not normal, you think we care? None of my friends are normal.” Steve huffed a laugh, looking away and placing his beer down on the coffee table. He placed those cool fingers on Eddie’s shoulder, encouraging the other to look him in the eye.

“You never let that shit bother you before. Why care now?”

“Because...I want people to like me.” And that’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it? He wanted people to like him when he was a kid, wanted his mother to like him, but when he realised he couldn’t have that, he threw the notion out of the window and decided he would just be himself. Loud and impulsive and nerdy. For a long time, it worked. He was able to convince the fellow losers that there was pride in being freaks.

But being on that stage, seeing how many people genuinely hated him, despised who he was, it cut too deep. Everyone wants to be liked, don’t they? Everyone wants to be loved and Eddie - Eddie isn’t sure if has ever been. If he ever will be. Sure, his Uncle loved him, but there was obligation there, his Uncle was naturally a kind person. He wouldn’t kick his own nephew onto the street.

“Eddie, people do like you.” Steve furrowed his brows, blinking in his confusion. “Your band, the kids, Nance, Robin, they all like you. They all consider you to be their friend. I just told you I think you’re great.”

“And I appreciate it.” Eddie smiled stiffly, patting Steve’s knee. “But I don’t really understand why. I get why people hate me. I don’t get why they like me though.” Eddie slowly stood up and finished off his beer in a few heavy swallows. He clanked it against the table with an exhale.

“It was nice. That you visited. But you can tell everyone I need some time away from...everything.” Eddie made a move towards his room, but Steve stands up too quickly and they collide, Steve gripping his arm.

“No.”

“No?” Eddie quirked a brow.

“No.” Steve reiterated. “You don’t get to just avoid the world because you’re sad. You think not going and doing the things you love, is going to make you happier?”

“It won’t make me happier.” Eddie admitted. “But it will be easier.”

“Tough shit. I’m not letting you wallow in that frankly disgusting room for another week and a half. You have to go to practice, you have to do another campaign, you have a movie night to attend - you have friends and promises to keep. You’re a graduate now, you have to start thinking about what you want to do, or apply for work so maybe you can take that guitar and get the hell out of this town. You have a life to live, Eddie, and you can’t waste it by holing up in this trailer forever.”

“That...was a magical speech, Harrington. Truly.” Eddie nodded his appreciation. “But I am tired. And I think I’d like to take a nap before I even think about the big, bad world.” He clapped a hand against Steve’s shoulder and stepped around him.

“Eddie-”

“A nap, man.” Eddie didn’t spare him a glance. “Lock the door behind you.” His door clicked shut and he tuned out the outside world as he crawled back into bed.

Steve doesn’t come after him, he isn’t sure how he feels about it, but it’s easier.

Everything is easier when you give up, it seems.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things fic #autistic eddie munson

104 notes · View notes

waltzchristophh · 2 years

Text

ricky lafleur x reader fluff

trailer park boys one-shot except im kind of a whore for everyone. lowkey a self insert but hey. i wrote this out on a whim knowing damn well i have multiple requests to get to. just a lil somethin to get the horny juices flowing (gross).

-based on that one episode-

your left leg hung loosely at the edge of bubbles' go-kart trailer. you blinked white sunlight into your tired brown eyes. what time was it? the memory of a frantic bubbles' dragging your drunken ass out of bed entered your mind. "wait, where are we headed bubs?" you coughed.

"ricky's gone mad! he's on his merry fuckin way to rob terry and dennis! says they owe him hash!"

"where the fuck is julian?"

"he says he's not gettin involved this time!"

"fuuuuck."

the go-kart screeched to a halt at the curb. ricky's ghastly vehicle was parked conveniently in front of a crushed trash can. "idiot."

trevor greeted you at the door with a warm smile that beamed through his pantyhose mask. you pinched his cheek and smiled back. "hey trev, where's ricky?"

"oh, uh, he's over there," trevor pointed, "ricky told us that dennis and terry robbed him, so if we rob them back it's not really stealing, we're just getting even, so we won't get in any trouble, we promise," he rambled like he rehearsed it.

sure enough there ricky was: pointing his glock at the two pantsless doofuses on the loveseat, with paper bags over their heads and their wrists bound by shoelaces.

"i told you pricks not to fuckin follow me. trevor get the fuck back over here ya idiot!"

