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Hihiii!! Could I please get a New York style slice with bacon, chicken and pineapple, side of breadsticks and fries 💗💗
Eddie destroying something you gave him that was sentimental out of anger after finding out what you did “You're not a burden, baby. You're loved. So loved.”
(This is my first time ever asking so I hope I’m doing it right!!)
weeping willow
pairing: eddie munson x reader
w/c: 3707
warnings/tags: angst! w/a happier ending, ppd, girl dad eddie, depression, arguments, eddie being kind of a dick
masterlist // pizza party
The apartment was too quiet and too loud at the same time.
Willow had finally stopped screaming at 2:17 a.m., her tiny body going limp against your chest like she’d simply run out of fight. You hadn’t. You were still vibrating with it- every nerve raw, every breath shallow. The postpartum depression had come in like a flood after the birth and never really receded- it just changed shape. Some days it was the crushing certainty that you were failing her. Other days it was this mean, electric anger that made you want to claw out of your own skin.
Tonight it was both.
Eddie’s key turned in the lock a little after three. You heard the soft thud of his work boots, the jingle of his keys hitting the bowl by the door, the low sigh he always gave when he stepped inside and saw the state of things. Bottles in the sink. Laundry in a pile by the couch. You, still in the same shirt you’d slept in two nights ago, hair a mess, eyes swollen.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a careful kiss to the top of Willow’s head where she slept in the bassinet beside the couch. Then one to your temple.
“You should be sleeping,” he murmured.
You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.
He moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared at nothing for a second before closing it again. When he came back he was holding a cigarette and the ashtray- the one you’d made him in that stupid pottery class last year. The little black bats you’d painted along the rim. The tiny Corroded Coffin logo you’d etched into the bottom because it made him laugh when you gave it to him. “For all your bad habits,” you’d said, and he’d kissed you like you hung the moon.
Now he turned it over and over in his grease stained hands like he was trying to remember how to breathe.
“I talked to the guys at the shop about picking up a couple extra shifts,” he said quietly. “We’re behind on the electric again.”
You closed your eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His voice sharpened just a fraction. “That’s it? I’m telling you I’m killing myself to keep the lights on and you say okay like I just told you the weather?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Eddie.” Your voice was hoarse from all the crying you’d done while he was gone. “You want me to throw you a parade for doing what you’re supposed to do?”
He flinched. You saw it. And some ugly, exhausted part of you was glad.
“I want you to talk to me,” he said. “I want to come home and not feel like I’m walking into a fucking minefield. I want to know what the hell is going on in your head instead of guessing every time you look at me like I’m the enemy.”
You stood up too fast. Willow stirred in the bassinet but didn’t wake.
“The hell is going on in my head?” You laughed, and it sounded broken. “I pushed a whole person out of my body six weeks ago, Eddie. I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time since. I can’t remember the last time I ate something that didn’t come out of a box. And every single day I wake up and the first thought in my head is that I’m already failing her. That she deserves better than me. That you deserve better than me. And now you’re standing there telling me I’m making it hard for you?”
His jaw clenched. The ashtray kept turning in his hands.
“I’m not saying that.”
“You don’t have to. I can hear it every time you sigh when you walk through the door. Every time you look at the mess and don’t say anything. I know I’m a fucking burden right now. I know I’m the problem. You don’t have to spell it out.”
The words hung there between you, ugly and true and not true all at once.
Eddie’s eyes went wide for a second- like he’d been slapped- then something in him snapped shut.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I can’t do this with you tonight. I’m too fucking tired to fight about how I’m apparently the villain for wanting my girlfriend back instead of whatever this is.”
His arms gestured wildly at his sides. Tossing the items in his hands towards the wall.
The ceramic hit the wall with a crack that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet apartment.
It shattered on impact. All the careful hours you’d spent making something just for him exploding into jagged pieces across the hardwood. One shard skittered all the way to the bassinet and pinged off the wheel.
Willow woke with a sharp, startled cry.
You didn’t think. You just moved.
Car seat already by the door. Diaper bag packed and waiting. It's not like you ever really left the house anyway. You scooped Willow up- still screaming, tiny face red and wet- and buckled her in with shaking hands while Eddie stood frozen in the middle of the living room, staring at the broken ashtray like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.
“Babe-” His voice cracked. “Wait. Fuck. I didn’t mean-”
You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. If you did you might shatter too.
Keys. Jacket. The door.
You didn’t slam it. You closed it quietly, like you were trying to protect something that was already broken.
The drive to Robin’s was a blur of streetlights and your own ragged breathing and Willow’s hiccuping cries from the backseat. You talked to her the whole way, voice thick and shaking.
“It’s okay, baby. We’re okay. Aunt Robin’s gonna let us crash on her couch and everything’s gonna be fine. Mommy just… Mommy needed to get out before she said something she couldn’t take back.”
Robin’s apartment was on the second floor of a building that always smelled like someone’s dinner and old carpet. You knocked with one hand while holding the car seat with the other, Willow still fussing softly now that the motion of the car had soothed her.
The door opened fast. Robin stood there in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks, hair a wild halo around her head, eyes already wide with concern the second she saw your face.
She didn’t ask what happened. She just stepped aside, took the car seat from you with careful hands, and pulled you into the apartment like she’d been waiting for you all night.
“Come on,” she said softly, already steering you toward the couch. “Shoes off. Sit. I’ll make tea. Or something stronger if you need it. And then you can tell me whatever you want. Or nothing. Your call.”
You sank onto her couch and finally let the tears come. Robin didn’t try to fix it. She just sat beside you, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades, while Willow’s carrier clicked open and your daughter’s small, warm weight was transferred carefully into her arms.
“Shhh, little rockstar,” Robin murmured to the baby, rocking her without even thinking about it. “Auntie’s got you. Your mom’s got you too. We’re all just figuring it out, okay?”
You buried your face in your hands and tried to remember how to breathe.
Outside, somewhere across town, Eddie was probably still standing in the wreckage of the ashtray you’d made him, wondering how everything had gone so wrong so fast.
And you were here.
Not okay.
But not alone.
Eddie didn’t remember getting in the van.
