BIGfucking-oop

24

[gem-writes]

On-Screen Chemistry

Part Two of On-Screen Lover

Pairing: P*rnstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: 18+ Smut, SoftDom!Eddie, Oral Sex (f receiving), Female Ejaculation/Squirting, Brief Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk (Literal FILTH. You’ve been warned), Digital Penetration/Fingering, Clit Slapping, Multiple Orgasms, Face Riding (If you squint), Sexual/Suggestive Language, Profanity/Swearing. I think that’s it?

Credit: Dividers by @cafekitsune

A/N: This part picks up immediately after part one. Also, not proof-read. Will edit later.

I tired to remember everyone who asked to be tagged but there was a lot of people. If I didn’t tag you, pls lmk so that I can add you again. I could’ve possibly missed you.

Thank you so so so much for 1.6k. Enjoy part two 💕

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“That’s right, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Keep rubbing it for me.”

You let Eddie’s raspy voice fill your ears as you rub your clit in slow circles, obeying his orders as he watches.

“That’s it, angel. Thaaaat’s it. You’re so fucking hot, you know that? Mmm…Yeah, I bet you do know that, don’t you? Of course you do, sweetheart. This tight fucking body. This pretty….fucking…pussy. And you’re rubbing it all for me. Fuck….”

You let out a whimper, it all becoming so heated while you watch the man that you have fantasized about for so long play with your boobs. Touching, squeezing, kneading them.

“Eddie…” You whine, watching him smirk down at you.

“Don’t worry, sweet thing.” He flirts “Just getting you warmed up. Getting this pussy nice and wet for me before I bury my face in it. Can’t wait to taste you, baby. Bet you taste fucking sweet, don’t you?”

You don’t know what it was that compelled you to but you nodded. You wanted him to be right. You wanted to be everything that he expected you to be- and more. You wanted to please him. You wanted him just as addicted to you as you were to him.

“Finger yourself.” He growls, staring at you before bringing his gaze down to your cunt that was growing wetter and sloppier by the second. His dirty encouragements turning you on more and more. “C’mon baby. I wanna see you stretch that tight little pussy out before I fucking eat it, sweetheart. Want you stuffed full while I watch you.”

You obey, looking into Eddie’s eyes as you ran your fingertips from your clit and down through your slick folds, collecting your wet arousal. You slowly insert two fingers into your soaking cunt, pushing them in as Eddie watches. Your breathing hitches as Eddie groans, roughly pinching your nipples between the pads of his forefingers and thumbs.

“Shit..” He hisses “Good girl. Go deeper for me, sweetheart. Show me how you like it.”

You felt like you were in a trance, watching him play with your tits as you obeyed his every word. You slide your fingers out before slowly reinserting them, pushing them in deep enough to reach your knuckles. You begin to curl the tips of your fingers, causing them to brush up against your sweet spot as you gasp.

“Oh my god…” You moan out.

“Mmm…yes.” Eddie replies, his eyes trained on your dripping cunt as he continues playing with your boobs. “Such a pretty fucking pussy. Love seeing you take those fingers nice and deep. Bet you’re thinking about my dick right now, aren’t you? About how much deeper that I could fuck it into you. How you’d drench my fucking cock. Yeah? S’that what’s going on in that head of yours, angel?”

You let out a whine, picking up the pace with your fingers as you fuck your needy hole for him. Anything for him.

“God, you’d get my dick so fucking messy, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Just like you’re making this couch. Fuck, look at you. Soaking the fuck out of the cushions, baby” He tsks.

You look down, your face heating up in embarrassment as you realize that he was right. Your arousal was gushing so much around your fingers that it was dripping down your sex and onto the couch beneath you.

“Fuck, baby, don’t be embarrassed.” Eddie pleads, noticing how bashful you had become all of a sudden “I love it. God, I fucking love it. Get it all messy, baby. All for me. That gorgeous cunt. My god. Sloppy fucking girl…”

Your body can’t help but respond, arching your back as you fuck yourself faster, deeper, harder. You needed more. Your fingers weren’t quite enough.

“Fuck, baby. You gonna cum?” Eddie asks, feeling the way that your chest rose and fell in his hands as your breathing picked up. You nod helplessly as you keep going, still trying to reach that spot.

“‘I’m almost there.” You pant, staring at Eddie- and there was so much to stare at. His gorgeous face, his wild mane tied back in that low bun, his beautiful brown eyes, his lean body that was littered with dark tattoos, the happy trail that descended into his jeans. He was a fucking dream.

“Yeah? What can I do to get you there, angel?” He hums “Tell me what you need.”

“Need you to fill me up. I want…fuck…I want your fingers.” You pleads, eyes lust-blown and hungry.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He coos “You want my fingers stretching you open? That what you want?”

“Yes.” You squeak “Please?”

“Okay, baby.” He smirks “Put your legs up. Let’s give them a fucking show.”

Eddie helps maneuver your legs into the position that he wanted, your feet up onto the couch with your legs spread open wide- giving the camera the perfect view of your sex.

“Fuck, look at her,” Eddie says, using his right hand to touch you- running his rough, calloused fingers along your heat “She’s fucking aching for me, isn’t she? You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, baby. So goddamn gorgeous.”

His praise only serves to get you wetter. God, you were desperate. Any little thing that Eddie said had you wanting more. Wanting to hear him call you beautiful. Wanting to hear him tell you over and over again that your pussy was the prettiest he had ever seen. You wanted to be perfect for him- so fucking perfect.

Just when you were getting lost in your head over thoughts of him, you felt a sudden sting against your core- causing you to gasp. Eddie immediately follows it up by placing his fingers on your clit and rubbing it. He had just spanked your clit.

“Sorry,” He winces “Was that too much?”

“No!” You beg, bucking your hips “Again. Do it again.”

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he watches you become needy and desperate under his fingertips. It was so…fucking…hot.

“Oh, you like that?” He growls “You like it when I spank your pussy? Yeah?”

His hand comes down on it again, causing you to squeal before he places his fingers back onto your clit again to rub it soothingly. The action had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Eddie watched, his cock reacting by growing even harder beneath his jeans.

“God, you’re a little freak.” He teases “You gonna be my little freak, baby? You gonna take my fingers, hm? You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you?”

“Yes.” You breathe “Yes, Eddie. Wanna be your good girl. Wanna be so good for you.”

And that almost does it for him. He could’ve came right there in his pants. You could’ve ruined his reputation of being one of the longest-lasting guys in porn and he wouldn’t have even fucking cared. Right now, all he cared about was you. Not his reputation, not the cameras, not everyone watching. You.

“Damn right.” He groans “You’re gonna be my good girl. You know why? ‘Cause good girls get rewarded. Good girls get my fingers. Good girls get to have my dick in their fucking mouth after I’m done making them come. You’re gonna be my good girl, baby. All for me. Right, sweetheart? You gonna be sweet for me?”

“Yes, daddy.” You squeak out. The filter between your brain and your mouth completely disappearing. You had just called him daddy.

And Eddie? He was fucking rock hard.

He had never really had a daddy kink. He wasn’t repulsed by it but it just never really did anything for him. Until now. Until the nickname rolled off of your lips- hot and heavy as his cock began to ache.

“Fuck!” Eddie growls “Say it again.”

“Yes, daddy.” You repeat. You were rewarded with another firm slap to your clit.

“You’re so lucky that this is an oral flick.” Eddie states “Because I’d have you bent over this fucking couch right now fucking pounding you. But that’s okay. Because I get to play with this pussy however I want. However daddy fucking wants, right? Yeah? And you’re gonna take it, sweetheart. Like the sweet girl you are.”

“I want it.” You moan out “Wanna take it for you. Let me have it? Please?”

Eddie Munson had fucked way more girls than he could count. The number of orgasms that he has given were very well into the hundreds. He’s had a few good fucks during his time but not like this- nothing like this. This was sexual fucking napalm. He was fucking aching for you. Practically at your fucking mercy and he wasn’t even inside of you. He had never felt a connection more intense than what he was having with you. He didn’t think that he ever will again. This was a once-in a-lifetime kind of fuck.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He breathes “You can have all of it, good girl. Fuck, I’m all yours, princess. You want me? You want my fingers?”

“Fuck, Eddie, yes!” You moan out, still fingering yourself desperately to his voice. You were so close but it wasn’t enough. You needed him.

“Let me take over, angel.” He orders “Gonna make you feel so good.”

You hastily obey, removing your soaked fingers from your sex as Eddie watches- his eyes practically roll in sheer arousal when he sees how drenched your fingers are. Coated entirely in you. The next thing he says comes straight from his dick and not his head. He was past thinking straight at this point.

“Put them in my mouth.” He growls.

“What?” You ask, a little confused.

“Put your fucking fingers in my mouth. Wanna fuckin’ taste you, c’mon.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth as he wraps his lips around your wet digits. His mouth was warm and wet as he swirls his tongue around your fingers, sucking gratefully as he stared into your eyes- indulging in the way you tasted on his tongue. The sight of it was so fucking hot that you could’ve blacked out.

He hums around your fingers, sending a sensation to your core that had you squirming. Then he began sucking on your fingers and you let out a shameless moan that caused the corners of his full mouth to curl into a hint of a smirk. But he didn’t stop. Not until he could no longer taste you on your fingers. Once he was satisfied that he had sucked off every trace of your taste, he slowly pulled your fingers out of his mouth with a satisfying pop.

“Shit, angel.” He hums “I was right. You are sweet. Best fucking pussy I’ve ever tasted. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Best pussy he’s ever tasted. You could officially die happy now. You were the best pussy that Eddie “The Freak” Munson has ever tasted and he hadn’t even gone down on you yet.

“Goddamn, you’re wet.” He adds, using his hand again to run his fingers up and down your slit- collecting your arousal as he spreads it all over your cunt. “So fucking slippery, baby. Ready for my fingers?”

“Please, Eds.” You whine “Please, please, please…”

“Fuck, sweetheart, okay. Needy fucking girl…” He teases.

You open your mouth to protest but you were quickly cut off by the moan that left your lips instead as Eddie inserted one long digit into your warm, wet cunt.

“Oh fuck…” You mewl, mouth dropping open as Eddie uses his finger to stroke your needy walls.

“Holy shit, babe. So fucking tight. Jesus Christ…” He replies “And that’s only one finger, baby. I haven’t even given you the rest yet.”

“Please, Eddie. Give me more. I want more.” You beg.

“More? Baby, I don’t know if I can fit another one in there. You’re so goddamn tight….and wet. Holy fucking- god.” He gapes, watching you take what little bit that he gave you.

“I can take it.” You plead “I promise. I need you, Eddie. Need you so bad.”

“Yeah, sweet thing? You need me? You need me to get off?”

“Yes, fuck. Please, Eddie. Been wanting this.”

“Oh yeah, sweetness? You’ve been wanting this? Been wanting me? Been wanting me to fuck you full and make you cum all over my fingers? S’that what you wanted?”

You nod so helplessly, your face already cock-drunk and your body already desperate.

“Yes.” You reply “I need you. Please, Eds. Need you to make me feel good. Need-“

You gasp loudly as he shoves another finger inside of you, stretching you out so full of him that you were completely consumed with him. All you cared about was him.

“That good? S’That what you were begging for?” He chuckles darkly.

“Oh shit! Oh…oh my god!” You hiccup as he begins to curl his fingers inside of you. Deep enough to reach that soft spot inside of you that caused your vision to blur and your muscle to spasm in that delicious feeling of ecstasy.

“There she is…” Eddie smirks “That where you were trying to reach, sweetheart? That the spot? Yeah? Answer me.”

“Yes!” You pant “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Good.” He hums “You knew daddy would find it, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted my fingers so bad. Had to beg for it like a needy little slut. But you’re not a slut. No, you’re a good girl. My good girl. And you’re gonna take it until you cum.”

“Oh- that…ha! That feels-“ You could feel your orgasm coming. You could barely focus. You felt a pleasure so other-worldly that you were sure you were going to cum hard enough to have an out-of-body experience.

“That’s it, baby.” Eddie encourages “Cum on my fingers. C’mon. You can fucking do it, angel. You’re clenching so tight. You’re so close.”

You were moaning uncontrollably to the point where you suddenly stopped making noise completely, your mouth falling open in a silence scream as your chest heaved. Your legs began to shake as you felt the most intense sense of pleasure and relief wash over your entire body. Your eyes staring up at the ceiling as you came hard. Your mouth dry from your screams as you try to catch your breath. For a moment, you completely forgot where you were. Just basking in the post-orgasmic bliss until Eddie’s voice pierces through.

“Holy fucking shit!” He exclaims “Did you just-“

Your body tenses up, sensing that something was wrong. You sit up from where your body had collapsed against the back of the couch. That’s when you see it- Eddie’s wrist was drenched and wet. He was looking at you with wide eyes. The sofa cushions were also soaked. You were fucking mortified. Did you just fucking squirt all over Eddie Munson?

“Shit!” You panic “I- I’ve never done that before. I didn’t even know that I could- Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

But Eddie just stares at you, his pupils blown wide. You wanted to bury yourself into the couch and disappear. You were going to die of fucking embarrassment. You open your mouth to apologize once again but you were quickly yanked down roughly to the edge of the couch, legs hastily thrown over Eddie’s shoulders as he growls hungrily- lowering his face into your cunt until he buries himself in it.

You squeal out in surprise, taken aback by his roughness and the sensitivity of your pussy after orgasming- and apparently squirting- all over your scene partner.

“Eddie!” You gasp out as he attacks your clit, sucking on it if roughly as you squirm “Fuck! Oh my god!”

He stops momentarily, his face already wet and coated in your release as he stares at you with hungry eyes.

“You…” he pants “Are so fucking hot! You drive me crazy! Wanna bury my fucking face in you. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You whimper.

“Fuck, baby, I am so fucking hard for you right now. Watching you fucking squirt like that? Jesus Christ, I was about to fucking lose it.”

“Yeah?” You coo, looking down at Eddie as he squeezes your thighs in his hands.

“God, angel. You don’t know what you fucking do to me. Let me show you how bad I fucking want you. Scoot up onto the couch and spread your legs nice and wide for me?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You removed your legs from his shoulder, backing up onto the couch until you hit the backrest. As Eddie shifted more comfortably onto his knees, you instinctively spread your legs nice and wide- giving him another breathtaking view of your dripping wet sex.

“Fuuuuck, baby..” Eddie breathes, leaning down to press a soft, gentle kiss to your sensitive clit- making you squirm. “Be a good girl and spread her open for me, yeah?”

You don’t even question it, reaching down between your legs to part yourself open with your fingers.

“Fuck, there she is. So fucking pretty, sweetheart. Almost as pretty as you.” He flirts.

Eddie then collects all of the saliva in his mouth, leaning in to spit directly onto your hot cunt and it fueled something inside of you that made you feel feral and uncontrollable. You let out the most unintentionally pornographic moan as he attached his thumb to your clit, massaging roughly enough to have you panting in seconds.

“Goddamn, you are so gorgeous.” Eddie sighs, watching you take his assault onto your clit “My god. Been thinking about having you just like this since I first saw you. Wanted my face buried in-between these fucking thighs, baby.”

“Then do it, Munson.” You tease.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, looking at you as if you had no idea what you were asking for.

“Oh, you want this, baby?” He growls “Don’t fucking worry, Princess. You can have it. You can have me. Gonna ruin you for anyone else, angel. Gonna make sure no one’s ever gonna eat your pussy out better than me.”

Before you can process his promises that were filled with possession, he brings his head down to your core- attaching his lips to your clit as he sucked on it. Immediate pleasure sends a jolt through your body, causing your hips to buck into his face. Eddie groans at your reaction, your eagerness as he sucked on your sensitive little button. He took it as praise, sucking on it harder as you squeal.

“Fuck, Eddie!” You pant. His eyes flicker to yours, watching how dark and blissed out they were becoming and he had barely even started with you. He takes things further, grazing your clit with his teeth as you gasp at the sensation. He begins to alternate his actions from gentle to rough as he serviced your clit, paying extra attention to the way you reacted to each lick, suck, and kiss that he left upon it. Each one caused your body to squirm so deliciously underneath him.

“She sensitive, baby? Yeah?” He asks, mumbling against your cunt as he watches you squirm. You nod as you watch him flick his tongue against your clit before expertly rolling it against the bundle of nerves.

You gasp at the feeling, never having experienced anyone devouring you the way that he was. You didn’t even know that he could do that with his tongue but it was leaving you breathless as you reached for his head, trying to pull him closer.

“That’s right, baby.” He growls “Put it in my face. Fuuuck yes!”

You shamelessly buck your hips, shoving your cunt into his face as he smirks- letting you grind against his tongue. It was driving him wild. How much you wanted him. How much you yearned for his touch.

“God yeah,” He groans “That’s it. Make a mess of my face, sweetheart.”

He stuck his tongue out farther for you, giving you more to hump against as you rubbed your clit on it- desperately seeking out your pleasure. Your next orgasm. His tongue felt better than anything you’ve ever felt before. You could only imagine what his dick must feel like. No wonder all of the girls he had worked with previously had lost their mind. He was even more talented than you realized.

“Oh my god!” You moan out “Your tongue…”

“Mmm…what about it, baby?” He rasps as he pulls away from you momentarily. Only for a moment but your hips were chasing after his mouth as soon as they left you.

“Fuck!” You pant “Please don’t stop! Feels so good…”

“You want more, sweet thing? Grinding on my face isn’t enough for you?” He teases, his lips wet and glossed up with your arousal.

“I need you…” You whine “I need-“

Before you could continue to beg any further, Eddie grabs ahold of your legs again- grabbing the back of your knees as he yanks you down towards the end of the couch. Your lower body arches up as he hitches your legs over his shoulders, bringing you closer to him as he buries his face in your pussy- latching onto it with a rough, insatiable fervor as he works his tongue against you again.

“Fuck, Eddie!” You scream “Oh fuck! Oh my-“

The words die in your throat and are quickly replaced by high pitched desperate whines as Eddie takes your clit back in his mouth, humming against it in a way that sends nearly earth-shattering vibrations through your body.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” You cry out, panting and desperate as you feel another high ramping up. Eddie can sense your pending orgasm, taking things up a notch as he begins to nuzzle his face into your cunt for extra friction. Your mouth drops open in ecstasy as your hands frantically search for something to grab onto.

You settle for one hand grasping the couch cushion beneath you as the other one grabs onto a handful of his curls at the crown of his head. You were still half-suspended in the air with your legs over his shoulders as they began to shake, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Fuck, Eddie!” You cry out “I’m- oh fuck, I’m c-cumming!”

And Eddie couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop. He was a man possessed as he continued to eat you out through your second orgasm, reveling in your screams of pleasure as you chant his name like he was a fucking god.

“Eddie! Oh my god, Eddie! Holy shit!” You scream out and he swore his name never sounds so fucking good. Not as good as the way that it was rolling off your lips as you orgasmed. Your cunt still on his mouth as you rolled your hips, riding that blessed afterwave. That’s when you went completely limp.

“Cut!”

You were on cloud nine and completely blissed out when the director called for everyone to take thirty. You were practically floating. Soft and pliant and boneless as Eddie carefully removed your legs from over his shoulders. He supported your lower body as he maneuvered you onto the couch so that you were laying down fully- completely nude but you didn’t care. You could be lying naked in the middle of nowhere and you wouldn’t give a damn. Not when you were feeling like you were in outer space.

“Earth to sweetheart?” Eddie whispers, his face hovering over yours as he stays kneeling in front of the couch “Doing alright?”

“Yeah…” You reply, your voice tired and soft “I feel…fuck, that was amazing.”

Eddie couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the cute little grin that spreads across your face.

“Yeah?” He asks “Was it okay for you?”

“Okay?” You retort “That was….wow!”

“Well, I’m glad that I could meet your expectations.” He chuckles, reaching up to carefully brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Are you kidding? That surpassed my expectations.” You admit “You just about gave me an exorcism.”

“An exorcism, huh?” Eddie laughed “That’s also a new one for me.”

“Yeah?” You say “Don’t forget to add it to your resumé after this.”

You went silent for a moment before adding “I don’t know how I’m gonna top that.”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, meeting your eyes “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine”

“Yeah but I wanna return the favor. I want it to be good for you too.” You admit “After that, I feel like I owe you.”

“Sweetheart, sex isn’t transactional.” Eddie explains before stopping “I mean…besides the fact that we get paid to do this for a living. But what I’m saying is that you don’t owe me anything. I just want you to have a good time, okay?”

And how could you argue with that when he was making you feel so safe and comfortable and….good? Really fucking good.

“Okay.” You agree.

“Good.” He grins “Now let’s get you off this couch and cleaned up.”

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Eddie was alone in one of the spare dressing rooms, drinking from a bottle of water when his manager walked in. At first, Paul doesn’t say a word. He just saunters over to the small sofa that was in the middle of the room before sinking down on it, looking at Eddie with a shit-eating-grin.

“What?” Eddie asks, taking in the expression on Paul’s cocky face.

“I told you so.” Paul speaks, his voice laced with a tone of confidence “Didn’t I tell you, kid?”

“Tell me what?” Eddie questions, still waiting to be clued in.

“That this girl wasn’t like anyone you’ve ever worked with before. You didn’t wanna believe me at first, did you?” Paul grins “Kid, I’ve never seen you so into a scene before. You and that girl….I don’t know what’s going on there but there’s something. You’ve got the hots for her.”

“I barely know her.” Eddie tries to defend himself but he knew it was no use, not really. Not when everything Paul was saying was true. He was so into you. Ridiculously into you.

“Could’ve fooled me with the way you were going to town on her, kid.” Paul laughs “So, when’s the wedding?”

Eddie takes the cap from his water bottle and chucks it at his manager.

“Very funny, asshole.” He quips, rolling his eyes.

“Look, man, I’m just fucking with you. You know, it’s actually nice seeing you enjoy yourself. And, boy, were you enjoying yourself.” Paul teases.

“Jesus Christ…”

“You know what this means, right?” Paul asks “The company is gonna want you to renew your contract. They’re gonna want you to work with her again. Eds, we’re gonna need to lock this down.”

“I’m not gonna re-sign, Paul.” Eddie drops “When I’m done, I’m done. No more.”

“What?” Paul exclaims “After all that out there? You’re still gonna walk away?”

“I mean, that was always the plan. Even before her.” Eddie answers, picking at the label on his bottle of water.

“You’re seriously still going to quit?” Paul asks “When you’re about to skyrocket even bigger when this scene goes up online? You do realize that you have the potential to make twice- hell, even three times what you’re making right now!”

“Still doesn’t change anything.” Eddie answers “It’s not about the money anymore, Paul.”

“Then what is it about, kid?”

“It’s….I don’t know. I guess I just want to feel something again for someone, you know? Not just emotionless fucking all the time. I just want to feel a connection to someone.”

Eddie felt like he was explaining something complicated and completely unfathomable. Something as difficult as a paradoxical conundrum. Sex workers didn’t usually talk about shit like this. Feelings and emotions and connection. So, how did he expect Paul to relate to anything he was trying to convey?

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m ready to hang it up. I’m ready to go back to living a normal life. I wanna fucking go out and meet someone and do the whole dating type shit. Maybe have a girlfriend? I don’t fucking know…” He continues “But I can’t fucking do that when I’m doing porn for a living.”

“Okay.” Paul nods “I get that. I guess things can get messy trying to have a relationship when you’re still in the industry. Jealousy and all that.”

“Exactly.” Eddie agrees.

“But that girl…” Paul continues “You like her?”

“I mean…she’s gorgeous.” He admits “And sweet and…honestly, too fucking good for this industry.”

“So, why not her?” Paul asks “You don’t wanna date her?”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie replies “Of course I would. She’s perfect. I just….like you said, she’s not going to stay small for long. She’s gonna end up getting big after this. I mean, fucking look at her. She’s gonna be offered gigs left and right. Her company’s gonna want her to do more stuff with other porn guys. She’s gonna forget about me by the end of next week. There’s no room for feelings in porn.”

“Eh, I don’t think she’s gonna forget about you after what you just did to her out there.” Paul laughs “But I get where you’re coming from. Anyways, should we head back to set? I’m sure your bride is eagerly awaiting your return.”

“Shut the fuck up, Paul….”

“Alright, alright.” Paul continues “I’m only joking…mostly.”

────────

Eddie peeks into your dressing room, standing in the doorway as he watches you- bending over at the waist and you lean in towards the mirror. You were touching up your makeup, making sure that you looked presentable again for the camera before stepping out to finish the scene. The part that you were the most nervous about; giving him a blowjob.

As you fluff your hair, trying to smooth it down and fix it after two mind-blowing orgasms- you catch his reflection in the mirror. Standing there as he admired you. Taking in how you were still naked underneath your short silk robe. If you had bent down just a little bit further, he could see your pussy. Completely on display and available for him to walk up to you and jam his cock inside of you, fucking you mercilessly against the hair and makeup vanity. Instead, he attempts to control himself. Just a little bit longer. He knew that he would be in your mouth soon.

“Hi.” You smile, turning around in his direction as you lean your back against the vanity- taking in the sight of him. He was still shirtless, causing you to try really fucking hard to keep your eyes on him and not his body. But he noticed. Of course he does.

“Hi.” He replies, a smirk tugging at his lips “Doing okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to control your beating heart. Goddamn, did he have an effect on you. “I’m good. You?”

“Fine.” He grins, looking you up and down as he licks his lips- taking it all in. “Never been better actually. You know, considering that I just ate out one of the prettiest women in porn. Actually wait, scratch that. One of the prettiest women ever.”

The admission causes your face to heat up.

“You know, you already made me orgasm twice. You don’t have to keep flattering me.” You joke, ducking your head. You felt like you were on the verge of melting completely if you kept looking at him.

“Hmm…I don’t know.” He replies “I feel like my job isn’t done yet. You know, I might just have to go for a third time. Just to be safe.”

Your heart was officially skipping beats at his oh-so-casual comment about making you cum a third time.

“As much as I’d like that,” You continue “I still have to return the favor. Which, if I’m being honest, I’m really nervous about.”

Eddie’s heart melts a little at your nervousness. It was a breath of fresh air compared to past porn girls who kind of just shoved him into their mouths and did their thing. He felt kind of flattered that going down on him was making you so flustered.

“Sweetheart, I already told you, there’s nothing to worry about.” He explains “You’re gonna do just fine. Like I said, I’m not-“

“Picky. Yeah, I know.” You cut him off “But I still want it to be good for you. I just….can you give me some tips? Like…what to do?”

Eddie could’ve cum right then and there. Just from hearing you be so eager and needy to please him.

“You want me to, like, coach you?” He asks, trying to stifle out a groan. Fuck, this was so hot…

“Yeah.” You nod “That would…actually be really helpful. You know, like, practice. Before I go out there and make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

“You…wanna practice?” He asks “On me? Right now?”

Holy shit.

“Yeah.” You shrug “I mean, why not? I’m going to do it anyway. Getting some pointers from you would definitely help.”

“O-okay.” Eddie stammers “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, sweetheart. What do you want me to-“

“What do you like?” You ask, jumping straight in “What, like, turns you on? Do you like to be stroked while you’re getting a blowjob? Do you like it when girls play with your balls? Do you-“

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on, sweetheart.” Eddie practically pants, holding up a hand in signal for you to stop “Just…hold on a sec. My brain is literally going fucking crazy right now hearing you say that.”

“I’m sorry!” You immediately begin to apologize “Did I-“

“No, baby!” Eddie shakes his head “No, no, no! You just…fuck. You’re just so hot that I’m gonna blow my fucking load in my pants before I even get the chance to be in your mouth and I- fuck, I really wanna be in your mouth, sweetheart. I-“

Before he could process it, you had walked up to him- pressing your lips against his in a bruising, hot kiss that he immediately melted into. God, you were going to be the death of him.

He kisses you back with fervor and need as your tongue slips into his mouth, battling against his as he grabs two handfuls of your silky robe- yanking you closer to him. Your hands encircle around his neck as you kiss him harder, as if you were trying to steal the air from his very lungs and Eddie? He didn’t fucking care. He’d fucking give it to you if he could. He’d give you fucking anything. He was putty in your hands.

Speaking of his hands, they were everywhere. Your hips, your thighs, buried in your hair, running up and down your back, grabbing your ass. He wanted you so bad. So, so bad.

“Fuck…” He moans against your lips, fighting for his last shred of self-control in order to prevent himself from picking you up and fucking you on whatever the nearest surface was. He didn’t care what it was. He needed you. So, when you pulled away from the kiss abruptly, he had to stop himself from groaning out in sexual frustration.

“Eddie?” You ask, your sweet voice whispering out his name in a way that had him wrecked.

“Yeah, baby?” He breathes out, realizing that as long as you kept saying his name like that, he would risk it all.

“Want you in my mouth.” You plead “Wanna make you feel good. Can I?”

And Eddie? He was fucking goo. A puddle of fucking goo for you as he tried not to fucking melt into the floor at how needy you were. How nicely you were asking for him. How could he fucking say no?

“Fuck, baby.” He moans “You wanna get on your knees for me? Right now?”

“Please?” You whisper, looking at him with those eyes.

Those. Fucking. Eyes.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, sweetheart.” He pants “Fuck…”

“Please?” You continue “Can I?”

This right here was hotter than any fucking sex that Eddie had ever had. The tension, the arousal, the spark, the fucking chemistry. It was so fucking good. Too fucking good.

“Okay.” He nods eagerly “Okay, sweet girl. Whatever you…fuck…Whatever you want. I’m yours.”

And those two words were all that you needed to fuel you.

I’m yours.

Your hand immediately flies down to his groin, taking a firm grasp of his hardened cock through his black jeans as you squeeze it- causing him to let out a sound that was a combination of a gasp and a desperate groan.

“Shit, baby.” He breathes out, his mind malfunctioning at the feel of your hand against him- right where he needed you most “Feels so fucking good…”

“Eddie, you’re so big…” You flirt, continuing to palm him through his jeans and, goddammit, how was he supposed to control himself when you say shit like that?

“Yeah, baby?” He moans “You like that?”

“Mhm.” You flirt “Don’t know if I can take it all in my mouth.”

“Holy-“ His voice catches “You can’t- god!”

“Might gag on it.” You continue, paying extra attention to palming the tip. His knees began to feel weak under your touch.

“Sweetheart, please-“ He pleads “Don’t fucking say shit like that.”

“Why not?” You coo “You don’t want to hear me tell you that I love your dick? That I love how big it is?”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans “You little fucking tease. You love it, huh? You love my big fucking dick? God, you’re fucking filthy. That dirty fucking mouth…”

“Shut me up then, Munson.” You grin “You know how to do it.”

And that’s when he fucking breaks.

“Get on your fucking knees.” He growls.

And just when you begin to sink down, to kneel in front of him and worship his cock- there was a knock at the door followed by your name.

“You’re needed on set in five!”

God…fucking…dammit.

────────

To Be Continued in Part 3…

Taglist: @ludachrissy @andulizna @cciessuzi @kozume-ko @itmekelpy @keyrie @lovelytoomusic @eirammarie0 @mayawainfleet @paradoxicalconundrum @fapqueen @lmaobitch111 @eddiessweethrt @stylesxmunson @akarolneves029 @mmmunson @lnnn1n @daddyhetfield @bubblegumbxtch97 @boltonbritreads @ches-86 @aprincess-orjustme @wtfaidhblog @ssculker @tlclick73 @yourfavidk @twirls827 @foggysandwichqueen @leelei1980 @chickpeadumpsterfire @micheledawn1975 @bluemoonshinegirl @emxxblog @lelyii @nojamsonmytoast @i-love-candles-15 @mstorm37 @petrified-ox @arcticmazecrystal @imgoingcrazyyyyyyyy @sespe08 @breezythesimp @kayjon47858 @xocherishxo @perfidious04 @peachiiseltz @alexxavicry @sweetener1 @harringtonstar

[spacejjunk]

how we both wondrously perish

pairing: eddie munson x reader

w/c: 14k+

summary: you love going to shows- big, small, any kind of music. you love losing yourself to the melodies and becoming one with the crowds. but who wouldve guessed that one person at one random show would change how you feel about life?

warnings/tags: insecurity, pining, smut, very much smutty smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), a bit of fluff in there too, you two are obsessed with each other, idiots in love, infidelity if you squint, strangers to lovers, based on a true story

a/n: you know who you are

masterlist //

The middle of summer always felt like a liminal space—thick, endless, and slightly unreal. Like the world was holding its breath until fall arrived and you could finally feel like yourself again.

The heat was personal. It wrapped around your throat, slicked your hair to your forehead no matter how many times you dragged it into a ponytail, and turned every inch of exposed skin into a liability. You hated it. Hated the way the season peeled back everyone’s armor, forced bodies into the open, filled beaches and sidewalks with noise and sweat and too many eyes. Your friends kept trying to drag you out into it anyway—Chrissy with her relentless sunshine energy, the group chat pinging with plans you didn’t want.

But the shows… the shows were different. They were the only place you’d ever felt like you belonged. Fourteen years old and already at the barrier, in the pit, at the back—didn’t matter. The second the bass hit your ribs and the crowd became one breathing, sweating organism, everything else went quiet. That was freedom. That was home.

So when you were sprawled in bed on a nothing Saturday, Supernatural playing as background noise from your laptop, spooning melting ice cream straight from the tub while doomscrolling Instagram, the ad for the hardcore metal show thirty minutes away was exactly what you needed.

You screenshotted it and fired it into the group chat—the one that had survived the messy, half-finished end of your relationship? Situationship? Five years together and somehow the friends had stayed shared property. Nobody wanted to pick sides.

Steve texted back first.

Steve: metal show? like with screaming and shit?

You: yes steven. thats generally how they go. also i need a ride pls and thank youuuu

Jonathan: fuck it. im in if you buy the ticket.

You: perfect. anyone else?

Robin: nance and I have plans but have fun! dont die!

Steve: you have gas money?

You confirmed. Heart already lighter.