"sorry ricky."

you scoffed.

"ricky?! i fucking knew it was you!" terry boomed.

"great now tweedledee and tweedlefuckhead know it's us."

"yo, what's good y/n," corey yelled from upstairs.

"y/n's here? shit!" dennis jerked. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

ricky attacked the twin with a half-eaten pepperoni stick. "stay fuckin still shithead, they were just leavin'."

"now c'mon ricky you know this isn't right," bubbles pleaded, "you can't just,, barge into their house and steal their hash. what about jail time ricky, did ya think of that?"

"fuck- bubs, look! they fuckin' owe me and i'm not lettin that shit slide! besides, i was trying to-- fuck!"

"you were trying to what ricky?" you demanded.

"i was tryin' to require the money to take you out someplace -- nice! do you know how much of a greasy idiot i feel like takin you down to that Mcburger joint every night? it's fucked!"

while he couldn't see you through the pantyhose, your stone cold exterior softened as a gentle smile sprawled across your face. it was still way too fucking early to be getting this sentimental. your head was still raging from the drunk barbecue you guys had at randy's. fucksake, you were still in the looney toons pajamas ricky changed you into.

"fuck, ricky," you sighed.

corey descended from the stairwell with two awfully large loads of hash. he tripped on the last step and faceplanted into the hardwood. somehow, you knew he'd be alright.

"goddamnit, you know what? just leave the second bag. we're not takin' any more than what's necessity," ricky surrendered.

"well, i suppose that's a little better," said bubbles.

"fuck!" terry yelled.

"shut the fuck up!" ricky barked.

ricky nodded towards the door and everyone fled the premises.

"wait."

you freed the twins from their bounds and sat between them. "how ya doin, fellas?"

{cut to previous documentary footage}

"all dennis and terry ever ask about when they aren't talkin' hash or video games is how y/n is doin. it's y/n this, y/n that. do you think y/n likes world of warcraft? i mean, jesus!" bubbles recounted.

{back to the present}

ricky stood in the doorway scratching his head with his gun, "god damn it y/n what are ya doin?"

"well, i figure since they already know it was you arseholes that robbed 'em, i might as well try to fix this...somehow. what do ya think boys?"

dennis and terry looked at each other with anxious hesitation. dennis scratched his head and sighed, "well, i mean this was seriously fucked up."

"yeah," terry chimed in.

you settled a compassionate hand on their laps, "i know boys. i don't know what the fuck ricky was thinkin'. you think you can, uh, find it in your hearts to forgive him?"

you traced circles on terry's chest with your finger -- which elicited a scoff from ricky -- while you struggled to keep from laughing.

"i-i mean," terry started.

"we're not totally pissed," dennis finished.

"cool!"

you hooked your elbows around their necks, pulling them together in a friendly cheek-to-cheek embrace.

=========

that night, ricky took you to olive garden. he promptly abused his right to unlimited breadsticks and you couldn't stop laughing.

a short drive after dinner, the two of you settled in his car, nestled between two willow trees at the edge of a mossy cliff. your new boyfriend kissed you tenderly under the starry canadian night.

"fuck, i've always wanted to do that."

#ricky x reader #ricky x reader tpb #tpb ricky x reader #tpb bubbles #trailer park boys fluff #ricky lafleur #trailer park boys fanfic #terry and dennis #corey and trevor

56 notes · View notes

homiesexual-or-homosexual · 1 year

Text

Battle of the Bands - Chapter 13

chpt 1 / chpt 2 / chpt 3 / chpt 4 / chpt 5 / chpt 6 / chpt 7 / chpt 8 / chpt 9 / chpt 10 / chpt 11 / chpt 12 / chpt 13 / chpt 14

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Warnings: you meet all the kiddos for the first time, Keith is a greasy man, tiny bit of Robin flirting, more basketball boys, it’s Carver, you sit in on a dnd session, bordering on lovesick Eddie, hint of a voice kink, nervous reader but Eddie reassures you plenty, lots of kisses, breast play, hand kink if you squint, fingering, reader’s first time, there will be another chapter to finish this off don’t worry, proofread (kinda)

Word Count: 5k

———

Eddie calls today "Kid Day." It's when the whole group, and I mean the whole group, gets together for a movie night/dnd night. And as promised earlier this week, this movie night was at Eddie's. So right now, during the early afternoon, about 30 minutes before Steve and Robin's morning shift ended, the group was at Family Video. There were some faces you didn't recognize. Eddie pointed out the new faces to you as you and Eddie hung out at the countertop with Steve and Robin.