One second he was on his knees in the living room, blood dripping from a cut on his finger as he picked up the jagged pieces of the ashtray you’d made him. The next he was behind the wheel, driving through the empty streets with the windows cracked and the cold night air stinging his face. He couldn’t stay in that apartment. Not with the shards still glittering on the floor like accusations. Not with Willow’s bassinet sitting empty and your scent still clinging to the couch cushions.
He tried calling you twice. Straight to voicemail both times. He didn’t leave a message. What the hell was he supposed to say? I’m sorry I turned the one thing you made me into a weapon? I’m sorry I made you feel like a burden when you’re already carrying everything?
Useless. Pathetic.
So he drove to the only person he knew who might have answers.
Steve Harrington’s house sat quiet on the edge of town, porch light still on like it was waiting for him. The minivan was parked crooked in the driveway. A plastic tricycle lay tipped over on the lawn next to a couple of those big dinosaurs his kids loved. Eddie killed the engine and sat there for ten full minutes, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, trying to remember how to breathe without it feeling like his ribs were cracking.
When he finally knocked, it was soft. Almost ashamed.
The door opened after a minute. Steve stood there in old gray sweats and a faded Hawkins High shirt, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes heavy with sleep. One look at Eddie’s face- red-rimmed eyes, the cut on his finger, the way his whole body was curled inward like he was trying to disappear- and Steve just stepped back and let him in.
“Kitchen,” he said quietly. “Don’t wake the kids.”
They moved through the dark house in silence, stepping over stray toys. Steve flicked on the stove light instead of the overhead and started making coffee without asking. Eddie dropped into a chair at the big wooden table and stared at his hands.
Steve set a mug in front of him- this one had a cartoon T-Rex on it- and sat across from him.
Steve didn’t interrupt. Just waited, sipping his coffee, letting Eddie get it out.
Eddie told him everything. The constant fighting since Willow was born. How exhausted you both were. How he felt like he was failing at being a dad and a partner at the same time. How he’d come home tonight already on edge, said the wrong thing, and you’d snapped back, and then he’d snapped harder.
“I had the ashtray in my hand,” he admitted, staring into the dinosaur mug like it might have answers. “The one she made me. And I just… threw it. At the wall. It shattered everywhere. Willow woke up screaming. And she looked at me like she didn’t recognize me. Like I’d finally proven I was the problem. Then she grabbed Willow and left. Said she was going to Robin’s.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the fridge.
Steve let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice was calm but steady- the voice of someone who’d already walked through this fire.
“Alright. First thing- you throwing that ashtray was a dick move. Offense intended. Especially something she made for you. That wasn’t just frustration, man. That was you losing control in front of your kid and your girl. It probably scared the hell out of her. Not just the noise, but the fact that you did it at all.”
Eddie flinched but didn’t argue.
“Second,” Steve continued, “what you’re describing? Sounds like postpartum depression. She can't help it. Hormone drop and all that? It’s real shit. My wife went through it bad after our second. Cried over nothin’, got pissed at everything, couldn’t sleep even when the baby did, felt like she was failing at being a mom every single day. And I made it worse at first because I kept trying to ‘fix’ her instead of just shutting up and listening. You can’t logic someone out of this. You can only support them through it.”
Eddie’s throat felt tight. “She said she feels like a burden. Like she’s the problem. And I… I didn’t tell her she wasn’t. I made it worse.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, not sugarcoating it. “You did. But that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you a tired, scared dad who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing yet. Big difference.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“Here’s what you do, Munson. You go to her- not tonight, because it’s almost dawn and she needs space to breathe- but tomorrow. You show up with coffee and an actual apology. Not the ‘I’m sorry but I was stressed’ bullshit. You say, ‘I was wrong. I shouldn’t have thrown the ashtray. It was fucked up and I scared you and Willow and I’m sorry.’ Then you shut the hell up and listen. Really listen. Ask her what she needs from you right now. Maybe it’s more help with nights. Maybe it’s her seeing her doctor about meds or therapy and you going with her or watching Willow so she can go. Maybe it’s just you telling her she’s a good mom when she can’t see it herself.”
Eddie swallowed hard. “What if she doesn’t want me there? What if I broke it?”
Steve’s expression softened a fraction. “Then you fight for it without making it about your guilt. You text her that you love her and Willow. That you’re thinking about them. That you’re sorry and you’re here whenever she’s ready. You give her space if she needs it, but you don’t disappear. And you clean up the mess before she comes home- every last shard of that ashtray. Show her you’re already trying.”
Eddie sat with that, the weight of it pressing on his chest.
Steve stood up and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a shit dad. You’re in the trenches. My kids have seen me lose my temper too. The difference is what you do after. Go home. Sleep a couple hours if you can. Clean up. Then go see your girls in the morning.”
At the door, Steve added one last thing.
“And Eddie? This doesn’t mean you don’t love them. It means you’re human. Now go be the guy she fell for- the one who fixes shit instead of breaking it.”
Eddie drove home in silence.
When he got back to the apartment, the first thing he did was sweep up every single piece of the broken ashtray. He didn’t throw them away. He put them in a small box on the kitchen counter instead. Maybe later he could do something with the pieces. Turn them into something new. A promise he intended to keep.
Then he sat on the couch in the dark, staring at Willow’s empty bassinet, phone in his hand.
He typed out a message to Robin, deleted it, typed it again.
Is she okay? Tell her I’m sorry. I’m home if she wants to talk. I love them both more than anything.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Then he waited for the sun to come up.
He’d go to Robin’s in the morning.
He’d beg if he had to.
Because losing you and Willow wasn’t an option.
Not now.
Not ever.
You drove back with your hands tight on the steering wheel and your chest aching like you’d been holding your breath since last night.
Robin hadn’t pushed. She’d just watched you read Eddie’s text for the tenth time, Willow asleep against her shoulder, and said softly, “Go. Talk to him. I’ll keep her for a couple hours. You two need to talk without a baby in the room. I’ve got her. She’s safe. Go fix what you can.”
So you went. Alone.
The apartment was spotless when you walked in.
That was the first thing that hit you- the smell of lemon cleaner instead of sour milk and old coffee. The counters were wiped down. The sink was empty. The laundry that had been a mountain by the couch was gone, folded and stacked neatly on the coffee table. And the living room floor… no shards. No glittering evidence of last night. Like he’d erased it.