Then your ex texted back—Busy. Which was code for hanging out with her, the girl who’d hated you from day one and had been circling ever since the split like she was waiting for the body to cool. Your blood went hot under your skin. Fuck that. Fuck him. You weren’t rotting in your room over it.

You texted Chrissy instead, half as a distraction. Told her about the show. She replied in under a minute that it “sounded fun” and invited herself. At least she was trying.

Nighttime arrived sticky and gold-edged. Steve’s car idled at the curb, windows down, some old classic rock playlist already humming low. Cramming four people into it was an exercise in physics and unresolved tension. Jonathan and Chrissy folded themselves into the back seat—Jonathan long-limbed and unbothered, Chrissy trying not to take up space in her little sundress. You took shotgun because “someone’s gotta navigate” and because the back felt too much like being babysat.

The drive was a strange little pocket of almost-normal. Steve’s fingers tapped the wheel in time with the music. Chrissy leaned forward between the seats asking wide-eyed questions—“So people just… run into each other on purpose?”—and you answered with the patience of someone who’d done this a hundred times. Jonathan mostly watched the passing streetlights and occasionally muttered something dry that made Chrissy giggle.

The venue was small—barely more than a converted warehouse with a low stage and a bar that had seen better decades. By the time you pulled into the lot it was already swarming. Black band tees, leather jackets, chains, shaved heads, long hair, tattoos everywhere. The air outside smelled like hot asphalt, cigarette smoke, and sweat from the bodies already packed together.

Inside was worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Packed. Shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, the heat of a hundred bodies already turning the air syrupy. Red and purple lights strobed across the low ceiling. The floor vibrated under your boots even though the band hadn’t started yet. People were already moving in loose, anticipatory clusters near the front—pockets of space that would become the pit the second the first chord dropped.

Steve and Chrissy looked like they’d wandered into the wrong dimension.

Steve had gone for “I can hang” in a black t-shirt and jeans, but his shoulders were tight, eyes flicking over the crowd like he was calculating exits. Chrissy’s sundress and soft curls stood out like a flare in a blackout. Both of them drifted closer to you the deeper you pushed into the room—Chrissy’s hand brushing your arm, Steve’s presence a steady warmth at your back.

Jonathan took one look at the growing energy near the stage, grinned that slow, knowing grin, and leaned in so you could hear him over the pre-show noise.

“I’m gonna go find someone to smoke with. You got this?”

You nodded. He squeezed your shoulder once and disappeared into the crowd like smoke himself—easy, unhurried, already chatting up some guy in a Misfits shirt by the time he reached the side wall.

You steered Steve and Chrissy toward the back, near the bar where the floor rose slightly and you could still see the stage but weren’t in the direct line of fire. A guy in a cutoff already had blood on his knuckles from earlier “fun.” Another cluster near the front was already shoving, testing the boundaries.

“Trust me,” you said, voice raised over the growing roar. “We’re staying back here for now.”

Chrissy’s eyes were huge. “Is it… always like this?”

“Only the good ones.” You offered her a small smile. “Pit’s gonna be nasty tonight. People are already stage diving. I don’t want you getting caught in that.”

She nodded fast, relief flickering across her face. Steve didn’t say anything, but he stayed close—closer than necessary—his arm brushing yours every time the crowd shifted. You could feel the tension in him, the way he kept scanning like he was ready to pull you both out if it went sideways. It was almost sweet. Almost annoying.

The lights dropped. The crowd surged forward like a single living thing. Then the band hit the stage and the room exploded.

Distorted guitars ripped through the air. Drums like artillery. Vocals that sounded like someone screaming into a broken microphone and meaning every word. Bodies slammed. Fists pumped. Someone launched themselves off the stage and vanished into a sea of catching hands. The pit became a churning, violent ocean—people shoving, spinning, lifting each other, stage diving in arcs that looked like they shouldn’t be survivable.

From the back you could feel it all without being swallowed by it. The bass still rattled your teeth. The heat still pressed in. But here you could breathe. Here you could keep an eye on Chrissy’s wide-eyed wonder and Steve’s protective hovering. Here the music could do what it always did—scour the leftover anger out of your chest, drown the image of your ex with someone else, leave nothing but the thrum in your bones and the knowledge that you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Chrissy’s fingers found your wrist during a particularly brutal surge near the front. You covered her hand with yours and didn’t let go.

Steve leaned in, mouth close to your ear so you could hear him. “You do this a lot?”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes—close, too close in the press of bodies. The lights painted his face in flashes of red and shadow.

“Every chance I get.”

He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary. Something unreadable moved behind it. Then he nodded once, like he was filing that information away, and stayed right where he was—shoulder brushing yours, eyes on the stage but body angled toward you like he was still on guard duty.

Jonathan reappeared twenty minutes later smelling like weed and cheap cigarettes, looking more relaxed than he had all night. He slotted in on Chrissy’s other side without a word, just bumped your shoulder in quiet greeting and let the music take him.

You stayed at the back.

For now.

The pit could have you later—when your friends were safe, when the worst of the night had burned itself out, when you could finally let go and throw yourself into the beautiful, violent mess of it. But tonight you had people who needed an anchor. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t mind being the one holding the line.

The music kept coming. Loud. Mean. Perfect.

Between sets the lights came up halfway and the crowd loosened like a held breath finally released. The band had torn the room apart for forty minutes straight—bodies flying, voices raw, the pit a living bruise—and now everyone was drifting, sweating, laughing too loud, already craving the next hit of noise.

You needed air.

You caught Chrissy’s wrist the same way she’d held yours earlier and tugged her toward the side door. “Come on. Before it starts again.”

She followed without question, still a little wide-eyed from everything she’d seen. The smoking area out back was barely more than a cracked concrete slab someone had strung with cheap fairy lights and a couple of sagging umbrellas that did nothing against the night. It smelled like old cigarette butts, warm beer, and barely concealed weed. A few people were already out here—leaning against the brick wall, passing a joint, talking shit between bands.

You dug your cigarettes out of your pocket, shook one free, and offered the pack to Chrissy. She took one even though she didn’t really smoke, just held it between her fingers like it was part of the costume. You lit both with the same flame, then leaned back against the cool brick and let the first drag burn the leftover adrenaline out of your lungs.

For a minute neither of you said anything. The muffled thump of the next band doing soundcheck bled through the walls. Inside, somewhere in that heat and dark, Steve was probably still posted up where you’d left him and Jonathan was probably already halfway to finding another smoke buddy. Out here the air felt thinner. Cooler against your damp skin.

You exhaled hard and the words came out before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking tired of it,” you muttered, staring at the glowing tip of your cigarette. “Like… I knew it was over. I knew. But hearing he’s with her again? Actually with her? It still makes me want to throw something. Or throw up. Or both.” Your voice cracked on the last word and you hated how small it sounded. “She hated me the whole time we were together. Acted like I was temporary. And now she gets to win? Just like that?”

Chrissy stayed quiet, listening the way she always did—soft, present, not trying to fix it. That almost made it worse.

You kept going, the whine creeping in despite yourself. “I keep telling myself I’m over it. That I’m fine. And then he texts ‘busy’ like I’m supposed to just… what? Be happy for him? Fuck that. And Steve being here tonight doesn’t help. It’s like I can’t escape any of it. The whole group chat still feels like it belongs to that version of us and I’m just… tagging along in my own life.”

You took another drag, sharper this time. The fairy lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting soft little halos on the concrete. Your chest felt tight in a way the music inside hadn’t been able to touch.

Chrissy opened her mouth—probably to say something kind, something about how you deserved better—but then her gaze shifted past your shoulder and her whole expression changed.

“Oh,” she breathed, almost to herself. “Wow.”

You followed her line of sight.

He was leaning against the far end of the wall near the overflowing trash can, one boot propped up, a cigarette dangling from his fingers like he’d forgotten it was there. Long curly dark hair—wild even in the low light—framed a face that looked like it had been made for trouble and knew it. His smile was easy, crooked, the kind that reached his eyes and made the whole thing unfairly bright. Tattoos scattered across his arms and what you could see of his legs where his ripped black jeans didn’t cover— random little symbols, a spider, something that might’ve been a demon, but the one that caught you and held was the cluster of bats inked along his forearm. Detailed. Sharp. Like they were mid-flight across his skin.

He laughed at something the guy next to him said and the sound carried—low, warm, a little raspy. It did something stupid to your stomach.

You felt Chrissy shift beside you, her shoulder brushing yours.

“God,” she said, voice pitched low so only you could hear. “He’s hot. Like… unfairly hot. Do you see the hair? And the tattoos? Jesus.”

The words landed exactly where you knew they would.

That old, ugly twist started low in your gut before you could kill it. Of course she noticed. Of course she thought so too. It wasn’t even that it happened every time—you two didn’t clock the same guys often—but when you did, when there was that rare spark of mutual oh, it was always Chrissy who got the second glance. The smile back. The conversations that turned into something more. She didn’t even have to try. It just… happened. Like gravity.

You weren’t ugly. You knew that. But standing next to her—soft curls, big eyes, that effortless pretty that made people want to take care of her—you always felt like the afterthought. The one they talked to while their eyes kept drifting. The friend. The safe choice. The one who got the “you’re cool” conversation instead of the “I can’t stop looking at you” one.

It made your skin feel too tight. Made the cigarette taste bitter.

You forced a little laugh that didn’t reach your eyes and took another drag, trying to swallow the sting before it showed on your face.

“Yeah,” you said, voice carefully even. “He’s… something.”

Inside your head the voice was louder, meaner— Of course she thinks he’s hot. Of course she said it out loud. And now if anything happens it’s going to be her he remembers, not you. Same as always.

You hated how fast the insecurity rose up, hot and familiar, mixing with everything else you’d already been dumping on her—the situationship wreckage, the ex who was probably balls-deep in the girl who hated you, all the ways your life had gone shitty lately.

Chrissy was still looking at the guy with the bats, a soft, appreciative little smile on her face like she couldn’t help it.

You flicked ash off your cigarette and told yourself it didn’t matter.

Told yourself you were used to this.

Told yourself the music would be loud enough to drown it out when you went back inside.

But the bats on his arm kept catching the lights every time he moved, and your chest stayed tight in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke.

You went back inside when the next band started tuning up, the concrete slab and open space already feeling too small, too exposed. Chrissy didn’t say anything else about the guy with the bats, but you could feel the knowledge of him sitting between you like a third person. She kept glancing at you with that soft, knowing look she got when she thought she was being subtle.

The venue was still packed, bodies shifting and resettling like the whole place was breathing. You told yourself you were just moving through the crowd because you were thirsty. That’s all. Water. Maybe the bathroom. Normal things.

But he was everywhere.

First it was at the bar. You were reaching for a cup of water when the crowd parted just enough and there he was, three people down, shaking sweat out of that wild curly hair. The bats on his forearm flashed under the red lights as he grabbed his own water and tipped it back. You froze with the cup halfway to your mouth. He didn’t see you. Or if he did, he didn’t show it. Just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinned at something someone said, and melted back into the bodies like he’d never been there.

You told yourself it was nothing. Small venue. Coincidence.

Then the next set started and the pit went feral again. You’d stayed back with Chrissy and Steve like you planned, but Jonathan had wandered closer to the edge “just to feel it.” You were watching him when movement on the stage caught your eye—someone launching themselves off like gravity was optional. Long hair flying, tattoos stark against pale skin under the lights, that same cluster of bats on the arm that caught the stage lights as he flew. He disappeared into a sea of hands and reappeared laughing, already shoving his way back toward the front like he belonged there more than anyone else in the room.

Your stomach did something stupid and traitorous.

You didn’t say anything then. Not with Steve standing so close you could feel the heat of his arm whenever the crowd surged. Not with Chrissy still occasionally glancing toward the stage like she was looking for him too.

But later—between the second and third band, when you’d all drifted toward the side wall near the merch table because Chrissy needed a break from the noise—you made the mistake.

You were sipping another shitty water, trying to cool down, when the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“There’s this guy,” you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “Long curly hair, all these tattoos. Bats on his arm. I keep seeing him everywhere. He’s… so fucking hot it’s actually rude.”

Steve’s head snapped toward you so fast you almost laughed. Jonathan just raised one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was already entertained.

“Bats?” Steve repeated, scanning the crowd immediately like he could summon the guy with sheer willpower. “Where? Point him out.”

“That’s the thing,” you muttered, already regretting it. “Every time I look he’s gone. Like a ghost.”

Jonathan leaned forward, following Steve’s line of sight. “What’s he wearing?”

“Black. Like everyone else in here,” you said dryly. “But the hair’s impossible to miss. And the bats. You’ll know when you see them.”

They spent the next twenty minutes trying.

Every time the crowd shifted they’d crane their necks—Steve standing on his toes at one point like an idiot, Jonathan squinting through the haze of smoke and lights. You caught glimpses— once near the pit again, hair sticking to his neck as he shoved someone playfully; once by the side door like he was heading out for air; once just a flash of that forearm as he reached over someone to grab a flyer off the merch table. But every single time Steve or Jonathan turned to look, he was already gone. Blended back into the sea of black and leather and sweat like he’d never existed.

“Swear to God you’re making him up,” Steve said after the fourth failed attempt, half laughing, half frustrated. He bumped your shoulder with his. “Trying to mess with us?”

“I’m not,” you insisted, but there was a flush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the heat. “I saw him stage dive. Saw the bats clear as day. He was right there getting water earlier too.”

Jonathan just smirked, watching the crowd with new interest. “Sounds like the universe wants you to keep running into him. Or he wants you to.”

You rolled your eyes, but the words stuck. Because it did feel like that. Every time you turned a corner or the bodies parted or you went looking for something as simple as water, there he was—wild hair, easy grin, bats flashing like a secret only you were supposed to notice. And every time Steve and Jonathan tried to catch sight of him, he vanished like smoke.

Chrissy had wandered off toward the bathroom a few minutes ago, and part of you was grateful. You didn’t want to see if she was still thinking about him too. Didn’t want to watch her eyes light up the same way yours probably did every time that goddamn tattoo caught the light.

Steve was still scanning, shoulder brushing yours every time someone pushed past. “Next time you see him, grab me. Or at least get a picture so we know we’re not chasing a ghost.”

You didn’t answer. Because the next time you saw him—and you already knew there would be a next time—you weren’t sure you wanted to share.

Not yet.

The music started up again, louder than before, and the crowd surged forward like it had been waiting for permission. You stayed where you were for a second, letting the bass rattle your bones, letting the frustration and the stupid fluttering in your chest settle into something you could carry.

You needed another cigarette.

The venue felt too loud, too close, too full of everything you didn’t want to feel. So you caught Chrissy’s eye and nodded toward the side door again. She followed without asking why. The concrete and fairy lights were starting to feel like your own private corner of the night—quieter, cooler, easier to breathe in despite the heavy smoke.

You didn’t talk much this time. Just smoked in silence, the second cigarette burning faster than the first. Your head was a mess of bats tattoos, Chrissy’s soft “he’s hot” echoing in the back of your skull, and the low-grade ache of everything you’d vented earlier. By the time you stubbed the butt out under your boot, you felt marginally more human.

When you pushed back inside, the next band was still mid-set, the crowd a living wall of motion. You scanned for Steve and Jonathan and found them near the same side wall you’d left them at.

They were both grinning like idiots.

Mischievous. Too mischievous.

You narrowed your eyes as you and Chrissy reached them. “What did you do?”

Steve and Jonathan exchanged a look that made your stomach drop.

Jonathan shrugged, fighting a smirk. “We found your ghost.”

You blinked. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, way too pleased with himself. “Tracked him down near the pit. Long curly hair, bats and everything. Name’s Eddie.”

You were still processing the fact that they’d actually found him when Jonathan kept going, casual as anything.

“Told him you and Chrissy thought he was hot.”

The words hit like a bucket of ice water.

Fuck.

Your face went hot so fast it was almost painful. “You what—”

Of course they’d said both of you. Of course they’d made it a two-for-one thing. Like you couldn’t even have your own embarrassing crush without it getting shared.

Steve at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. Jonathan just looked entertained.

Before you could properly spiral, the crowd shifted and there he was—walking straight toward your little group like he’d been summoned.

Eddie.

Up close he was even worse. Taller than you’d realized, all long limbs and easy confidence, that wild dark hair sticking to his temples with sweat. The bats on his forearm were even more detailed than you’d thought, stark black against his skin. He had a crooked, charming smile already in place, like he knew exactly how this was about to go and found it funny.

He stopped in front of you, glanced between you and Chrissy with clear amusement, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“So,” he said, voice warm and a little raspy from yelling along with the band, “I hear there’s been some… appreciation happening.”

Your soul tried to leave your body.

He continued before any of you could answer, still smiling but gentle about it. “Look, I’m flattered. Really. You’re both gorgeous and the ego boost is appreciated. But I’ve got a girlfriend. She’s actually here somewhere—.”

The girlfriend news landed with a dull thud in your chest. Not devastating, but… yeah. Of course he did. Guys who looked like that usually did.

Eddie’s grin turned a little playful as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. A shorter guy with shaggy hair and a Corroded Coffin shirt was hovering a few feet back, looking equal parts amused and mortified.

“This is Gareth. He’s single. Very single. And he’s down if either of you want to make out about it. No pressure.”

Gareth gave a little wave and an awkward smile that said please don’t actually take him up on this.

You didn’t even have to think.

“Ah… no thank you,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out on a half-laugh that was more embarrassment than anything. “Appreciate the offer, though. Really.”

Eddie laughed—full and bright and stupidly nice—and clapped Gareth on the shoulder. “Worth a shot. You guys have a good night, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the show.”

And just like that he was gone again, disappearing back into the crowd with Gareth in tow, like he really was some kind of ghost that only appeared when he felt like it.

The four of you stood there in stunned silence for a second.

Steve let out a low whistle. “Well. That was something.”

Jonathan was straight-up laughing now. Chrissy looked like she was trying very hard not to.

You just pressed your hands over your face for a moment, the heat in your cheeks refusing to fade.

The next set started and you tried to lose yourself in it—let the music and the bodies and the noise drown out the mortification. It mostly worked. Mostly. Every time the crowd surged you caught yourself scanning for curly hair and bats without meaning to. Steve stayed close. Chrissy kept shooting you little sympathetic glances. Jonathan looked far too pleased with the chaos he’d helped create.

By the time the band finished their last song and the lights came up halfway again, you were done.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” you said, already stepping back before anyone could offer to come with you. “Alone. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t wait for an answer.

The side door felt like an escape hatch. The smoking area was empty this time—no one else had wandered out yet. Just the lights buzzing softly overhead, the distant thump of the venue still going, and the cooler night air against your overheated skin.

You lit another cigarette with slightly shaky hands and leaned back against the brick wall, letting the smoke curl up into the dark.

Eddie.

Girlfriend.

Steve and Jonathan telling him you and Chrissy thought he was hot.

The whole thing played on loop in your head, equal parts humiliating and strangely funny now that you were alone. Your chest still felt tight, but at least out here no one could see the flush on your face or the way your thoughts kept circling back to that stupid, charming smile.

You took a long drag and exhaled toward the moon.

You were sitting on the cold concrete with your back against the brick wall, phone in your hands, thumb moving on autopilot. Scrolling through nothing. Instagram stories you didn’t care about. A text from Robin you hadn’t answered yet. Anything to keep your brain from replaying the whole “we told him you and Chrissy think he’s hot” disaster on loop.

Inside, the final band was probably getting ready to go on — you could feel the low thump of the soundcheck through the wall. You weren’t ready to go back in yet. Not with Steve’s knowing looks and Jonathan’s shit-eating grin and the lingering sting of everything that had happened in the last hour.

You didn’t even look up when someone dropped down beside you on the concrete.

Not until they spoke.

“Mind if I crash your very important phone date?”

You turned your head.

Eddie.

Up close like this, with no crowd and no awkward wingman audience, he was somehow even more magnetic. Wild curls still damp at the temples, black band tee stretched across his shoulders, the bats on his forearm stark when he rested his elbows on his knees. He had that same easy half-smile, but it was softer now. Less performance, more real.

You blinked, brain short-circuiting for a second. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

He settled in like he belonged there, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed at the ankle. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cigarette smoke, sweat, and something warm and spicy underneath.

“So,” he said, glancing at you sideways, “that was… a lot. Earlier. Sorry about the Gareth thing.”

You let out a short, embarrassed laugh despite yourself. “It’s fine. Really. I think my friends started it.”

“They definitely started it,” he agreed, grinning. “Ambushed me right as I was coming out of the pit. ‘Hey man, these two girls think you’re hot.’ Bold strategy. I panicked and went full ‘I have a girlfriend’ mode. Classic move.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So it's she real or?”

Eddie nodded his head, curls bouncing. “Yeah. She couldn’t make it tonight. Work thing. I was just trying to be polite and not lead anyone on in front of your whole crew.” He tilted his head, studying you for a second. “Didn’t expect to find you out here alone though. Figured you’d be inside losing your mind in the pit.”

“I needed a break,” you admitted, locking your phone and letting it rest on your thigh. “It’s been… a weird night.”

“Yeah?” His voice went a little softer, curious. “Weird how?”

You shrugged, but the words came easier than you expected. “Ex drama. My friends being assholes. The usual.”

Eddie nodded like he got it. “Sounds exhausting. Music helps though, right? That’s why we’re all here. To forget the bullshit for a couple hours.”

“Exactly.” You smiled, small but real. “And then my friends had to go and make it weird by telling you I thought you were hot.”

He laughed — low and warm and way too nice. “I mean… I am flattered. And for the record? The feeling’s mutual. You’ve got this whole ‘I'm secretly a lot wilder than I let on’ energy that’s kinda working for me.”

Your face went warm again, but this time it didn’t feel like embarrassment. It felt like something lighter. Something that made you sit up a little straighter.

“You’re smooth,” you said, trying for teasing.

“I try.” He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours. “So what’s your name, anyway? Or am I just gonna keep calling you ‘the girl who keeps appearing everywhere I go’ in my head?”

You told him. He repeated it once, like he was tasting it, then grinned. “Fits you.”

The conversation flowed from there — easy, natural, the kind that made the rough concrete under you and the distant music inside feel like background noise. You talked about the bands you’d both seen live, the worst pits you’d ever been in, how he’d never been to this venue before. He asked about your favorite shows, listened when you talked about the freedom of it, the way the music made everything else shut up for a while.

Somewhere in the middle of it, he reached over without warning and plucked your phone right out of your hand.

“Hey—”

“Relax,” he said, already unlocking it like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m not going through your texts. Just making sure we don’t lose each other in the void again.”

You watched, half-indignant and half-amused, as he opened Instagram, searched his own account, and hit follow on himself from your phone. Then he handed it back with a little flourish.

“There. Now you’re stuck with me. Fair warning — my stories are like… 80 percent bullshit.”

You looked at the screen. His profile was exactly what you expected — chaotic, loud, full of music and friends and that same crooked smile in half the photos. You followed him back without thinking twice.

“Bold of you to assume I won’t mute you,” you said, but you were smiling.

“You won’t,” he replied, confident and a little smug. “We vibe too hard already.”

And the worst part? He was right.

You stayed out there even when the final band started inside. You could hear the muffled roar of the crowd, the guitars ripping through the walls, people screaming along. But neither of you moved. Eddie’s knee brushed yours every so often when he shifted. The conversation kept going — deeper now, easier. He told you about his band. You told him about the shows that had saved you over the years. He made you laugh more than once, that warm raspy laugh answering every time.

At some point he lit a cigarette and offered you one without asking. You took it.

The last band played their whole set while the two of you sat on the concrete like the show inside didn’t exist. Like this little pocket of night and easy conversation was the real main event.

And for the first time all night, you weren’t thinking about your ex, or Steve, or Chrissy, or the awkward wingman disaster.

You were just thinking about how Eddie’s smile looked under these lights.

And how you really, really didn’t want this conversation to end.

The drive home was pure insanity and you barely registered any of it.

Steve’s car felt even smaller than it had on the way there — four bodies crammed in, the windows cracked to let out the smell of the joint Jonathan had produced the second you all piled in after the show. Chrissy had taken the back with Jonathan again, leaving you up front with Steve. The weed had hit fast and warm, softening the edges of the night, but it couldn’t quite touch the loop running in your head.

Eddie’s laugh under the sparkling lights. The way he’d plucked your phone out of your hand like it was nothing. The bats flashing every time he moved his arm. That low, raspy voice saying we vibe too hard already like it was a fact.

Your friends, unfortunately, had noticed you were checked out.

“So,” Jonathan started from the back, voice lazy from the joint, “you gonna tell us why you vanished for the entire last set or are we supposed to guess?”

Steve glanced over at you, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the steering wheel in time with whatever was playing low on the radio. Even in the dark you could see the smirk. “Yeah, you were out there a while. Noticed bat guy was missing too. What was his name again? Eddie?”

Chrissy stayed quiet, but you could feel her looking at you in the rearview mirror.

You kept your eyes on the road ahead, thumb mindlessly scrolling nothing on your phone screen. “We were just talking.”

“Talking,” Steve repeated, like the word was hilarious. “For like forty-five minutes. While the final band played. Inside. Where the music was.”

Jonathan snorted. “She’s got it bad already. Look at her. She’s not even defending herself.”

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, realizing you were smiling a little despite everything. “Shut up. Both of you.”

Steve reached over and flicked your knee, gentle but teasing. “We’re just saying. You disappear with the hot tattoo guy and come back all quiet and smiley? We’re allowed to rip on you a little.”

You didn’t answer. Just took another hit when Jonathan passed the joint forward and let the smoke curl out the window into the humid night air. They kept going — light, stupid, brotherly teasing — but your brain was already somewhere else. Back with Eddie’s easy grin and the way the conversation had felt like the only thing that had made sense all night.

By the time Steve dropped you off, your head was pleasantly fuzzy and your chest still carried that low, familiar ache from earlier. Your stupid ex. The way everything had felt messy and loud until Eddie sat down next to you like he belonged there.

You waved them off, climbed the stairs to your place, and didn’t even bother turning on the big lights. Just kicked off your boots, changed into something soft, and crawled onto your bed with your phone.

Eddie’s Instagram was exactly what you expected and somehow better.

Way too many stories from the show tonight — blurry videos of the pit, him flipping off the camera with a grin, a quick clip of him stage diving that made your stomach flip. His feed was mostly music— his band, old show posters, random photos of his hands on a guitar, a couple of him laughing with friends. One picture from a couple months ago caught your eye — black tank top, hair tied up, bats tattoo on full display as he leaned against a van. You were still staring at it when your phone buzzed.

A DM.

eddie.munson: hey. you make it home okay or did your friends actually murder you for ditching them?

You bit your lip, the weed making everything feel a little softer around the edges, the sadness from earlier still there but quieter now. Your fingers moved before you could overthink it.

fam0uslastw0rds: alive. barely. they spent the whole drive home roasting me for disappearing with you during the last set

eddie.munson: lmao i’m honored

eddie.munson: worth it though right? that concrete slab was way better than whatever was happening inside

You smiled at your screen.

fam0uslastw0rds: way better. you’re a surprisingly good distraction

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

eddie.munson: surprisingly? ouch

eddie.munson: i was going for devastatingly good distraction but i’ll take it

You laughed out loud in the quiet of your room.

fam0uslastw0rds: devastatingly is a strong word

fam0uslastw0rds: but… yeah. tonight was kind of shit until you sat down. so thanks for that

eddie.munson: anytime. seriously. you seemed like you needed it

eddie.munson: and for the record? i needed it too. your friends weren’t wrong about the “hot” thing either 😉

Your stomach flipped. The weed made you bolder than usual, the low ache in your chest making you want to lean into the attention instead of pulling back.

fam0uslastw0rds: bold of you to say that after the whole “i have a girlfriend” thing earlier

fam0uslastw0rds: fair. she’s real. but she also wasn’t there tonight and you were. and i’m not gonna lie and say i didn’t notice you before your friends ambushed me

You stared at the screen for a second, heart beating a little faster.

fam0uslastw0rds: you’re dangerous when you’re flirty

fam0uslastw0rds: i’m stoned and sad and you’re making it worse (in a good way)

eddie.munson: stoned and sad is my favorite flavor of honest

eddie.munson: tell me about the sad part if you want. or we can keep pretending i’m just some mysterious guy you met at a show who’s really good at making you smile at your phone

You bit your lip again, thumbs hovering.

You typed before you could stop yourself.

fam0uslastw0rds: mysterious guy at a show is working for me right now

fam0uslastw0rds: keep talking

The typing bubble came back fast.

eddie.munson: careful what you wish for

eddie.munson: i’ve got all night and zero plans

You settled deeper into your pillows, the joint haze making everything warm and slow and a little dangerous in the best way.

It had been a little over a week since the show and your phone had barely left your hand.

Eddie had given you his number that same night after the DMs started getting long — “so we don’t have to fight Instagram’s shitty messaging,” he’d texted — and from there it snowballed fast. What started as casual “made it home safe?” check-ins turned into hours-long threads. Funny stories from his day, voice notes of him playing guitar riffs, random questions about your favorite t.v. shows, your worst pit experiences, what you were eating for dinner. He was easy to talk to. And he never once mentioned his girlfriend.

You didn’t bring her up either.

You added each other on everything. Facebook (mostly for the mutual friends and old photos he didn’t care about curating). Twitter, where he posted chaotic band memes and you replied with worse ones. Snapchat became the real danger zone. Streaks started. Good morning snaps. Good night snaps. Playful ones with filters, stupid faces, sometimes just his hand holding a coffee or his guitar. The flirting lived there most of all — disappearing photos with captions that walked the line, voice notes that lingered a second too long, the kind of back-and-forth that made your stomach flip when your phone lit up.

Your friends noticed immediately.

You were sprawled on Chrissy’s couch one afternoon, half-watching some reality show none of you were actually paying attention to, when your phone buzzed for the third time in ten minutes. You smiled without thinking, thumbs already moving.

Steve, who had claimed the armchair, raised an eyebrow. “There it is again.”

Jonathan didn’t even look up from his phone. “The Eddie smile. We’ve got a code name for it now.”

Chrissy sat up straighter, eyes bright. “Okay but seriously — who is he and why does he make you look like that? You’ve been glued to that thing since the show.”

You tried to play it off, locking the screen and setting it face-down on your stomach. “We’ve just been talking. He’s funny. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing my ass,” Steve said, grinning. “You disappeared for an entire set with the guy and now you’re over here giggling at your phone like a teenager. Spill.”

Jonathan finally glanced up, smirking. “He still an hour away?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “So it’s just texting. Snapchat mostly.”

Chrissy’s expression shifted into something softer, more determined. She’d moved on from the whole “Eddie has a girlfriend and politely rejected us both” thing within twenty-four hours — classic Chrissy. Now she was in full “help your friend get over her shitty ex” mode.

“Babe, you should flirt with him,” she said, leaning forward. “Like, actually flirt. Your ex is out there living his best life with that bitch who hates you. You deserve to have fun. Eddie’s hot, he clearly likes talking to you, and it’s not like you’re gonna run into him at the grocery store tomorrow. Live a little.”

Steve made a face that was half amusement, half something else you couldn’t quite read. “Encouraging her to flirt with the guy who has a girlfriend? Bold.”

Chrissy waved him off. “He never brings her up. She’s clearly not a factor in whatever this is. And you—” she pointed at you “—have been sad for weeks. This is the first time I’ve seen you actually excited about something. Text him. Flirt. Send him a cute snap. What’s the worst that happens?”

Jonathan just shrugged, already back on his phone. “She’s not wrong. You’ve been smiling at that screen more than I’ve seen you smile in months.”

Your phone buzzed again. You couldn’t help it — you flipped it over.

Eddie: just got out of practice. my fingers are dead. send help (or at least a distraction)

You bit your lip, thumbs flying before you could second-guess it.

You: poor baby. want me to kiss them better?

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Eddie: dangerous game you’re playing

Eddie: but yeah. i do.

Eddie: what are you doing right now that’s so important you’re only half-flirting with me

You glanced up at your friends, who were all watching you with varying degrees of smugness.

“See?” Chrissy said, grinning. “Flirt. It looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile.

Your phone lit up again — this time a Snapchat notification.

Eddie had sent you a photo.

You opened it.

It was him in what looked like his bedroom or practice space, hair messy, black tank top, one hand held up to the camera showing his calloused fingers with a dramatic pout. The caption read: they need medical attention. or at least attention from you.

You laughed out loud.

Your friends immediately leaned in.

“Nope,” you said, pulling the phone to your chest. “This one’s private.”

Chrissy squealed. Steve groaned. Jonathan just looked entertained.

Another buzz — regular text this time.

Eddie: so… when are we admitting this is more than just “talking after a show”?

You stared at the message for a second, heart doing that stupid flip it kept doing lately.

The sadness from your ex was still there, quiet and stubborn, but it felt smaller every time your phone lit up with Eddie’s name. The distance helped — an hour felt far enough to keep things safe and close enough to feel real. The girlfriend was a shadow you both stepped around without naming.

You typed back, bolder than you’d been in weeks.

You: idk. maybe when you stop sending me pouty hand pics and start admitting you like flirting with me

Eddie: i like flirting with you

Eddie: a lot

Eddie: your turn

You were still smiling when Chrissy threw a pillow at you.

“Text him back,” she said. “And then tell us everything.”

You ignored them, thumbs already moving.

For the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest felt like it was finally being crowded out by something warmer.

Something that looked a lot like Eddie’s name lighting up your screen again.

Months slipped by like that.

The texting with Eddie never stopped completely. It wasn’t every day — sometimes you’d go three or four days without a message — but it was always there when it mattered. A late-night “this band fucking rules, you’d lose your mind” text. A voice note of him laughing at something stupid. A random photo of his latest tattoo idea or his hand on the guitar with the caption still thinking about you.

The flirt never fully died. It just lived in the spaces between the words. A little too-long pause before he replied. A wink emoji that felt deliberate. A “you up?” at 1 a.m. that you answered even when you probably shouldn’t have. The underlying current stayed warm and electric, even when life got in the way.

Then you met him.