"That's Max Mayfield," Eddie pointed to a redheaded girl. "She lives at the trailer park with me, across the way. She's one of the few young people that take care of the trailer cats."

"The brown-haired girl with Max is Jane, or El," Eddie points to the taller girl with Max. "She's the sheriff's daughter and is dating Mike."

"And those two over there," He points to a couple a few rows back. "Are Nancy and Jonathan. Nancy is Mike's older sister and Jonathan is Will's older brother, the boy over by Mike."

Eddie shifts his finger to a lengthy boy that stands with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. He's got a bowl-cut type of haircut, but it doesn't look horrible on him. He's a sickly-looking thing, I hope he's eating well.

"And that's Erica," He points to a younger girl that stands with Lucas and the other boys. She seems to be sassing them around a bit. "Lucas's little sister. She handed me my ass when she had her first dnd session with us."

You nodded, trying to memorize names and faces. There's so many of them altogether. And they'll all be in Eddie's house tonight, along with the added company of Corroded Coffin. Your nervous and shy nature is not a good mix for so many people. But nonetheless, Eddie pulls you close with an arm when the group comes up to pay. And you listen as the kids bicker and the adults make conversation with Steve and Robin, they've all got quite the personality when they're all together like this.

The bell for the store rings and a man that looks kinda young, but not too young, and greasy comes in. He's got the Family Video uniform on and you can just barely read his nametag.

"Alright kiddos," The man speaks. "Shift change. Get outta here."

"Yeah, hello to you too, Keith," Steve greets as he puts the cash away in the cash register.

"Got quite the group in here today," You can feel the man, Keith, eye you as he walks by to the little half door to go behind the counter.

Eddie pulls you closer and you can feel the rumble of his chest as he goes to speak, but Steve beats him to it.

"Yeah, it's movie night tonight."

"Who's this?" Keith asks, waving his fingers at you. A yucky feeling in your stomach starts to bubble to life.

"A friend," Steve keeps the answer vague as he gathers his and Robin's bag from underneath the counter. "She's from out of town."

“Is she single?” He’s behind the counter now and he looks you over.

"What do you think, Keith?" Robin asks, taking her bag from Steve as he holds the half door open for her. She gestures towards you and Eddie, pointing out the obvious display of affection and possessiveness (though, it's not so obvious for you).

Keith only grunts, averting his eyes from the not-actually-dating couple.

"Alrighty kiddos!" Steve calls to the pack as if he were their mother. "Who's hungry?"

"Me! Me!" All the kids come barreling towards the group, and Eddie pulls you out of the way of the children.

"Alright, yall can work out who's riding with who, but leave some room for Robin in my car and for Jonathan in Nancy's car," Steve tells them, opening the door to the outside and the kids shove themselves through, bickering amongst themselves on who rides in what car and who sits where.

You and Eddie lean up against his van as the adults of the group, plus Robin, decide where to go to eat lunch, occasionally looking inside the car to check on the kids.

"You okay?" Eddie asks.

You've been obviously quiet, possibly overwhelmed by all the people. Eddie knows you're a little shy so he's doing his best to check up on you, keeping you close and keeping you in his line of sight. It may be his protectiveness, but you don't seem to mind his behavior.

"Yeah," You look at him, instantly lost in his dark chocolate eyes. You can't help but feel a little intimidated by him.

You'd finally accepted the overwhelming crush you developed on Eddie from day one this morning when you woke up alone in his bed this morning. You'd only wished he was still there, holding your hand or spooning you from behind, but you knew you both weren't ready to overstep that line yet. Eddie wouldn't want the first thing you feel when you wake up to be his burdened morning wood. And your crush came officially crashing down when Eddie walked into the room, you just barely awake, with a small box of donuts. He'd placed a soft hand on your upper back to rouse you awake, telling you that he'd gotten donuts. And if there was a way to make you fall in love with someone, it was through your stomach.

"You sure?" Eddie brought you back to the present.

You nodded, "Just a lot of people."