Eddie was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed like the weight of everything was pressing him into the floor. He looked up the second the door clicked shut. His eyes were red-rimmed, curls tangled and wild, the cut on his finger from picking up the broken ceramic visible. He stood slowly, like he was afraid any fast movement would make you turn around and leave again.
For a long second, neither of you spoke.
Then his voice cracked, low and wrecked.
“You came back.”
You swallowed hard, arms wrapped around yourself. “Robin’s watching her. So we can… talk. Without her here.”
He nodded, relief and fear flickering across his face at the same time. “Good. That’s… good. I cleaned. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just sit here with the pieces everywhere.”
Your eyes flicked to the spot where the ashtray had shattered. Nothing. Not even a speck of dust.
“You threw it,” you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “The one I made you. You threw it at the wall like it didn’t mean anything. Like I don’t mean anything.”
Eddie flinched like you’d hit him. He took one hesitant step closer, then stopped when you didn’t move toward him.
“I know,” he said, voice thick. “I know I did. And I’m so fucking sorry. I was holding it and everything just… exploded. I was tired and scared and I felt like I couldn’t do anything right, and I took it out on the thing you made me. That was wrong. It was cruel. And I scared you. I scared Willow. I hate myself for that.”
The words hung there, raw and honest. No excuses this time. Just ownership.
You felt the tears start, hot and immediate. “I already feel like I’m drowning every day. Like I’m failing her. Failing you. And then you said those things and threw that and it was like… like you were confirming it. That I’m the problem. That I’m a burden.”
Eddie’s face crumpled. He closed the distance in two strides but didn’t touch you yet- just stood close enough that you could see the tears in his own eyes.
“You’re not,” he said fiercely, voice breaking. “You are not a burden. You hear me? You’re the love of my fucking life. You’re the mother of my daughter. You’re the person who made me want to be better than I ever thought I could be. This- this depression- it’s lying to you. It’s lying to both of us. And I made it worse by not seeing how much you were hurting. By making it about me instead of just… being here for you.”
He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn’t, his hands settled gently on your arms, thumbs brushing soothing circles.
“I talked to Steve last night,” he admitted quietly. “Told him everything. He said his wife went through it too. That it’s awful and it’s hard and it doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken. It means you need support, not someone throwing shit and making you feel like you’re too much. I’m so sorry I did that. I’m sorry I made you feel like a burden even for a second. You’re not. You’re everything. I love you so goddamn much it hurts sometimes. I love Willow so much it terrifies me. And I’m here. Whatever you need- night feeds, doctor appointments, therapy, space, me not giving you space- I’ll do it. Just… don’t shut me out completely. Please.”
The sob that tore out of you surprised you both. You folded forward into his chest and he caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. He held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.
“I’m scared too,” you whispered against his shirt, voice muffled and wet. “I don’t know how to be a good mom when I can barely get out of bed some days. I don’t know how to be a good partner when I’m so angry all the time. I don’t want to push you away but sometimes it feels like the only way to breathe.”
“I know, baby,” he murmured into your hair, voice shaking. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna figure this out together. You’re not alone in this. You’re not a burden. You’re loved. So fucking loved. More than I know how to say without sounding like an idiot.”
Eventually you pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was blotchy, eyes red, but there was something steady in the way he looked at you now- like he’d decided he was going to carry this with you instead of against you.
“I don’t want to fight like that again,” you said softly.
“Me neither.” He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m gonna do better. I already called out of the shop for the next couple days. I’ll take the night shifts. You can sleep. We can go to the doctor together if you want. Whatever you need. And if you need to go back to Robin’s for a bit… I’ll understand. But I’d rather you be here. With me. Where you belong.”
You leaned your forehead against his, breathing him in- sweat and coffee and the faint scent of the lemon cleaner he’d used on every surface.
“I want to be here,” you whispered. “I just… I need you to keep showing up like this. Even when it’s hard.”
“I will.” He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth like a promise. “I swear it. You and Willow are my whole world. I’m not losing that because I can’t get my shit together.”
The ashtray was gone. The floor was clean. The apartment felt lighter than it had in weeks.
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steve 'breeding kink' harrington who grips your hips extra tight and pushes himself as deeppppp (like really really deep. like you feel him in your lungs deep. like its overwhelming in the best way possible type of deep.) as he can inside of you when he cums because he wants to make you a mommy so bad :(
steve has your legs over his shoulders while he relentlessly pounds into you. his thrusts falter, he can feel his own climax building rapidly. he bends you even deeper into the mattress, your legs bent with your body molded to his.
"fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants out
"close- oh shit," he warns, his voice breaking slightly
"oh fuck, im cumming," a low groan rumbles through him.
steve uses all his strength to bury himself as deep as humanly possible in your pussy. there was so much force behind it, your body had shifted up the mattress slightly. you had never felt him this deep before, its almost too much.
your eyes widen and you gasp at the sensation. steve can feel it too, that overwhelming depth, and it makes his entire body tremble. hes so caught up in the fantasy of it all, and with you gasping and moaning his name out like that, it made the coil in his stomach snap. he burst inside of you, you felt him pulse inside of you, filling you up exactly where he wanted, praying that it takes.
steve choked out a weak, “oh fuck, baby,” before collapsing on top of you.
The aroma of rosemary and vanilla filled the cool room and hot steam rose from the shower and through the bathroom, hitting the shiny tile of the shower wall as you lathered your body with the new pink bar of soap that you had gotten at the store a few days ago with your boyfriend Steve, who bought it for you because he how it smelt.
You had used it once before today and he practically ravished you when you settled back into your bed with him after your daily, warm shower. Kissing the open area your neck and chest until you were squirming under his gentle yet dominating touch, wanting him to further his actions somewhere else.
But let’s save that story for the horny phone calls when you are both away from each other. Which, with his parents dragging him on more and more business trips, made that scenario seem more probable.
Once your lathering had finally been completed, the fluffy suds ran off of the smooth skin of your body with the help of the warm water, showering down on you.
You had decided before stepping into the shower, to bring your razor, making sure to pick yours instead of steve’s that you kept in your bathroom, because the one time that happened was a disaster.
You wanted to shave because you always liked to be freshly smooth for your boyfriend. Not like he cared if you did or didn’t, you just liked your pussy to be as pretty as possible.
Despite how often you decided it was shaving day, you didn’t always have easy access to successfully cover the entirety of your plump folds and the area around said folds.