The new boyfriend.

He was… fine, at first. Cute enough. Said all the right things about wanting something real. But it didn’t take long for the mask to slip. He hated how much time you spent on your phone. Got weirdly quiet when your friends’ names popped up. Started making little comments about how weird the things you did were. He didn’t get the music. Didn’t get the shows. Didn’t get you. Everything with him felt small and controlled and boring in a way that made your skin itch.

You pulled back with Eddie. Not completely — you couldn’t bring yourself to cut it off — but the flirt went quiet. You texted less. Kept things surface-level. Updates about your day, music recommendations, the occasional meme. Safe. Friendly. The tension still hummed underneath every message, but you both pretended it wasn’t there.

Your friends saw through it immediately.

Chrissy was the most vocal. Every time she caught you smiling at your phone she’d give you that look. “You know you could just break up with him, right? Eddie’s still out there. Still texting you. Still Eddie.”

Steve was quieter about it, but the tension in his jaw every time the group hung out and your phone lit up said enough. Jonathan just shook his head and muttered “this guy sucks” under his breath more than once.

You knew they were right. But ending it felt harder than it should have.

Until it wasn’t.

The fight was ugly and stupid and exactly what you’d been waiting for without realizing it. He accused you of being in love with other guys. That you'd rather hang out with your 'dirtbag friends' than be mature. That no one was going to love you the way he did. You just told him you were done pretending this was working. He called you cold. You called him controlling and boring and a waste of your time.

You left his place with your stuff in a bag and your chest feeling lighter than it had in months.

That night you sat on your bed in the dark, still in the clothes you’d worn to his apartment, and opened your messages with Eddie.

Your thumbs hovered for a long minute.

Then you typed.

You: hey. you up?

The reply came faster than you expected.

Eddie: always for you. what’s up?

You stared at the screen, the words blurring a little. The relief and the exhaustion and the months of pretending crashed into you all at once.

You: i broke up with him. the boyfriend. it was… bad. he was controlling and mean and i don’t even know why i stayed as long as i did. i’m sorry i’ve been so distant. i just… couldn’t keep talking to you the way we used to while i was with him. it felt wrong.

You hit send before you could overthink it.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then came back.

Eddie: fuck. i’m sorry. not sorry you’re out of it… that guy sounded like a dick from everything you told me… but sorry it sucked. you okay?

You: yeah. i think so. mostly just… relieved? and kind of sad that i let it go on so long. he hated my friends. made me feel guilty about existing.

Eddie: of course he did.

Eddie: for what it’s worth… i missed talking to you. the real way. not whatever this has been..

Your chest tightened in the best and worst way.

You: i missed it too. more than i should’ve.

Eddie: yeah?

Eddie: then stop holding yourself back. you’re single now. i’m still here. and we both know this thing between us never really went away.

You let out a shaky breath, the corner of your mouth twitching despite everything.

You: you’re dangerous when you’re direct.

Eddie: only with you.

Eddie: you wanna talk? call? or just keep texting until one of us falls asleep?

You glanced at the clock. Almost 2 a.m. Your room was quiet except for the low hum of your fan. The weight that had been sitting on your chest for months felt like it was finally cracking open.

You: text for now. i’m still processing. but… yeah. i want to talk to you. the real way.

Eddie: good.

Eddie: because i’ve been thinking about you for months and i’m done pretending i haven’t.

You smiled at your phone in the dark, the ache in your chest shifting into something warmer. Something that felt a lot like the beginning of something you’d been circling since the night you met him.

You: me too.

The texts were flying fast now, the dam finally broken.

Eddie: so what you’re saying is i should just get in the car and come over right now

You stared at the message, heart hammering against your ribs. The house was quiet. Your shitty ex’s stuff was already in a box by the door. Months of tension sat heavy in your chest, warm and dangerous.

Your thumbs moved before you could talk yourself out of it.

You: you have a girlfriend, remember?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Eddie: we broke up a while ago.

Eddie: didn’t want to bring it up while you were still with that asshole. didn’t feel right.

You read it twice. Then a third time.

The relief that crashed through you was so strong it almost made you dizzy.

You: come over.

You sent the address before you could second-guess it.

He didn’t reply.

He just started driving.

You paced your living room for the full hour, phone clutched in your hand like a lifeline. Every set of headlights that passed made your stomach flip. You changed out of the clothes you’d worn to your ex’s place and into something softer — an old band tee and shorts — but it didn’t help the restless energy crawling under your skin.

This was insane.

This was months of late-night texts and flirty snaps and the night you spent talking under the stars.

When the knock came, your heart tried to climb out of your throat.

You opened the door.

Eddie stood there in the porch light, hair messy from the drive, black hoodie half-zipped over a faded tee, eyes dark and hungry. He looked exactly like you remembered and somehow even better — taller, broader in the shoulders, that same crooked mouth but tighter now, like he’d been holding back for months too.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t even get the chance.

He stepped forward the second the door was open and you met him halfway, hands fisting in the front of his hoodie as his mouth crashed into yours.

It was messy. Desperate. Rough in a way that felt like both of you were trying to crawl inside each other’s skin after months of pretending you didn’t want exactly this.

His hands were everywhere at once — one sliding into your hair, gripping tight at the roots, the other gripping your waist and hauling you closer until your back hit the doorframe. You made a sound into his mouth that was half relief, half hunger, and he answered it with a low groan that vibrated through your chest.

You kissed like you were starving. Like every late-night text, every flirty snap, every time you’d pulled back because of your ex or his girlfriend had been building to this exact moment. His tongue slid against yours, hot and demanding. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he hissed, pressing you harder against the door, one thigh slotting between yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.

The bats on his forearm flashed when he braced a hand beside your head. You ran your fingers up under his hoodie, nails dragging over warm skin and the edge of another tattoo you hadn’t seen yet. He shuddered against you, mouth moving to your jaw, then the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark you’d feel tomorrow.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your throat, voice wrecked. “Been thinking about this since I fucking saw you.”

You didn’t answer with words. You just pulled him back up by the hair and kissed him again, deeper, rougher, months of tension pouring out of both of you in the dark doorway of your house.

Neither of you had even made it inside yet.

And neither of you seemed to care.

You barely made it to the bedroom.

Your mouths stayed locked the entire way — messy, desperate, teeth clicking, tongues sliding, little sounds escaping both of you every time one of you tried to pull back for air. Eddie walked you backward down the short hallway, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot. The second it clicked, you were both moving again.

Clothes came off in frantic, half-coordinated pulls.

Your shirt went first — yanked over your head and tossed somewhere into the dark. His hoodie followed, then the tee underneath, revealing more ink scattered across his chest and ribs. You got his belt undone with shaking fingers while he worked on your shorts, shoving them down your legs along with your underwear in one rough motion. His jeans hit the floor with a heavy sound, and then there was nothing between you but heat and months of wanting.

He stepped back just enough to look at you.

And he stared.

Like he’d been starving and you were the first real meal he’d seen in years. His eyes dragged over every inch — your tits, the curve of your waist, the soft skin of your stomach, the wet heat between your thighs. His cock hung heavy and thick between his legs, already fully hard, flushed dark at the tip and so fucking big it made your mouth water on instinct.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re… fuck. You’re beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful I don’t even know where to start.”

He didn’t give you time to answer.

He was on you again — mouth on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, then lower, teeth scraping over your collarbone. His hands were everywhere, greedy and reverent at the same time. He palmed your tits like he couldn’t believe they were real, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked, then bent to suck one into his mouth while his hand slid down to grip your ass and haul you closer.

You reached for his cock — wanted it in your hand, in your mouth, now — but he caught your wrist gently and pulled it away.

“Not yet,” he rasped against your skin, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right over your racing pulse. “I’ve been thinking about this for months. Let me take care of you first.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already dropping to his knees in front of you.

The sight of Eddie Munson on his knees in your bedroom, looking up at you like you hung the fucking moon, made your knees weak.

He kissed the inside of your thigh first — slow, deliberate — then the other, leaving little bites and sucks that would bloom into bruises tomorrow. His hands slid up the backs of your legs, gripping tight as he nuzzled closer to where you were already soaked for him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So wet already. All this for me?”

You nodded, breathless.

He groaned like the confirmation did something to him, then leaned in and dragged his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick that made your whole body jolt.

“Fuck— Eddie—”

He didn’t tease. He ate you like he’d been waiting years for it — tongue working your clit in firm, perfect circles, then dipping lower to fuck into you, then back up again. One of his hands stayed gripping your thigh, holding you open, while the other slid up to squeeze your ass and pull you harder against his mouth.

You tangled both hands in his hair, hips rolling helplessly as he moaned into you like he was the one getting off. Every sound he made vibrated straight through your core. He was messy with it — spit and your slick shining on his chin, eyes half-lidded and dark every time he glanced up at you like he couldn’t stand to look away for more than a second.

“Beautiful,” he panted between licks, voice hoarse. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, two thick fingers sliding into you at the same time, curling just right, and that was it.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast — months of tension and the shitty ex and every flirty text exploding behind your eyes as you came on his tongue with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head.

Eddie didn’t stop until you were twitching and pushing weakly at his hair. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, pupils blown wide, looking up at you like you’d just given him the best gift of his life.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up in one fluid motion, and kissed you again — deep and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

His cock pressed hot and heavy against your stomach.

“Now,” he said, voice low and rough against your mouth, “you can have me.”

You didn’t give him time to catch his breath.

The second he stood up and kissed you again — slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue — you pushed at his chest until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bed. He sat down hard, looking up at you with dark, blown-out eyes and a crooked, wrecked little smile.

Your turn.

You dropped to your knees between his spread thighs and wrapped your hand around the thick base of his cock. He was still rock hard, flushed dark, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. Huge in your hand. Heavy. Perfect.

Eddie’s breath hitched the second your tongue touched him.

You started slow — just the flat of your tongue dragging up the underside from base to tip in one long, wet stripe. His whole body jerked.

“Fuck— fuck,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed the anchor. “Your tongue— Jesus Christ, baby, that’s— ah—”

You did it again. Slower this time. Then again, swirling around the head, licking away the precum like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted. He tasted clean and a little salty and him. You moaned softly around the head just to feel the way it made his thighs tense under your hands.

Eddie was already gone.

“Oh my god— your fucking mouth— been thinking about this since that night, since you smiled at me under those lights— shit—” His voice cracked on a moan as you took him deeper, tongue working the underside the whole way down. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re actually gonna fucking kill me. That tongue— fuck, do that again— please—”

You pulled off just enough to lick him from root to tip again, slow and deliberate, then flattened your tongue and dragged it over the head in lazy circles while your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach. He was babbling nonstop now, hips twitching, trying so hard not to thrust up into your mouth.

“Look at you— on your knees for me— so fucking beautiful— god, your tongue feels insane— I’m not gonna last, baby, I’m not— fuck—”

You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet heat of your mouth and the deliberate, filthy drag of your tongue along every inch. His free hand gripped the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles went white. The other stayed tangled in your hair, gentle even as his whole body shook.

“I’m close— fuck, I’m so close— where do you want it?” he panted, voice wrecked and desperate. “Tell me— please— I’m gonna— shit—”

You pulled off with a wet pop, kept stroking him fast and tight with your hand, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“Come on my tits.”

The words barely left your mouth before he broke.

Eddie came with a broken groan of your name, thick ropes painting your chest and tits in hot stripes. His head fell back, curls sticking to his forehead, mouth open on a string of helpless, filthy praise as he pulsed in your hand.

“Fuck— beautiful— so fucking beautiful— look at you— god—”

You stroked him through it until he was twitching and oversensitive, then let go. He was still breathing like he’d run a marathon, chest heaving, eyes glassy as he looked down at the mess he’d made on your skin.

For a long minute, neither of you moved. Neither of you cared that you were covered in his come— if anything he enjoyed the sight more.

Then he reached for you — gentle this time — and pulled you up into his lap. You straddled him, both of you still catching your breath. His hands slid up your back, warm and steady, while yours rested on his shoulders. He leaned in and kissed you slow and soft, nothing like the desperate crash from earlier.

“Hi,” he murmured against your mouth, voice hoarse and warm and a little shy now that the heat had crested. One of his thumbs brushed a streak of his come across your collarbone like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. “Been wanting to say that properly since I walked through your door.”

You smiled, forehead resting against his, both of you still sticky and flushed and half-hard again already.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close while his cock twitched against your thigh, already starting to fill out again. Neither of you rushed it. You just stayed there — breathing each other in, the months of tension finally settling into something quieter.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your mouth.

The soft “hi” didn’t stay soft for long.

You were still straddling his lap, bodies pressed close, when the next kiss turned deeper. His hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to pull you tighter against him. What started as slow and sweet quickly ignited again — tongues sliding, teeth nipping, the low sound he made when you rolled your hips against his hardening cock.

You barely noticed when he flipped you.

One second you were on top, the next your back hit the mattress and Eddie was over you, caging you in with his body. His mouth never left yours for more than a second. The kiss turned filthy — wet and hungry — as he settled between your thighs and rocked his cock against your slick folds.

“Been waiting months for this,” he muttered against your lips, voice already rough again. “Months of texting you like a fucking teenager while I jerked off thinking about exactly this.”

He reached down, lined himself up, and pushed in with one slow, thick thrust.

You gasped at the stretch — he was big, and he knew it. Eddie groaned deep in his chest, forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out.

“Fuck— tight little pussy’s squeezing me so good already,” he rasped. “Look at you. Such a good girl. Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust before he started moving.

Eddie was dominant in a way that made your head spin — one hand pinning both of your wrists above your head against the mattress, the other gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist so he could drive in deeper. His thrusts were hard and deliberate, hips snapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds that filled the room.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, voice low and commanding when your eyes started to flutter shut from how good it felt. “Want you looking at me while I fuck you. Been thinking about this pretty face for months.”

You moaned, helpless under him, and he rewarded you with a particularly deep thrust that made your back arch.

“That’s it baby,” he growled, leaning down to bite at your neck, sucking another mark over the one he’d already left. “Let me hear you. Been so fucking good for me tonight — letting me eat this pussy, letting me come on these perfect tits. Now you’re gonna take my cock like the good girl you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes— fuck, Eddie—”

He groaned at the sound of his name, pace picking up. The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts. His free hand slid between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit while he fucked you, never breaking eye contact.

“Been mine since that night at the show haven't you?” he panted against your mouth, dirty and possessive. “Doesn’t matter how far away I live. This pussy? These marks on your skin? All fucking mine now. Say it.”

You were too far gone to do anything but obey, the words tumbling out broken between moans.

“Yours— I’m yours—”

“That’s right.” He kissed you hard, then pulled back just enough to watch your face as he fucked you through it. “Come on my cock, baby. Wanna feel you fall apart while I’m buried in you. Been waiting too long for this.”

The combination of his filthy mouth, the relentless pressure on your clit, and the way he was pounding into that perfect spot had you spiraling fast. Your second orgasm hit even harder than the first — your whole body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

Eddie fucked you through it, pace turning almost brutal for a few strokes before he buried himself deep and came with a low, wrecked groan, pulsing hot inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into your hair, voice hoarse and fond. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

After Eddie came deep inside you, he stayed buried there for a long minute, both of you shaking and breathing hard. Then he carefully pulled out, rolled onto his back, and tugged you with him until you were sprawled half on top of him, one leg thrown over his thighs, your head resting on his chest. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns on your bare back. The other hand found yours and laced your fingers together.

Neither of you moved to clean up or get dressed. The sheets were a mess. Your skin was marked with his mouth and his come was still warm between your thighs. But right now, none of that mattered.

You just… stayed.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt like exhaling after holding your breath for months.

Eddie was the one who broke it first, voice low and a little raspy from everything you’d done to each other.

“I kept telling myself I was gonna stop texting you,” he admitted quietly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Every time you went quiet for a few days, I’d think ‘okay, this is it, she’s moving on with that guy.’ But then you’d send something at 2 a.m. and I’d answer in two seconds like an idiot.”

You smiled against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the ink over his heart.

“I almost blocked you once,” you confessed. The words came easier in the dark, with his skin warm under your cheek and his arm solid around you. “Not because I wanted to. Because it hurt too much to keep talking to you while I was with him. He hated it. Hated everything good in my life.”

Eddie’s arm tightened around you. His free hand came up to gently tilt your chin so you’d look at him. His eyes were soft in a way that made your chest ache.

“I hated it too,” he said. “Not you talking to me — never that. I hated that you were with someone who made you feel like you had to hide the best parts of yourself. The parts that light up when you talk about any of those silly things you like. The parts that sent me voice notes at 3 a.m. because you couldn’t sleep.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly tight.

“He was controlling,” you whispered. “Boring. Mean when he didn’t get his way. And I still stayed longer than I should have because… I don’t know. It felt safer than admitting how much I wanted this.”

Eddie didn’t say anything right away. He just pulled you closer until your leg slid more firmly over his and your bodies were pressed together from chest to hip. His fingers kept tracing slow lines on your back — grounding, soothing.

“I broke up with my girlfriend a couple months after the show,” he said eventually. “It wasn’t dramatic. We just… weren’t right anymore. I kept comparing her to the girl I met because her idiot friends ratted her out for thinking I was hot and it wasn’t fair to anyone.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I was already half in love with you through a screen before I even let myself admit it.”

Your heart stuttered.

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes again. The vulnerability there matched your own.

“I’ve been falling for you since that night,” you admitted quietly. “Every text. Every stupid meme. Every time you sent me a voice note of you playing guitar at 1 a.m. because you couldn’t sleep either. I kept telling myself it was just flirting. Just a crush. But it wasn’t.”

Eddie’s hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently under your eye.

“It still isn’t,” he said. “I know I live an hour away. I know this is messy and new and we just had the most insane sex of my life. But I don’t want this to be a one-night thing. I want to keep texting you stupid shit at 2 a.m. I want to drive up here on weekends. I want to take you to shows and watch you lose yourself in the pit again. I want—”

He stopped, like the words were too big all at once.

You leaned in and kissed him — slow, sweet, nothing like the desperate claiming from earlier. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“I want that too,” you whispered. “All of it.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath and wrapped both arms around you, rolling slightly so you were tucked more securely against his chest. One of his legs slid between yours. His hand found the back of your neck and held you there like he was afraid you might disappear.

You guys stayed like that — naked, tangled, hearts beating against each other. Every so often one of you would press a kiss to whatever skin you could reach. His fingers kept moving over your back in those slow, soothing patterns. Yours traced the edges of the bats on his forearm.

The months of tension finally unwinding into something warm and real and terrifyingly hopeful.

Eddie’s voice was soft when he spoke again, barely more than a murmur against your hair.

“Stay right here with me for a while, yeah?”

You nodded, eyes already heavy, body loose and sated in a way it hadn’t been in months.

“I’m not going anywhere."

You glanced at the clock on your nightstand.

4:17 a.m.

The red numbers glowed softly in the dark room. You’d been talking and tangled up in each other for over an hour — soft kisses, deeper confessions, the kind of quiet honesty that only comes in the middle of the night. Your bodies were still sticky with sweat and come, sheets twisted around your legs, but neither of you had moved.

Eddie’s fingers were still tracing slow patterns on your back when you felt the shift.

The kisses started changing.

What had been lazy and sweet turned hungry again. His mouth slanted over yours with more intent, tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your bottom lip. The arm around your waist tightened. The hand on your back slid down to grip your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice already rough again. “Look at the time. We should probably sleep…”

But he was already rolling you onto your stomach, following right behind you, his body covering yours from behind. His cock — already hard again — pressed against the curve of your ass as he nipped at the back of your neck.

You pushed back against him instinctively.

Eddie groaned, low and filthy.

“Yeah?” he rasped, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you still wet and swollen for him. “You want it again?”

You nodded, already breathless.

He didn’t make you wait.

He pulled you up onto your hands and knees, gripping your hips hard as he positioned himself behind you. One thick hand came down to spread you open, and then he was pushing back inside in one long, smooth thrust that made both of you moan.

“Jesus— fuck, look at that,” he growled, voice wrecked as he bottomed out. His hands gripped your ass, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pulled back and thrust in again, harder this time. “This ass— been obsessed with it for way too long. Bouncing on my cock like this? Shit.”

He set a rough, steady pace — hips snapping against you, the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the quiet room. Every thrust pushed you forward on the bed, and every time you pushed back to meet him, he groaned like he was losing his mind.

“Fuck yes— just like that,” he panted, one hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place while he fucked you harder. “Taking me so deep. This pussy’s gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go.”

You were moaning openly now, arms shaking as he drove into you again and again. He was rough — gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, the occasional sharp slap of his hand on your ass that made you clench around him.

“Been thinking about fucking you like this,” he growled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back, mouth right by your ear. “Bent over, ass up, taking every inch while I watch it bounce. You’re so fucking perfect like this. Mine.”

The word sent a shiver through you.

He fucked you like that for longer than you thought was possible— his stamina only getting higher in the early hours of the morning — long, deep, relentless strokes that had you shaking and dripping down your thighs. Every time you got close he’d slow down just enough to drag it out, or reach under you to rub your clit in tight circles while he kept pounding into you from behind.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice hoarse with how long he’d been holding back. “So fucking beautiful when you’re taking it rough. You gonna come for me again? Gonna come all over my cock while I watch this pretty ass bounce?”

You were too far gone to answer with words — just a broken moan as your orgasm crashed over you, walls fluttering and clenching around him.

Eddie fucked you through it, pace turning almost brutal for a few strokes before he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing hot inside you for the second time that night.

He stayed there, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, both of you panting and trembling. His hands gentled on your hips, stroking softly over the marks he’d left.

Then he carefully pulled out, rolled you onto your side, and curled up behind you, one arm wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.

“4 a.m. sex hits different,” he mumbled into your hair, voice warm and fucked-out and a little amused. His lips brushed the back of your neck. “You okay?”

You nodded, still floating, reaching back to lace your fingers with his where they rested on your stomach.

Eddie pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your shoulder — a stark contrast to how rough he’d just been — and held you tighter.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You woke up to sunlight cutting across the bed and Eddie’s arm heavy around your waist.

For a second you didn’t remember where you were — just the warm, solid weight of another body pressed against your back and the faint ache between your thighs. Then it all came rushing back. The show. The months of texting. The shitty ex. Eddie on your doorstep in the middle of the night. The way he’d looked at you like he wanted to devour you. The way he had.

You were still naked. So was he. His leg was slotted between yours, one big hand splayed low on your stomach like he’d fallen asleep holding you there. His breathing was slow and even against the back of your neck.

You shifted slightly and felt him stir.

“Mmm.” His voice was sleep-rough and low. “Morning.”

His arm tightened, pulling you closer until your ass was nestled against his hips. You could feel him half-hard again already, but he didn’t push it. Just pressed a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, right over one of the marks he’d left.

You turned in his arms until you were facing him. His hair was a wild mess, eyes still heavy-lidded, but he was smiling — soft and a little shy in the morning light.

“Hi,” you whispered.

His smile widened. “Hi.”

He kissed you properly then — slow and sweet, nothing like the desperate hunger from a few hours ago. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip.

“I have to go to work,” he said, voice still gravelly. “In like… twenty minutes. And I really, really don’t want to.”

You made a small disappointed sound and he laughed quietly, kissing the tip of your nose.

“I know. Trust me, I know.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes tracing over your face like he was memorizing it. “But I’ll see you again soon. This weekend, if you want. Or sooner. I’ll drive up. We can do this again. Not— not just the sex. The everything.”

You nodded, suddenly shy in a way you hadn’t been last night.

“I want that.”

Eddie kissed you one more time — deeper this time, like he was trying to leave a piece of himself behind — then reluctantly pulled away.

He got dressed while you watched from the bed, pulling on his jeans and hoodie from the night before. Before he left, he leaned over you one last time, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your head.

“Go back to sleep baby girl. Text me when you wake up for real,” he murmured. “I’m gonna be thinking about you all day.”

Then he was gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

You dozed for another hour before your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Eddie: made it to work. barely. kept thinking about how you looked riding me last night and almost turned the car around

You smiled, still buried in the pillows that smelled like him.

You: dangerous. i’m still in bed and i can feel everywhere you touched me

Eddie: good. i left marks on purpose

Eddie: you have work today too or you get to be lazy today?

You: lazy. still processing the fact that you drove an hour in the middle of the night just to fuck me stupid

Eddie: worth every mile

Eddie: also worth the way my boss just asked why i’m smiling like an idiot

You laughed out loud in the empty room.

You: tell him you got laid by someone who’s been driving you crazy for months

Eddie: already did. he high-fived me. i’m never living this down

A few minutes later another text came through.

Eddie: for real though… last night was a lot. in the best way. the talking. the fucking. all of it. i meant what i said about seeing you again soon

You stared at the screen for a second, heart doing that soft, warm flip it kept doing whenever he got sincere.

You: i meant it too. this weekend?

Eddie: this weekend. i’ll bring food. and maybe not let you leave the bed for a while

You: bold of you to assume i’d want to leave

Eddie: that’s my girl

You bit your lip, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

You: drive safe on the way home later. and text me when you get off work. i like knowing you’re thinking about me

Eddie: always thinking about you.

Eddie: especially that ass. and the way you say my name when you come. and how you looked at me when we were just talking at 4am like i was something worth keeping

Your chest went tight in the best way.

You: you are

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back.

Eddie: fuck. okay. i’m gonna go do my job now before i say something stupid like “i think i’m already in love with you”

You: too late. you already did

Eddie: …yeah. i did.

Eddie: see you this weekend, beautiful

You set your phone down on your chest and stared at the ceiling, still smiling.

The sheets still smelled like him. Your body still ached in all the right places. And for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something you were actually looking forward to.

[munsonstorm]

Childproof

my main masterlist

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k words

description: sue announces her pregnancy. johnny is elated for his big sister. but it makes you feel some type of way when you know he wants kids of his own. something you're not very sure you want.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no spoilers for f4 really, no use of y/n, reader is 18+, established relationship, basically pwp, talks of use of birth control, reader is afraid of being pregnant, johnny is a menace, johnny the Dom, sub!reader, uses of "daddy" and "momma", heavy on the breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, no real aftercare lol

authors note: hey..... this came to me before i even watched the movie. i watched that one clip and was like yeah.... i'm horny. anyway. saw the movie, loved it and needed to write more for this doofus. also coming up with the title made me giggle. if you get it, lemme know. hope y'all enjoy!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @saradika-graphics

Johnny knew how to get under your skin. He loved it. 

You and Ben had just completed dinner, working for over an hour on perfecting his famous red sauce. Johnny had been bothering you two the entire time, pestering you specifically on how much longer it would be.

“We have dinner at the same time every night, Johnny,” You bite as you butter the bread. He did not let up, asking you to elaborate. He loved seeing your face get red and your lips opening up to let out a long sigh. 

Once everything was plated and the table was set, you sat down at the table. You turn everyone’s forks and knives the right way as Ben sprinkles some more Italian seasoning over the pasta.

Johnny slams down in the chair next to you, a big box of Lucky Charms in his grip. Ben immediately takes note of it before you can even say anything.

“What are you doing?” He asks Johnny, his voice sort of small with a slight offense to it. 

Johnny takes a handful of the cereal and dumps it in his mouth. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

You peer at him, annoyed, already on edge with him today. He had been extra irritating today after you rejected his morning advances. You swore the man needed you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

“You are going to ruin your appetite,” You say, grabbing the box from him. His bright blue eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he dumped the rest of the handful he had into his mouth.

“‘M hungry, baby.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the question Ben had posed about Sue and Reed being late to dinner. Everyone always arrived before the set time, and by the looks of it, they were about 5 minutes late. You check your small watch front, humming a response. You hear some footsteps from across the living room, and see the two of them looking like they just got caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

“You’re late,” Johnny shouts to them, dusting his hands off over his clean plate. You grit your teeth. Why was he like this?

Reed and Sue stop dead in their tracks. 

“What, uh, what do you mean?” Sue poses, slowly walking forward to her usual spot at the table. Johnny rolls his eyes again, and you silently plot how you could get away to stab him with your fork.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re late for dinner,” Johnny explains, pulling his napkin into his lap, just like you taught him. Took him years to figure out how to prevent so many stains on his clothing until you came around and completely changed his entire world.

Sue and Reed go into an elaborate explanation as to why they took so long, but you sensed a shift. Reed never had a good poker face, his big brown eyes giving him away immediately. 

Ben noticed, too, because he shot you a look.

“Why are you being weird?” Johnny asks, noticing their behavior to be rather off. 

They go into more word vomit, and you cannot help but let a smirk spread across your face. 

Ben quips up, “Are you pregnant?”

Sue’s face instantly shifts into a smile as she lets out some air from her nose, “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”

She and Ben stand up together, hugging one another in celebration. Reed gets up as well to join in on the embraces after he rattles off some weird and awkward gestures towards a flabbergasted Johnny. You shift out of your chair, grabbing him for a hug, whispering excited congratulations. 

Johnny is sitting there completely astonished. “What? Really?”

You all look to him, still seated at the table. Sue nods, giving him a confident ‘yeah’. And then the celebration gets even bigger, with Johnny slamming his hands on the table. You are still half hugging Reed, slowly pulling away, watching Johnny lift his sister in the air, and telling her how great of a mother she would be. When he grabs Reed, he tells him how he’s going to be out of his depth. He’s always one to pull something mean out of the depths of his mind to lay into Reed. You pat Reed’s shoulder, whispering to him to ignore his jab. 

You hug Sue and tell her congratulations. She gives you a squeeze, thanking you. Johnny grabs onto Ben as you pull away, “We are going to be the best uncles ever!”

You giggle, enjoying the excited look on Johnny’s face. He may be more thrilled than anyone else here. 

-

After Johnny got his powers, you two decided it was probably best not to have children. With every scientist you know telling you it would be fine to have a mutant’s baby, you were still unsure. Even Reed had brought up the possibility, and that’s why he and Sue had given up on it for a while.

You did not know that they never really wanted to give up trying. 

But you had done some semi-permanent things to ensure you would not get pregnant by your needy, insatiable boyfriend. Birth control. A small little pill you would take every morning with some orange juice and toast. 

It had worked for the year that you two had been together, and you were confident that you would not have to carry his child until you knew 100% what you wanted to do. 

But now a baby would be directly in your lives, and you had heard what baby fever can do to people. You were still sure you did not want a child, but the way Johnny is just blissful on the idea of having a nephew, you knew he would bring it up again. 

And you were right. Seeing his sister and brother-in-law beaming over the prospect of their future child made him envious. He always wanted a little Johnny, a little you, but he understood your hesitancy. He respected it, of course, but there was now a nagging voice in his head that said if he didn’t do it now, it would never happen. 

Dinner is finished in less than an hour, and you and Johnny take up the responsibility of cleaning up with H.E.R.B.I.E. Mainly, it was you cleaning off the table and stacking dishes while the robot did the rest. You still liked to busy yourself with tasks, making yourself seem useful to the team due to your lack of superhero abilities. You were essentially just their publicist and managed their daily lives at home while they went off to save the world. 

You begin to wipe up the dinner table. Johnny creeps behind you, his hands shifting over your waist. He loved seeing you doing domestic activities. You were so pretty in your blue half-sleeved top, tucked into some high-waisted black trousers.

“You do not need to be cleaning, beautiful,” He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. 

“Let me finish what I’m doing,” You demand, scrubbing off some sauce he had spilled off his plate. By the way his warm hands rested where your shirt rode up slightly, you knew what he was trying to do. 

He could sense some tension off of you, but refused to move away from you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” You lie, your mind still settling with the exciting news, “I am just tired, is all.”

“I think you’re lying, sweet cheeks.” He pulls your hips closer to him, his back against your shoulder blades, “Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?”

You could not lie much longer, “I’m more worried about what’s on your mind.”

He halts any more movements, using his grip on your hips to turn you around. He was not expecting such a response. You knew he would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do. So you must be referring to something else. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your eyes shifting towards the floor over his shoulder before reluctantly returning to his piercing gaze, “You seem excited about the baby.”

He furrows his brows. You always thought he was always so painfully clueless when it mattered most. But the truth was, he did not understand why your response would be so bitter about his excitement.

His head shifts down towards you, “Of course, I am. I know how much Sue wanted it.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, I know.”

You were starting to feel a bit dumb and dramatic about the whole thing. At the end of the day, you are excited for them. You like children for the most part, and it will keep the public off you and Johnny’s ass for 9 months. They won’t bother you about the timeline of your future child. Truthfully, you just hated the questions. There is almost a demand to produce the next generation of the Fantastic Four.

“Then what’s the big deal, beautiful? Why are you being weird about it?” His hands press into your hips in a possessive and needy way. You brush those thoughts off, knowing Johnny is doing it without even thinking twice.

But then the look he gave you during dinner started to enter your mind.

The longing.

“'Cause it’s only a matter of time before you start asking again.”

His hands still, “Asking for what? A baby?”

You slap his shoulders in frustration, “Yes!”

H.E.R.B.I.E takes his leave, knowing this could get heated quickly. He beeps his goodbye, heading down the hallway to the charging port that is set up for him. You grit your teeth, looking at Johnny’s silly expression, watching the robot roll away. 

Johnny cannot help but play oblivious, now. After you clarified for him, his mind was now plotting the ways he could sidetrack the conversation. He knew exactly what you were saying, but it’s so much sweeter when you lay it all out for him, your bubbling frustration only gets him off. And you knew that, which only annoyed you more. You usually fought spelling it out for him, but with a conversation like this, you wanted to be explicitly clear.

He sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “Of course I want a family with you, baby.”

“Well, we can’t. Not right now.”

Johnny smiles knowingly, slowly slipping into that cheeky smirk he gives you when he lets you win an argument. “Well, yeah, I know that.”

“Okay, good.”

Hands slip down your hips, reaching back to your rear and palming the flesh, “I would never put that responsibility on you. You know that?”

He drags out his fondling, his fingers rubbing closer and closer to your crack. His hands are wandering to places he only touched you in private. You want to smack him away, but he feels so good, you refuse to bother to reprimand him.