"Yeah," Eddie crosses his arms, leaning back into his van more, the leather of his jacket bunching around his arms. "It gets pretty overwhelming, especially when we have movie nights at my place. But just tell me if you need a break, okay?"

You nod, looking away from him. You watched as Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan finally come to a lunch decision.

"Hey!" Steve called you two to his attention. "The diner in town?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Eddie tells Steve. "We'll meet you there."

"'K," Steve moves to open the driver's door of his car. "If we beat you there we'll get a table."

Eddie nods, moving to open the passenger door for you, "All in?"

"Yes sir," You tell him, almost instinctively, but with a joking tone.

You miss the way Eddie pauses, you're too busy fixing your shorts so they don't ride up uncomfortably on the ride to lunch. To say that phrase didn't do anything to him was an understatement. He's flustered as he shuts your door and opens his. His hand shakes a little as he struggles to put his key in the ignition, and he white knuckles the steering wheel as he tries to rid the intrusive thoughts that crowd his brain.

"You okay?" You ask, noticing his tense shoulders and flushed face. You truly are oblivious, and it's killing your metalhead companion.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Eddie looks at you, giving you a reassuring smile. "Just fine."

You nod, buckling in as Eddie backed out of his parking spot and followed Nancy’s car through town to the diner. Eddie parked over on the side of the building where it wasn’t too busy and helped you out, a hand on your lower back as you two met the rest of the group in the diner. You all the got settled in a large booth in a corner, just missing the beginning of the lunch rush. You all get your drinks and food rather quickly, the staff not too busy as of yet.

You’re sat right in the middle of the adults of the group and the kids, settled beside Eddie and Jane, or El as you’ve heard some of the long term kids call her. And you admire the diner, it’s older and a little worn out but still homey all the same. And it seems to be homey to another group as well, the white and green lettermen stand out like a horse in a hospital. There’s a couple girls with them, a particular pretty ginger with pretty green eyes is with them. Her hair is up in a high ponytail and her smile is very pretty. But a wave interrupts your admiring. It’s the Carver kid, sitting beside the pretty ginger. He’s waving at you with a sly little smile on his face. You scrunch your nose at him and turn your attention the kids beside you. The boys plus Erica are discussing something quietly, leaning into each other as they hover over a spot on the table. It sounds like a very heated conversation.

“Are you and Eddie dating?” El asks, snapping you out of your quietness.

You’re mid-drink and you almost, almost, choke on it as you swallow. You grow a little hot, both because of the blunt question and almost choking.

“Huh?? Uhhh…,” You stall, letting the question go through a process in your mind. “Why?”

“He’s very touchy with you,” El tells you, no hesitation in her voice. “And he stares at you a lot.”

Max, who sits beside El on the other side, whips her head towards you two. Her eyes are wide as she watches for you reaction.

You zero in on the big, warm hand on your thigh, ringed fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on the flesh. He’s attention is elsewhere though, included in on a lax conversation with the older kids. And you can’t help but notice you’re practically shoulder to shoulder with the metalhead.

“Well no,” You tell the two girls. “We’re not, but we’re very close friends.”

El doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer. Max only gives you a “uh huh.”

“How’d you guys meet?” Max asked, and suddenly all the kids are looking your way like kindergarteners awaiting an afternoon storytime.

“Well we met at Battle of the Bands and got along real quick. And it didn’t help that we both kept running into each other. We hung out a couple times too, usually after we were done performing for the day. I also live about thirty minutes over in the next town,” You tell the kids. “I guess it’s just all fate.”

“Did you guys compete against each other?”

“Who won?”

“What instrument do you play?”

“Do you sing?”

“What’s your band called?”

“What city to you live in?”

Eddie, who’s attention is caught by the blabbering of kids, turns his attention to you. He looks rather amused.

“Whatcha talking about, sweetheart?” He asks, having not heard El ask if you guys were dating. He’s practically offering himself to the wolves at this point.

Erica starts up, “Ya’ll must be dating if he’s calling you names like that!”

Eddie, who took a drink, chokes violently. Sputtering up coughs and wheezes. He’s thumping his chest with a closed fist to cough up the violating liquid.

“No no,” Eddie waves his hands, detaching the one from your thigh. “We’re just good friends.”

You two are met with looks from all ages of the group. “Really?” they all practically say.