So you used your own tool that you knew would never let you down. Never has and never will.
Steve Harrington.
Your boyfriend manages to eliminate every single stubble of hair available, he was a certified pro. You knew you could rely on him.
The thing is, the first time you asked your beloved boyfriend for the favour of maintaining one of his favourite physical parts about you, your pussy… you wasn’t even nervous.
You had been dating a year and a half before you had proposed the idea to him and he had basically seen every side of you possible.
Throwing up after drinking too much, on your period… there was nothing he hadn’t seen of you so when you asked, it actually turned him on almost instantly, mouth watering as he was face to face with your plump lips.
Which brings you to now.
“Steve!”, You called out, voice trying to compete with the sounds of the shower, your voice echoed as it bounced off of the walls of the bathroom.
“Yeah, baby?”, Steve poked his head into the door, he was walking down the hallway when you called coincidentally.
“Can you shave my pussy, honey?”, Your voice squeaked with questioning.
“Yeah of course, baby.”, he answered almost automatically, his brain was hard wired that shaving his girl’s pussy was the boyfriend’s duty, well at least it was in your case.
Your hand made its way to the shower knob to turn it off so that your boyfriend wouldn’t get soaked in the process.
When his face came into view, you handed him the pink razor, taking note of the teasing smirk painted across his lips as he glanced your body up and down.
“Whoo! How have I never seen such a hot bod in this town?!”, Steve poked sarcastically, earning a roll of the eyes from you.
“Then I am sure you have never looked in a mirror, Mr Harrington.”, you bounced back on his teasing antics, a chuckle escaping his lips, about to add to the playful banter before you cut him off with an unserious yet steady demand.
“Now shut up and shave my vagina.”, your voice was steady but laced with something humorous and satire.
“Yes ma’am.”, the obligatory sentence left his plush lips like a spell that went straight to your core.
A type of witchcraft that only Steve The Hair Harrington could master.
You had propped yourself up, legs wide, as you leaned against the cold shower wall, eliciting a shiver down your spine but the warmth of your boyfriend’s gaze quickly compensated.
He was already bare foot and in shorts so he had to make little to no effort to step into the shower to help you out.
So he crouched down, face to face with your cunt that was fighting the urge to clench at the sheer attention of your handsome lover.
Grabbing the razor from your soft hand, he got to work. He applied a small amount of your shaving lotion to your pubic bone first before sliding his fingertips onto your lips, a moan threatened to exit your lips from the sensitivity of the previous unserious but sexual tension.
He started to gently glide the razor against the stubbly skin, his experience from shaving his face coming into handy.
You had to tense your leg muscles just to refrain from letting them go weak at the sensation of his warm fingertips and the cold metal of the razor balde up against the most sensitive part of your body.
They were almost at the state of trembling.
God damn you, Steve Harrington.
It was only when he had completed the quest of shaving your pretty pussy, that he couldn’t help but notice your tight opening clenching around nothing.
He had to admit, he was getting absurdly hard. But who could blame him? He was face to face with the most gorgeous pussy he had ever laid eyes on. And considering his old high school reputation, that added a lot to the competition.
“Oh baby, you getting horny from me shaving your pretty pussy?”, Steve cruelly cooed at his girlfriend who flushed red as she realised that her efforts to hide her arousal had been absolutely pointless.
“Don’t get shy on me, baby, you could’ve just said the word and I would’ve been all yours.”
beautiful divider credits — @kodaswrld
i hope you all enjoyed! I am not opposed to the idea of a part 2 so just let me know if that is something you would be interested in. 🫧
please don’t forget to like and reblog, it is what gives me motivation to make more of these for you guys. 🥹
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
your thighs were bracketing the muscle of steve’s bicep, one hand on the headboard to balance and the other running through his hair from where he was laid down under you on the bed.
steve’s big brown eyes had been locked on the sight, watching you grind your soaked pussy against his bicep for awhile now, and it didn’t take long for him to feel the same arousal you did.
“just so desperate for it, aren’t you?” steve cooed. your fingers were tangled tightly in his thick chestnut hair, eyes squeezed shut as he teased you with the filth of his words. one hand was wrapped tightly around his red and aching cock, he stroked slowly. letting the pleasure build until it bordered on pain.
steve told you he “wasn’t gonna fuck you tonight”, he said that he’d been giving his arms so much attention when it came to working out.. that he wanted some appreciation for it.
that’s how you ended up a whimpering mess on top of his bicep.
“feels so good, you’re getting soooo big.” you whined out, panting slightly.
“i know it does, all this muscle for my girl to play with. just for my pretty girl to get all dizzy on” his voice was soft and teasing, hypnotic in a way that felt like degrading love story.
you could feel your breath quickening as the desperation for pleasure grew. the sounds of your pussy rubbing against the muscle of his bicep were right by steve’s ear, and it made his grip on his cock tighten.
steve made the prettiest noises when he was getting himself off, brows all furrowed with whines and whimpers leaving his lips as he attempted to bite down to trap them. his cock was angled over his soft tummy, pre-cum leaking all down his lower stomach and into his happy trail.
his hand was moving lazily, because steve’s pleasure was second to you coming apart on top of him.
steves arm flexed against your pussy, his hand gently rubbing at your lower back to feel the heat on your skin.
“can’t think straight, can you? jus rubbing all over my arm like a good girl.” steve groaned
“mmmmph, please…please, steve. i wanna cum.” you begged softly, your body beginning to tremble as you fought the overwhelming urge to let go completely against him.
“nuh-uh, not yet. want it to hurt real good, baby.”
tears of frustration and overstimulation began to build in your eyes, and steve was mesmerized with how beautiful you looked because of it. all overstimulated and messy on his arm, grinding down desperately on top of his firm muscle.
“yeaaah, isn’t that nice? just taking it, feel how good i make you feel.”
you nodded eagerly, he made you feel so fucking good. overstimulation was something you craved from him when he was like this.
a choked gasp left your mouth as steve flexed his bicep again, pushing his arm further up against you. your hips lost their rhythm, stuttering before you could force yourself back into the slow grind.
“just a little more. show me how good you can be for me, baby. okay?” steve looked desperate. his eyes wide and soft, locked on your face as it began to contort in waves of euphoria.
“mhmmm, anything for you. i can be so good” you moaned out, the pleasure becoming more unbearable than before as he leaned his head over to trail open mouthed wet and hot kisses on your thighs.