“Yes, I know,” You squeak, your hands now wrapping around the nape of his neck to almost pull him closer. After rejecting him this morning, you spent most of the day regretting not lazing in bed with him until noon. That option was always on the table, but today you were adamant about getting work done. What an idiot you were.

“Good…”

His head dips down to trail kisses on your jaw, down to your pulse point on your neck. Your fingers rake through his blond locks, holding his face close to you. His hands do not stop moving, tracing the line where your ass meets the top of your thighs. 

“You know what, though?” He ponders, his lips cresting the edge of your ear. He returns you to your previous position with a quick pull of your hips. Your ass is now pressed against him as your front half is practically folded over the white countertop. “It’s not stoppin’ me from acting like I can put one in you.”

“Johnny,” you warn, eyes fluttering close at the thought.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss right below your ear on your already sensitive neck, “Come on, baby. We can do it in a hypothetical sense.”

You breathe out a long sigh, knowing this was a terrible idea. You give Johnny an inch and he runs a mile. Even pretending he could get you pregnant felt like manifesting it. “Why, though?”

“Cause it’s hot to imagine,” He states, his hands traveling slowly between your thighs. You can feel him growing in his pants with the way his hips are practically melted into your backside, “Just thinking about fucking you full until you are dripping and full of my seed.”

“Johnny, please.”

“Oh, now you’re begging for it?” His hands warm up, like a reflex to get the truth out of you. Fingers spreading over your lower tummy as he lifts your top. You cannot stop the moans that leave your lips. 

“No,” you try to say with an ounce of confidence. He just giggles, his teeth starting to toy with your earlobe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His hand dips under your pants, not even bothering with the button. “I’ll give you that baby I want so badly.”

His words are so filthy. They always were. But these ones held an odd amount of weight. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, feeling his fingers go past your panties and seeking out your soaked slit. Once his fingers slide between your lips, a choked-out gasp leaves his lips. His words were enough to get you this wet. It fuels his ego every time.

Your body jolts, hands finding a spot on the counter to grip onto. There’s nothing to grab onto, so you let Johnny take control. 

“You would be so fucking beautiful pregnant, you know?” His fingers dip further into you, and you surrender, laying your upper body on the freezing marble. He fucks you slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your wet center with precision, “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard imagining it. All round with my baby.”

His other hand pulls you upward, resting right where your womb is. You know how effective your birth control is, so you know his words are just words. But god, are those words making you a mess. 

“Shit,” You gasp, practically out of breath as he toys with your hole, “I can actually see the appeal of these hypotheticals.”

“Yeah?” His nose bumps the shell of your ear, “You like imagining making me a daddy?”

“Jesus, Johnny,” You sigh, as his fingers pull out of you, the wetness of your core dragging up to your tummy. He finally pops the button on your pants and shoves them down around your ankles. Your pants were quite tight, so you decided a seamless thong would suit the outfit. Johnny thanks his lucky stars for your usually-dragging-morning-brain for being so brilliant. 

“We are going to get caught-”

“Everyone is in bed,” He replies quickly, not letting you finish your thought. He’s already shoving his pants down with one hand still resting on your body. “Just let me do what you deprived me of this morning.”

“Deprived you?” you quip, turning to face him. He does not take kindly to your movement, grabbing your hips and pressing them into the edge of the counter again. 

You hated to admit that you loved it when he dominated you in this way. He was such a playful presence in day-to-day life, but when the switch flipped inside him, you were like sand between his fingers.

His palm comes down, slapping your ass. “Behave.”

You bite your lip and nod, smiling at his actions. 

“You would be such a good momma, you know?” He ponders, his right hand reaching down between you two. You feel his tip swipe against the skin of your asscheek, his precum trickling slowly down your flesh. His words send your brain into a tizzy. You wiggle in his grip, wanting him to sink into you already. “I’d get to see your tits even more than usual.”

You stop your movements, peering over your shoulder at him. The statement is almost so comically funny that you cannot take it seriously. “How does that even correlate?”

His face is deadly serious before that familiar grin creeps across his lips. He moves your thong out of his way, rubbing his cock between your sopping pussy lips, “Gotta feed the kid somehow.”

You close your eyes, letting out a depraved sigh. You can feel the smile on his face as he sinks into you, his length taking up every inch of your pussy. You squeeze him briefly, trying to adjust to his size.

“So tight. Relax a bit, honey.”

Johnny is always warm, so in turn, so are you. Especially when you fuck. The moment his hips shift inside you and he drags his cock in and out of you, you break a sweat. Even the coldness of the counter could not cool you down as his body hangs over you and completely overtakes your space. 

Johnny may be hot, but your cunt was even warmer. It was like his own personal drug. He would spend the rest of his days buried inside you, listening to your desperate whimpers as his hips snapped into you.

“Faster,” You urge, wanting to feel that familiar build-up in your tummy grow. He presses one hand into your waist, the other holding that spot that he’s now hyper-focused on. 

He speeds up his motions, his waist slapping against the fat of your ass, “Greedy momma, huh? You just want my babies so bad, huh?”

The pressure builds up only intensifies when the hand from your waist pushes your thong out of the way. His pointer and ring finger spread you wider as his middle finger swipes across your swollen clit. The mixture of meticulous work on your clit on top of the swiftness of his thrusts makes your ears ring. 

You are being loud, and you both know it. Usually, soundproof bedroom walls protect your pretty sounds from being exposed to the rest of the family, but you are in the middle of the condo, bent over the kitchen counter. 

Johnny takes the initiative to quiet you by slapping his hand over your mouth, leaving a warm spot on your tummy. His other hand does not let up on your clit, chasing that familiar feeling of you spasming around his sensitive cock. 

He jerks your head back, curling your back up into an arch, “I want you to cum for me, momma. I’m close, wanna feel you first. Then I’ll give you what we both want.”

Fingers speed up as his hips falter in speed a bit, but it’s still enough for you. Your eyes roll back the moment the burning spreads across your nerve endings. You moan into his hand, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hips go flush with your ass the moment his cock twitches, emptying every last drop deep inside you. His face is pressed into the side of yours, his words a jumble of “fuck” and “yes, take it all, baby”.

You stand there on wobbly legs as Johnny recovers and moves his hand away from your mouth. He kisses your cheek a couple of times before his hands go back to your lower tummy again.

“I’m in no rush,” He mumbles, drawing circles into your skin. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and hearing him reassure you again makes your heart grow a million sizes, “I'd rather have you all to myself anyway.”

The giggle that escapes your throat is clouded by some phlegm. You clear your throat, “I like that it’s just us. Especially right now.”

“I’m not ready to share you.”

He slips out of you as he says it, making it sound so casual. His cum literally drips down your thigh as he removes himself. “Sorry, honey.”

You run your fingers between your hips and thong to straighten it back out over your ass. When you slap it against your own skin, you hear Johnny chuckle at the obscenity. He bends down, grabbing the waistband of your pants, shimmying it up your leg, effectively wiping away the white liquid he left on your skin. To him, it’s a job well done. All clean!

To you, it means you have to ensure you run the pants through the laundry twice.

“Johnny-”

“Sorry,” He beams as you spin to scold him, “Again.”

There he is. Embedding himself so deep into your skin like a lovesick leech. You want to smack him for annoying you so quickly after getting you blissed out on his dick, but instead, you just grit your teeth and pinch his cheek.

“Daddy is going to sleep on the hard couch if he keeps it up.”

His eyes light up at your words, completely disregarding the latter half of the sentence. 

“So you did like that little fake scenario I mocked up, huh?”

You shake your head, buttoning your pants. He is a menace and he knows it. “Oh, you read me so well, honey. You’re on fire tonight!”

You don’t mean it to have a double meaning, but of course it does with Johnny. The expression he makes is so painful to your pride that you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“I’m always on fire, Momma.”

-

[ohdearfawn]

In Case You Came Back / Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader  // Masterlist

Summary: Your car breaks down and your left with no other choice than to ask Eddie for a ride home, but he has other plans.

Content warnings: Smoking, car trouble, a bit of angst, past fallout, crying, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Wc: 1.1k

Author's Note: School kicked my ass for the last 5 months but i'm back. this is my first time writing in awhile so please give grace, i hope you enjoy <3

The large school doors leading out to the parking lot slam shut behind you. Practice had just let out for the evening, and somehow you managed to be the last one out of the building once again. Gravel crunches beneath your feet, skirt swaying with each tilt of your hips. Eddie Munson’s van is parked across the lot and your eyes linger, admiring the scratches on the side – or truthfully – him. 

Your attention snaps back forward after his head turns, eyes meeting yours. You pick up the pace and swiftly hop in your car, throwing everything in the back seat. Your hands shake as the key connects to the ignition switch, but the car doesn’t start. You pull the keys out and huff in frustration. Slamming them back in again the car jingle comes on, but it still doesn’t start. 

Eddie, on the other side of the lot, has now been watching you for a lot longer than socially acceptable. His fingers tap rhythmically on the driver’s wheel, deciding what to do next. But he knows the only thing he can do is sit in this van and pretend he’s not watching you. The glare of your windshield blocks most of your face, but he can still make out the silhouette he once knew. 

You haven’t talked to him in almost 3 years. He knew it’d be a miracle if you even acknowledged his existence now. Butterflies fill his stomach at the thought, but he kills them immediately by taking a drag from the cigarette. It’s the third one he’s smoked within the last 30 minutes as he’s waited for you to leave the building. His eyes shut and smoke settles in his lungs until a familiar voice haunts his mind. 

“You know you shouldn’t smoke Eds. It’s bad for you, or something.”

His eyes flutter open, looking back at you and then the cigarette in front of him. 

Your fingers meet his, grabbing the cigarette, just to bring it to your own lips. 

He chuckles at the memory before taking another drag, eyes closing again. 

The sunlight highlights the smoke around you, creating an aura. Words leave your lips, nearly incoherent, “...are you gonna keep looking at me like that? Or can you just kiss me already?”  

He coughs violently, snapping back to reality. His head falls back meeting the seat, chest heavy. A shadow crosses his vision and the sound of feet underneath gravels becomes louder. Before he can turn his head your voice pips up a soft but awkward ‘hey.’

Silence crosses between you two. You bite your lip, foot kicking the gravel side to side.

“Um,” you sigh. “My car won’t start and I uh-” you accidentally swallow your words.

His eyes flicker between yours, voice coming out hoarse and shaky. “Oh, damn. D-do you need a- a ride home? Or I- I mean, uh, I can give you some quarters for the phone-”

“Can I get a ride home, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to-” 

“No no. Hop in,” he grins, head motioning to the passenger seat. 

You smile softly and walk around, grabbing the door as he pops it open from the inside. The fabric of the seats and the smell brings back more memories than you realized you’d forgotten. You inhale deeply and shift to buckle. 

His eyes observe you, “It’s broken,” His eyes flicker, “remember?”

You go to speak but nothing comes out. You can only nod, lips pursing. 

The gears click next to you as he puts the car into drive and pulls away. He glances over every once in a while, but you don’t move. Soon enough, the town turns into fields and the cassette whirs an all too familiar song. You can’t help but hum along and glance over, only to catch a smile peeking through his lips. 

A chuckle escapes your lips before turning to face him, feet coming up to rest on the seat. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Just nice how some things never change.” He admits. 

You hum a confused noise, eyebrows furrowing.

“You humming this song, it’s like-” He cuts himself off, smile slowly dropping.

“It’s like what E-” Your lips stop before your brain registers that you can’t even say his name anymore. Chest falling short of breath, you stare back out the window.

“Nothing.” His voice quivers. 

The car grows painfully quiet, thoughts racing through both of your minds. As you approach the turn for your house, he doesn’t bother to slow, or stop at the stop sign, or actually turn. 

“Where are you-” 

“You- you can’t even say my name anymore.” He croaks.

His hands fidget around the wheel as if he can’t figure out where to put them. And you find yourself at a loss for words, mouth drier than a desert. The pit in your stomach grows and you wish it would just swallow you whole at this moment. 

You’re not even sure how many songs have played before gravel hits the tires outside as he turns off the road. The path feels all too familiar, trees swaying in the distance, sun beaming through them and highlighting the path. As soon as he came to a stop you leaped out the van, walking as far as possible, as fast as possible. You know these woods like the back of your hand, you introduced them to him. He shouts your name relentlessly but they hit you like daggers in your back. The creek runs in the distance and birds warn each other of your arrival. Before you know it, the walk has turned into a run and you find yourself in front of a picnic bench. It's grown a lot of moss over the last 3 years. The metal now red and worn, but untouched on the side lie your initials beside E.M.. 

Heavy breathing grows behind you and he stops calling your name. He follows your gaze to see what you're looking at, his hands run through his hair as it clicks that you found the initials. You turn fast but he stands more still than a statue. 

“Eddie?” Your lip trembles.

His breathing resumes but it’s ragged. 

“Eds.” You sigh, a tear falling down your cheek. You reach out to him but he steps back.

His body shakes, “Don’t.” He closes his eyes as another tear streams down your cheek. “Not unless you mean it. I-I can’t take-”

A sob falls from your lips and you wrap your arms around him. His arms wrap around you and tighten as much as possible. You can hear his heart pounding and the smell of cigarettes lingering on his shirt– the familiarity ignites a fire inside of you. Your tears fade slowly as he caresses your hair, raking through it with his fingers. 

“I told you, you need to stop smoking.” You murmur and a giggle escapes the two of you. 

“I missed you so much.” He whispers into your hair. The wind flows around you, like a breath of fresh air.

Masterlist

[spacejjunk]

its not gay when its in a threeway

pairing: reader x robin buckley x eddie munson

w/c: 8.5k

summary: After a late night of drinking and a unexpected confession, Eddie Munson unknowingly becomes the test subject for a very important lesson- teaching Robin Buckley how to have sex with a guy.

warnings/tags: smut!, porn with very little plot, bisexual reader, experimenting robin, eddies just along for the ride, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, drunk/high sex, first time, this fic is very self indulgent sue me

shout out to my girlies for beta reading and polishing the outline ♡ @gem-writes @hamilhansen ♡

masterlist

The pool lights rippled across the water like liquid stars, turning Steve’s backyard into something that felt half-real and completely yours. Summer 1987 had been a strange, hazy stretch of rebuilding, government quarantines, and trying to remember how to just exist. But tonight none of that mattered. Tonight was warm air, cool water, and the low, constant sound of your friends laughing like the world wasn't trying to end.

You were sitting on the top step of the shallow end, legs stretched out. A red Solo cup rested on your knee. Across from you, Eddie floated on his back on one of those ridiculous floaties, arms spread wide, tattoos catching the light every time he breathed. Robin sat on the wide ledge near the diving board, knees tucked up, sipping whatever concoction Eddie had made her. Steve was right beside you on the edge, feet dangling in the water, a joint between his fingers and that loose, half-drunk smile he only wore when it was just the four of you.

Eddie sat up with a splash, water streaming down his face. “Okay, but hear me out — I’m telling you, if I can just get the timing right on the bridge, this song is gonna slap. It's dark. It's sexy. I had to write a badass song about surviving the apocalypse, right? Like I didn't get these fuckin' scars for nothing.”

Robin made a noise like she was choking on her own laughter. “Munson. You're insane.”

“Insane? Maybe. But,” Eddie said, pointing at her with the joint before passing it to you. “You know you'd do the same shit Buckley. Some of us are just more musically talented than others.”

Steve snorted, reaching over to steal the joint from your fingers after you took a hit. The smoke curled warm in your lungs, making everything feel a little softer around the edges. “Dude, you survived one apocalypse. Try surviving four. Plus Buckley is great with music. Don't shit on her trombone talents.”

You laughed so hard you had to grab Steve’s arm to keep from sliding off the step. “Yeah Munson. That girls got good blowing skills. Don't shit on her.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically. “I would never shit on my dear Buckley. You know I love you. Maybe I could use some of your blowing skills on this song.”

“Blowing skills?” Robin echoed. “Christ Munson. If you want me to blow you, you're gonna be waiting a long ass time.”

Steve was laughing too hard to come up with a coherent thought. Eddie looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Steve just splashed water at Eddie with his foot and said, “You’re all lucky I let you live here. I could’ve had peace and quiet. Instead I get you three idiots bickering and someone— someone — keeps stealing my good towels and leaving them on the bathroom floor.”

Robin raised her hand. “That was me. They’re softer than mine. Sue me.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the water lapping gently at your waist. “Speaking of stealing… Eddie, you owe Steve like six pairs of socks at this point. I saw them in your room.”

Eddie looked down at his feet in the water like he’d been caught. “They’re comfortable. And Stevie already stretched them out so they're perfect.”

“It’s theft,” Steve said, but he was grinning, the kind of grin that crinkled his whole face. “You know what else is theft? The last of the good cereal. I bought that box of Lucky Charms yesterday. It was gone by breakfast. I’m looking at you, Buckley.”

Robin didn’t even try to deny it. “I have no regrets. You can’t leave name-brand cereal in a house with three other people and expect it to survive. That’s on you, Harrington.”

The joint made another slow circle. You took a hit, passed it to Robin, and felt that warm, floaty buzz settle deeper into your chest. Everything felt good — the way the pool lights made Eddie’s wet hair look almost black, the way Steve kept bumping his knee against yours like he didn’t even notice he was doing it, the way Robin’s sarcasm had gone soft around the edges tonight. With the four of you the conversations could change on a dime but everyone kept up. You all loved each other.

Eddie paddled closer, resting his arms on the edge near your legs. “You know what I still can’t believe? That time Steve tried to make lasagna for all of us and used sugar instead of salt in the sauce.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head back. “It was dark! The containers looked the same!”

“It tasted like someone murdered an Italian grandmother,” Robin said solemnly. “I still have trauma. I had to wash it down with three beers just to be polite.”

You grinned at Steve. “And then you tried to fix it by adding more cheese and it just became… cheese soup with noodles.”

Steve pointed at you, mock-offended. “You ate three bowls. Don’t act like you weren’t into it.”

“I was high,” you said. “Everything tastes good when you’re high. That doesn’t make it good.”

Eddie cackled and flicked water at Steve. “She’s got you there, Harrington. Face it — you’re a menace in the kitchen. But we keep you around for the pool and the hair care products. Your shampoo collection is the only thing keeping this house from falling into complete chaos.”

Steve ran a hand through his wet hair on instinct. “It’s a routine you heathens. You wouldn’t understand. Some of us like to look like we didn’t just crawl out of a hedge.”

Robin leaned over and ruffled his hair on purpose, making it stick up in every direction. “There. Now you look like the rest of us. Welcome to the hedge club.”

Steve swatted at her hand but he was laughing again, that easy, bright sound that always made the night feel safer. The four of you drifted like that for a while — splashing each other lazily, trading stories about the ridiculous little disasters of living together, the past year. It's become something you never wanted to let go of. Your safe space in the chaos of the world.

Your skin was starting to prune. The high had turned everything warm around the edges. You felt loose and happy and stupidly fond of all of them.

Robin was the one who finally called it. “Alright, my fingers look like raisins and I’m pretty sure if I don’t eat something solid soon I’m going to start chewing on the pool noodles. Inside. Now.”

You pulled yourself up onto the edge, water streaming down your legs and bathing suit. Robin tossed you a towel. It smelled like Steve’s detergent — clean and expensive and somehow like home now. You wrapped it around yourself, goosebumps rising as the night air hit your wet skin.

Steve stood up, a little wobbly, towel slung around his neck. “Yeah… couch is calling my name. Just for a second. I’m good. I’m great. Not way drunker than I thought I was sitting down.”

Eddie climbed out after him, shaking his head like a dog and sending water flying. “Harrington, if you faceplant I’m not carrying you. You're gonna have to be an outside dog from now on.”

Steve waved him off, already heading for the sliding glass doors. “Yeah, yeah. Is the world spinning for anyone else?”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Steve made it three steps into the living room before the big sectional couch pulled him in like gravity. He dropped onto it with a heavy thump, one arm dangling off the edge, eyes already half-closed.

“Just… resting my eyes,” he mumbled. “You guys keep… having fun. I’ll be right…”

His eyes fluttered once. Twice.

And then he was gone — out cold, soft snores starting almost immediately, completely dead to the world.

Robin stared at him for a beat, then pressed both hands over her mouth to smother her laughter. “Oh my god. He didn’t even finish the sentence.”

Eddie leaned in the doorway in his low-slung towel, grinning wide. "Such a lightweight. Look at him. King Steve, defeated by vodka and like two joints.”

You stood there in your damp towel, water still dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, and felt that same warm, bright feeling from earlier swell in your chest. Steve, safe and passed out. Eddie watching you with that spark in his eyes. Robin already heading toward the kitchen with a mischievous little bounce in her step.

“Well,” Robin called over her shoulder, “since our fearless leader has officially tapped out… who wants to see if there’s any pasta left in the fridge? Or are we going straight for the liquor cabinet?”

Eddie looked at you, one eyebrow raised, smile slow and easy.

The three of you left Steve snoring softly on the couch and drifted into the dining room like it was the most natural thing in the world. The big wooden table still had a couple of chairs pulled out from earlier in the week when you’d all tried to eat a real meal together. Robin grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and dropped into one of the chairs, kicking her feet up on the one next to her. You and Eddie stayed standing for a second, the wet ends of your hair still dripping onto your shoulders and the tops of your towels.

Eddie dug another joint out of the crumpled pack he’d left on the counter earlier and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The flame lit up his face for a second — sharp grin, dark eyes, water still clinging to his collarbones. He took a long pull, then passed it to you without a word. You leaned against the edge of the table and took your own hit, the smoke curling warm and familiar in your lungs. The high from the pool hadn’t fully faded yet— this one just layered on top of it, making the dim overhead light feel softer and the air between the three of you feel closer.

Robin twisted the cap off her beer and took a long drink. “God, work’s been so fucking weird lately. Jimmy's gone so it's just been me and Harrington running the show. Who decided that putting us in charge was a good idea? Dingus over there wouldn't know good music if it weren’t for us. He'd be playing ABBA all day and wonder why we'd get hate mail.”

You laughed, the sound a little looser than usual. “That sounds exactly like him. Just be glad you're not working under Keith anymore. Dude was a total fuckin' creep. Remember that time he tried to hit on Nancy and she brutally destroyed every bit of confidence he had left?”

Eddie chuckled from where he was leaning against the wall, joint between his fingers again. He wasn’t saying much — just chilling, listening, that lazy little smirk on his face like he was happy to let the two of you talk while the smoke curled around him. Every now and then he’d take a hit and pass it back to you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.

Robin groaned and took another sip. “And don’t even get me started on my mom. She keeps asking when I’m gonna ‘bring a nice boy around’ like I haven’t been gay as fuck my whole life. I told her I’m busy surviving the apocalypse and working, but apparently that’s not a good enough excuse.”

You took the joint from Eddie again, the paper warm against your lips. The high was settling deep now — that sweet, heavy feeling behind your eyes that made everything feel a little more honest. You exhaled slowly and looked at Robin across the table.

“Honestly? You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with any of that shit,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink them. “The last guy I was with was… god, he was bad. Like, aggressively bad. All confidence, zero skill. Kept asking if I was close. I had to fake it just to get him to stop. And then he had the nerve to look proud of himself after.” You shook your head, laughing a little even though it wasn’t really funny. “You’re seriously so lucky you don’t have to deal with that mess, Robin.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling — the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what you meant and was grateful she didn’t. “Yeah, well. That’s one bullet I’ve managed to dodge.”

You took another slow hit from the joint, then passed it back to Eddie. The question came out casual, curious, the kind of thing that only got asked when everyone was a little drunk and a little high and the house was quiet except for Steve’s distant snoring.

“Have you ever actually had sex with a guy?”

Robin made a face but didn’t look offended. She just shook her head. “Nope. Never.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious now. “What about kissing? Have you ever kissed a guy?”

She snorted. “Yeah, duh. Had to pretend to be straight at some point, right? High school was a whole thing. There was this one guy who wouldn’t leave me alone until I let him kiss me at a party. It was… fine. Wet. Weird. I spent the whole time thinking about how I’d rather be anywhere else.” She shrugged, taking another drink. “But it got the job done. People stopped asking questions for a while.”

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. Eddie was still quiet, but you could feel him listening — that sharp, attentive energy he got when something interesting was happening. He took a hit from the joint and held it, watching the two of you with dark, amused eyes.

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, the high making your voice come out softer and more honest than usual.

“Okay, but… if you had to have sex with a guy,” you asked, “who would it be?”

Robin didn’t even hesitate. She looked you dead in the eye, a little smirk tugging at her mouth, cheeks faintly pink from the beer and the conversation.

“Well, I only trust two guys,” she said. “And since Harrington’s passed out cold in the other room, I guess Munson would do.”

The words landed in the quiet dining room like a spark on dry wood.

Eddie let out a low, surprised laugh — not mocking, just genuinely caught off guard. Smoke curled from between his lips as he exhaled. “Wow. High praise, Buckley. I’m flattered. Truly. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

You felt your own pulse pick up a little, the high sharpening everything — the way Robin was looking at you both, the way Eddie’s grin had gone a shade more dangerous, the distant sound of Steve’s soft snoring from the living room like he was still somehow part of this even while he was dead asleep.

Robin just shrugged, but there was something playful and a little charged in the way she held your gaze. “I’m just saying. If the world ended tomorrow and I had to pick… at least I know he might not be a complete disaster about it.”

Eddie took another slow hit from the joint, then held it out toward her like an offering, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Buckley. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for the joint. “Don’t get cocky, Munson. It’s a hypothetical. And you’re the lesser of two evils right now.”

The air in the dining room had shifted — still light, still a little giggly from the drinks and the weed, but underneath it something warmer was humming. Something that felt like it could tip in any direction depending on what happened next.

Eddie’s eyes flicked to you for a second, like he was checking to see how you were taking all of this. His smile was easy, but there was a spark in it that hadn’t been there before.

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Robin’s answer — casual, a little smirk on her face, eyes flicking between you and Eddie like she was testing the temperature of the room. Steve’s soft snoring drifted in from the living room like background noise.

You looked at Robin.

She looked at you.

And there it was — that look. The one the two of you had perfected over the last year of living in this house together. The we’re about to do something really fucking stupid and we both know it look. Half challenge, half invitation. Your mouth twitched. Hers did too.

Eddie blinked between the two of you, brow furrowing. “Okay… what the hell is happening right now? Seriously. You two are doing that thing again. The creepy telepathic eye contact thing. I don’t like it when you do the creepy telepathic eye contact thing—”

Robin was already sliding out of her chair.

You met her halfway.

The second your mouths crashed together it was heavy. No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just the sudden, hungry press of her lips against yours, the sharp little inhale she took when your hands found her waist and pulled her in. She tasted like beer and the faint cherry of her lip balm and the weed you’d all been passing around. Her hands were in your damp hair immediately, tugging, angling your head so she could kiss you deeper, messier. The high made everything sharper and blurrier at the same time — the slide of her tongue against yours, the way her body pressed flush to you, the little sound she made in the back of her throat when your teeth caught her bottom lip.

You barely registered the dining room table behind you until your ass hit the edge of it. Robin followed, crowding between your legs, one hand braced on the wood beside your hip while the other slid up under the edge of your towel, palm hot against your still-damp skin.

Eddie made a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What the fuck,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “What the hell is happening seriously. Is this— are you two— Jesus Christ, I’m right here. I’m standing right here. Harrington’s passed out in the next room and you two are just— okay. Alright. This is fine. This is totally fine. I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out—”

You broke the kiss just long enough to laugh against Robin’s mouth, breathless and giddy and a little wild from the high. She was laughing too, forehead pressed to yours for a second, both of you grinning like idiots who’d just decided to set something on fire for fun.

Then you turned your head, still half-tangled with her, and reached out.

Your fingers curled around Eddie’s wrist.

He looked down at your hand like it was a live wire.

“Come on,” you said, voice low and rough from the kissing and the smoke. You gave his arm a tug, already sliding off the table, Robin’s hand finding yours on the other side. “Bedroom. Now.”

Robin was still giggling as the three of you stumbled out of the dining room — her free hand grabbing the mostly-smoked joint and the lighter on the way past the table. Eddie let himself be dragged, half-protesting, half-laughing in that high-pitched, overwhelmed way he got when his brain was short-circuiting.

“I— you can’t just— what is happening right now,” he kept saying, even as he followed you down the hallway toward his room. “I was minding my own business. I was being chill. And now I’m being kidnapped by two extremely hot, extremely high girls who were just making out on Steve’s dining room table like it was a normal day—”

“Shut up, Munson,” Robin managed between laughs, shoving his bedroom door open with her shoulder. “Consider this your lucky day.”

You were both still giggling as you pulled him inside — the sound bright and stupid and full of that reckless, drunk-high energy that always seemed to hit hardest at three in the morning. Eddie’s room smelled like him— weed, old leather, that cologne he stole from Steve and never gave back. Posters on the walls, clothes on the floor, his guitar propped in the corner like it was watching.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Robin was still pressed against your side, her mouth finding the curve of your neck for a second just because she could. You were still holding Eddie’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were grounding all three of you in the moment.

Eddie stared at the two of you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that wild grin starting to break through the confusion.

“Okay,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Okay. I’m listening. I’m extremely listening. Someone please tell me what the game plan is here before I have a heart attack in my own bedroom.”

You and Robin exchanged another look.

And then you were both laughing again — soft, breathless, already moving toward him like the night had always been headed exactly here.

Robin broke first, a soft, nervous giggle escaping as she looked at you. “Okay. So. We’re really doing this.”

You felt that same reckless, high-drunk spark from the dining room table flare hotter in your chest. You stepped in close to her, one hand sliding around her waist, and spoke low enough that it felt like a secret even though Eddie was right there.

“I’m gonna teach you how to give a blowjob.”

Eddie made a strangled noise from somewhere behind you. “I— what— teach—?”

Robin’s eyes flicked to him, then back to you. She looked a little dazed, a little turned on, a little like she couldn’t believe she was nodding. But she nodded anyway.

You turned to Eddie, who was still standing there looking like his brain had melted. His cock was already straining hard against the front of his swim trunks. You exchanged a silent look of permission with him, stepped right into his space, hooked your fingers into the waistband, and tugged them down in one smooth motion.

His cock sprang free — thick, ruddy tip, already leaking. Bigger than average. Heavy.

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Jesus Christ. Are they all that size?”

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave him one slow stroke, just to watch the way his stomach jumped. Then you glanced at Robin with a crooked little smile.

“Nope. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan the second you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t waste time — you leaned in and took the head of his cock into your mouth, warm and wet, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside while your hand worked what you couldn’t fit yet. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his hand immediately found the back of your head like he didn’t know what else to do with it — it all hit harder because of the high. Everything felt magnified.

“Fuck— fuck—” Eddie’s voice cracked. He was staring down at you like you’d just personally rewritten the laws of physics. “Okay. Okay, this is happening. This is really— Jesus, your mouth—”

Robin watched, transfixed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her cheeks were flushed. After a minute she cleared her throat, voice a little hoarse.

“Can I… can I just start with a handjob? I don’t think I’m ready for the whole… mouth thing yet.”

You pulled off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at her. “Yeah. Come here.”

Robin knelt down beside you on the floor. She hesitated for only a second before wrapping her hand around him — tentative at first, like she was testing the heat and weight of him. Eddie made another broken sound above you both, hips twitching.

You covered her hand with yours.

“Here,” you murmured, guiding her. “Like this.”

You started slow — long, steady strokes from base to tip, your fingers curled over hers so she could feel exactly how much pressure to use. Eddie’s cock twitched hard in your combined grip, a bead of pre-cum welling at the slit. You used it to slick the way, dragging both your hands up and down in a smooth rhythm.

“See?” you said softly, close to her ear. “He seems to like it when you twist your wrist a little at the top. And you can use your other hand on his balls if you want — gentle, though.”

Eddie was losing his mind above you. One hand braced on the edge of his dresser, the other hovering like he didn’t know where to put it. His voice was wrecked.

“I— I don’t— what the fuck is my life right now— god, that feels— you two are actually going to kill me—”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh, but she didn’t let go. She was watching your hands move together over him, fascinated, biting her lip. The high made everything feel warmer, slower, more electric — the slide of skin on skin, the way Eddie’s cock pulsed between your fingers, the soft sound of his breathing breaking apart above you.

You kept guiding her, slow and patient, showing her how to stroke him just right while Eddie stood there completely at your mercy, confused and painfully, desperately horny, and very clearly not wanting any of it to stop.

The slow, guided strokes had Robin breathing a little harder. You could feel the shift in her — the way her grip got more confident under yours, the way she kept glancing at Eddie’s cock like she was daring herself.

Robin licked her lips.

Then she leaned in.

Her tongue dragged slowly up the underside of Eddie’s cock in one long, tentative stripe from base to tip. She made a soft, surprised sound at the taste and the heat of him, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she did it again, slower this time, like she was getting used to it.

You didn’t hesitate. You dipped your head right beside hers and followed.

The two of you worked him together — tongues sliding up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, getting him messy and wet. Saliva and pre-cum mixed as you licked over the same spots, sometimes your tongues brushing against each other in the process. Robin let out a shaky little laugh against his skin, and you answered it with one of your own before you both went back in, lapping at him like you were sharing something filthy and sweet at the same time.

Eddie made a sound like he’d been shot.

“F-fuck— fuck— you two— Jesus Christ—” His voice was wrecked, high and strained. One hand was white-knuckling the edge of the dresser so hard the wood creaked. The other hovered uselessly in the air like he was afraid to touch either of you in case he lost what little control he had left. His thighs were trembling. “I’m— I’m not gonna last if you keep— god, your tongues—”

You and Robin ignored the warning.

You met in the middle again, tongues curling against each other over the head of his cock before sliding back down together, coating him in shiny wetness. Then you were kissing — really kissing — right there on his dick. Mouths open, tongues sliding hot and slick against each other with the thick length of him caught between you. Every time your lips met you could taste him on her, and she could taste him on you. It was messy. It was obscene. It was so fucking hot you felt dizzy with it.