During the stare down, the waiter comes by and drops off the check. Steve snatches it up before anyone else can and scans it over, fishing out his wallet to get the appropriate change.

“Are you really really not dating?” Steve asks, not looking up from his wallet.

“Nope,” You both shakes your heads.

“Does that means I have a chance?” Robin quips, eyes rather hopeful but playful all the same.

Eddie only glares while your cheeks flush.

“Are you,” A voice at the table speaks up. “Really single?”

You all look in the direction of the voice. The Carver kid is leaned up against the wooden side on the booth closest to you. All eyes go dead or angry, eyes brows furrowed.

“Yeah???” You tell him, having a feeling where he’s trying to steer the conversation.

“I can’t believe it-“ Carver is cut off.

“Oh fuck off, Carver,” Steve grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Do I have a chance with you then?” Carver asks, ignoring Steve.

“No,” You tell him bluntly, face dead and no expression in your face.

“Just give me a chance,” The ball boy begs. “I’ll take you out on a date.”

“No,” You tell him again. “You’re not my type.”

“Well what’s your type?”

“Not you.”

Carver huffs, standing up and stalking over to his table. And not a second later, your waiter scurried by to pick up what Steve put down.

“What was that?” Max asks.

“Just some kid that keeps hitting on me,” You tell the group. “I’ve seen him around town a couple times now.”

“Don’t fall for it,” Dustin tells you. “He just wants to get his dick wet.”

Dustin barely gets the last part of his sentence out before the table erupts, not wanting to hear those sort of words come from one of the younger’s mouth. He only shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

The table quiets down when the waiter comes by with the change. Steve collects his change, leaving some as a tip. You all file out of the booths, Eddie standing between the basketball player’s table and you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. And everyone piles into the cars and takes off towards Eddie’s place, Eddie’s van leading the way.

Now, standing a little behind Eddie you watch the two different groups in the room. Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Max, and El are all crowded around the movies, arguing what to watch first, debating which is better and which is worse. Eddie, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Erica, Gareth, Jeff, and the other guy from Corroded Coffin, who’s name you couldn’t remember, were all settled around the coffee table in Eddie’s living room, setting up DnD. And once everyone is settled and the movie has been decided on, DnD starts. Eddie pats the empty spot beside him, offering you a seat beside the almighty dungeon master.

While the players decided their next moves, Eddie would wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you forward so he could point out things to you that were sketched and scribbled onto the many papers in front of him. He'd whisper his ideas in your ear and smile a devilish smile. Between breaks in the storytelling, you'd ask Eddie questions. What if they did this? Is this possible? What if? What if?

Eddie could only feel himself fall deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole his heart had created for you. He found himself even more smitten for you the more you asked questions. Other than Hellfire, he'd never met someone so interested in Dungeons and Dragons. He'd never met someone so curious. Your curiosity only made his heart thump a little harder behind his ribcage.

You could only watch as Eddie told the tales of his fellow players. Watching with wide eyes as he threw his arms around, standing up on his knees. His hair flew everywhere with his ecstatic movements, and his voice would drop a couple octaves when he was trying to intimidate the group.

You'd be lying if his Dungeon Master voice didn't do anything to you. The way it sounded and the way it was accompanied by this certain dangerous fire in Eddie's eyes. And Eddie seemed to notice, leaning back to ghost an arm around you and whispering in that god-forsaken voice. He caged you in like a scared animal and you couldn't help the blush that would crawl up your neck and settle into.... other places.

The night goes on, and Hellfire finds a good stopping point around 11pm. Everyone packed up their paper and dice, helping clean up the board and put everything into a box that Eddie would later put away in his room. Gareth, Jeff, and the other guy bid their goodbyes, saying goodnight and they'd see Eddie on Monday.

The Hellfire kids settled in the empty spaces on the couch, leaving a spot in the corner adjacent to the tv. Eddie took over the corner and you went to sit on the floor but Eddie pulled you into his lap. He shushed you as you went to stutter out a complaint and pulled your legs across his lap and wrapped an arm around your lower back to keep you secure to him. You had no option other than to lean into him, but you weren't complaining, turning your attention to the movie that was on the tv.

"It's the Outsiders," Eddie whispered. "You seen it?"

You shook your head no.