“you wanna soak my arm? hm?” steve pressed gently
you’d been waiting, patiently for him to ask “please, god yes, yes i want to cum all over your arm.”
“go on, baby. give it to me”
you felt your body immediately speed up on his arm, the slow grind switching to something more frantic as you finally let your body find its release. your legs were trembling, and it felt like sparks were shooting through your veins as you came all over his bicep.
steve helped you lower yourself back onto the bed from his arm, his large hands running over your skin and digging into your flesh before he shifted on top of you.
he moved slowly as he pressed his hard cock against you, feeling your body twitch and hearing you whine against his shoulder at the sudden stretch of his tip against your entrance.
“gonna take care of you, yeah? show you how big i am everywhere.”
-
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let's hear it for the boy! || steve harrington x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 10.9k
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Best Friend!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (solo masturbation, dry humping, f!receiving oral, handjob, premature ejaculation, p in v sex), language, sexual references, Steve is very oblivious, Steve can't get it up (unless it's for you), porn WITH plot, slow-ish burn
Summary: set before s4. steve has a problem. he can't cum unless he's thinking about you. except you're his friend and he definitely doesn't have any romantic feelings towards you. at least, that's what he tells himself.
“Seriously? Katie Frey doesn’t do it for you?” You asked, sitting atop the counter at Family Video. Steve shrugged, embarrassment welling up in his chest at your words, and the general topic of conversation.
“I was as surprised as you are now,” he said, twirling a company branded pen between his fingers and hoping the fidgeting would take his mind off of how absolutely mortified he was. “Because, like, Katie is hot.”
“Absolutely. Smokin’ hot.” Your voice was muffled around a twizzler, framed by perfectly made-up lips.
He made a face at your interruption, staring at you with narrowed eyes until you mimed zipping your mouth shut.
“And like, she’s got these great tits. Huge.” Really huge, fucking perfect tits. Not that he was a perv about it, but it was hard not to notice them. “And she’s pretty. And, you know, we were going at it at her apartment after our date and I swear I was into it. But…” He stopped twirling the pen so he could bury his face into his hands, mumbling the end of the sentence. “I couldn’t… cum, you know? I had to just fake it.”
“Fake it? Were you convincing?” you asked, brows furrowed. He peered up at you through the spaces between his fingers, at the quirk of a smile on your lips. “Maybe you should show me. I’m a visual learner.”
He threw the pen at you and groaned in frustration. “You’re an asshole, you know that right? This is serious.”
You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”
He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”
You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”
“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”
You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”
“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”
You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.
He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.
He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.
"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”
You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.
The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.
“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”
Steve smiled and turned on the charm.
Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.
Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.
The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.
But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.
“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.
Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.
“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”
——
His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.
“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”
She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”
“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.
He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?
What the fuck?
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”
“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.
He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.
He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.
“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?
“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”
“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”
His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”
“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”
Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”
You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”
You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.
“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”
He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”
“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”
“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”
Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”
“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”
The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.
“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”
“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”
You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.
“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”
“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”
You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.
He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.
You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.
He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.
“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.
Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?
Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.
“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”
It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?
“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”
With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.
He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.
Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.
“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.
“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”
Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.
She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.
You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.
“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.
It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.
“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”
“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.
You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”
“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“
“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”
He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.
And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?
You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.
His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?
“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”
There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.
He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.
He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.
This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.
And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.
Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.
He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.
“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.
A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”
He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.
It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.
The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.
There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.
His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.
“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?
“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”
He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.
You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”
His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.
You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”
Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.
It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.
“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”
You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”
You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.
“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.
You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”
“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.
You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.
“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”
——
“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.
“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.
It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.
Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.
God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?
“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”
Robin snorted. “I bet.”
“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”
Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.
“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.
Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.
His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.
Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.
Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?
He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.
Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.
He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.
You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.
You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.
Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”
You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”
The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.
But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.
——
Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.
It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.
The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.
”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.
You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”
Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).
He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.
His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”
“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.
His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”
You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”
His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.
“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”
“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”
His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”
You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.
He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”
“You’re hard right now.”
He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.
“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“
The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?
When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.
“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”
His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”
You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”
It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.
Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.
Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”
You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”
Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”
That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”
He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”
He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“
He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”
You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.
Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.
That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”
Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”
He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.
This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.
"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.
He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.
You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.
“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”
He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.
It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.
You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"
"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.
"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."
Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."
He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."
He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.
You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.
You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.
Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.
"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.
It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.
His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.
"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.
"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.
When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."
"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.
"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.
"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."
"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."
Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.
You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.
To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.
"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."
You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"
Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.
"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."
Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.
But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.
He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.
It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.
Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.
"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.
His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.
You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."
He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"
You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.
It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.
"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.
"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"
When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.
You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.
He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"
You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"
He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."
Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.
"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.
"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders
"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.
With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."
Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.
You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.
Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.
You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.
Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.
"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."
You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.
He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"
A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."
His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."
"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"
Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.
He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.
Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?
"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."
He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.
"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."
Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.
But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.
His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.
It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."
He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.
You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.
"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"
He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.
Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."
It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.
He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.
"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"
Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.
You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."
He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.
You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.
"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."
You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."
He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."
thank you so much for reading! i can't believe this has been in the works since 2023 and i FINALLY found the motivation to finish it!! i really hope you enjoyed, i had so much fun with this plotline :) let me know what you think!!
summary: When you witness Eddie's death, you are plunged into the downward spiral of grief, guilt, and paranoia. Your life takes a turn for the worse when you enter a state of catatonia and your parents have no choice but to admit you to a mental institution.
When Eddie turns up from the dead, everyone but you has hope that you'll make a recovery.
warnings: didn't proof read, mention of Eddie's death, blood, paranoia, grief, organs shutting down, end of life care, can't think of anything else.
word count: 1.7k
Your family and friends thought that eventually, you'd somehow recover. They weren't expecting you to smile or laugh all day, every day, but they were hoping that the tears would slowly taper off. They were hoping that you'd stop screaming yourself awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, paralysed from the waist down out of fright.
Eddie died that night. You were sure of it. You'd seen all the blood and bats, heard his loud yells, and then... nothing. Everything became still, the bats moved on, and Dustin came back, dragging you away with him. No body to bury, no chance to process what the fuck just happened to him.