Eddie’s hips jerked forward without his permission. A broken, desperate noise tore out of his throat.

“I’m serious— I’m— fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop— I’m trying— I’m trying so hard not to—” His voice cracked on a moan as your tongues met again over his slit, lapping up the fresh bead of pre-cum that had leaked out. “Please— Jesus, you’re both gonna kill me—”

Robin pulled back just enough to look up at him, lips shiny and swollen, a wicked little smile on her face even though her cheeks were flushed dark. She gave the head of his cock one more slow lick, then glanced at you like she was checking if you wanted to keep going.

Eddie looked like he was hanging on by a thread — eyes glassy, chest heaving, every muscle in his body locked tight as he fought not to come all over both your faces right then and there.

“Can I… watch you get fucked first?”

You were still on your knees, one hand loosely wrapped around the base of Eddie’s cock. You glanced up at her, a slow, wicked little smile spreading across your face.

“Only if you sit on my face.”

Robin’s eyes went wide for a second. Eddie made a noise like his brain had short-circuited again.

You didn’t wait for more discussion. You stood up, grabbed Eddie’s hand, and tugged him toward the bed with you. Robin followed, still looking a little stunned but not saying no. You crawled onto the mattress and laid back, legs spreading automatically as you looked up at both of them.

Eddie hovered at the side of the bed, swim trunks still around his thighs, cock flushed and shiny from both your mouths. He looked wrecked already — hair wild, eyes dark, chest heaving.

“Are you guys sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Like… we can stop at any point. This is— this is a lot. I don’t want anyone to—”

“Munson,” you cut in, staring straight at him, “if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to be mad at you.” Your tone was light but firm. Then you turned your head toward Robin and patted the space above your face. “And Robin… come sit on my face.”

Robin hesitated. Her cheeks were flushed dark, one hand twisting in the hem of her swimsuit. She looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie like she was checking one last time that this was really okay. Eddie just gave her a helpless little shrug, like I have no idea what’s happening but I’m not stopping it.

She climbed onto the bed.

You helped guide her — hands on her hips as she swung one leg over your head and slowly lowered herself, pushing the gusset of her swimsuit to the side. The second her cunt brushed your mouth you licked up into her, slow and deliberate, and Robin made a soft, shocked sound above you, thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Eddie was still standing there like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You reached down between your own legs and peeled your bikini bottoms off. Y you looked at Eddie upside-down from between Robin’s thighs.

“Eddie.”

That was all it took.

He climbed onto the bed, shoved his trunks the rest of the way off, and lined himself up. The head of his cock dragged through your folds once, twice, collecting wetness, before he pushed in with one long, smooth thrust.

You moaned into Robin’s cunt.

Eddie groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck— you’re so— god—”

He started fucking you in deep, steady strokes, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. Every time he bottomed out you cried out against Robin, the vibrations making her gasp and rock down harder onto your tongue. She was watching everything — the way Eddie’s cock disappeared into you over and over, the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your mouth worked between her legs.

Robin leaned forward.

Her fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight, desperate little circles, matching the rhythm of Eddie’s thrusts. The added stimulation made your whole body jerk. You sucked harder on her clit, tongue flicking fast, and Robin’s thighs clamped around your head as she moaned.

Eddie was losing it.

He was trying so hard to hold back, but between the way you felt around him, the wet sounds of you eating Robin out, and the sight of her fingers working your clit right above where he was buried inside you — it was too much.

“Fuck— I’m— I’m close—” he gasped. “I can’t— you feel too good— Robin, if you keep— shit—”

Robin rubbed your clit faster, leaning down so she could watch Eddie’s cock splitting you open while your tongue fucked into her. The angle let her grind down harder on your face.

You came first.

It hit hard — a full-body, shaking orgasm that made your back arch off the bed and your moan get muffled against Robin’s cunt. Your walls clenched tight around Eddie’s cock, pulsing hard, and that was it for him.

Eddie came with a broken, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. Thick, hot pulses that you felt with every twitch of his cock. He kept fucking through it in short, desperate thrusts, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Robin followed right after — thighs shaking around your head as she came on your tongue with a soft, surprised cry, her fingers still moving on your oversensitive clit until the overstimulation made you whimper.

For a few long seconds the only sounds in the room were heavy breathing, the wet slide of Eddie slowly pulling out of you, and Robin’s shaky little laughs as she carefully climbed off your face.

Eddie collapsed onto the bed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice completely wrecked. “What the fuck just happened.”

Robin was still catching her breath, looking down at both of you with wide, dazed eyes and a stunned little smile.

You just lay there between them, flushed and satisfied and still buzzing from the high.

The three of you were still catching your breath, bodies loose and warm on Eddie’s bed. Robin was the first to move, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her hair was a mess, lips still shiny from where you’d had your mouth on her. She looked down at Eddie, who was flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, his cock soft and half-hard against his stomach, shiny with a mix of your wetness and his own cum.

“So like—” Robin started, voice a little hoarse, “when your dick works again… can I try?”

Eddie dropped his arm and turned his head to stare at her like she’d grown a second head.

“When my— what the hell are you talking about, Buckley?”

Robin sat up a little more, tilting her head as she studied him with open curiosity. “Y’know… like when it gets all hard again like before. I wanna try. For real this time.”

You snorted, still lying between them, one hand resting on your own stomach. “I know a way we can get him hard again.”

Eddie lifted his head, eyes wide. “Hello? I’m— I’m right here, you menaces!”

You and Robin glanced at each other.

“Should we?” you asked, already smiling.

Robin hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Think we should.”

Before Eddie could get another word out, you rolled toward Robin and kissed her.

It started slow — lazy, post-orgasm kisses, your mouths moving together soft and wet. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Robin made a quiet sound and leaned in harder, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as her tongue slid against yours. The kiss got deeper, messier, the two of you making out right there on the bed like Eddie wasn’t even there.

Eddie made a wounded noise from beside you.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained, voice rough. “I want a kiss. I’m the one who just— I participated! I did labor! I deserve— hey— hey—”

You broke away from Robin with a grin and turned to him instead.

The second your mouth met his, Eddie melted. He kissed you back desperately, one hand sliding into your hair as he licked into your mouth like he’d been starving for it. You could feel him starting to twitch against your thigh already.

Robin watched for a second, then leaned in and nudged you aside so she could kiss him next. Eddie made another broken sound as she kissed him — slower at first, exploratory, then deeper once she got the hang of it. His cock gave a visible twitch against his stomach, starting to fill out properly.

You took your turn again, kissing him slow and filthy while your hand drifted down to wrap loosely around the base of his cock, giving him one lazy stroke. He was getting harder by the second.

“Fuck— you two are evil,” he muttered when you finally let him breathe. His voice was already wrecked again. “I was trying to be good and recover and now I’m— god— I’m hard again. This is your fault. Both of you.”

Robin glanced down at his cock, now fully hard and flushed in your hand, and bit her lip.

She looked back up at you, eyes bright and a little nervous but determined.

“So… can I try now?”

Eddie sat up a little, running a hand through his messy hair. His cock was fully hard again, resting against his stomach as he looked at Robin with that same soft, slightly overwhelmed expression he’d had since the dining room.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle even though he was still catching his breath from the kissing. “I’m serious. You can stop at any point. Like… any point. You say the word and we’re done, no questions asked.”

Robin rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“I know, Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’ve said it like six times already. I’m not gonna shatter.”

Eddie held his hands up in surrender, but he was still watching her carefully. “Okay. Okay. Just… making sure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to do it missionary? Or, like… any position you’re comfortable with.”

Robin made a face like he’d suggested they do it in the middle of the grocery store.

“Fuck no,” she said immediately. “I’m too shy to even talk at you right now, let alone look at you while you’re fucking me.”

Eddie blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “Reverse cowgirl it is, then.”

You helped shift things around on the bed, moving pillows and making space. Robin climbed over Eddie’s lap, facing away from him — toward you instead. Her hands braced on your thighs for balance as she hovered over him. Eddie wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, the other resting lightly on her hip as he lined himself up.

Robin took a shaky breath, then slowly started to sink down.

The second he bottomed out inside her, her eyes went wide. A sharp, punched-out sound left her throat. She froze there for a second, adjusting to the stretch, fingers digging into your legs.

Eddie’s hands tightened on her hips. “You okay?” he asked immediately, voice low and careful. “Robin? You good?”

She didn’t answer right away, just breathed through it.

“Robin?” he tried again, a little more worried. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”

Robin finally turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson,” she gritted out. “I can feel you in my throat.”

Eddie let out a startled laugh, the sound bright and relieved all at once. “Jesus. Okay. Noted.” He gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “Just checking. You’re calling the shots here.”

Robin took another slow breath, then rolled her hips experimentally. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her when she felt how deep he was. She glanced at you, something between overwhelmed and determined in her expression, like she was still processing the feeling of being this full.

Eddie was still grinning, even as he stayed perfectly still beneath her.

“Guess I’m just a human dildo tonight,” he joked, voice warm and teasing. “At your service.”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh despite herself, still adjusting, still getting used to the stretch of him inside her. She hadn’t started moving properly yet — just sitting there, breathing, getting her bearings while Eddie waited patiently underneath her and you stayed close in front of her.

You could feel the tension in Robin’s body — the way her thighs were trembling slightly where they bracketed Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing was still a little too careful. So you leaned in and kissed her again, slow and grounding, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. She melted into it almost immediately, some of the rigidness easing out of her shoulders as she kissed you back.

When you pulled away, she turned her head just enough and said, voice a little rough, “Eddie… start moving.”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He started slow, rolling his hips up into her in careful, shallow thrusts. Robin’s breath hitched, her hands tightening on your thighs as she adjusted to the feeling of him moving inside her. You stayed close, one hand sliding down between her legs to rub her clit in slow, steady circles with your thumb — matching the rhythm Eddie was setting.

Robin let out a shaky moan against your mouth when you kissed her again.

You didn’t stay up there long.

You broke the kiss and lowered yourself further, settling between Eddie’s spread thighs. From this angle you had a perfect view of where they were joined — his cock glistening as it slid in and out of her. You leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly over Robin’s clit first, then lower, licking along the base of Eddie’s cock and his balls on the next pass.

Robin clenched hard around him the second your tongue touched her.

“Fuck—” she gasped, hips jerking.

Eddie groaned, his hands gripping her waist tighter. “Jesus Christ, what did you just do to her?”

Robin let out a breathless, slightly unhinged laugh even as she rolled her hips down to meet Eddie’s next thrust. “She’s— fuck— she’s licking both of us. I can feel her tongue on your— god.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh of his own, still fucking up into her in those deep, steady strokes. “You're so fucking tight Buckley. Pretty sure I'm going to fall in love with one of you after this.”

Robin reached down blindly and grabbed a handful of your hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as you kept licking — slow, deliberate strokes over her clit and the parts of Eddie’s cock that weren’t buried inside her.

“Shut up,” she managed, voice breaking on a moan when you sucked gently on her clit. “You’re— it feels like you're fucking me with your arm. H- How the hell do you walk around all day with— fuck— with that in your pants? Where the hell— Jesus Christ— do- do you put it?”

Eddie grinned, even as his breathing got rougher. “Y'know Buckley. That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

Robin let out another shaky laugh that turned into a moan when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “I hate you. I hate both of you. This is— fuck— this is your fault.”

“Pretty sure it’s your fault for asking if you could try,” Eddie shot back, voice strained but still teasing as he fucked her a little harder. “I was being a gentleman. You’re the one who decided to use me as a human dildo for kicks.”

Robin’s only response was a broken moan and another tight clench around him as your tongue worked between them.

Eddie groaned, head dropping back against the pillows for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Keep doing that. Both of you. I’m not complaining.”

Robin was breathing hard now, caught between Eddie’s cock and your mouth, her body starting to move more instinctively with every thrust. She was still holding onto your hair like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of sex, Eddie’s low groans, and Robin’s increasingly desperate little noises every time your tongue dragged over her clit or Eddie hit a spot that made her clench.

Robin was getting close — you could feel it in the way her thighs were starting to shake on either side of Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing had gone ragged and uneven. You kept your mouth on her, tongue working her clit in tight, focused strokes.

Eddie was clearly struggling. His grip on Robin’s hips had gone tight, and his thrusts were getting a little less controlled, a little more desperate.

Robin must have felt it too.

She turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder, voice breathless but sharp.

“If you cum anywhere near me, Munson, I’m going to murder you. I’m serious. I will actually kill you.”

Eddie let out a strained, half-laugh, half-groan. “Noted. Loud and clear. No coming near the lesbian. Got it.”

You pulled your mouth off Robin’s clit just long enough to speak, voice low and a little hoarse from how long you’d had your face buried between them.

“I’ll take it,” you said, looking up at both of them. “Cum on me. Face, tits, wherever. I don’t care.”

Eddie made a broken sound at that, hips stuttering for a second before he forced himself back into rhythm.

You went right back to work on Robin — two fingers rubbing tight and fast right where she needed it. Eddie kept fucking her through it, deep and steady, even as he fought to hold himself back.

Robin’s whole body went tight.

“Fuck— fuck— I’m—” Her voice cracked as she came, clenching hard around Eddie’s cock in rhythmic pulses. Her thighs shook on either side of your head and she grabbed at your hair again, holding on as the orgasm rolled through her. A broken, gasping moan tore out of her throat as she rode it out on Eddie’s cock.

The second she started to come down, Eddie carefully lifted her off him with shaking hands. His cock slipped free, shiny and flushed dark, and he barely had time to stroke himself once before he was coming from between her legs.

Thick ropes painted across your face and chest — hot and messy, landing on your lips, your cheek, and streaking down over your tits. Eddie groaned loud and broken as he came, hips jerking with every pulse, one hand braced on Robin’s thigh while the other worked himself through it.

Robin was still catching her breath above you, looking down with wide, slightly dazed eyes as she watched Eddie finish all over you. She let out a soft, breathless little laugh.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie was still breathing hard, staring down at the mess he’d made on your skin like he couldn’t quite believe any of this had actually happened. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he let go, slumping back against the pillows.

Robin carefully climbed off him and flopped down beside you on the bed, still flushed and breathing heavy. She looked at the cum on your face and chest, then at Eddie, then back at you.

“…Okay,” she said, voice a little shaky but amused. “That was… a lot.”

Eddie let out a weak, exhausted laugh from where he was sprawled out, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, it really fucking was.”

The three of you were sprawled across Eddie’s bed in a messy, sweaty pile. Robin was on her back beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes, still breathing hard. Eddie was half-sitting up against the headboard, looking thoroughly fucked-out and a little stunned. You were in the middle, cum cooling on your face and chest, the high still humming pleasantly under your skin.

Robin was the first one to break the silence.

“Wait—” she said, turning her head toward you and Eddie with genuine curiosity. “Is this what Steve’s is like? Has anyone here seen Harrington’s dick? Like… for science?”

Eddie let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, running a hand down his face.

“….Yeah, I don’t think you’re gonna be a lesbian anymore after this.”

Robin snorted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “Nah. Still a lesbian. Have you seen how nice her tits are?” She gestured vaguely at your chest with one hand. “And she doesn’t have a dick that split me in half.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically, even as he was clearly fighting a grin. “Glad to know that I’m just an afterthought?”

You turned your head to look at him, still a little breathless, a lazy smile tugging at your mouth.

“If it makes you feel better… I’d have sex with you again.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. His eyes lit up, that familiar cocky little smirk sliding back onto his face despite how wrecked he looked.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “Is that an invitation?”

You let out a soft laugh, reaching over to wipe a bit of cum off your bottom lip with your thumb.

“It’s more of a standing reservation.”

Robin groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with both hands even as her shoulders shook with laughter.

“Oh my god. You two are actually disgusting. I can’t believe I let either of you near me.”

Eddie was still grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been used as a human dildo and then immediately discarded in the rankings. He reached over and lazily dragged two fingers through the mess on your chest, smearing it a little before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking them clean with zero shame.

“Standing reservation,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Robin peeked at him through her fingers. “You’re not allowed to do that Munson. It’s rude.”

“Rude is my brand, Buckley,” Eddie shot back, but his voice had gone softer, warmer. He glanced between the two of you, something fond and a little overwhelmed flickering across his face. “You two are gonna be the death of me. I hope you know that.”

You smiled, still loose and satisfied, and reached over to rest your hand on Robin’s thigh while your other hand found Eddie’s.

“Worth it though,” you murmured.

Robin didn’t answer right away. She just let out a long, dramatic sigh and turned her head to look at you, then at Eddie, then back at you again.

“…Yeah,” she admitted quietly, a small, crooked smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah, it kinda was.”

[beasbrain]

10ThingsIHateAboutYou

description: you’re Hopper’s daughter, which means one thing: no dating. ever. unfortunately for Eleven, that also means she can’t date either, unless you do first. cue Mike and Dustin coming up with the worst (best) idea possible: paying Eddie to take you out. too bad you’re the last person in Hawkins who’d ever fall for it… right?

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: hoppers daughter! reader, enemies to lovers (or something like that...), punk x menace, you hate everyone but him (eventually), he falls first, persistent idiot x guarded girl, sibling dynamic with el, soft eddie munson, we love a mean girl with a soft center, slight angst

TW: deception/manipulation, mild angst

WC: 12.2k (sorry not sorry)

A/N: i just re-watched 10 Things I Hate About You for the millionth time and immediately caught inspo. it's taking everything out of me to not make this a series but i stay doing that to myself. reblogs are always appreciated :) enjoy!!!! <3

The road is quiet in that late-afternoon way Hawkins always seems to settle into, golden light stretching across the pavement, your window cracked just enough for the wind to tug at your hair and carry in the faint smell of something burning from someone’s backyard. 

You’re halfway through a cigarette you probably shouldn’t be smoking when you see them up ahead, two figures walking a little too close together to be accidental.

You don’t even have to squint to recognize Eleven in that oversized flannel she stole from your closet three weeks ago and never gave back.

You slow the car just slightly, not enough to be obvious, just enough to take it in. She’s looking up at Mike like he hung the goddamn moon, and he’s talking with his hands like he always does when he’s nervous, their shoulders brushing every few steps like it’s something they’re still getting used to but don’t want to stop.

It’s… harmless, objectively. Soft, even. The kind of thing most people would smile at.

You don’t.

You flick the ash out the window, press your foot back on the gas, and drive right past them without so much as a glance in their direction, because whatever this is, it’s not your problem. Not yet.

By the time you get home, Hopper’s truck isn’t in the driveway, which means you’ve got a small window of peace before the nightly interrogation disguised as dinner.

You take it without hesitation, tossing your keys on the counter and kicking your shoes off like the house belongs to you, because in every way that matters, it does.

El walks in about twenty minutes later.

You hear the door before you see her, the soft creak, the careful steps like she’s trying not to be noticed, which is almost funny considering the fact that she is, quite literally, impossible to ignore.

You’re leaning against the counter, flipping through some old magazine you found under a stack of mail, when she finally steps into the kitchen, pausing when she realizes you’re there.

Like a deer caught in headlights that doesn’t quite understand what a car is yet, but knows it should probably be afraid of it.

You don’t look up.

“You walk home?” you ask, voice casual in a way that’s almost too deliberate.

“Yes.”

You hum, turning a page. “Must’ve been a long walk.”

She doesn’t answer that, and for a second, you think she’s going to drop it, retreat, let it go the way you just did out on the road. But then she shifts, something in her posture tightening, like she’s bracing herself.

“I was with Mike.”

You glance up finally, one slow look that says everything you’re not bothering to put into words, and she lifts her chin just slightly under it, defiant in that quiet way of hers that almost makes you respect it.

“Congrats,” you say flatly, tossing the magazine back onto the counter. “Want a medal or are you just sharing?”

Her brows pull together. “You saw.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, reaching for the fridge like this conversation couldn’t matter less. “Hard to miss the whole hand-holding, walking-like-you’re-in-a-romance-movie thing.”

“It is not a movie,” she says, sharper now, stepping closer. “It is real.”

You close the fridge a little harder than necessary, turning to face her fully now, leaning back against the counter like you’ve got all the time in the world. 

“Then maybe you should be smarter about it.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you are smarter?”

“I know I am.”

You can see it in the way her jaw sets, the way her hands curl at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to do something she’ll regret.

“You don’t understand,” she says, voice tight. “You don’t even try.”

You let out a small laugh, not kind, not cruel, just dismissive. “Oh, I understand plenty. I just don’t care.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

You know it the second her expression shifts, something hurt flashing across her face before it hardens into something else. Something a little more calculated, a little more familiar to you than you’d like.

“You are alone,” she says quietly. “You push everyone away.”

You go still.

“And now you want me to be alone too.”

There’s a moment where you could back off, could soften it, could remind her that you won't say anything to Hopper.

“If you end up alone,” you say, voice even, “it won’t be because of me.”

The front door opens before she can respond.

Hopper fills the doorway like he always does, presence first, everything else second, shrugging off his jacket and glancing between the two of you like he already knows he walked into something he doesn’t have the patience for.

“Why do I feel like I missed a fight?” he mutters, heading toward the kitchen.

You push off the counter, grabbing your keys again. “Because you did.”

“Hey—”

“I’m going out,” you cut him off, already moving past him. “Don’t wait up.”

“Dinner’s in twenty—”

“Then eat it without me.”

You’re halfway out the door when El’s voice cuts through the air, quiet but deliberate.

“I was with Mike.”

Slowly, you turn back.

Hopper frowns. “You were what?”

El doesn’t look at you. She keeps her eyes on him.

“We were walking together. We are… dating.”

Hopper’s expression darkens. “No, you’re not.”

El’s chin lifts. “Yes. We are.”

You watch it unfold like a car crash you could’ve prevented but chose not to. Something almost detached settles over you as Hopper starts pacing, running a hand over his face.

He's already gearing up for a lecture that’s going to last longer than either of you has the patience for.

“I told you, no dating,” he says, voice rising. “You’re too young, you’re not—this is not happening.”

El’s gaze flickers, just briefly, toward you.

And then, like she’s made a decision. “Just because she does not date doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, because I don’t want to.”

Hopper looks between the two of you, something clicking into place in that stubborn, overprotective brain of his, and you can actually see the moment the worst possible idea forms.

“…Fine,” he says.

“If she wants to date,” he continues, pointing at El, “then the rule changes.”

“Dad—”

“No dating,” he says firmly, eyes locking onto yours now, “until you do.”

Silence. You stare at him, and he stares right back.

And then you laugh, full and sharp, like this is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

“That’s not a rule, that’s a death sentence for El.”

“And why would that be?” 

You roll your eyes. “Please. I would never date the neanderthals in this school if they were the last living organisms on earth.”

Hopper crosses his arms, satisfied. “Then I guess nobody’s dating.”

El’s lips press together, trying and failing to hide the smallest hint of disappointment.

You point at her. “This is on you.”

The next morning feels heavier for her in a way she can’t quite name.

Hawkins High hums the same as it always does, lockers slamming, voices overlapping, sneakers squeaking against the tile.

Eleven moves through it like something slightly out of place, like the rhythm doesn’t quite match her steps. 

People notice her before she notices them, and then they look away just as quickly, conversations dipping, shoulders angling.

A group of girls by the lockers goes quiet when she passes. One of them mutters something under her breath, not loud enough to repeat, just loud enough to land.

El doesn’t react outwardly, but her jaw tightens, her hands curling into the sleeves of her sweater as she keeps walking, eyes forward, because she’s learned that looking back only makes it worse.

She doesn’t understand all of it, but she understands enough.

She finds Mike and Dustin near their usual table, both of them mid-conversation, Dustin animated as always, Mike nodding along like he’s only half paying attention until he spots her.

His whole face changes. “Hey,” he says quickly, standing up like he always does, like it’s instinct now. “Hi.”

El slows when she reaches them, glancing briefly at Dustin before looking back at Mike.

“Hi.”

Dustin leans forward immediately, eyes flicking between them. “Okay, so, I feel like something happened because you look like you just came back from, like, emotional warfare—”

“El, did you get in trouble—” Mike starts, already bracing.

“It is worse,” El cuts in.

Mike’s brows pull together. “Worse than what?”

“Hopper made a new rule.”

Dustin groans immediately. “Oh, that’s never good. Last time there was a new rule I wasn’t allowed in your house for, like, a month—”

“He says I cannot date,” she continues, voice steady but tight, “until she does.”

Mike blinks. “Until… who does?”

El doesn’t have to say it. Their heads both turn slightly, almost in sync, scanning the cafeteria like they expect to spot you immediately.

Dustin’s mouth falls open. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not kidding.”

Mike runs a hand through his hair, already stressed. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not even fair.”

“It is not fair,” El agrees, sharper now. “It is stupid.”

Dustin nods emphatically. “Super stupid. Like, impressively stupid. Like, I didn’t even know you could make a rule that stupid—”

Mike cuts him off. “Okay, okay—wait.” He looks back at El. “Why would he do that?”

El’s expression shifts, something more complicated flickering there. “Because she does not date.”

“…At all?” Dustin asks.

El shakes her head. “She said she would ‘never date the neanderthals in this school.’”

Dustin lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s… harsh. I mean, not entirely inaccurate for some of the male population here, but still. Harsh.”

Mike doesn’t laugh; he’s busy thinking.

“I want to be with you,” she says quietly. “Not in secret. Not like… like something bad.”

Mike looks at her, and whatever frustration he had a second ago shifts into something more determined. “Yeah. I know. I want that too.”

Dustin straightens, eyes lighting up just a little, that familiar spark of an idea forming, whether anyone asked for it or not. “Okay, wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

Mike groans. “Dustin—”

“No, hear me out,” he insists, pointing between them. “If the rule is that she has to date someone, then all we have to do… is make that happen.”

Mike stares at him. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” Dustin says quickly. “I’m saying it’s… possible.”

El tilts her head slightly. “How?”

Dustin leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to propose something highly illegal, which, in his mind, is probably half the appeal.

“We find someone who’s willing to go out with her.”

Mike blinks. “And why would anyone do that?”

Dustin pauses, considers. Then slowly, a grin spreads across his face, the kind that usually means trouble. “…Incentive.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “Oh no. No, absolutely not—”

“It could work!” Dustin presses. “Think about it, man. We just need one guy, right? One guy who’s not completely terrified of her—”

“That’s already a short list,” Mike mutters.

“—and who doesn’t care about her whole… thing,” Dustin continues, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’d do it for the right price.”

El watches them, confusion knitting her brows. “You want to pay someone to date my sister?”

Mike winces. “When you say it like that—”

“That is what you are saying.”

Dustin shrugs. “I mean… yeah. But it’s not, like, real dating. It’s just…strategic.”

El looks between them, uncertainty flickering, but underneath it is something stronger. 

“If it works,” she says slowly, “the rule will change.”

Mike hesitates, then nods. “If it works… yeah.”

Dustin claps his hands together once, already scanning the cafeteria like he’s picking from a lineup.

“Okay. So. Who do we know that’s got a high tolerance for danger, questionable decision-making skills, and absolutely nothing to lose?”

There’s a pause. And then, almost simultaneously, both boys have the exact same thought.

Across the room, at a table that feels more like its own territory than part of the cafeteria, sits Eddie, boots up on the bench, laughing too loud at something one of the Hellfire guys just said, completely unaware that somewhere behind him, a very bad idea has just found its target.

They don’t move right away.

For a second, both of them just stand there, watching from a distance like they’re about to approach a wild animal that might be friendly but could just as easily bite.

Dustin shifts his weight from foot to foot while Mike very clearly considers abandoning the plan entirely.

“This is a terrible idea,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Dustin doesn’t disagree. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. But it’s also the only idea.”

Mike glances back at Eleven, still standing by the table, watching them with that quiet, unwavering expectation that makes it very hard to say no to her.

He sighs. “…Fine.”

The Hellfire table is loud in a way the rest of the cafeteria isn’t.

“Wheeler. Henderson,” Eddie drawls, leaning back slightly, a grin already forming like he can smell trouble from a mile away. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? You here to finally admit my campaign last night was amazing, or—”

“We need a favor,” Dustin blurts, cutting him off.

That gets his attention.

Eddie’s brows lift, interest piqued, grin sharpening into something more curious as he slowly lowers his boots from the chair.

“A favor,” he repeats. “From me.”

Mike crosses his arms, trying to look more confident than he feels. “Yeah.”

Eddie glances between them, taking in the tension, the way neither of them looks entirely sure about what they’re about to say, and it only makes him more entertained.

“This should be good,” he says, gesturing lazily. “Go on. Enlighten me.”

Dustin steps forward like he’s presenting a business proposal. “Okay, so. Hypothetically—”

“Oh, we’re starting with hypotheticals,” Eddie hums.

“—if someone,” Dustin continues, ignoring him, “needed you to, I don’t know, go out with someone—”

Eddie snorts. “Henderson, you’re gonna have to narrow it down. My dance card is shockingly empty.”

Mike cuts in, faster this time. “We’ll pay you.”

Eddie goes still for half a second, definitely caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting them to skip straight to that part.

“…You’ll what?” he says, slower now.

Dustin nods, serious. “Pay you.”

Eddie lets out a short laugh, dragging a hand down his face as he leans forward onto the table, eyes flicking between them like he’s trying to figure out if this is a joke he hasn’t been let in on yet.

“You’re offering me money,” he says carefully, “to go on a date.”

“Yes,” Mike says.

“With who?” Eddie asks, already half amused again.

Mike hesitates.

Dustin doesn’t.

“Hopper’s daughter.”

Eddie leans back in his seat, something thoughtful creeping into his expression now.

“…That Hopper’s daughter,” he repeats.

Mike nods. Eddie’s gaze drifts, almost unconsciously, across the cafeteria. It doesn’t take long to find you.

You’re not hard to spot, not because you’re loud or attention-seeking, but because people give you space without meaning to, a quiet radius that forms around you wherever you sit. 

You’re leaning back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, completely uninterested in anything happening around you.

Like the entire room is background noise you’ve already tuned out. He’s never talked to you, not once. But he knows you. Everyone does.

The attitude. The sharp tongue. The way you look at people like you’ve already decided exactly what they are and found it lacking.

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at them.

“…You want me,” he says slowly, “to go out with her.”

“Yes,” Dustin says again, like repetition might make it sound less insane.

Eddie exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he leans back, running his tongue over his teeth in thought.

“You guys have a death wish or something? I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at people. I’m pretty sure I’d burst into flames on contact.”

“You won’t,” Mike says quickly. “Probably.”

Eddie shoots him a look. “Reassuring.”

Dustin leans in. “Look, it doesn’t have to be real. You just have to take her out a couple times, make it believable, and that’s it.”

“Why?” he asks.

Mike hesitates. El answers from behind them.

“Because I want to be with him.”

All three of them turn.

El stands a few steps closer now, her gaze steady as it moves from Mike to Eddie, something earnest and unfiltered sitting right at its center.

“Hopper says I cannot date until she does,” she continues. “So she must.”

Eddie’s expression shifts, just slightly, and he glances back at you again. You haven’t noticed him. Or maybe you have, and you just don’t care.

Either way, it does something strange in his chest, something he doesn’t quite have a name for. He looks back at Dustin and Mike.

“…And you’re paying me,” he says.

Dustin nods eagerly. “Yes.”

Eddie taps his fingers against the table, thinking.

“You do realize,” he says after a moment, “this is gonna blow up in your faces, right? Like, spectacularly. Possibly with casualties.”

“Probably,” Mike admits.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. Then, almost absently, his eyes flick back to you one more time, alone at your table.

He tilts his head, something like a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“…Alright,” he says.

Mike blinks. “Wait—seriously?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing himself up from the chair, grabbing his jacket like he’s already halfway committed before he’s even finished deciding.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good cause.”

Dustin grins. “And the money.”

Eddie points at him. “And the money.”

Then he glances back at you, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he’s studying something he doesn’t quite understand yet but very much intends to.

“…Plus,” he adds, almost to himself, “I’ve never met a dragon I didn’t want to try and charm.”

Mike groans. “Please don’t call her that to her face.”

Eddie’s grin widens. “No promises.”

The bell cuts through the cafeteria, sharp and final, and the room shifts all at once, chairs scraping, conversations breaking, bodies funneling toward the exits in a familiar, restless wave.

You don’t rush, you never do.

You take your time gathering your things, sliding your bag over your shoulder, letting the crowd thin just enough that you don’t have to fight your way through it.

You don’t notice him at first, not until he’s already there.

Falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like this isn’t the first time he’s ever willingly placed himself in your orbit.

“Hey,” Eddie says easily, turning slightly so he’s walking half backward just to catch your eye, a crooked grin already in place. “Hopper, right?”

You don’t stop, you don’t even look at him.

“Do I know you?” you ask flatly, eyes fixed ahead.

He presses a hand dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. That’s cold. I’m hurt.”

“Tragic.”

He snorts, clearly entertained, and then, without missing a beat, sticks his hand out between you like he’s introducing himself at a business meeting. 

“Eddie. Munson. Local celebrity, part-time academic menace, full-time delight. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

You glance down at his hand. Then back up at him. And just… stare.

He holds it there a second longer than most people would, grin twitching slightly at the edges as he realizes exactly what’s happening, and then he exhales a quiet laugh, dropping it back to his side.

“Alright, tough crowd,” he mutters, half to himself.

You keep walking.

“So,” he continues, undeterred, falling back into step beside you like he’s decided this is a long game. “I was thinking, dangerous, I know, but maybe you and I could—”

“No.”

He blinks. “I didn’t even finish the sentence.”

“I didn’t need you to.”

That earns a laugh, low and surprised, like he wasn’t expecting you to shut him down that fast but he’s not exactly mad about it either.

“Okay, fair,” he concedes, nodding like you’ve made a solid point. “But hypothetically, if I had finished the sentence—”

“You shouldn’t.”

You cut around a group of people blocking the hallway, not slowing, not adjusting your pace to make room for him.

He sidesteps neatly back into place beside you, hands slipping into his jacket pockets, glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he’s studying a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

“You always this friendly,” he asks, “or am I just special?”