"It's one of Nancy's favorites," He whispered again, his voice low and raspy, a little raw from the excitement of his Dungeons and Dragons session.

Eddie had watched The Outsiders so many times that he'd begun to pick up on the minor details of the movie. He shared his discoveries to you in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your jawline. And he wasn't helping your little problem, that only kept growing.

And with what a little devil he was, Eddie couldn't help but let his hands wander. Up and down your thighs, rings cold against your heated skin. Goosebumps rose on your legs, and if Eddie noticed he didn't say anything.

About two hours go by until kids start yawning and eyelids start drooping. The Outsiders just ended and the adults are cleaning up. Steve gathered up the kids, gently ushering them out the door to get them settled in.

"You want any movies?" Robin asked, Nancy and Jonathan helping her gather them up.

"Nah, we're good," Eddie shrugged. "It's getting kinda late. We're probably gonna go to bed soon anyway."

"Alright, goodnight," Robin says, waving as she heads out the door.

"Be safe, you two," Nancy eyes you two playfully. "And tell Wayne I say hi when he comes home."

"Yes ma'am," Eddie mock salutes before Nancy shuts the door all the way.

It's a moment before you two speak, the trailer silent. You can hear cars driving away from the trailer, and then it's completely silent.

"You're very pretty," Eddie murmurs, only loud enough so you can hear. "You know that?"

"Uhhhhhh," You pause, brain blank at his sudden compliment and you feel blood overfill your cheeks. "You're-you're pretty too."

"Did I make you nervous?" Eddie tries to catch your eyes, but to no avail.

"A little," You fiddle with your fingers, looking down at your lap.

Eddie pauses again, "Can I kiss you?"

You whip your head up to look at him, all wide-eyed like a baby deer. You go blank again, breath stuttering as you look between his two chocolate eyes.

"Um-um- yeah," You tell him. "Yeah, you can."

Eddie, to hold you in place, places a hand on your lower back and leans in, placing his other free hand on the side of your face, his big warm hand practically holding the entirely of that side of your face. His lips meet yours and they're so warm and soft that it catches you by surprise. You're very conscience of your heartbeat picking up and you're not sure if you're breathing anymore. But Eddie feels so nice this close, and so warm. You relax quickly, grabbing onto his forearm attached to the hand holding your face, and you lean in more. Eddie opens his mouth and you follow suit, delving into making out. You two only add just a bit of tongue when you feel the other is comfortable with it. A heat builds inside you and it's becoming unbearable, until Eddie pulls away.

Both of you are breathing heavily, and Eddie's face is flushed. He's got this cute little smile on his face too, like the embodiment of infatuation and adoration.

“You wanna umm.. you wanna go to my room?” Eddie asks shyly, barely able to make eye contact with you.

You nod, “Yeah.”

You get off of Eddie and follow him as he takes the lead to his room. He turns on a lamp in the far corner of his room, it keeps the lighting soft but it's bright enough for you both to see clearly. And you shut the door behind you. Nervousness picks up inside you, thoughts running wild about what could possibly happen in the next few moments.

“Hey,” Eddie calls you from your head. “Stop worrying and come sit. We can go at your pace. Don’t worry.”

Eddie sits at the center of his bed, a couple pillows piled behind him so he rests comfortably at half mass. He looks rather delicious with the way his curly locks fall over his shoulders and how his Hellfire shirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows.

You tentatively pad over to Eddie, crawling onto the bed to swing a leg over his hips. You settle just below his crotch, almost missing the way his cock strains against the center of his jeans. Eddie’s hand settle on your hips, almost in a silent way of asking you to move up a bit so you were closer.

“We can kiss some more, yeah?” Eddie suggests, a little tilt in his voice. “See where it goes from there?”

You nod, moving close and practically sitting on the clothed erection of Eddie’s cock. His hands never leave your hips as you lean down to kiss him some more. It’s a soft make out session, your hands on either side of his head and pushing into his pillows. It's a calm sort of situation, the only sounds being the small clicks of kissing and the heavy breathing from both of you. And it's not before long before Eddie's hands venture from your waist and up your sides, rubbing a slow rhythm over your ribcage and pressing into the space of flesh between the bottom of your ribcage and the top of your hip bones.