Leaving Eddie there, alone to rot, felt like a betrayal, and your suffocating guilt convinced you that you were the one who killed him; you were the reason his body was rotting from the inside out.
Every milestone and passing of time was just another reminder that he wasn't coming home, another reminder that he was on his own in the bitter cold in a place you couldn't access.
The nightmares became so severe that you were too scared to sleep, and eventually, with the constant refusal of rest, the line between your world and reality started to blur. Everyone and everything frightened you; they put you constantly on edge.
"Stop it!" you'd yell, backing into the darkest corner of your room. "I am not leaving this room, I know what you're doing!"
Robin and Steve stood in the opposite corner, pleading with you to come outside and feel the warmth of the sun kissing your face.
"We won't do anything, we swear," Robin said calmly, trying to defend herself with her hands, palms spread and fingers fanned out.
You shook your head violently. "No, no! You lie! I know what's waiting for me out there, you're going to hand me in for killing him!"
Steve's eyes were full of tears at the sight of you.
Your eyes were dull and presented deep, hollow bags, and your clothes that used to fit like a glove were now draping over you, three sizes too big because you were constantly missing meals, feeling too sick to eat.
"You didn't kill him," Steve choked out, his voice cracking. "What happened to Eddie was..."
You flinched, scurrying further back into your room. The sun peeking through your long curtains, burning your eyes only made things worse.
"Don't say his name! No, no, lalala, I'm not buying it!" You pulled the curtain shut with sudden, frantic force, plunging the room into darkness. You could no longer see Steve or Robin; you didn't want to. "You're both trying to get me locked up, sent away! Get out!! He's dead! I killed him, I killed him!"
Steve and Robin slowly dragged their feet out of your room, their heads bowed in defeat. Outside, they looked up at your terrified parents and shook their heads.
"Nothing," Steve muttered. "She just became angry. Paranoid."
"She's stuck in this state where she believes she's going to be locked up for murder." Robin sighed, trying to avoid eye contact with your parents.
"Yes," your mother replied, defeated, "Or she's stuck in the moment where he's died, we hear her calling out for him, screaming all night. The same time every night."
Your parents thought your mania would last forever, that your loud and violent outbursts would be the ultimate reason they sent you away for specialised care once they were too old and frail to handle it themselves.
But one day, you stopped eating and drinking completely, unable to open your mouth and talk, or even look away from the centre of your bedroom wall.
Every part of you that made you you was gone; all that was left behind was a breathing body with no other function but to starve and rot away.
Just like Eddie.
You became glued to the chair in the corner of your room, staring blankly at the wall, often without blinking for long periods of time, causing your eyes to become incredibly dry and bloodshot.
Your mother begged you to do something, like look at her or turn your head, but you never did. She shook you, squeezed your hands, and yelled your name until her throat was sore and hoarse, but nothing changed.
"Please, darling, look at me." She'd beg, a crying mess, "If you can hear me, just blink for me, baby, blink twice for yes and once for no."
You didn't blink.
Your parents couldn't keep you under their roof with you in such a state, and your refusal to eat and drink would brand them as killers if you were to die from dehydration and starvation.
The decision wasn't made lightly; it was their last resort, sending you to the psychiatric facility, but in doing so, they allowed themselves to have a sliver of hope that rehabilitation was possible for you.
"A feeding tube, that would keep her alive, right?" Your father chirped, his eyes the brightest they had been in months.
"Realistically, your daughter's physical condition would improve. She would put on weight and gain nourishment, but we cannot promise to delay or reverse her severe mental decline."
You would never recover. You were trapped inside your own body, reliving hell over and over without release. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to live.
The hope they had in the feeding tube was a bust, and rather than put on weight, the feeding tube did nothing but put your already declining body in more discomfort. Your organs were failing slowly at first, but towards the end of your last week, the decline became rapid, and there was nothing left to do but put you on end of life care.
"I've notified her friends," the head nurse murmured, "they'll be on their way."
They placed you in a private room, away from the other patients who would only know a long, hollow life inside the facility, free to roam but never free to explore the edges of the earth.
You were still sitting in a chair in the corner, and the only thing your mind could see was Eddie's dead body, which had become a permanent freeze-frame, burning itself into the screen of your eyelids.
"How is she?" Nancy asked your mom, her small, sharp face full of worry. "They say she's..." Nancy swallowed hard, "End of life now?"
Your mom nodded with her shoulders slumped under the weight of grief. She wanted you to die so you could be at peace, no longer suffering, but for you to die, her baby, would be the ultimate loss she'd never get over.
"The feeding tube causes her more distress than it's worth, and her body started rejecting it... She's got no quality of life, Nancy, none."
Nancy reached out and held your cold, pale hand, her thumb gently stroking your knuckles. "H-How long does she have?"
Tears filled your mother's eyes, and her lips quivered. "Not long, Nancy. She probably doesn't have another week in her."
Nancy hesitated for a moment, sharing a heavy glance with Steve and Robin, who stood hovering near the doorway.
Your mother noticed the sudden shift in the room's energy. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"A miracle... really," Nancy said, lowering her voice, "we can't describe o-or even figure out how this happened, but he isn't dead."
Your mother's eyes widened, and her eyebrows pulled together "What?"
"Eddie is alive."
Eddie appeared in the doorway, covered in deep bruises and brutal scars. His hair was frazzled and stained with blood and a little longer than the night he 'died'.
"Oh my God," your mother gasped, covering her mouth, "This can't be possible."
"We were all hoping that he could give her a chance to fight through this, to come back." Robin spoke up from the corner of the room.
Eddie felt exhausted, but the moment his eyes locked onto you, he wished he hadn't made it out at all. He closed in on you slowly and couldn't stop staring at you. You were almost completely unrecognisable.
"Sweetheart?" Eddie called out, loud enough for you to hear, "It's me." He dropped to his knees beside your chair and he took your tiny hands in his.
Everyone in the room expected you to break out of your spell, confused, in disbelief or even totally relieved. They were hoping you would scream and jump out of your chair and into his arms, unable to control your anger for him taking so long to find his way back to you.
Instead, you just stared through him, your pupils didn't dilate, your emaciated body didn't move. You couldn't see him right there in front of you, living and breathing.
All you could see was the same freeze frame of his dead body and the blood.