You let out a quiet, humorless breath. “You’re not special.”

“Ouch,” he says, though there’s no real sting to it, just amusement. “Gonna have to try harder, I see.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial without acknowledging him, and he leans casually against the one next to yours like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“I mean, come on,” he goes on, softer now, less performative, more coaxing. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”

“I don’t care about your pitch.”

“Not even a little curious?”

You glance at him then, finally, just a flick of your eyes.

“…No.”

He grins, like that’s the answer he wanted.

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” he says, pushing off the locker, stepping just a little closer. “Because if you were really not curious, you would’ve told me to shut up and left already.”

You slam your locker shut. “I’m telling you to shut up now.”

He laughs, full and unbothered. “There she is.”

You sling your bag back over your shoulder, turning to walk away again, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like this is just how things are now.

“Just one shot,” he says, holding up a finger. “One sentence. If you hate it, I’ll disappear, never bother you again, you can go back to your regularly scheduled brooding—”

“You’re already bothering me.”

“—but if you don’t hate it,” he continues smoothly, ignoring that, “you hear me out.”

You stop again, slowly.

“…You have one sentence,” you say.

His grin comes back, slower this time, a little more careful.

“Go out with me.”

Silence. You stare at him, and he holds it, waiting.

And then you let out a short laugh, like he’s just confirmed exactly what you thought about him the second he opened his mouth.

“Absolutely not.” And just like that, you turn and walk away, not even giving him the chance to respond this time.

Behind you, Eddie just watches you go, something thoughtful settling in behind the amusement. Then he huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he falls back a step.

“…Alright,” he mutters to himself, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Challenge accepted.”

By the time the plan reaches its next phase, it already feels like something that’s gotten out of hand. Not that that stops them.

The cabin is quiet when they get there. Late afternoon light spills through the windows, warm and low, dust floating lazily in the air like the place is holding its breath, and Eleven pushes the door open without hesitation.

The boys follow more cautiously.

Mike lingers just inside the doorway, already tense, eyes darting around like Hopper might materialize out of thin air, while Dustin closes the door behind them with a soft click, lowering his voice instinctively.

“This feels illegal,” Eddie whispers.

“It is not illegal,” El says, already moving toward the hallway. “It is necessary.”

Mike runs a hand through his hair. “We’re going through her stuff.”

El pauses, glancing back at him. “We are learning.”

“That’s worse.”

They find your room easily.

The door’s half-open, like you never bothered to shut it fully, and there’s something about that alone that makes all four of them hesitate for a second.

Dustin pushes it open anyway.

“Okay,” he says under his breath, stepping inside. “Recon mission.”

The room is exactly what Eddie expected. And not at all.

It’s not messy, not really, but it’s not polished either, not curated in that way some people’s rooms are.

Yours feels lived in, real. Clothes draped over the back of a chair, books stacked unevenly on your nightstand, a jacket tossed carelessly across the end of your bed like you’ll come back for it later.

There are posters on the wall, and not the ones people expect. Not pop stars or clean-cut bands, but darker, louder things, edges curling slightly at the corners, ink-heavy designs that feel more like statements than decoration.

Eddie steps further in, slower than the others, gaze dragging across the details, taking it in piece by piece like he’s reading something written in a language he almost understands.

“…Huh,” he says quietly.

Dustin’s already at your shelf, flipping through a stack of vinyls with growing enthusiasm. “Oh, this is gold. This is gold—she’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”

Mike’s still hovering, arms crossed. “Can we not touch everything?”

“We’re not touching everything,” Dustin argues. “We’re strategically observing.”

“You’re holding it.”

“That’s part of observing.”

El moves toward your desk, fingers brushing lightly over the surface, pausing on a notebook left half-open, but she doesn’t flip through it. Not that.

Even she seems to recognize there’s a line somewhere.

Eddie, meanwhile, drifts closer to your wall. He studies the posters more carefully now, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit as something clicks into place.

“…She’s not just mean,” he says, almost absently.

Mike glances over. “What?”

Eddie gestures vaguely at the wall. “This stuff—this isn’t random. She’s got a whole thing going on. It’s like…” He trails off, searching for the word, then shrugs. “Curated chaos.”

Dustin snorts. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” Eddie shoots back, though his attention’s already shifted again, scanning the room like he’s trying to piece together a person out of fragments.

There’s something quieter in him now. Less show, more interest.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t need to, but it’s there in the way he lingers, the way he notices things the others don’t, the way his gaze softens just slightly when it lands on something small, something personal.

On your nightstand. A folded piece of paper sticks out from under a book, worn at the edges like it’s been handled more than once, and Dustin, of course, zeroes in on it immediately.

“Ooh, what’s this—”

“Don’t,” Mike says quickly.

Too late. Dustin pulls it free, unfolding it with zero hesitation, eyes scanning over it before lighting up.

“No way.”

“What?” Mike asks, stepping closer despite himself.

Dustin turns it so they can see. Tickets. Two of them. Worn slightly at the corners, like they’ve been sitting there for a while, waiting.

“To a show,” Dustin says, unnecessarily.

Eddie steps in closer, eyes dropping to the print, and something in his expression shifts again, sharper this time, recognition sparking.

“…You’re kidding me,” he murmurs.

El tilts her head. “What is it?”

Eddie reaches out, not taking the tickets, just brushing his fingers lightly against the edge like he needs to confirm they’re real. “This is—”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “—The Misfits,” he finishes.

Dustin blinks. “Is that… good?”

Eddie looks at him like he just asked if oxygen is optional.

“Is that good? Henderson, that’s not just good, that’s—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, still half smiling. “That’s not exactly mainstream around here, alright? That’s… specific.”

Mike frowns slightly. “So she likes them?”

Eddie exhales, glancing around the room again, like everything suddenly makes a little more sense. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, she does.”

Dustin’s grin creeps back in, slow and deliberate. “Okay. So. We use that.”

Mike hesitates. “Use it how?”

Dustin gestures with the tickets. “Conversation piece.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at the tickets, at your room. At the pieces of you scattered around it like clues he didn’t expect to care about.

“…That’s not a terrible idea,” he admits finally, quieter than before.

Mike stares at him. “You’re actually considering this.”

Eddie glances at him, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I told you. I like a challenge.”

But it’s not just that anymore.

“…Guess I’ve got my opening line.”

The bell above the door gives a soft, tired jingle when it opens, the kind that’s been rung a thousand times and stopped caring somewhere around the five hundredth. You don’t look up right away.

The record store is slow this time of day, the low hum of music drifting through the speakers, something scratchy and familiar playing from behind the counter as you flip through a stack of new arrivals, reorganizing them more out of habit than necessity.

“Afternoon,” you say flatly, still not looking.

“Yeah, I’m hoping it gets better from here.”

You freeze for half a second. Then slowly, you lift your head.

Eddie stands just inside the doorway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who very much does not belong here.

Your eyes narrow instantly. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He grins like that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “Miss me?”

“No.”

“Cold,” he hums, stepping further inside, gaze drifting lazily over the shelves like he’s browsing. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You weren’t.”

“Okay, no,” he concedes easily. “I wasn’t.”

You go back to what you were doing, dismissing him with the same efficiency you would anyone else you don’t care to deal with.

“Then leave.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he wanders closer to the counter, fingers brushing along the edge of a display, scanning the titles like he’s genuinely interested. Even though the slight tilt of his mouth says he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“So,” he starts casually, like you’re in the middle of a normal conversation. “You got any Misfits vinyls in stock, or am I gonna have to take my business elsewhere?”

That stops you.

“…You like the Misfits?” you ask, tone edged with suspicion more than curiosity.

He catches it immediately, doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah. Shocking, I know. Dude in a leather jacket listens to loud, obnoxious music. Real plot twist.”

You step closer, bracing your hands on the counter, gaze locking onto his like you’re trying to catch him in something.

“Name three songs.”

He blinks once. Then huffs a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Gatekeeping. Love that for you.”

“Name them,” you repeat, unmoved.

He studies you for a second, something amused flickering in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“…‘Last Caress,’ ‘Hybrid Moments,’ ‘Where Eagles Dare,’” he says easily, ticking them off on his fingers. “Want me to keep going or—?”

You hold his gaze a second longer. Then lean back slightly, crossing your arms.

“…Lucky guesses.”

“Ouch,” he says, though he’s smiling again, a little softer this time, like he’s pleased he got under your skin even a fraction. “You wound me.”

You turn, gesturing vaguely toward the back. “Third crate. Don’t touch anything you’re not buying.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He finds the crate easily, crouching down to flip through it, but he doesn’t speak right away this time.

But, after a moment: “Minor Threat, huh?”

You don’t turn around. “What about them?”

He glances up at you from where he’s crouched, one brow lifting. “Didn’t peg you for the straight-edge type.”

“I’m not.”

He hums, flipping to the next record. “Bad Brains.”

You go still. “…You’re just naming bands now?”

“Descendents,” he adds, like he didn’t hear you.

“How do you know that?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Eddie doesn’t answer right away.

He stands, dusting his hands off on his jeans, expression shifting just slightly, and meets your gaze.

“I pay attention,” he says simply.

You search his face, like you’re trying to find the angle, the trick, the punchline that hasn’t landed yet.

“…That’s creepy,” you decide finally.

He exhales a soft laugh, nodding like he’ll take that. “Yeah. Little bit.”

You shake your head, turning away again, but it’s not the same dismissal as before. There’s something else under it now, something you don’t quite like.

“You’re not getting a discount.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So,” he tries again, a little lighter now, easing back into that easy charm like he never left it. “You work here often, or is this a special occasion thing?”

You don’t miss a beat. “I’m here every day.”

“Good,” he says.

That makes you look at him again. “…Why?”

He shrugs, picking a record from the crate, holding it up like that’s his whole answer.

“Makes it easier to come back.”

You stare at him longer this time. Trying to decide if he’s serious. Trying to decide if you care.

“…Buy something or leave,” you say finally, turning back toward the counter, but your voice isn’t quite as sharp as it was when he walked in.

Behind you, Eddie just smiles to himself, something thoughtful tucked behind it as he glances down at the vinyl in his hands.

Hook set, whether you realize it or not. The next day, the idea finds him again before he can talk himself out of it.

You’re at your locker when he spots you.

Same as yesterday. Same hallway, same noise, same carefully maintained distance people keep from you like it’s second nature.

You’re leaning slightly into the metal, spinning the dial with that absent, disinterested look like none of this matters, like none of them matter.

He watches you for a second, then pushes off the wall and heads over.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie Munson calls lightly as he approaches, like this is already a routine between you. Like you didn’t shut him down less than twenty-four hours ago.

You don’t even look up. “Wrong person.”

He grins. “Debatable.”

You slam your locker shut, finally turning to face him, unimpressed as ever. “What do you want, Munson?”

“No hello?” he hums. “No, ‘how’ve you been, Eddie, light of my life, bane of my existence’?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Good,” he says easily. “This’ll be quick.”

That makes you pause, just slightly.

“There’s a party tonight,” he continues, casual, like it’s nothing, like he’s not watching your reaction a little too closely. “At Nancy Wheeler’s place. Parents are out of town, whole suburban rebellion thing, you know the drill.”

You blink once. “…And?”

“And,” he says, stepping a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough to keep your attention, “you should come.”

Then you laugh.

“I’d rather die.”

He winces theatrically. “Jesus. You always go straight to homicide, or is that just me?”

You shoulder your bag, already turning away. “Find someone else to bother.”

“I did,” he calls after you. “Didn’t take.”

That slows you down. You glance back, eyes narrowing. “…What.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like this isn’t the entire point. “Figured I’d aim higher.”

You stare at him, and he holds it. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence with a joke.

“…I don’t think so,” you say finally.

He tilts his head, considering you, something softer slipping into his expression for half a second before the grin comes back.

“Alright,” he says.

You turn away again, done with it.

“Pick you up at eight.”

You stop.

“…I didn’t say yes.”

“You also didn’t say no,” he shoots back immediately.

You turn, ready to argue, but he’s already walking backward down the hall, hands up in surrender, grin wide and unbothered.

“Eight o’clock, sweetheart!” he calls. “Wear something scary!”

You watch him go. Annoyed... and something else you refuse to name.

That night, the cabin is quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that means something’s about to go wrong.

Eleven moves carefully, slow steps down the hallway, shoes in her hand, eyes flicking toward the living room like she expects Hopper to appear at any second.

She makes it halfway to the door.

“Where are you going?”

She freezes. Hopper stands in the doorway, arms crossed, already unimpressed.

“…Out,” she says.

“Out,” he repeats flatly. “At night. Without telling me.”

She hesitates, then lifts her chin slightly. “There is a party.”

“Oh, there is a party,” he echoes. “And you’re just gonna—what—sneak out and go to it?”

She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

Hopper shakes his head, already gearing up.

“No. Absolutely not. We talked about this—no dating, no parties, no—”

“She is going.”

Both of them turn.

You’re leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, already in something that looks like you might leave the house even if you haven’t admitted it yet.

Hopper frowns. “She is not—”

“I am,” El insists, stepping closer. “Because she is coming with me.”

You scoff immediately. “No, I’m not.”

El turns to you. And then, she does it: big eyes, slight tilt of her head.

That quiet, stubborn softness that somehow hits harder than any argument she could make. You stare at her.

“…No,” you repeat.

She doesn’t look away. “Please.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand over your face like this is physically painful for you.

“You don’t even know those people.”

“I know Mike.”

Hopper groans. “We are not doing this again—”

You glance at him, back at her, then at the door.

“…Fine,” you snap finally. “But if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

El’s face lights up just slightly. Victory.

Hopper points between the two of you. “No. No, no, no—hold on, I didn’t agree to this—”

Too late. There’s a knock at the door, and all three of you freeze.

You close your eyes briefly.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hopper squints toward the door. “Who is that?”

Another knock. Louder this time. You push off the wall with a sigh, already heading for it.

“A mistake,” you mutter under your breath.

When you open it, there he is.

Eddie, leaning casually against the frame like he’s been there for a while, like this is perfectly normal, like showing up early to something you never agreed to is just part of his charm.

He looks you up and down once, quick. Then grins.

“…Eight o’clock felt a little late,” he says. “Figured I’d get a head start.”

You stare at him. Behind you, Hopper steps closer.

“…What the hell is this?” he asks.

Eddie straightens, instantly switching gears, hand coming up in an almost too-friendly wave. “Evening, Chief.”

You drag a hand down your face. “This,” you say flatly, “is exactly why I don’t go out.”

The drive is louder than it needs to be.

Not because of conversation, there isn’t much of that, but because Eddie keeps the music just a little too high, fingers tapping against the wheel, glancing at you every so often like he’s checking to see if you’re still there.

You sit with your elbow hooked out the window, gaze fixed on the blur of trees and streetlights, cigarette smoke trailing behind you, acting like he’s not there at all.

He doesn’t push it, not yet.

The house is already packed by the time you pull up.

Cars line the street, music spilling out through the walls, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest before you even make it to the front door.

El is out of the van the second it stops, practically sprinting toward the house like she’s been waiting for this all week.

“Hey—don’t—” you start, but she’s already gone.

Eddie watches her disappear inside, then looks at you, one brow lifting slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“…After you.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him without a word, pushing the door open like you own the place, like you’re not even slightly out of your element.

The noise hits you all at once. Laughter, shouting, music too loud for the speakers it’s coming from, bodies moving through the space in a chaotic, overlapping rhythm. You head straight for the kitchen.

It’s instinct at this point, find the drinks, find something to do with your hands, something to anchor you in a room you already know you don’t want to be in. Eddie follows.

Not hovering exactly, but close enough that you’re aware of him, that steady presence at your side as you weave through people, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the way heads turn just a little too slowly as you pass.

It doesn’t take long. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

You don’t even have to turn to know the tone, but you do anyway.

A couple of guys leaning against the counter, red cups in hand, smirks already in place like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“The shrew herself,” one of them adds, louder this time, making sure people nearby can hear.

“Bite me,” you say flatly, already reaching past them for a drink like they’re nothing.

“God,” Eddie murmurs, just low enough for you to hear, “you’re terrifying.”

You crack open the drink, not looking at him. “Then why are you still here?”

He shrugs, grabbing one for himself. “I’ve got a thing for danger.”

You take a sip, letting the noise of the party settle around you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

For Eddie, that’s new.

Instead, he just stands there, shoulder brushing yours when someone squeezes past, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with the space between you.

You glance up at him.

“Why did you want me to come, anyway?” you say, nodding toward the crowd. "What's in it for you?"

He looks down at you, like he didn’t expect the question. “What, I can’t invite someone to a party without ulterior motives?”

“You?” you say, arching a brow. “No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, bringing the cup to his lips.

He takes a sip, pauses, then grimaces immediately. “…Yeah. Okay. That’s foul.”

You almost smile, and he catches it.

“Was that—” he leans in a little, eyes bright, voice dropping like he’s in on a secret, “—was that a smile?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he says easily. “Already planning my future around it.”

You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your expression now. He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then shrugs, a little less guarded this time.

“And for the record,” he adds, quieter, “I didn’t come for the party.”

You glance at him. “No?”

“Nah.” A small, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “I came for the part where you show up and pretend you don’t hate me for a couple hours.”

That does it. You smile fully, just a little. And he looks like he just won something.

Across the room, the party swells, louder, messier, people spilling into hallways, voices rising, music shifting tracks. 

But Eddie sticks by your side.

The kitchen settles around you in waves, people rotating in and out, laughter rising and falling, and somehow, without you noticing exactly when it happened, you stop counting the seconds until you can leave. Eddie’s still there.

Leaning back against the counter now, one foot hooked behind the other, drink forgotten in his hand as he talks, like this is easy, like you’re easy, like the whole thing isn’t supposed to be an uphill battle.

“…and then Henderson swears the dice are cursed,” he’s saying, gesturing with his hands, animated in a way that should be annoying but isn’t, not really.

“Like, full conspiracy, thinks the entire campaign is rigged against him personally, which—honestly—not entirely wrong, but still.”

You glance at him, eyebrow lifting slightly. “You rig your own games?”

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “I’m a tyrant. A menace. It’s in the job description.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He grins. “That’s leadership.”

You huff out a quiet breath, something that’s dangerously close to a laugh, and he catches it immediately, eyes lighting up like he’s just hit a milestone.

“There it is again,” he says, pointing at you. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna push it,” he says easily. “That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You shake your head, taking another sip of your drink, but you don’t shut him down. He seems to clock that too, something softer settling into his expression for a second before he covers it with another smirk.

“So what,” he goes on, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own, testing the boundary. “You just sit around all day, scaring small children and rejecting perfectly charming invitations, or—”

“Children scare easily.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see why.”

You glance at him again, like you’re trying to figure out what his angle is and coming up short.

“…You talk a lot,” you say.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my many endearing qualities.”

“It’s not.”

“Agree to disagree.”

There’s a pause. Then, before you can stop it, you laugh.

It slips out of you like you didn’t mean for it to, like it caught you off guard just as much as it does him.

Eddie goes quiet, like he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“Wow,” he says after a second, softer now, something genuine threading through the usual humor. “Okay. That— that was worth the price of admission.”

You roll your eyes immediately, the moment passing just as quickly as it came. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But he’s still smiling. Not the loud, performative grin from earlier.

“Hey—” You both turn.

Nancy stands a few steps away, red cup in hand, looking pleasantly surprised, like she almost didn’t believe it when she heard you were here.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless from weaving through the crowd. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

You shrug, already bracing for whatever comment’s coming next. “I didn’t plan on it.”

Nancy’s eyes flick briefly to Eddie, then back to you, something knowing in her expression that you immediately don’t trust.

“Well,” she says, smiling slightly, “I’m glad you did. It’s… nice to see you out of your shell.”

You stare at her. “I don’t have a shell.”

Eddie snorts into his drink.

Nancy laughs softly, unfazed. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

She just shakes her head, still smiling, like she’s decided not to push it, and takes a step back. “Just—have fun, okay?”

He glances at you, one brow lifting. “Out of your shell, huh.”

“Say one more word, and I’m leaving.”

He holds his hands up immediately. “Hey, hey—zip it. Noted.”

Then, quieter, “For what it’s worth,” he adds, nudging your shoulder again, gentler this time, “I think you’re doing great.”

You don’t respond. But you don’t pull away, either. And that’s enough for him.

The Hideout isn’t trying to impress anyone.

Dim lights, sticky floors, a stage that’s seen better decades, the low hum of a crowd that feels more like background noise than the main event.

It’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect Eddie to bring someone.

It’s not the kind of place you expected to like. And yet…

You’re sitting across from him in a cracked vinyl booth, one leg tucked under you, drink sweating in your hand as he tells stories.

Dumb ones, mostly, about Hellfire campaigns and arguments over rules and how Henderson once tried to “unionize the party,” whatever that means.

You don’t fully understand half of it, but you listen anyway.

“…and then he goes, ‘you can’t just kill my character because I questioned your authority,’” Eddie finishes, shaking his head, clearly still entertained by it. “And I’m like, ‘watch me.’”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

You take a sip of your drink, studying him over the rim of the glass, something quieter settling in your chest, something unfamiliar and a little unsettling. Because he’s not what you expected, not entirely.

He’s loud, yeah. Annoying. Persistent in a way that should get under your skin more than it does. But he’s also gentle, in strange, fleeting ways.

Like the way he slid into the booth first, so you wouldn’t have to squeeze past anyone. The way he asked what you wanted before ordering, like it mattered. The way he listens when you do speak, even if you only give him scraps.

It’s disarming. You don’t like that.

“…What,” he says suddenly, catching your gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You roll your eyes, looking away. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I,” he hums, leaning forward just slightly, like he’s trying to catch your eye again. “Because I’m pretty sure that was a nice look.”

“Don’t push it.”

He grins, softer this time. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then he reaches across the table, not touching you, just tapping his fingers lightly against the surface like he’s resisting the urge to close the distance.

“I’m glad you came,” he says.

Simple, no joke attached. You don’t answer right away.

“…Me too,” you admit, quieter.

His expression shifts, just a fraction, something warm flickering there before he looks away, like he needs a second to recover from it.

“Careful,” he says lightly. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna think you actually like me.”

You scoff. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But there’s no bite to it, not really.

You don’t realize how far you’ve let your guard down until you stand up to go to the bathroom and he doesn’t follow. You don’t expect him to, but you notice it anyway.

The hallway’s quieter, the music muffled, the buzz of the bar fading just enough that you can hear your own thoughts again, and for a second, you let yourself breathe.

This was a mistake; it has to be. You don’t do this. You don’t sit in booths and laugh at stupid stories and let people get close enough to matter.

And yet...You push the bathroom door open, splash water on your hands, stare at your reflection for a second longer than necessary, then head back out.

You hear it before you see them.

“…I’m just saying, man, you better get your cut.”

You slow, just slightly. Voices from around the corner, familiar in that distant way you recognize but don’t care enough to place.

“Yeah, seriously,” another one adds. “How much is Henderson even paying you for going out with Hopper’s daughter again?”

Your stomach drops, cold and sharp. You step around the corner, and there he is.

Eddie, leaning back against the wall, a couple of Hellfire guys clustered around him, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke that doesn’t have a target. Like it’s not you.

He doesn’t laugh, not really. But he doesn’t shut it down fast enough.

“…It’s not—” he starts. Too late.

They notice you, and the laughter dies. Eddie’s head snaps up. And the second his eyes meet yours, he knows.

“Hey—” he says, pushing off the wall immediately, something urgent in his tone now. “It’s not like that—”

You let out a short, hollow laugh. “Wow.”

He stops a few feet in front of you, hands half-raised like he’s approaching something fragile, something that might shatter if he moves too fast. “I can explain—”

“That’s rich,” you cut him off, voice low and sharp, eyes burning into him. “'Nothing in it for you', huh?”

“I was going to tell you,” he insists, stepping closer. “I just—”

“When,” you snap. “After you got paid? Or were you waiting on a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“It’s not about the money anymore,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

You laugh again, harsher this time. “Oh, please.”

“I mean it,” he says, more forcefully now, frustration bleeding through. “Yeah, it started that way, I’m not gonna lie to you, but that’s not what this is now—”

“You expect me to believe that,” you cut in, stepping back, putting space between you like you need it to breathe. “You expect me to believe you suddenly just—what—like me?”

“Yes,” he says. No hesitation, no joke. It almost makes it worse.

You shake your head, backing up another step, something tight and ugly twisting in your chest that you refuse to name.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you mutter.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this—”

“You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” you correct.

You swallow hard, forcing your expression back into something colder, something safer, something that doesn’t let any of that hurt show through.

“Don’t follow me,” you say flatly.

Then you turn and walk out. Leaving him standing there, the noise of the bar rushing back in around him, the taste of something good turning bitter in his mouth before he even has time to process how badly he just screwed it up.

The next morning feels different.

Not in the way anyone else would notice, not in the noise or the routine or the way Hawkins High hums along like nothing ever really changes, but in the space around you.

You move through the hallway like you always do, head high, eyes forward, expression locked into something unreadable, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharper, like you’ve sealed something off and thrown away the key.

People still move out of your way; they always do. But this time, you don’t even register them.

Eddie is leaning against a row of lockers, mid-conversation with one of the Hellfire guys, but the second you round the corner, his attention shifts completely, like everything else drops out of focus.

He pushes off the wall without thinking. “Hey—”

You don’t slow.

“Hey,” he tries again, falling into step beside you, voice lower this time, less show, more real. “Can we just—”

“No.” Not even a glance.

He exhales, quick, frustrated, but keeps pace anyway.

“Just listen for a second, okay? I know you’re pissed, I get that, but I—”

“I’m not pissed,” you cut in, voice flat. You keep walking. “I just don’t care,” you finish.

He hovers there for a second, like he’s been physically pushed back, then jogs a step to catch up again, not ready to let it go.

“That’s not true,” he says, quieter now, almost like he’s trying not to spook you. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t,” you snap, finally turning to face him, eyes sharp enough to cut. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He lifts his hands slightly, backing off just a fraction. “I’m not—”

“You lied,” you say simply.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” he pushes, something desperate creeping in now. “I meant what I said—”

“Which part?” you cut in. “The part where you asked me out, or the part where you cashed the check.”

A couple of people nearby slow down, sensing tension, but neither of you notices or cares.

Eddie swallows, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that.”

You step back, putting space between you again, shutting it down before he can try to spin it into something softer.

“Find someone else to entertain you,” you say, voice cold. “I’m done.”

And this time, you walk away without stopping. Without looking back. Without giving him anything to hold onto.

He just stands there for a second, staring after you, something tight and frustrated and stuck settling in his chest.

“…Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Eddie drops into the seat across from them harder than necessary.

Dustin startles. “Jesus—”

“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie says flatly.

Mike winces immediately. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Eddie drags a hand down his face. “No, like—won’t. Won’t even look at me. I tried this morning and she just—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s like I don’t exist.”

El looks up at that. “You hurt her.”

Eddie exhales, nodding once. “Yeah. I got that part.”

Mike leans forward, lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t have let it go on that long.”

“I didn’t let anything—” Eddie starts, then stops, because he knows how it sounds, because he knows they’re not wrong. “…Okay, yeah. I did. I know.”

Dustin folds his arms. “So what’s the plan now?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

They all look at each other. No immediate answer. Which is… not encouraging.

“You apologize,” Mike says finally.

“I did.”

“No, like—actually apologize,” Dustin adds. “Not the whole ‘I’m sorry but also here’s why I’m still kind of right’ thing you do.”

“I didn’t do that,” Eddie argues.

“You definitely did that,” Mike says.

Eddie groans, dropping his head briefly into his hands. “Okay, fine, whatever, I’ll apologize better. Then what?”

El watches him for a second, quiet, thoughtful. “You tell the truth,” she says.

He looks up at her. “I did.”

She shakes her head slightly. “Not just about the money. About… everything.”

Eddie leans back in his seat, staring at the table like it might give him an answer he doesn’t already know.

“…She doesn’t believe me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even if I say it, she’s just gonna think it’s another lie.”

“Then don’t make it sound like one,” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “Helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Dustin insists. “You can’t just charm your way out of this one, man. That’s like—your whole thing. She’s not gonna buy it.”

Mike nods. “You need to… prove it.”

Eddie glances between them. “How.”

El speaks again. “Do something for her,” she says simply.

He frowns. “Like what.”

She shrugs, small, but certain. “Something she would know is real.”

Your room feels smaller than it usually does. Not physically, nothing’s changed.

Same half-made bed, same stack of books by the nightstand, same records leaning against the wall like you meant to put them away and never did.

But it’s quieter in a way that presses in on you, like the air’s heavier, like everything’s waiting for you to do something you’re not going to do.

You’re stretched out on your bed, a book open in your hands, eyes moving over the same paragraph for the third time without actually reading a word of it.

It’s stupid, all of it. You knew better. You always know better.

A knock breaks the silence. You don’t look up.

“Go away.”

A pause. Then, softer, “Please.”

You close your eyes briefly, irritation flickering up fast and familiar.

“I said go away, El.”

The handle rattles, and you hear her try it once. Twice. Then: a quiet click.

Your head snaps up just as the door pushes open. Anger hits first.

You sit up fast, book forgotten as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, already moving.

“I told you not to do that anymore,” you snap, voice rising as you step toward the door. “What part of that is confusing to you, you little—”

You stop. Because it’s not just Eleven standing there. She’s off to the side, watching.

And in the doorway, Eddie. The anger doesn’t disappear. If anything, it sharpens.

“What the hell is this,” you say, colder now, folding your arms like that’s enough to hold yourself together. “You recruiting now?”

El looks between the two of you.

“He wants to talk,” she says.

“I don’t.”

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to push into the room, doesn’t lean, doesn’t grin. He just stands there, hands empty, like he’s not sure what he’s allowed to do.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”

You scoff, looking away. “Then what are you doing here.”

“I gave it back,” he says.

You glance at him. “…What.”

“The money,” he clarifies, swallowing once. “I gave it back to Henderson. All of it. Told him I’m out.”

You stare at him, searching. For the angle, the lie, the performance.

“…Why.”

He lets out a breath, dragging a hand briefly through his hair before dropping it again, like he doesn’t want to hide behind the motion.

“Because it’s not what I want,” he says.

You don’t react.

“Wasn’t at first,” he adds, honest in a way that almost makes you more irritated than if he’d tried to sugarcoat it. “I’m not gonna pretend it was. But somewhere in there, it stopped being about that.”

You shake your head slightly, a bitter laugh slipping out. “And I’m supposed to just believe that.”

“No,” he says immediately.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say,” he continues, voice steady, even if there’s something tight underneath it. “I just… needed to say it.”

El shifts slightly by the door, unsure, watching both of you like she’s waiting for something to break.

You look at Eddie again. No grin, no attitude, no bullshit.

“…You should’ve told me,” you say, quieter now, but no less sharp.

“I know.”

“Before.”

“I know.”

“You let me sit there,” you continue, stepping a little closer, not soft, in your anger now, “and actually think you—” You cut yourself off, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t fill the space.

“That part wasn’t fake,” he says instead, softer.

You laugh, but it’s weaker this time. “That’s convenient.”

“I liked you,” he says. “I like you. That didn’t start with the money and it didn’t end when I gave it back.”

You shake your head again, but there’s less certainty in it now, less bite.

“You’re such an idiot,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he says, a little breath of a laugh slipping through. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he adds.

Your eyes flick back up to his.

“I’m not asking you to go out with me again,” he continues. “Or even talk to me after this.”

“I just didn’t want you thinking it was all fake,” he finishes. “Because it wasn’t.”

You don’t move, and you don’t respond.

Just stand there, caught somewhere between the version of him you decided on and the one standing in front of you now.

Behind him, El watches, quiet, hopeful in a way she’s trying not to show.

You exhale slowly, dragging a hand over your face.

“…You’re still an asshole,” you say finally.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“And you showed up to my house uninvited.”

He glances at El. “…Yeah.”

“And she broke into my room.”

“She did.”

You look at him for another second. Then, “…But you gave the money back.”

It’s not a question. He shakes his head.

“Didn’t feel right keeping it.”

“…That was stupid,” you decide.

A corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, softer now, something shifting under the surface whether you like it or not. “You could’ve at least kept it.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Thought about it.”

“…You still owe me a real date,” you say.

His head tilts, like he’s not entirely sure he heard you right. “…I do?”

You roll your eyes immediately, looking away like you already regret it. “Don’t make it weird.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across his face. Not big. Not cocky. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You cross your arms again, trying to regain some control over the situation. “And if you screw it up again, I’m not giving you another chance.”

“Fair.”

“And you’re not picking me up early this time.”

He nods, serious. “Eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock,” you confirm.

Behind him, El’s face brightens just slightly, relief slipping through before she quickly tries to hide it. You catch it anyway.

“Get out,” you tell her flatly. She doesn’t argue this time. Just turns and disappears down the hallway.

You look back at Eddie. He lingers in the doorway for a second longer, like he’s making sure this is real, like you didn’t just shut the door on him again.

“…I’ll see you at eight,” he says. You don’t answer, but you don’t tell him to leave, either. And when he finally does, the room doesn’t feel quite as small.

You stare at your closet like it personally offended you. Nothing looks right. Everything looks like you, which is the problem.

You tug a shirt off a hanger, hold it up, hesitate, toss it onto your bed with a quiet huff.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror across the room, arms crossed, expression already halfway to annoyed, like you’re judging yourself for even trying.

It’s just a date. A real date.

You roll your eyes at the thought, dragging a hand through your hair before turning back to the mess you’ve made.

After a second, you pull something else out. Simpler. Still you, just… softer around the edges. Something that doesn’t scream don’t talk to me quite as loudly.

You hesitate, then change anyway. When you step back in front of the mirror, you don’t smile. But you don’t hate it either.

“…Shut up,” you mutter to your reflection, grabbing your jacket.

The knock comes right at eight.

You freeze for half a second in the hallway, like your body needs to catch up with the fact that this is actually happening. Then you force yourself forward, pushing past it before you can overthink your way out of the entire night.