Eddie pulls away from you slowly, and you follow for a bit before realizing how out of breath you are. You look at each other, unreadable expressions on your faces. You sit up more and look down as a small tug from your shirt catches your attention. The metalhead's hands are back down by your waist, his thick fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt and you look back at his face to catch his eyes averting from where his hands are.

"Can I take this off?" Eddie asks, not moving until he gets your consent.

"Yeah," You nod, a little nervous.

You help him take your shirt off, dropping it off to the side of the bed. You watch his gaze as Eddie looks over your partially exposed abdomen. His hands ghost down your side and back up to your pink and white bra, feeling up the satin material gently.

"Pretty," Eddie's eyes are trained on where his hands wander and then up to your eyes. "You're very pretty."

Heat rushes up your neck and dusts over your cheeks, "Th-thanks."

"Can we take your bra off or do you wanna wait?" Eddie asks again, maintaining eye contact.

"We can take it off," You tell him.

Eddie moves his hands behind your back and fiddles with your bra clasp before you feel it loosen and the bra straps slip down your arms. You shimmy the straps off of your arms and down onto the floor to join your shirt. And as you get settled a rather sudden groan, bordering growl, rumbles through Eddie's chest. Suddenly you're very conscious of your tits and how... out there they are. Your nipples are hard thanks to your aroused state and your habit of sitting up straight makes your boobs more out there than they would be if you'd be slouching.

"Hey," Eddie's voice rouses you out of your overthinking. "You're okay. I got you. You're so pretty, baby. Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

His hands cup the underside of your tits, pushing them up a bit and groping the squishy flesh. Eddie's fingers catch your nipples, pinching them between this thumb and pointer finger.

You whine, a searing heat billowing between your thighs. You unconsciously grind against Eddie and you feel the sudden and brief push of his cock against his jeans and your center.

"C'mere," Eddie pulls you forward, scooting you up more and taking your left nipple into his mouth.

You gasp at the contact, letting out another whine at the pull of Eddie's sucking. You grasp at the pillows below you and you can't help but center in on Eddie's mouth on your tit and his hands on your back at the same time, a delicious mix of overstimulation. You only get a brief break as Eddie switches nipples, over to your right, and you can't help but moan, and that only spurs your metalhead on. He sucks harder and pulls at your lower back, pressing you against him. You whine and moan, hesitant swivels of your hips just barely against Eddie's upper crotch causes him to groan below you.

Eddie pulls off of you, gently pushing you up to a sitting position. And it's a struggle, but Eddie pulls off his shirt and you're staring. He's got more muscle than his clothes give away. Eddie isn't overly muscular or overly toned but he also isn't skin and bones. He's a nice middle with a little tummy near his waist. It's cute and attractive, and your foggy mind is only more turned on by his fully exposed abdomen. Your eyes are also drawn to the devil's head covering his heart, and the black widow just above that. You're also drawn to his exposed arms, which also have a bit of muscle on them. His right forearm has a swarm of bats, and above that on the back of his bicep a wyvern. And on the inside of his right forearm there is a clawed hand with strings tied around the fingers and attached to a devil just below it.

"I like your tattoos," You mutter, taking his right arm and poking at the little swarm of bats.

"Yeah?" Eddie matches your volume, watching your fingers poke at the long healed ink. "You ever gotten one before."

"No," You tell him. "I think my mom would kill me."

Eddie nods.

"I-I like your hands too," Your gaze flits down to his hands, veins protruding from the skin thanks to the heat that emits from both of your bodies.

"Yeah?" There's a cockiness to Eddie's tone now. "You wanna see what these hands can do?"

You nod.

Eddie grabs at your hips and lifts you up and over his lap and onto the space of bed beside him. He pushes the blankets away and shuffles a pillow over to rest your head on. The metalhead sits up all the way to unbutton your shorts and slide them down your legs so they can join your clothes on the side of the bed.

"This okay?"

You nod, "Eddie, I... I've never done this before."

"Sex?" He asks, his hands resting just before the hem of your underwear.

You shake your head no.

"You fingered yourself before?"

Again, no.

"Well, I'll go nice and slow sweetheart," Eddie reassures you. "And if anything hurts tell me, and if you want to stop tell me and I will, okay?"

"Okay," You nod, your nervousness gone down a bit, but it only shoots back up again when Eddie slips his thumbs under the hem of your shorts and panties.