"Hey, it's me, Babe. Your man is back," Eddie whispered before reaching up with his dirt-coated hands, lightly trembling, as he cupped your hollow cheeks. "I'm alive. C'mon, princess."
Your parents, Steve, Robin and Nancy all watched with deep regret and building remorse for Eddie. Their hearts were shattering at the inevitable, and all they could do was watch as grief began to destroy another pure and soft soul.
Eddie grabbed your limp and cold hand, squeezing and kissing it before he pushed it against his chest, and holding it right over his heart. His heart was beating wildly against your hand, but you couldn't feel it. You wanted to, but you weren't there.
"Please," he begged, a strangled sob escaping him, "Can't you feel it, baby?" The tears streamed down his face, washed clean tracks through the dirt and dried blood.
The darkness had completely consumed you and you were too far gone to be reached. It was as if that night in the upside down, you were the one who died. Not Eddie.
Your mother couldn't take any more, and she quickly fled the room, taking your father with her. Nancy stared at you for a moment before following your parents, hoping to provide them with some sort of comfort or support.
Eddie crawled closer to you and placed a soft and desperate kiss against your forehead, and then against your dry and cracked lips.
"Come back to me, sweetheart." He whispered, "I've just got back, I can't be here alone."
Steve closed in on Eddie and put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, "Munson," he sighed, "I'm sorry but she's gone, man."
"But she can't be!" Eddie sobbed louder, pulling your fragile body out of the chair and into his arms, tucking you into his chest like a doll, "She's right here, she's here."
Eddie refused to let go, he refused for anyone to try and intervene and as he rocked back and forth, humming and singing your favourite songs from the floor, the colour in your eyes began to fade and your breathing slowed until it finally came to a stop.
Stranger Things Character Selection Masterlist 🧇🦇✨
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last updated: June 21st, 2026
Steve Harrington 📼⚾️
Steve Harrington imagines/oneshots x17 fics
Steve Harrington series x5
Eddie Munson 🦇🎸
Eddie Munson imagines/oneshots x15 fics
Eddie Munson series x4
Billy Hargrove 🛟🥃
Billy Hargrove imagines/oneshots x6 fics
Billy Hargrove series x2
Dusting Henderson 👾🧢
Dustin Henderson Masterlist x4 fics
Jonathan Byers 🎞️🌴
Jonathan Byers Masterlist x2 fics
Robin Buckley 🍧🍿
Robin Buckley Masterlist x2 fics
Other Characters:
Henry Creel / 001 / Mr Whatsit:
Green Apples and Ants
summary: platonic!Mr Whatsit x child! Wheeler. You’re Holly’s little sister and have also been taken by the demogorgon, but Mr Whatsit soon learns that you aren’t like the other children.
⚠️EDITING/COPYING, REPOSTING, UPLOADING, TRANSLATING, AND ANY UNAUTHORISED USE ON ANY PLATFORM IS FORBIDDEN.
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summary: When you witness Eddie's death, you are plunged into the downward spiral of grief, guilt, and paranoia. Your life takes a turn for the worse when you enter a state of catatonia and your parents have no choice but to admit you to a mental institution.
When Eddie turns up from the dead, everyone but you has hope that you'll make a recovery.
warnings: didn't proof read, mention of Eddie's death, blood, paranoia, grief, organs shutting down, end of life care, can't think of anything else.
word count: 1.7k
Your family and friends thought that eventually, you'd somehow recover. They weren't expecting you to smile or laugh all day, every day, but they were hoping that the tears would slowly taper off. They were hoping that you'd stop screaming yourself awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, paralysed from the waist down out of fright.
Eddie died that night. You were sure of it. You'd seen all the blood and bats, heard his loud yells, and then... nothing. Everything became still, the bats moved on, and Dustin came back, dragging you away with him. No body to bury, no chance to process what the fuck just happened to him.
Leaving Eddie there, alone to rot, felt like a betrayal, and your suffocating guilt convinced you that you were the one who killed him; you were the reason his body was rotting from the inside out.
Every milestone and passing of time was just another reminder that he wasn't coming home, another reminder that he was on his own in the bitter cold in a place you couldn't access.
The nightmares became so severe that you were too scared to sleep, and eventually, with the constant refusal of rest, the line between your world and reality started to blur. Everyone and everything frightened you; they put you constantly on edge.
"Stop it!" you'd yell, backing into the darkest corner of your room. "I am not leaving this room, I know what you're doing!"
Robin and Steve stood in the opposite corner, pleading with you to come outside and feel the warmth of the sun kissing your face.
"We won't do anything, we swear," Robin said calmly, trying to defend herself with her hands, palms spread and fingers fanned out.
You shook your head violently. "No, no! You lie! I know what's waiting for me out there, you're going to hand me in for killing him!"
Steve's eyes were full of tears at the sight of you.
Your eyes were dull and presented deep, hollow bags, and your clothes that used to fit like a glove were now draping over you, three sizes too big because you were constantly missing meals, feeling too sick to eat.
"You didn't kill him," Steve choked out, his voice cracking. "What happened to Eddie was..."
You flinched, scurrying further back into your room. The sun peeking through your long curtains, burning your eyes only made things worse.
"Don't say his name! No, no, lalala, I'm not buying it!" You pulled the curtain shut with sudden, frantic force, plunging the room into darkness. You could no longer see Steve or Robin; you didn't want to. "You're both trying to get me locked up, sent away! Get out!! He's dead! I killed him, I killed him!"
Steve and Robin slowly dragged their feet out of your room, their heads bowed in defeat. Outside, they looked up at your terrified parents and shook their heads.
"Nothing," Steve muttered. "She just became angry. Paranoid."
"She's stuck in this state where she believes she's going to be locked up for murder." Robin sighed, trying to avoid eye contact with your parents.
"Yes," your mother replied, defeated, "Or she's stuck in the moment where he's died, we hear her calling out for him, screaming all night. The same time every night."
Your parents thought your mania would last forever, that your loud and violent outbursts would be the ultimate reason they sent you away for specialised care once they were too old and frail to handle it themselves.
But one day, you stopped eating and drinking completely, unable to open your mouth and talk, or even look away from the centre of your bedroom wall.
Every part of you that made you you was gone; all that was left behind was a breathing body with no other function but to starve and rot away.
Just like Eddie.
You became glued to the chair in the corner of your room, staring blankly at the wall, often without blinking for long periods of time, causing your eyes to become incredibly dry and bloodshot.