Hopper gets to the door first.

“Stay,” he says over his shoulder, already reaching for the handle like you’re a dog he doesn’t trust to bolt.

You scowl but don’t argue, lingering just behind him as he opens the door.

Eddie's standing on the porch like he’s been there for a while, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture just a little straighter than usual, like he’s aware of exactly whose house he’s standing in.

“Evening, Chief,” he says, lifting a hand in a small wave.

Hopper eyes him up and down.

“I know you,” he says.

Eddie nods once. “Yeah. Munson.”

“I knew your dad,” Hopper adds, like that explains everything.

Eddie winces slightly. “That can’t be good.”

Hopper’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Depends on the day.”

Then Hopper steps out onto the porch, pulling the door halfway closed behind him so you’re left just inside, listening whether you want to or not.

You lean slightly, just enough to catch it.

“You’re taking her out,” Hopper says, voice lower now.

“Yes, sir.”

Hopper studies him for another second, something shifting in his expression. Like he knows the reputation, but he’s also seen enough of the kid underneath it to not write him off completely.

“I don’t care what people say about you,” Hopper continues, steady. “I care how you treat her.”

Eddie nods immediately. “Fair.”

“If she asks, you bring her home. No questions.”

“Of course.”

“And if she looks even a little unhappy—”

“I won’t let that happen,” Eddie cuts in.

That pauses Hopper, just for a second. He looks at him again, sharper this time, like he’s trying to decide if that confidence is arrogance or something else.

“…Alright,” he says finally.

He steps back, pushing the door open again. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Eddie gives a small nod. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You’re already there when he steps back inside.

Leaning against the wall like you haven’t been eavesdropping, like you didn’t hear a single word of that. Eddie looks at you and stops, just for a second.

His eyes flick over you, quick but not careless, taking in the change, the effort, the fact that you showed up to this night differently than before.

Something soft crosses his face.

“…Wow,” he says quietly.

You immediately cross your arms. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You look nice.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him toward the door. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The drive is different this time.

“…So,” you say after a while, glancing at him. “Where are we going.”

He glances over, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “You’ll see.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I figured.”

“Then why—”

“Because this one’s good,” he cuts in, softer this time.

You study him for a second, then look back out the window.

“…It better be.”

The venue isn’t in Hawkins. Small, a little rundown, lights buzzing faintly above the entrance, a line already forming outside, people packed close, voices loud, energy crackling in the air.

You step out of the van and stop, recognition hitting instantly.

“…No way.”

Eddie leans against the door, watching your reaction, something almost nervous flickering behind the usual confidence.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thought you might like it.”

You look at the sign again. At the crowd. At him.

“…Descendents?”

He nods once. “Figured I’d start strong.”

“You got tickets.”

“Had to pull some strings,” he admits. “Almost sold my soul, but, you know. Worth it.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as something warm settles in your chest before you can stop it.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you say.

“Yeah,” he grins. “Been told.”

“…Thank you,” you add, quieter.

That hits him in a different way; you can see it. The way he stills for just a second before nodding, like he doesn’t trust himself to make a joke out of it this time.

“Yeah,” he says. “Course.”

He pushes off the van, stepping closer, not crowding you, just enough to fall into step beside you as the two of you move toward the line together.

The crowd spills out of the venue in loose waves, people shouting over each other, laughing, reliving moments that already feel bigger than they probably were.

You step out with them, breath catching slightly as the quiet starts to settle back in.

“…Okay,” you admit, pushing your hair back from your face, still a little flushed from the heat inside. “That was—”

You stop, like you don’t want to give it to him.

Eddie watches you, already grinning, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he knows exactly where this is going.

“Go on,” he says. “Finish the sentence.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not ruining anything, I’m encouraging honesty.”

You scoff, starting down the sidewalk, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like he always does now, like there’s no question about it.

“…It was good,” you say finally, quieter this time, like it costs you something.

His grin widens. “Good?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m just saying, I expected at least a ‘life-changing experience’ or a tearful confession—”

“I said don’t push it.”

He laughs, softer this time, not trying to get a rise out of you, just simply enjoying it.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, nudging your shoulder lightly as you walk. “But for the record, I think I deserve more credit here.”

“For what,” you ask, glancing at him.

“For broadening your horizons,” he says easily.

You blink at him. “You took me to a band I already like.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But I picked the right band.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

“…They were better live,” you admit after a second.

That catches him.

“Yeah?” he asks, a little surprised.

You nod slightly. “Yeah.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

You glance at him again, brow lifting. “You didn’t think they were good?”

“I thought they were fine,” he says carefully. “Like, solid. Respectable.”

You scoff. “Respectable.”

“Hey, I’ve got a reputation to maintain,” he shoots back. “Can’t just go around admitting I enjoyed something that much.”

You bump your shoulder into his, a little harder this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But you’re still here.”

You don’t respond. But you don’t move away, either.

There’s a moment as you walk, the noise of the crowd fading behind you, replaced by the quiet stretch of road, the hum of distant cars, the lingering echo of music in your chest.

And then, his arm comes up. Slow. Careful.

Not like he expects it, not like he’s claiming anything, just resting across your shoulders, light enough that you could shrug it off if you wanted to.

You feel it immediately; the warmth, the weight. You tense, just for a second. He feels it too and starts to pull back.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

But you don’t move away. You don’t shrug him off. Instead, you pull his hand around the rest of the way.

You lean into him just slightly, your shoulder fitting more comfortably under his arm like it makes sense there.

Like it’s allowed. He goes quiet.

“…You’re quiet,” he says after a moment, softer now.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well,” he glances down at you briefly, something warm in his expression, “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done that once.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Trying not to make it a pattern.”

“…You’re doing alright so far,” you say. It’s quiet, almost lost to the night. But he hears it.

“I’ll take that,” he says.

You glance up at him for a second, catching the way he’s looking ahead, not at you, like he’s giving you space even now.

The van comes into view at the end of the lot, headlights dim, the night settling in around it like a quiet pause between moments.

Neither of you rushes toward it. Neither of you breaks the space between you.

And as you walk, side by side, his arm still draped over your shoulders, your weight just barely leaning into him; it doesn't feel fake. It doesn't feel forced. Just easy in a way you're a little scared to name.

The ride home feels softer than the one there.

The windows are cracked just enough to let the night air in, cool against your skin, the kind that keeps you awake in a way that’s not exhausting.

The music is lower this time, something steady humming through the speakers while the road stretches out in long, quiet lines ahead of you.

You’ve got your elbow hooked out the window again.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh, like he’s still half in the rhythm of the show.

“…So,” he says after a while, glancing over at you. “Be honest.”

You don’t look at him. “I am always honest.”

He snorts. “That’s terrifying, but not what I meant.”

You finally turn your head, brow lifting. “What did you mean.”

“Scale of one to ten,” he says. “How good was it.”

You consider it for a second, dragging it out just to annoy him.

“…Seven.”

He scoffs immediately. “Seven?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“That was at least an eight,” he argues. “Minimum.”

“Seven,” you repeat.

He shakes his head, like he’s deeply disappointed. “Unbelievable. I pour my heart and soul into planning the perfect night—”

“You bought tickets,” you cut in.

“—and this is the thanks I get,” he finishes anyway.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth again, one you don’t bother hiding this time.

“…Okay,” you say after a second. “Eight.”

He glances at you, quick. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, settling back into his seat a little, “I might be good at this.”

“At what.”

“Dating you.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve had one successful outing. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“One and a half,” he corrects. “You didn’t hate the first one until the whole… you know.” He gestures vaguely.

You exhale through your nose. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Right. Sorry.” He nods once. “Moment preserved.”

“…You’re not as bad as I thought you were,” you admit.

It slips out before you can stop it. The car goes quiet. He looks at you, like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him.

“…Wow,” he says softly. “High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he murmurs.

You turn back toward the window, but your shoulder brushes his arm for a second when the car shifts, and neither of you pulls away right away.

By the time you pull up to the cabin, the night’s settled in fully.

He cuts the engine, the sudden silence almost too loud after everything else, and for a second, neither of you moves.

“…Home sweet home,” he says lightly.

“Don’t say that.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“It’s weird.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Noted.”

You reach for the door. He’s already out of the van by the time you step onto the gravel, circling around without thinking, falling into step beside you like it’s automatic now.

The walk to the door is short, too short. You notice that, annoyingly.

Neither of you says much, the quiet stretching out again, not uncomfortable, just full of something neither of you is naming.

You stop at the door, turn. He’s already looking at you.

For once, he doesn’t have a line ready. Just that same careful, steady look he’s had all night, like he’s trying not to mess this up.

“…I had a good time,” he says.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

“…Eight,” you add.

His mouth twitches. “I’ll take it.”

You should go inside, you know that. You always know when to end things. Clean. Simple. No room for anything to get complicated.

But instead, you step forward. He barely has time to register it before your hand catches lightly on his jacket, pulling him just enough, and you kiss him.

It’s quick, but not hesitant. Not soft enough to be mistaken for anything else.

You pull back just as fast, like you’ve already decided that’s all he’s getting, like if you linger, you might rethink it.

He stares at you. Completely caught off guard.

“…Wow,” he breathes.

You roll your eyes immediately, stepping back toward the door.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not—” he starts, then stops, because he is a little stunned, because that definitely wasn’t what he expected.

You reach for the handle, pause, then glance back at him over your shoulder.

“…Goodnight, Munson.”

A slow, slightly dazed smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

You disappear inside before he can say anything else.

And for a second, he just stands there on the porch, staring at the door like it might open again. Like, he didn’t just imagine that.

Then he lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back toward the van.

“…Eight,” he mutters to himself, still smiling.

AGHAHGDHHS okay here it is. i hope you all enjoyed :3

taglist is open!

beasbugs:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @enne02

@ludachrissy @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @hecatesw1tch @lokishortnsweet

[beasbrain]

Black Widow

description: after an impending threat from Doctor Doom puts Franklin Richards in danger, you’re assigned as his security detail at the Baxter Building. unfortunately for you, Johnny Storm is immediately obsessed after you kick his ass upon arrival. while Johnny spends every waking moment trying to get under your skin, your past with the red room keeps you from letting him get too close.

pairing: johnny storm x black widow!reader (fem!reader)

tags: johnny storm x reader, johnny storm x you, no y/n, black widow!reader, red room trauma, protective reader, protective johnny storm, soft johnny storm, johnny is obsessed bc why wouldn't he be, forced proximity, fighting as foreplay, reader's a BADDIEEEE, letting yourself be loved, slow burn haha

TW: violence, injury, smooching

WC: 5.6k

A/N: requested by: @midgardian-rogue hope you love it! okay so pls be gentle this is my first johnny storm fic and i am JUST beginning to get more into marvel. (i was a DC girlie, sorry!) i hope you all enjoy:)) i actually love writing johnny, he's lowkey like eddie but more confident? idk reblogs are always appreciated <3

The conference room is already full by the time you arrive.

Nick Fury stands at the head of the table, one hand braced against the surface while holographic files flicker blue across the glass. 

A few of the Avengers are scattered around the room, quiet in the way people get when the situation is bad enough that nobody feels like joking.

You stop near the back wall, and Fury doesn’t waste time.

“Three separate HYDRA channels intercepted chatter about Franklin Richards,” he says. “Two mentions of latent reality manipulation. One mention of Doom.”

That gets everyone’s attention. A holographic image of Doctor Doom appears over the table.

“Victor Von Doom’s been searching for ways to increase his hold over interdimensional energy,” Fury continues. “If he gets his hands on that kid, best case scenario is a planetary incident.”

“Comforting,” someone mutters.

Fury ignores it.

“The Fantastic Four already have building security, but that’s not enough. Doom doesn’t do frontal assaults unless he’s making a statement.”

You cross your arms loosely. “So what’s the ask?”

Fury finally looks at you. “You’re going to the Baxter Building.”

You stare at him. “You’re assigning me protection detail?”

“You’re the best close-quarters operative SHIELD’s got access to.”

“I’m not a nanny.”

“And Franklin Richards isn’t a normal kid.”

The room goes quiet for a second. Fury taps the table, pulling up more files.

“Doom’s people are already in New York,” he says. “I need someone who can identify a threat before it happens.”

You glance at the file again before exhaling slowly through your nose. “…Fine.”

The Baxter Building scanner flags you before the elevator even reaches the top floor. You hear the security system shift immediately.

Threat detection.

You barely step into the penthouse before a streak of fire comes flying toward your head, and you duck on instinct.

The blast scorches the wall behind you. Seriously?

“Little aggressive for a greeting,” you call out.

Johnny Storm drops from above a second later in a flare of heat, landing hard in front of you. And annoyingly enough, he’s hot. 

Like, offensively hot. Which, paired with the fact he’s currently trying to light you on fire, feels unfair.

“Hands where I can see them,” he says.

You glance around the massive apartment. “You always attack guests before asking questions?”

“Usually only the ones that trip every security alarm in the building.”

Fair.

Before you can answer, movement flashes from your left, and an invisible force slams toward you. You twist sideways just before Susan Storm tries to pin you against the wall with a force field.

Johnny launches forward again. You catch his wrist before he can grab you, using his momentum to yank him forward and slam him directly onto the floor.

Hard. The breath leaves him in a rough oof. Okay, maybe a little harder than necessary. Johnny stares up at the ceiling for half a second in genuine shock.

Did this random woman just body him in his own living room?

And unfortunately, his first coherent thought is:

Of course, the insanely hot girl breaking into our apartment is evil. 

He twists quickly, flames sparking up his arms again, but you’re already moving. You duck under another burst of fire, grab the back of the couch, and vault over it smoothly.

Johnny actually loses sight of you for a second, which should not be possible.

“What the hell—”

You appear behind him. A sharp kick to the back of his knee sends him stumbling.

“Director Fury sent me,” you say flatly.

Johnny turns quickly enough to catch your next strike, but the impact still rattles up his arm.

Strong. Very strong. Susan throws another invisible field toward you, trying to trap you between the kitchen island and the wall.

You plant one boot against the counter and push off, flipping cleanly over it before the field can close.

Johnny actually blinks. Okay, that was kinda cool, he thought. 

“You could’ve opened with that!” he says.

“You attacked me before I got the chance!”

“You looked suspicious!”

“You set me on fire!”

“A little!”

You grab his arm again when he lunges, twisting sharply enough to send him crashing face-first into the couch cushions.

“Mmph—”

Susan stops abruptly, because now she’s trying very hard not to laugh. Johnny lifts his head slowly from the couch, hair a mess.

“…Suze, seriously?”

You finally pull a SHIELD badge from your jacket and toss it onto the coffee table.

“I’m here because there’s a credible threat against Franklin Richards.”

That gets their attention immediately. Johnny pushes himself upright more seriously this time while Susan steps closer to the badge.

“Fury sent you?” she asks.

You nod once. “He believes Doctor Doom has taken an interest in Franklin.”

Johnny’s expression shifts immediately, and a tiny voice pipes up from the hallway.

“Mommy says no fighting in the house.”

All three of you look over. Franklin stands there in little dinosaur pajamas holding a stuffed triceratops, completely unimpressed.

Johnny points vaguely toward you from the couch. “She started it.”

Franklin looks at the scorch marks on the wall. Then at Johnny, then back at you.

“And she beat you.”

Johnny’s still halfway draped over the couch when heavier footsteps echo from down the hall. 

“Why does it smell like smoke?”

Ben rounds the corner first, stopping short at the sight of: the scorched wall, overturned cushions, Johnny looking personally victimized, and you standing calmly in the middle of the living room like none of it happened. 

Ben looks at Johnny. “…You lose another fight, hotshot?”

Johnny points at you immediately. “She’s freakishly fast.”

“I heard yelling,” another voice says distractedly from farther back.

Reed appears next, tablet still in hand, like he was working up until the exact second he walked into the room. He barely glances up at first, then he sees you.

“You’re a Widow,” he says plainly.

Johnny looks between the two of you. “A what now?”

You cross your arms. “Former.”

Reed nods once, already understanding more than he says out loud.

“Red Room training,” he explains to the others. “Espionage. Close-quarters combat. Psychological conditioning.”

Johnny slowly turns back toward you. “…Oh.”

That suddenly explains why he got his ass kicked in under two minutes.

Ben lets out a low whistle. “And Fury sent her?”

“He did,” you answer.

Reed finally sets the tablet down fully, expression sharpening into something more serious.

“If Victor is targeting Franklin, this is exactly the kind of protection we need.”

Susan folds her arms loosely. “You knew about her?”

“Not personally,” Reed says. “But I know the program.”

You hate the way people always say that. The program, as if there weren’t real people inside it. Franklin, meanwhile, has wandered closer completely unnoticed. He stares up at you curiously from beside the couch, dinosaur plush still tucked under one arm.

“You flipped Johnny.”

Johnny groans. “Why is everyone focused on that part?”

You glance down at Franklin finally. Up close, he looks impossibly small for someone apparently capable of rewriting reality.

“…He attacked me first,” you tell him.

Franklin considers this very seriously, then nods once like that’s perfectly reasonable.

“Okay.”

Ben barks out a laugh.

Johnny throws his hands up. “Oh, so we’re ALL against me tonight?”

And despite yourself, just briefly, the corner of your mouth twitches, and Johnny notices immediately. And oh, he is absolutely screwed now.

“Alright,” Sue says after a moment, breaking the tension. “If Fury assigned you here, we should probably get you settled in.”

You nod once, professionally and simply. Like you haven’t just physically humbled one of New York's most recognizable superheroes in front of his family.

Johnny pushes himself fully off the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll show her around.”

Susan gives him a look immediately. “Johnny—”

“What?” he says defensively. “I live here too.”

Ben snorts loudly from the kitchen. You almost decline on principle alone, but Johnny’s already walking backward toward the hallway.

“C’mon, Spy Girl.”

You stare at him. “…Spy Girl?”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna stick,” Ben says instantly.

Johnny ignores him. “Unless you’ve got a cooler nickname.”

You brush past him into the hallway. “I don’t.”

“See? Spy Girl it is.”

The Baxter Building is quieter away from the main living area. Modern and expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Manhattan. Johnny walks beside you with his hands shoved in his pockets while you silently clock any exits, blind spots, camera placements, and potential entry points.

“You do that all the time?” he asks.

You glance over. “Do what?”

“The weird assassin scanning thing.”

“Security assessment.”

“That sounds less cool.”

“It’s not supposed to sound cool.”

Johnny grins slightly. You’re pretty sure he grins at literally everything.

He points down another hallway. “Labs are Reed’s territory unless you like hearing the phrase ‘quantum fluctuation’ for six hours straight.”

“I don’t.”

“Smart woman.”

You ignore that, but he keeps trying anyway.

“This is the east wing. Kitchen’s back there, game room downstairs, Franklin’s room is closest to Sue and Reed’s—”

You stop walking briefly near one of the windows. “Too exposed.”

Johnny pauses. “What?”

“The glass.”

He looks around. “Bulletproof.”

“Still exposed.”

There’s no judgment in your tone, and Johnny studies you for a second. You really do see everything. Not casually either, but constantly. Like your brain never shuts off.

He gestures farther down the hall instead. “Your room’s over here.”

The guest room is bigger than most apartments in Manhattan.

You step inside, automatically checking the window locks, vent access, sightlines, and distances to adjoining rooms. Johnny leans against the doorway, watching you do it. “You always this friendly?”

You don’t look at him. “You always this talkative?”

“Yes, actually.”

That finally gets a tiny reaction. Not quite a smile, but close enough that he catches it. Victory.

“You know,” he says, “most people introduce themselves before throwing me into furniture.”

You unzip your duffel bag and start removing weapons without any warning. Johnny watches a knife hit the dresser. Then another, then a handgun. Then somehow, another knife.

“…Jesus Christ.”

You finally glance at him. “You asked.”

He lets out a laugh before he can stop himself.

“You know, this whole cold, mysterious thing would work better if you weren’t secretly funny.”

“I’m not funny.”

“You kinda are.”

You slide open the bedside drawer, automatically checking its depth. Johnny watches you for another second before speaking again. 

“What should I call you then?”

There’s a pause, and you almost tell him not to bother. Instead, you give him your name quietly.

Johnny repeats it once like he’s testing it. Then smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Way better than Spy Girl.”

A second later, Franklin appears, clutching his dinosaur plush to his chest. He looks between the two of you curiously, then directly at Johnny.

“Mommy said you’re not allowed to fight the security lady anymore.”

Johnny places a hand over his chest. “First of all, rude.”

Franklin ignores him completely and walks right into your room like he’s known you for years. You straighten slightly on instinct, watching as he studies the knives laid out on the dresser with intense four-year-old seriousness.

“Are those real?”

“Yes.”

Johnny immediately cuts in. “No touching.”

Franklin sighs dramatically like he’s heard this speech a thousand times.

You crouch slightly instead of towering over him. “Good listening skills keep people alive,” you tell him evenly.

Franklin nods once, very seriously.  Then he points at one of the smaller blades. “That one’s pretty.”

Johnny blinks. Most adults react to your weapons with fear, but Franklin reacts like he’s looking at cool rocks.

“You should see her fight,” Johnny mutters. “Humiliating experience for me personally.”

Franklin gasps softly. “Did she really throw you?”

“Oh my God,” Johnny groans. 

You look down at Franklin. “He started it.”

Franklin thinks about this carefully before nodding.

“Okay.”

Johnny points accusingly at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Franklin climbs up onto the edge of the bed beside your duffel bag, as he belongs there. And weirdly, you don’t mind.

“You staying here forever?” he asks.

The question catches you off guard for half a second. “Just until things are safe.”

Franklin accepts that answer easily.

Then: “Will you cook for me? Uncle Ben is busy, and Uncle Johnny burns my grilled cheeses all the time.”

Johnny narrows his eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

A tiny smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it.

Dinner is louder than you expected. Ben and Johnny argue over something stupid within the first five minutes.

Reed gets distracted halfway through explaining something scientific and starts talking to himself absentmindedly. Susan keeps the entire table functioning through sheer force of will.

And Franklin sits beside you like that decision had been made without consulting anyone. You’re halfway through the meal when Ben gestures toward you with his fork.

“So what kinda missions did Fury have ya doin’ before this?”

Susan gives him a look. “Ben.”

“What? I’m curious.”

You take a sip of water calmly. “Mostly extraction. Intelligence recovery, threat elimination.”

Johnny nearly chokes on his drink. “Threat elimination?” he repeats.

You glance at him. “You say that like you didn’t try to light me on fire three hours ago.”

Ben laughs loudly.

Johnny points at you. “In my defense, you looked evil.”

You deadpan: “And now?”

Johnny opens his mouth, then stops. Because honestly, still, a little, just in a different way. Susan hides a smile behind her wine glass.

Franklin leans toward you conspiratorially. “Uncle Johnny likes pretty girls.”

Johnny nearly drops his fork. “Franklin!”

“What?” Franklin asks innocently. “You said it.”

Johnny points across the table. “Okay, nobody talk to the child anymore.”

Franklin turns back toward you. “One time, he spent two hours doing his hair before a date.”

“DUDE!”

You finally laugh softly under your breath. Actual laughter this time, and the entire table goes weirdly quiet for a second. Because it’s the first genuinely relaxed thing they’ve seen from you all night. Johnny stares a little too long, then grins slowly.

And somehow, against all logic, you’re almost comfortable. Then every alarm in the Baxter Building starts screaming at once. The sound cuts through the room immediately, and red emergency lights flash across the walls.

Franklin startles beside you. Johnny’s already on his feet before the system voice even speaks.

“Threat detected in Midtown Manhattan. Multiple casualties reported.”

Reed’s tablet lights up instantly.

Susan stands so quickly her chair nearly tips over. “What happened?”

Reed scans the incoming data, expression tightening fast. “…Energy signatures match Latverian tech.”

Johnny’s joking expression disappears as flames flicker faintly beneath his skin. Ben’s already moving toward the equipment hall.

“Doom?” he asks.

“Possibly,” Reed answers grimly.

Another alert flashes across the screens. Civilian evacuation failure. Structural collapse risk. Hostile entities confirmed.

Johnny curses under his breath. Franklin grabs onto your sleeve instinctively at the sudden tension. You look down at him briefly before standing.

“What’s protocol?” you ask.

Sue’s eyes immediately go to Franklin, then to you.

“Protect him.” Simple as that.

The others are already moving. Johnny pauses only long enough to look back at you while pulling on part of his suit.

“Security system’ll lock once we leave,” he says quickly. “Nobody gets in without Reed’s clearance.”

You nod once. “Go.”

Another explosion rattles faintly through the distant city outside the windows, then they’re gone.

Franklin presses closer to your side, and you crouch slightly in front of him.

“Hey,” you say evenly. “You know where the safe room is?”

He nods once, smaller now than he was earlier. You move quickly after that, checking windows, securing entry points, loading your weapons, and muting unnecessary alarms

Outside, flashes of orange and blue light flicker against the skyline. Too far away to assess clearly, but too close for comfort. Franklin sits curled into the corner of the couch, hugging his dinosaur while you monitor the security feeds.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty. Then, the balcony doors burst open in a rush of heat. You’re on your feet instantly, gun already raised, before you recognize Johnny landing hard against the floor.

His suit’s scorched, and there’s blood near his lip, not all of it looks like his.

“Easy,” he says quickly, hands raising slightly. “It’s me.”

You lower the gun immediately. “What happened?”

Johnny runs a hand through smoke-singed hair, breathing harder than before.

“There’s more of them than we thought,” he says. “Doom sent Doombots all over Midtown as a distraction.”

Your expression sharpens immediately. “For Franklin.”

Johnny nods once. Another explosion rumbles faintly somewhere outside.

“We need you out there,” he says. “Ben and Sue are handling evacuation, Reed’s trying to stop whatever Doom’s actually building, and these things just keep coming.”

Your brain’s already moving ahead of the conversation, and you turn towards Franklin immediately 

“Hey, buddy,” you say, kneeling in front of him. “Need you to do something important for me.”

Franklin looks up from the couch, dinosaur plush tucked under his arm. “Like a mission?”

“Exactly like a mission.”

That gets his full attention instantly. You guide him quickly through the hallway toward the panic room while Johnny follows behind you.

The reinforced door slides open with a mechanical hiss. Franklin steps inside before turning back toward you.

“You’re coming too?”

Your chest tightens slightly.

“No,” you say gently. “You stay here until we come get you.”

Franklin frowns immediately. “But the bad guys are outside.”

“I know.”

“Then you should stay too.”

Johnny goes quiet behind you.

You crouch fully in front of Franklin, smoothing back a piece of hair from his forehead before you even realize you’re doing it.

“The whole reason I’m here,” you tell him softly, “is to make sure nothing happens to you.”

Franklin stares at you seriously for a second.

Then, “What if something happens to you?”

Something in your expression flickers. Before you can answer, Johnny leans lightly against the doorway.

“Then I punch the bad guys for her,” he says.

Franklin considers that, then nods once. “Okay.”

You hold your pinky out automatically.

“Stay in here until one of us comes back. Promise?”

Franklin hooks his pinky with yours immediately.

“Promise.”

The panic room seals shut a second later. Then Johnny looks toward the balcony doors.

“We gotta move.”

You follow him quickly back into the main living area, already checking the ammo in one of your handguns.

“Closest access point?” you ask.

“Forty-third and Lexington.”

You nod once. Johnny moves toward the balcony before pausing. Right, flying.  He turns back toward you, holding his hand out. You hesitate, giving him a once-over. 

“I won’t burn you,” he says quietly.

And annoyingly enough, you believe him. You slip your hand into his, and his fingers close around yours carefully. Warmer than a normal person should be, but nonetheless gentle. Then flames burst around him as he pulls you close and launches both of you into the night sky.

The city rushes beneath you in streaks of gold and red. Wind tears past as Johnny flies fast enough to make most people panic, one arm secured tightly around your waist while flames trail behind him across the sky.

You, somehow, stay perfectly calm. Johnny glances down at you briefly. “You do this often?”

“Fly through Manhattan with human torches?”

A grin flickers across his face despite everything. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes, but your grip tightens slightly when he drops altitude sharply between buildings. Below you, Midtown is chaos: smoke, fire, screaming, metal tearing through streets. And moving through all of it, Doombots. At least twenty, from what you can see immediately.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters.

Your eyes track the street instantly. “Too organized.”

“What?”

“They’re herding civilians.”

Johnny looks again. The Doombots aren’t attacking randomly; they’re funneling people into specific streets.

“Reed was right,” Johnny says darkly. “This whole thing’s coordinated.”

A blast of green energy suddenly shoots toward you from below, and Johnny jerks sideways instantly. The shot narrowly misses.

“Okay!” he shouts. “Guess they noticed us!”

You’re already pulling a handgun from your thigh holster.

“…You carry that while flying?”

You fire twice before answering. Both shots hit the same Doombot directly in the faceplate, and it stumbles backward into a parked car. “Yes.”

Johnny laughs once in disbelief before diving. The landing nearly cracks the pavement. Heat explodes outward around him as civilians scatter away from the intersection. Three Doombots turn immediately. 

You barely hit the ground before the first one charges. You duck under a metal swing aimed directly at your head, sliding across the hood of a destroyed taxi before driving a knife straight into the gap beneath its jaw plating. Electricity sparks violently, and the bot collapses.

Johnny whistles low. “That was hot.”

“Focus.”

“Trying to.”

Another Doombot lunges toward him from behind; you see it first. “Johnny!”

Too late. The machine slams into him hard enough to send him crashing through a bus stop. You move instantly; gunfire rings through the street as you unload into the Doombot’s exposed spine joints.

Then Johnny erupts out of the wreckage in a burst of flame so bright it forces you to shield your eyes briefly.

“Okay,” he says, voice echoing slightly with heat. “Now I’m annoyed.”

Fire tears across the street. Three Doombots melt almost instantly. The fourth survives long enough to aim directly at you.

Your stomach drops. The blast fires, and suddenly, heat wraps around you as Johnny grabs you around the waist and yanks you backward against his chest. The energy blast misses your face by inches. You both hit the pavement hard behind an overturned car.

Johnny’s breathing heavier now. “You good?” he asks quickly.

You stare at him for half a second. “…You saved me.”

Johnny blinks. “Yeah? That generally tends to happen during teamwork.”

Another explosion shakes the block nearby. You start to move again, but a sharp metallic cable suddenly snaps around your ankle from behind. Your body slams hard onto the pavement, pain shooting through your ribs instantly.

Before you can react, another Doombot pins you down. Its arm shifts mechanically into a weapon, charging.

Johnny sees it. “HEY!”

The street erupts into white-hot flame. It’s not controlled anymore; his anger takes over instead of strategy. The Doombot barely has time to turn before Johnny hits it full-force, tackling it clean through the side of a building. The explosion rattles the entire block.

You shove yourself upright roughly, breathing harder now. Then Johnny comes flying back out through the smoke and debris, landing in front of you.

“You hurt?” he asks immediately.

You shake your head once despite the pain. Johnny looks at the blood running down your arm.

“…That’s a lie.”

You glance down briefly. Huh, didn’t even notice that.

Johnny grabs your wrist before you can brush it off. “You have GOT to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like almost dying is mildly inconvenient!”

Another explosion shakes the street hard enough to rattle the windows above you. Then a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “Johnny!”

A massive orange shape crashes through two Doombots like a freight train. Ben lands in the middle of the intersection, grabbing one machine by the head and slamming it directly into the pavement.

“Kid, you look awful.”

Johnny points toward you while catching his breath. “She got stabbed by a robot.”

“I did not get stabbed.”

“You are literally bleeding.”

Before you can argue further, an invisible force field snaps around the remaining civilians nearby as Sue lands beside you.

“You’re hurt,” she says immediately.

“It’s superficial.”

Susan gives you a look that clearly says, "I don’t believe you for a second."

Then Reed Richards speaks through the comms in Johnny’s suit. “Johnny, get her back to the Baxter Building.”

You straighten immediately. “I can still fight.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Reed replies calmly. “We’ve identified Doom’s signal source. We can handle the rest from here.”

Johnny crosses his arms instantly. “See? Science Dad said go home.”

You glare at him and he grins despite the soot covering half his face. Sue steps closer, lowering her voice slightly. “Franklin needs you.”

And that, annoyingly, is what finally gets you moving. Johnny keeps one arm around you as he flies, noticeably steadier this time. Probably because there’s blood on your sleeve now.

You try ignoring the ache in your ribs as Johnny keeps glancing down at you anyway.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That is not comforting.”

The Baxter Building balcony comes into view a few minutes later. The second you land, the apartment security unlocks automatically. And before you can even fully step inside, small footsteps sprint across the floor.

Franklin Richards crashes directly into your legs. “You came back!”

You steady yourself carefully so you don’t fall over from the impact. “Told you I would.”

Franklin pulls back just enough to look up at you properly. “You’re hurt.”

Johnny shuts the balcony doors behind you. “Yeah, because she’s apparently allergic to taking cover.”

“I was taking cover.”

“You were standing in front of laser fire!”

Before the argument can continue, a robotic voice chirps from the hallway. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolls quickly into the room, carrying a medical kit almost half his size.

Franklin points dramatically at you. “She got attacked by robots.”

“Thank you, buddy,” Johnny says dryly. “We gathered that.”

You sit reluctantly on the edge of the couch while H.E.R.B.I.E. starts scanning your injuries with a series of concerned electronic noises. Franklin immediately climbs up beside you, close enough that his little shoulder presses against your arm.

Johnny crouches in front of you while H.E.R.B.I.E. disinfects the cut along your arm. You don’t even flinch.

“You seriously don’t feel pain normally, do you?”

“I feel it.”

“You just ignore it.”

“That too.”

H.E.R.B.I.E. sprays something cold against your ribs, and you tense slightly this time.

Franklin gasps softly. “Did that hurt?”

You glance down at him. “…A little.”

Franklin thinks about that carefully before holding his dinosaur plush out toward you. “This helps me when I get scared.”

Johnny watches your expression soften almost imperceptibly as you carefully take the stuffed dinosaur from him, like you’re handling something fragile.