"Can I take these off?" He asks.

You nod, too nervous to speak. You mess with your fingers, hands brought up to your chest and resting just below your breasts.

Eddie gingerly slips off your underwear, taking his sweet time to pull them down your legs and drop them to the pile of clothes beside the bed. And then he's sliding his warm hands back up your calfs and thighs, rings icy cold against your heated skin. The metalhead dips his fingers between your thighs before nudging his way between your lower lips. It's slick, adding a simple shine to the tips of Eddie's fingers. You let out an involuntary gasp when Eddie grazes your clit and you hear Eddie huff to himself. It seems he found what he was looking for.

Eddie adds a bit more pressure to your clit, drawing another gasp along with a whine from your throat. He moves his fingers in small circular motions, switching between quick side-to-side motions and fluid up-and-down motions. You're all but quiet. Eddie's motions bring out noises you're not used to making. Whines and moans and gasp, gripping Eddie's forearm as a way to attempt to ground yourself.

Quickier than you anticipate, a pressure builds in your lower abdomen rather quickly. Your hips move involuntarily and your thighs start to shake. The pressure builds and builds and builds before it snaps and you’re moaning and repeating Eddie’s name like it’s the only thing on your mind, and it is.

Slowly, Eddie stops his movements and keeps his hand between your legs. Your eyes are closed and breathing labored. And you’re chilly now, a light layer of sweat covering your body after the build up of energy from just moments before. Goosebumps litter your skin and you jump at Eddie’s thumb rubbing softly back and forth on your inner thigh.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, head buried in your neck. “Can I finger you or are you too sensitive?”

“I think I’m okay,” You tell him.

Eddie lifts his head from your neck, watching you in his peripherals when your eyebrows furrow as he starts to move his fingers against your folds again. You're sensitive, and he knows that, which is why when Eddie inches his middle finger inside you he's giving you soft kisses to your temple and forehead as small distractions.

The unfamiliar feeling of a finger inside of you along with the slight burn of the stretch it brings overwhelms you a little bit. But Eddie’s soft mannerisms keep you from going into your head. He starts a slow rhythm, watching as your face goes from a slightly pained one to one controlled by pleasure. Then he pulls out and rubs along your soaked folds once more before nudging his pointer and and middle against your entrance.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He whispers, slipping up til the first knuckle inside of you. “You gotta breathe, baby.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You attempted to listen to Eddie, breathing through the stinging pain of both of his fingers inching their way inside until his hand is pressed against you. He gives you a small break until he starts moving his fingers back and forth, getting you used to the feeling before setting a nice, easy rhythm. Moans start slipping from your mouth the less pain there is, pleasure replacing the sting. And the more you moan the faster Eddie moves his fingers, unintentionally, or intentionally, brushing the tips of his fingers against a sensitive spot inside you.

Eddie’s name is on your lips when you grip onto his arm. Hell, it’s the only thing on your mind. Eddie buries his face into your neck, kissing and licking at the slightly sweaty skin.

“You wanna cum for me, sweetheart?” The metalhead asks.

“I- I- can’t cum this way,” You tell him, struggling to get the words out.

“How about this?” Eddie purrs.

He takes his fingers from your hole and slips them up to your clit, the slickness of your juices on his fingers making his fast motions easy to do.

“oh Fuck-“ You breathe out, tensing up as waves of pleasure flow throughout your body.

Eddie’s fingers are skilled, and it seems you feel his movements more due to sensitivity from your previous orgasm. His fingers move in quick circular motions and add a delicious amount of pressure to bring your orgasm up quickly. Your body seems to warm as the tether in your lower stomach snaps and the only thing you can think of is Eddie, his name on your tongue at the peak of your finish.

You come down, Eddie’s fingers slowing. He pulls his hand away, laying over the top of your thigh. The metalhead peppers little kisses across your temple and your brain focuses on the warmth of his lips against your soft skin.

“I’ll give you a little cool down time and then we can keep going, yeah?” Eddie asks, tracing his hand from your thigh to your opposite hip.

You nod, “Do you think I can see the cats tomorrow?”

Eddie gives you a quiet laugh, “Yeah. I’ll wake you up when I go to feed them in the morning, ‘kay?”

You nod once more.

———

Taglist: @calizmor

#aj posts #stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson smut

8 notes · View notes