Your mother begged you to do something, like look at her or turn your head, but you never did. She shook you, squeezed your hands, and yelled your name until her throat was sore and hoarse, but nothing changed.
"Please, darling, look at me." She'd beg, a crying mess, "If you can hear me, just blink for me, baby, blink twice for yes and once for no."
You didn't blink.
Your parents couldn't keep you under their roof with you in such a state, and your refusal to eat and drink would brand them as killers if you were to die from dehydration and starvation.
The decision wasn't made lightly; it was their last resort, sending you to the psychiatric facility, but in doing so, they allowed themselves to have a sliver of hope that rehabilitation was possible for you.
"A feeding tube, that would keep her alive, right?" Your father chirped, his eyes the brightest they had been in months.
"Realistically, your daughter's physical condition would improve. She would put on weight and gain nourishment, but we cannot promise to delay or reverse her severe mental decline."
You would never recover. You were trapped inside your own body, reliving hell over and over without release. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to live.
The hope they had in the feeding tube was a bust, and rather than put on weight, the feeding tube did nothing but put your already declining body in more discomfort. Your organs were failing slowly at first, but towards the end of your last week, the decline became rapid, and there was nothing left to do but put you on end of life care.
"I've notified her friends," the head nurse murmured, "they'll be on their way."
They placed you in a private room, away from the other patients who would only know a long, hollow life inside the facility, free to roam but never free to explore the edges of the earth.
You were still sitting in a chair in the corner, and the only thing your mind could see was Eddie's dead body, which had become a permanent freeze-frame, burning itself into the screen of your eyelids.
"How is she?" Nancy asked your mom, her small, sharp face full of worry. "They say she's..." Nancy swallowed hard, "End of life now?"
Your mom nodded with her shoulders slumped under the weight of grief. She wanted you to die so you could be at peace, no longer suffering, but for you to die, her baby, would be the ultimate loss she'd never get over.
"The feeding tube causes her more distress than it's worth, and her body started rejecting it... She's got no quality of life, Nancy, none."
Nancy reached out and held your cold, pale hand, her thumb gently stroking your knuckles. "H-How long does she have?"
Tears filled your mother's eyes, and her lips quivered. "Not long, Nancy. She probably doesn't have another week in her."
Nancy hesitated for a moment, sharing a heavy glance with Steve and Robin, who stood hovering near the doorway.
Your mother noticed the sudden shift in the room's energy. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"A miracle... really," Nancy said, lowering her voice, "we can't describe o-or even figure out how this happened, but he isn't dead."
Your mother's eyes widened, and her eyebrows pulled together "What?"
"Eddie is alive."
Eddie appeared in the doorway, covered in deep bruises and brutal scars. His hair was frazzled and stained with blood and a little longer than the night he 'died'.
"Oh my God," your mother gasped, covering her mouth, "This can't be possible."
"We were all hoping that he could give her a chance to fight through this, to come back." Robin spoke up from the corner of the room.
Eddie felt exhausted, but the moment his eyes locked onto you, he wished he hadn't made it out at all. He closed in on you slowly and couldn't stop staring at you. You were almost completely unrecognisable.
"Sweetheart?" Eddie called out, loud enough for you to hear, "It's me." He dropped to his knees beside your chair and he took your tiny hands in his.
Everyone in the room expected you to break out of your spell, confused, in disbelief or even totally relieved. They were hoping you would scream and jump out of your chair and into his arms, unable to control your anger for him taking so long to find his way back to you.
Instead, you just stared through him, your pupils didn't dilate, your emaciated body didn't move. You couldn't see him right there in front of you, living and breathing.
All you could see was the same freeze frame of his dead body and the blood.
"Hey, it's me, Babe. Your man is back," Eddie whispered before reaching up with his dirt-coated hands, lightly trembling, as he cupped your hollow cheeks. "I'm alive. C'mon, princess."
Your parents, Steve, Robin and Nancy all watched with deep regret and building remorse for Eddie. Their hearts were shattering at the inevitable, and all they could do was watch as grief began to destroy another pure and soft soul.
Eddie grabbed your limp and cold hand, squeezing and kissing it before he pushed it against his chest, and holding it right over his heart. His heart was beating wildly against your hand, but you couldn't feel it. You wanted to, but you weren't there.
"Please," he begged, a strangled sob escaping him, "Can't you feel it, baby?" The tears streamed down his face, washed clean tracks through the dirt and dried blood.
The darkness had completely consumed you and you were too far gone to be reached. It was as if that night in the upside down, you were the one who died. Not Eddie.
Your mother couldn't take any more, and she quickly fled the room, taking your father with her. Nancy stared at you for a moment before following your parents, hoping to provide them with some sort of comfort or support.
Eddie crawled closer to you and placed a soft and desperate kiss against your forehead, and then against your dry and cracked lips.
"Come back to me, sweetheart." He whispered, "I've just got back, I can't be here alone."
Steve closed in on Eddie and put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, "Munson," he sighed, "I'm sorry but she's gone, man."
"But she can't be!" Eddie sobbed louder, pulling your fragile body out of the chair and into his arms, tucking you into his chest like a doll, "She's right here, she's here."
Eddie refused to let go, he refused for anyone to try and intervene and as he rocked back and forth, humming and singing your favourite songs from the floor, the colour in your eyes began to fade and your breathing slowed until it finally came to a stop.
Grandpa wayne wrapping his grandbaby in one of his flannel shirts, thats the only thing that would make baby eddie stop crying and has now become a tradition
you and Eddie have been at your wit's end for the better part of a day bc your baby won't stop crying, even after diaper changes and feedings and walking her around outside which used to always calm her down...
then Wayne shows up for supper and seeing how haggard you both look decides to take his granddaughter in his arms and takes the flannel off his back to tuck around her as he sits with her in the big armchair and it's immediate. her crying stops at the feeling of being held by Wayne and the comforting woodsy smell of his flannel and the soft of it all around her. she's sniffling and calming herself down by staring up at him while you and Eddie are in the corner like... ??? How did you... do that...??
Wayne just shrugs and gets comfier in the chair like he's about to take a proper old man nap with his grandbaby. tells you both with that same gruffness "She just needed her Grandpa Wayne." and it's true and he's absolutely allowed to be smug about it for forever