“Thanks, buddy,” you say quietly.

Franklin nods once, satisfied. Then curls against your side while H.E.R.B.I.E. continues patching you up. And Johnny, completely exhausted, covered in soot, adrenaline still running through him, looks at the two of you sitting there together and realizes he’s in serious trouble.

The Baxter Building is quieter by the time you leave your room. Most of the damage downtown has been handled. Reed and Sue still aren’t back yet, but Ben’s somewhere downstairs with H.E.R.B.I.E., loudly complaining about “tin can dictators.”

You’ve showered, scrubbed the blood off your skin, and washed smoke out of your hair. Still, your ribs ache.

You towel-dry your hair absentmindedly as you step out onto the balcony connected to the upper rooftop access. The city stretches endlessly around you, lights flickering against the dark sky. Helicopters still move in the distance.

You sit on the edge of the rooftop ledge, elbows resting on your knees. For the first time all day, it’s quiet. Then heat settles nearby, you don’t even need to look over.

“You know,” Johnny says, “most people say thank you after I heroically save their lives.”

“You tackled me into a car.”

“It was a protective tackle.”

You snort softly despite yourself, and Johnny grins immediately at the sound. He sits beside you, one knee bent up toward his chest, while the wind pushes loose strands of damp hair away from your face.

“You feeling okay?” he asks after a second.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s your answer to everything.”

“Usually works.”

Johnny studies you quietly for a moment. “You scared me back there.”

That gets your attention. You glance over at him. Johnny shrugs a little awkwardly under the weight of your stare. “Robot almost blew you in half. Kinda killed the mood.”

“The mood?”

“Yeah. We had a whole thing going.”

You roll your eyes lightly. “We did not.”

“We absolutely did.” There’s that grin again, the one that should annoy you more than it does.

Johnny leans back on his hands slightly. “Franklin really likes you, by the way.”

Your shoulders tense almost invisibly. “He’s a good kid,” you say shortly.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t warm up to people fast.” Johnny bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “You’re good with him.”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

Johnny frowns slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Say things like that.”

“Like what?”

You stand abruptly, gripping the towel tighter in your hands as you move a few steps away toward the railing. Johnny watches the entire change happen in real time. The walls going back up, the distance.

“You’d make a really good mom.”

The words hit harder this time, because now he means them. You let out a humorless laugh under your breath. “There it is.”

Johnny stands too, confused now more than anything. “Okay, clearly I missed something.”

“You did.”

You stare out over the city instead of at him. “You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“No,” you say sharply. “You like the version of me you made up in your head.”

Johnny’s expression shifts immediately. “That’s not fair.”

“You flirt with anything that breathes.”

“Wow.”

“You don’t like me, Johnny.”

The words come out colder than you mean them to. But once they start, they don’t stop. “You like the fighting and the attitude and whatever fantasy you’ve built around me in your head, but you don’t actually know what I am.”

Johnny steps closer slowly. “Then tell me.”

You laugh again quietly, but there’s nothing amused about it. “The Red Room sterilized us.”

Silence.

The city noise suddenly feels very far away. Johnny blinks once. “What?”

“When we graduated,” you say flatly. “They made sure none of us could have children. No attachments. No families. Nothing that could interfere with missions.”

Johnny just stares at you. When you finally look at him, there’s no pity on his face. Just pure horror.

“They took that choice from us before we were old enough to understand what it meant.”

Your throat feels tighter than you want it to.

“So when you say things like I’d be a good mother…” You shake your head once. “You’re talking about someone that doesn’t exist.”

Johnny’s quiet for a second. “That’s bullshit.”

“They hurt you,” he says firmly. “That’s what happened here.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It literally is.”

You look away again immediately. Johnny steps closer until he’s standing directly in front of you. “You think that makes you unlovable or something?”

You don’t answer, which is answer enough. Johnny exhales sharply through his nose before gently taking the towel from your hands and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

Then he looks back at you. “No one hears that story and thinks there’s something wrong with you.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“You want kids someday.”

Johnny blinks. “Did I say that?”

“You’re normal, Johnny.”

He actually laughs softly at that. “Baby, there is nothing normal about me.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches faintly. Johnny’s expression softens immediately when he sees it. “You really think I only want you because you’re hot and mysterious?”

“You said it. Not me.”

“I mean, you ARE hot and mysterious.”

You groan quietly, covering your eyes for half a second.

Johnny smiles a little before lowering your hand carefully away from your face. “I like you,” he says simply. “Like… a lot.”

“You’re mean to me constantly, you almost broke my shoulder earlier, and you scare me a little if I’m being honest.” He tilts his head slightly. “Still like you.”

Your eyes drop briefly to his mouth before you can stop yourself.

His voice softens. “C’mere.”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to, but because that’s the problem. You’ve wanted to since he smiled at you in the living room after you threw him through a couch. Johnny gives you an out when you don’t move right away. His hand loosens slightly against your face.

But then you lean in first, barely. And Johnny’s restraint snaps almost immediately.

His hand slides fully against your jaw as he kisses you properly, warm and firm and entirely too easy to melt into. The rooftop wind pushes through your still-damp hair while he steps closer instinctively, one hand settling carefully at your waist like he’s worried you’ll disappear if he lets go. You kiss him back before you can overthink it.

Johnny makes a quiet sound against your mouth when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, and suddenly the kiss deepens without either of you really meaning for it to. Heat radiates off him in waves, not enough to burn, just warm enough that you can feel it through the thin fabric of your shirt.

One of his hands slides up your spine slowly before stopping at the base of your neck. If anything, you kiss him harder. Johnny lets out a breathless laugh into your mouth at that.

“Oh, so this is why you keep threatening me,” he murmurs between kisses. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You huff out the smallest laugh against his lips. “You’re unbelievably annoying.”

“And yet—”

He kisses you again before you can finish the sentence. When you finally pull back, Johnny rests his forehead lightly against yours for a second, both of you still catching your breath a little.

Then he grins. “So…” he says. “Think this means I win?”

You stare at him flatly. “I literally beat your ass this morning.”

Johnny nods once thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he says. “But emotionally? Huge comeback for me tonight.”

okieeee hope you all enjoyed!!! I wasn't sure with the tag list if you guys want to be tagged in content not related to Eddie, so I didn't put one this time.

k bye love you guys.

[beasbrain]

Just for Me

description: (this might be the cutest fucking thing i've ever written) eddie being soft in all the ways you wouldn’t expect: sneaking up behind you saying “close your eyes,” always pressing something small and shiny into your hand, pulling you into his space like you belong there. quiet moments that turn into something bigger, a little chaos, a lot of sweetness, and a boy who says “mine” like he means it.

pairing: boyfriend!eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: boyfriend!eddie, soft!eddie, touch-starved x touchy bf, you might need a fucking root canal after how fluffy this shit is, acts of service, gift giving love language, "mine", loses his mind about you in his clothes, constantly reading to you, non-sexual intimacy, soft-dom eddie, domestic fluff, fake?! proposal!?

TW: giggling and kicking your feet may occur, proceed with caution

WC: 4.5k

A/N: oh my GOD YOU ARE NOT READY OMFGGSGGDG. this request came in from @mymind-is-a-warrior i hope i did your vision justice!! reblogs are always appreciated <33. much love, enjoy friends!

The hallway is loud in that particular way it always is between periods, lockers slamming, voices bouncing off tile, someone’s cassette player bleeding tinny music into the chaos, and you’re halfway through spinning the dial on your locker. 

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

His voice is low, right by your ear, all gravel and teasing warmth. 

Before you can even react, there’s a hand at your waist, the other catching your wrist, and he’s spinning you around like you weigh nothing, like this is second nature, like you belong right there in his orbit.

“Eddie—” you start, but you’re already smiling, already gone for him.

He grins like he’s just pulled off the greatest magic trick in the world, hair falling into his eyes, rings glinting as he lifts a finger in front of your face. “Ah, ah. No talking. Close your eyes.”

You narrow yours instead, suspicious. “That sounds like a trap.”

“It’s a gift,” he corrects, mock offended, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Jesus, you wound me.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but you listen, because it’s him, and you let your eyes fall shut. The hallway noise fades a little, or maybe it’s just that you’re suddenly hyper-aware of him. 

“Hand,” he murmurs.

You lift it without question.

There’s a pause, like he’s taking his time on purpose, like he knows anticipation is half the fun, and then something cool presses against your finger. He slides it on slowly, like it means something, and it’s not just a joke.

“Okay,” he says softly, voice dropping just a fraction. “Open.”

You do.

It’s a ring, obviously, but not just any ring. It’s silver, a little worn in a way that feels intentional, the band thicker than anything delicate, and set into it is a small black stone, dark and glossy, catching the fluorescent lights just enough to gleam. It’s a little edgy, a little dramatic, very him.

You turn your hand slightly, watching it catch the light. “Eddie…”

He’s watching you like he’s waiting for a verdict, like your reaction matters more than he’d ever admit out loud, though the way he’s practically vibrating gives him away. “Saw it at the flea market this weekend,” he says, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Thought of you. Y’know. Dark, mysterious, probably cursed—”

“It’s perfect,” you cut in, looking back up at him.

Something in his expression softens immediately, the edge of his grin melting into something warmer, quieter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You flex your fingers, the ring settling comfortably like it’s always belonged there. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he shrugs, but there’s that fondness in his eyes again, unmistakable. “I wanted to. Gonna deck you out eventually, y’know. One ring for every time you put up with my bullshit.”

You snort. “So I’m gonna run out of fingers fast.”

“Hey,” he points at you, mock stern. “We can get creative.”

By lunch, you’ve already caught him staring at your hand more than once, like he can’t believe it’s still there, like it means more than just a piece of metal. 

He laces his fingers through yours under the table, thumb brushing over the ring absentmindedly, and when you glance at him, he just gives you that lazy, crooked smile.

“Looks good on you, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

By the time you end up in his trailer, the light’s already starting to dim, that soft gold slipping into something quieter, and you’re sprawled across his bed with a textbook propped open in your lap like it personally offended you.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for at least five minutes.

“Okay,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. “This is actually torture.”

Eddie, who’s halfway through digging around for something in a drawer, glances over at you, brows lifting. “Homework’s kicking your ass, sweetheart?”

“I’ve read this sentence, like, twelve times,” you complain, tapping the page. “And I couldn’t tell you a single word of it. My brain is… gone. Evaporated. Dead.”

He hums, shutting the drawer and wandering over, dropping onto the bed beside you with a soft bounce. “Lemme see.”

You angle the book toward him, already slumping sideways until your shoulder bumps his. “It’s so boring,” you add, quieter now. “And I’m so tired.”

He scans the page for a second, lips moving slightly as he reads, and then he glances down at you, something soft flickering across his face.

“Alright,” he says, like he’s just made a decision. “Gimme it.”

You blink. “What?”

“Gimme the book,” he repeats, holding out his hand.

You hesitate, suspicious. “Why?”

“I’ll read it to you.”

You stare at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh. “You hate reading.”

“Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him again. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I hate boring reading. Big difference.”

You squint at him. “This is literally boring reading.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, taking the book from your hands anyway. “But you’re not.”

You feel your face warm just a little. “That was smooth.”

“I have my moments,” he shoots back, already flipping to your page. “Now, c’mere.”

You don’t argue. You never really do with him when he gets like this, all quietly insistent. 

You shift closer, curling into his side, your head finding its place against his chest like it belongs there. His arm slides around you without hesitation, pulling you in, thumb brushing absently along your arm.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs.

“Mhm,” you hum, already softer.

“Good. Pay attention, this is gonna be riveting.”

You snort lightly as he starts reading, his voice dipping into that exaggerated seriousness for the first few lines, like he’s trying to make it entertaining for you. 

He throws in a dramatic pause here and there, changes his tone just enough to make you smile, even if the content is still painfully academic.

“‘The socio—’ Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, then clears his throat. “Okay, hang on, I got this.”

You laugh quietly against him. “Struggling, Munson?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “I am thriving. This is my calling, actually. Gonna drop out, become a professional textbook narrator.”

“Please do,” you mumble. “You’d make it bearable.”

“Damn right I would,” he says, softer now, the teasing easing into something warmer.

He keeps going, though, steady and patient, even when the words get dense, even when you can feel your focus slipping in and out. 

Every now and then, his fingers drift up to your hair, gently combing through it, grounding you without pulling you out of the moment.

At some point, you realize you’re not even trying to read along anymore. You’re just listening to him, the cadence of his voice, the way his chest rises and falls under your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, glancing down when he feels you go a little heavier against him. “You still with me, sweetheart?”

“Barely,” you admit, eyes half-lidded. “But it’s not your fault.”

“Wow,” he says softly. “Devastating.”

You smile faintly. “You’re doing good.”

“Yeah?” his voice drops a little, quieter, more genuine. “Even though I supposedly hate reading?”

You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “You don’t hate it. You just pretend to.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t expose me like that.”

“Too late.”

There’s a small pause, and then he shrugs one shoulder, like he’s giving in.

“Maybe I just like reading to you,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s not something that’s been sitting in his chest for a while.

You tuck yourself a little closer into him, pressing your face into his shirt. “Good.”

His arm tightens around you just a bit. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss into your hair before going back to the page. “Good.”

Somewhere between the third page and whatever long, winding sentence he’s currently fighting his way through, your focus slips completely.

Your body relaxes further into him, your head pressing more fully against his chest, your eyes drifting shut even though you’re still trying, in a half-hearted way, to listen.

“—and therefore the correlation between—” Eddie cuts himself off mid-sentence when he feels it, the shift in your weight, the way you’ve gone soft against him.

He glances down. You’re barely awake.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice dropping instantly, careful not to startle you. His hand comes up to your hair, brushing it back from your face. “You’re crashing on me, sweetheart.”

“M’not,” you mumble, words slurring just slightly.

“Uh-huh,” he huffs a quiet laugh. “You definitely are.”

You make a small noise of protest, but you don’t move; if anything, you tuck yourself closer, like his warmth is something you can physically hold onto.

He looks at you for a second longer, something soft and almost helpless settling into his expression, like he’s completely gone over you in the best way.

“Stay,” he says gently. “Just stay here tonight.”

Your eyes blink open just enough to find his. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, like it’s not even a question. His thumb traces lightly along your arm, grounding. “You’re halfway asleep anyway, might as well finish the process here.”

You let out a quiet breath, something easing in your chest. “Okay.”

The word is soft, but it’s enough. His grin flickers back, shorter this time, but just as warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “C’mon.”

He carefully shifts, easing you back onto the bed so you’re lying properly, one hand hovering near you like he’s making sure you’re settled before he pulls away. He disappears for a second, rifling through a pile of clothes near his dresser, muttering to himself under his breath.

“No, not that one… hold on…”

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, too tired to fully track what he’s doing, but aware of him, always.

“Alright,” he says finally, turning back around, holding up a shirt like it’s some grand reveal. “This one.”

You squint at it. “It’s just your shirt.”

“Hey,” he points at you. “It is not just my shirt. This is a classic. A staple. A cornerstone of my wardrobe.”

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, walking back over. “Sit up, sweetheart.”

You do, slower this time, and he kneels on the bed in front of you, gentler now, hands finding the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up,” he murmurs.

You follow his lead, too tired to argue, letting him help you out of your clothes with an ease that feels natural. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing that feels like anything other than care.

He pulls his shirt over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, fingers brushing your skin in a way that’s absent-minded but soft.

When it settles on you, it’s big, of course it is, hanging off your frame, collar slipping just enough, sleeves swallowing your hands. He just stares for a second.

“Jesus,” he breathes, barely above a whisper.

You blink up at him. “What?”

He shakes his head, like he doesn’t even have the words, one hand coming up to lightly tug at the fabric near your shoulder, like he’s grounding himself in the reality of it.

“You look…” he trails off, then huffs a quiet laugh, almost embarrassed by himself. “You look so fucking pretty in my stuff, it’s actually insane.”

You smile, slow and sleepy. “It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s not,” he counters immediately, softer now, his thumb brushing along your collarbone where the fabric dips. “It’s my shirt. On you.”

There’s something about the way he says it, like it means more than he’s explaining.

“C’mere,” he murmurs again, voice gentler than anything else.

You go, shifting closer, and he eases you back down onto the bed, pulling the blanket over you, then sliding in beside you without hesitation. His arms wrap around you like they’ve done this a hundred times, like it’s instinct, one hand settling at your back, the other threading into your hair again.

He tucks you into him, close, careful, like you’re something he’s been wanting to hold onto all day.

“My girl,” he murmurs, almost to himself, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You hum quietly, already drifting. He lingers there for a moment, just looking at you, taking you in like he’s committing it to memory, like this is something he never wants to forget.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, softer still, brushing his nose lightly against your hair. “You’re gonna kill me looking like that.”

You don’t even have the energy to respond, just a faint smile ghosting across your lips.

He exhales, something warm and full settling deep in his chest, and pulls you just a little closer.

“Stay right here,” he murmurs. “Got you. All mine.”

And this time, when your breathing evens out completely, he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps his hand moving gently through your hair, like he could do it forever.

The Hideout is dim in that comfortable, familiar way, low lights, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling, the hum of quiet conversation filling in the gaps between whatever song is playing on the jukebox.

You’re tucked into one of the booths near the back, fingers tracing absent circles along the condensation of your glass, still a little soft around the edges from the night before.

You’re still wearing the ring, of course you are. You’ve caught yourself looking at it more than once, turning your hand just slightly to watch it catch the light, like it’s something new every time.

He’s late. Not unusually so, but just enough that you’re starting to wonder if he got caught up with the band or his rust bucket of a van or something equally Eddie.

“Close your eyes.”

His voice is right there, low and warm against your ear, and it sends that immediate, familiar spark down your spine.

You barely have time to turn before he’s behind you, hands settling briefly at your shoulders like he’s steadying you.

You huff a quiet laugh, already smiling. “Eddie—”

“Uh-uh,” he cuts in softly. “Trust me, sweetheart. C’mon.”

You hesitate for half a second, more out of habit than anything, then let your eyes fall shut.

There’s movement around you, the subtle shuffle of him stepping away, the faint scrape of a chair, and then a small pause that stretches just long enough to make your curiosity spike.

“Okay,” he says. “Open.”

You do.

“Oh my god—Eddie?!”

He’s on one knee. Actually, on one knee, right there in the middle of the Hideout, hair falling into his face, hands slightly raised like he’s bracing for impact, and in one of them—

Another ring. Your brain short-circuits.

“Nonono—hey, hey,” he rushes out, eyes wide when he sees your expression, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Not proposing. Jesus, not— not yet anyway, don’t freak out—”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, hand flying to your chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he winces, then grins a little, sheepish but still very much himself. “Couldn’t just be normal about it, sorry.”

“You think?” you laugh, still recovering, but your eyes flick back to the ring in his hand, and your chest softens despite yourself. “What are you doing?”

He exhales, some of that nervous energy settling into something quieter, more genuine. His gaze lifts to meet yours, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades out, like it’s just the two of you in it.

“I just…” he starts, then huffs softly, shaking his head. “Okay, this is gonna sound lame as hell, but whatever.”

You smile, softer now. “I’m listening.”

He shifts slightly, still on one knee, thumb brushing over the ring like he’s grounding himself.

“I know it’s…early,” he says, slower this time, choosing his words carefully in a way he doesn’t always bother to. “And I’m not trying to, like, scare you off or anything. But I like you. A lot. Like, stupid amount.”

Your heart stutters.

“And I just wanted to give you something,” he continues, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges, “that’s not just, like, a thing. More like…a promise, I guess.”

You tilt your head slightly. “A promise?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “That I’m in this. With you. That I’m not going anywhere, unless you tell me to. That I’m gonna keep showing up behind you like a creep and giving you rings until you run out of fingers.”

You laugh, breathy and soft.

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes flicking down for a second before coming back to you. “Just…something you can look at and know you’ve got me. If you want that.”

“Eddie…” you murmur, a little overwhelmed in the best way.

He lifts the ring slightly. It’s different from the last one, thinner but still silver, with a subtle engraving along the band, something simple but intentional.

“No pressure,” he adds quickly. “You can say no. I’ll just—y’know—crawl under the nearest table and die quietly—”

You shake your head, cutting him off, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Shut up.”

He huffs a small laugh, and you extend your hand.

“I want it.”

Something in his expression just lights up.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

He slides it onto your finger, slower this time, more deliberate, like he’s aware of every second of it, like it matters. His fingers linger for just a moment longer than necessary, then he looks back up at you, that crooked, boyish grin settling in.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you echo softly. “It does.”

There’s a pause. And then a whistle cuts through the air. Followed by clapping. Loud, unmistakable clapping.

You both turn, startled, to find half the bar watching you, a couple of guys at the counter already cheering, someone shouting, “SHE SAID YES!” like they’ve just witnessed the event of the century.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh my god—”

Eddie freezes for half a second, then looks back at you, grin spreading slowly, dangerously.

“Well,” he says, voice low with amusement. “Guess we’re engaged now.”

“Eddie!” you laugh, half hiding your face.

A waitress appears out of nowhere, sliding two drinks onto your table with a wink. “On the house for the happy couple.”

You gape at her. “We’re not—”

“She’s just shy,” Eddie cuts in smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “Big moment.”

You smack his chest lightly, but you’re laughing. More cheers ripple through the bar, someone raising a glass in your direction, and Eddie leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“This is insane,” you whisper.

“I’m kind of loving it,” he whispers back.

You pull back just enough to look at him, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey,” he grins, lifting his drink. “Free drinks say otherwise.”

You laugh, leaning into him despite yourself.

He glances around once more, then back at you, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

“You know what?” he says, thoughtful for all of two seconds. “I’m gonna have to do this again.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, completely serious in the most unserious way. “Different bar. Different crowd. New ring. Really milk the system.”

You stare at him, then laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” he shoots back instantly.

You roll your eyes, smiling anyway, your fingers unconsciously brushing over the new ring.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I do.”

His expression softens just a fraction at that, something quieter slipping through the cracks of all his teasing.

“Good,” he murmurs, pulling you a little closer. “’Cause I meant it. The promise part.”

“I know,” you say.

The lake is quiet in that lazy, late-afternoon way, sunlight stretching long across the water, warm enough that it settles into your skin and stays there. 

The grass is soft beneath the blanket, your shoes kicked off somewhere behind you, and your book rests open in your hands, pages slightly worn from how often you’ve flipped through them.

You’re comfortable. More than that, you’re content. Which is exactly why—

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes don’t even lift at first. “No.”

There’s a pause. Then, closer now, dripping. 

“…you didn’t even look.”

“I don’t have to,” you reply, turning a page. “You sound wet.”

“I am wet,” Eddie says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You finally glance up. He’s standing there, hair soaked and clinging to his face, chest damp, and a grin already forming like he knows exactly what he’s about to do.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks, stepping closer.

“Eddie.”

“What?”

You shift up onto your elbows, holding your book protectively against your chest. “You’re literally dripping.”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking another step. “Lake’ll do that to you.”

You point at him. “Do not come near me.”

He pauses, just long enough to make it seem like he might listen.

Then he drops down onto the blanket anyway, right next to you, all damp limbs and cool skin, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

“Eddie!” you yelp, squirming. “You’re soaking!”

“Relax,” he laughs, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, completely unbothered. “You’ll survive.”

“It’s cold!” you protest, trying to push at his chest, though there’s no real strength behind it.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he grins against your skin, tightening his hold just slightly when you try to wiggle away. “C’mere. Warm me up, sweetheart.”

“You are unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re already giving in, your body settling against his despite the initial chill. His skin is cool, but it doesn’t take long for it to even out, for the warmth between you to take over.

He sighs softly, content, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “There we go. That’s better.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I know,” he says easily. “I remind myself daily.”

His hand drifts along your side absentmindedly before he tilts his head slightly, eyes catching on the book still half-open in your hands.

“What’re you reading?” he asks.

You glance down at it, then back at him. “Sylvia Plath.”

He raises his brows, impressed. “Damn. Getting all deep on me.”

“Sometimes,” you shrug lightly.

He shifts just enough to prop himself up on one elbow, peering at the page. “Lemme see.”

You hesitate, then angle the book toward him.

He scans a few lines, lips moving slightly, and then something flickers in his expression, that familiar spark of mischief mixing with something softer.

“Alright,” he says, already reaching for it. “I got this.”

You let out a small laugh. “Here we go.”

He takes the book from you, clears his throat in an exaggerated, overly dramatic way, and immediately drops into a tone that’s way too intense for a sunny afternoon by the lake.

“‘I shut my eyes, and all the world drops dead—’” he begins, voice deep and theatrical, like he’s narrating some epic campaign instead of poetry.

You snort. “Oh, my god.”

“Shh,” he whispers sharply, though he’s grinning. “This is serious literature, sweetheart.”

He keeps going, leaning into it fully, giving every word weight, every pause just a little too long, like he’s performing for an audience of thousands instead of just you.

But underneath the dramatics, he’s good. He softens in the right places, lets the lines breathe where they should, and even when he’s being a little ridiculous, there’s care in it, attention.

You find yourself settling back into the blanket, eyes drifting half-closed again, listening.

He notices. His voice shifts, just slightly, the edge of the performance easing into something quieter, more natural, though the hint of that playful tone never fully disappears.

“‘I think I made you up inside my head,’” he reads, softer now.

Your chest tightens, just a little.

You tilt your head toward him, watching him this time instead of the page. His hair is still damp, curls falling messily around his face, rings catching the sunlight as he holds the book, completely focused.

“Eddie,” you murmur.

“Hm?” he glances down at you briefly, thumb marking his place.

“You’re…actually good at this.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, looking away for a second like he’s brushing it off. “Don’t spread that around. Ruins my whole reputation.”

You smile, reaching out to lightly tug at the edge of his shirt. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Better be,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently with his. “Now stop interrupting. I’m in the zone.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness there that doesn’t fade.

You settle back into him, your head finding its place against his chest again, one of your hands resting loosely over his stomach, fingers brushing absent circles over the damp skin.

His arm wraps around you automatically, pulling you closer without thinking, like it’s just how you exist now, intertwined.

“My girl,” he murmurs under his breath, more to himself than anything, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before continuing. 

He keeps reading, slower now, softer, the words blending with the sound of the lake, the warmth of the sun, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

Every so often, he’ll dip back into that overly dramatic tone just to make you laugh, calling you “fair maiden” or “keeper of the sacred text” under his breath, and you’ll swat at him lightly, telling him to shut up while smiling the whole time.

“Don’t sass me,” he mutters at one point, tightening his hold around you. “I’m providing a service.”

“A very annoying one,” you mumble.

“Yeah?” he leans down slightly, voice dropping. “Still your favorite, though.”

You hum, pretending to think about it.

He nudges you. “C’mon.”

You tilt your head up just enough to meet his eyes, soft and warm and entirely yours.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Mine.”

Something in his expression shifts, just for a second, something deeper slipping through the usual teasing.

“Damn right,” he murmurs, brushing his nose lightly against your hair. “And you’re mine.”

GAH i loved this.

Comment to be added to the taglist!

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@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @eddiemunsonspantschain @bitterestwillow

[beasbrain]

I Pine, I Perish

description: a cutie lil fic where eddie is just completely obsessed with you. who knew all he needed to bring you two together was jason carver beating his ass?

pairing: yearning!eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: yearning!eddie, protective!reader, eddie x reader, no y/n, reader insert, slow (ish) burn, first kiss, happy ending, fluff the house down boots, high school romance, so much fucking yearning, eddie's head over heels

WC: 4.5k

TW: bullying, violence, some smoochies

A/N: requested by @midgardian-rogue hope you enjoy!! sorry for the wait! life is kicking my behind. i haven't forgotten about you all. reblogs are always appreciated my loves<33 hope you all enjoy an ounce of some innocent fluff before final girl pt.2 bc......

People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.

Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.

Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.

Everyone knew you.

Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.

Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.

It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.

Genuinely, painfully, kind.

The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.

You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—

Jesus Christ.

See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.

Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.

But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.

Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.

Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.

Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about. 

Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.

"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.

At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.

And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.

Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.

The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.

Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.

It had been almost exactly a year ago.

The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.

He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.

"Well, if it isn't the freak."

Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"

Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.

"Nah."

Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.

"I actually look forward to these little chats."

"I don't."

"Funny."

Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.

"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."

"Just looking out for the town."

Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.

So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.

Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"

"It concerns me now."

You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

"Move."

Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said move."

Andy scoffed. "You serious?"

Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.

Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."

"We're talking."

"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."

Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."

Eddie's stomach dropped.

But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.

Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"

Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"

Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"

"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."

You paused, eyeing him up and down.

"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."

Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."

For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.

Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.

Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."

He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."

Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."

Andy and Chance followed without another word.

Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."

You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.

Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.

"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."

Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought. 

Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.

He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."

A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.

He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest. 

There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.

But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.

Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.

"You never know what you're gonna find."

Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.

No dice…literally.

With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.

He almost walked right past the record stand.

It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.

Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—

"...No way."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.

You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.

There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.

He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.

You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.

"Oh." You laughed softly. "Hi, Eddie."

His mouth opened, but nothing happened.

"You... um..." Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. "You like... music?"

God, just bury him now.

Your smile only widened. "I dabble."

"I just..." He gestured helplessly toward the crate. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I wasn't expecting me either." You grinned to yourself before looking back down at the albums. "My dad's the reason."

"You've got a metalhead dad?"

"The biggest."

You laughed. "He swears everything made after 1984 is garbage."

"Smart man."

"I told him you'd probably say that."

Eddie's head snapped up. "...You've talked about me?"

The words escaped before he could stop them.

You looked equally surprised. "I..."

A tiny laugh escaped you. "I mean..."

You ducked your head for a second. "You know... around school."

Right, of course. Don't be stupid, Munson. The thought that your family even knew his name made something warm bloom in his chest.

You continued sorting through the cassette, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh."

Your fingers landed on one. Without hesitating, you slid it free from the rack and held it toward him. "I think you'd like this."

He looked down. Mercyful Fate.

Eddie stared at the cassette, then back at you. "You know Mercyful Fate?"

"I know enough." You shrugged. "My dad played this one so much I practically know it by heart."

Eddie took it carefully, almost afraid it'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You've heard this?"

"'Come to the Sabbath' used to scare me when I was little."

He barked out a laugh. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Nope."

"You don't exactly scream..." He motioned vaguely toward you. "...Mercyful Fate."

"And you don't exactly scream honor roll."

He blinked. "...Fair."

You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."

You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.

"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."

Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."

"I appreciate your approval."

The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"

You nodded. "I think so."

As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.

You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"

He swallowed. "...Yeah."

"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."

Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.

You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."

He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.

"You gonna buy it?"

The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You've been holding it for five minutes."

"Oh."

Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."

The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.

By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.

But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.

"I think you'd like this."

Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"

"...Maybe."

"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"

"...No."

Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.

The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.

The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.

Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."

"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"

"We're legally obligated to."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."

Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"

"We do now."

Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."

"What?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.

You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—

Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.

"Hi, guys."

You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.

"Hi, Eddie."

God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

"Uh... hey."

"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."

You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."

Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.

"We're allergic."

"I figured."

Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."

Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"

His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."

"And?"

"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."

"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"

"I was trying not to sound insane."

"So you liked it?"

"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."

"I knew you would."

Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.

Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."

Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"

He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.

"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."

He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."

You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets. 

"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll see you around?"

"...Yeah."

You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."

Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...

Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.

"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.

"What?"

"You hate homecoming."

"I don't hate—"

"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"

"I stand by that."

Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."

He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"

Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"

"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."

Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.

"...Huh."

Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"

"'Huh?!'"

"You bought two!"

"I know!"

"Do you?!"

Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.

"'Homecoming Admission.'"

He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."

Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."

"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."

"They are."

"So, who are you taking?"

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.

"...Nobody."

Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.

"Nope."

"So you just bought two tickets..."

"Yep."

"...For fun?"

"...Sure."

Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."

"Oh no," Eddie muttered.

"Oh, no."

Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."

Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Jeff grinned. "Dude."

"You've been listening to that cassette all week."

"You don't know that."

"Wayne told my mom."

Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"

"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."

Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"

The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."

Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.

By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.

Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.

"You boys have another séance today?"

Gareth groaned.

"Just keep walking."

That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.

His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.

"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.

Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.

Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"

Jason shrugged. "Gravity."

"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy. 

"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."

Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.

"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."

Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."

The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.

"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.

"Oh. There he is."

The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.

Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.

"...Enough!"

Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.

You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.

Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."

"No."

You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."

You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic. 

"You should be proud of yourselves."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."

"That's bullshit."

Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"

"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"

You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."

Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."

"No." You shook your head.

"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."

Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."

"You first."

You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.

His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.

"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”

The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.

"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.

Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.

"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"

Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"

You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"

He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.

"So much for keeping your pretty face."

Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."

"Ah! There."

You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.

He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"

"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."

You hesitated. "Can I?"

He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.

With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.

"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."

"Hm?"

"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."

"They were picking on Gareth."

"I know."

"So..."

"So you decided to get yourself killed?"

"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."

"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.

You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."

He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

"Eddie?"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"

"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."

"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Huh?” He swallowed.

His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.

"I think I really like you."

You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his. 

Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."

"Oh."

Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."

He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.

"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."

His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"

"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."

"...Say what?"

"That."

You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."

His brain stopped. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"

"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."

"...That's why?"

"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."

"He looked lost."

"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."

He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.

"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."

"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.

"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."

"...WHAT?"

The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.

You blinked. "What?"

"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."

"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"

"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."

"...I know."

"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."

You stared.

"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."

A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."

He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"

"And?"

"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."

Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."

"I panicked."

"I can tell."

"I said I bought them for fun."

"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"

"I know!"

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I KNOW."

"They believed you?"

"They absolutely did not."

You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.

"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."

Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.

"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"

He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."

"Really?"

"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."

"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."

"A little."

"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"

"I thought it was kind of cute."

"Oh, that's cruel."

"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.

He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh. 

"So..."

"So?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.

"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."

You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.

"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"

You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.

You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.

"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."

"You idiot."

"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.

"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."

"I make no promises."

"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."

This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times. 

Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."

You laughed. "Me too."

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."

"So?"

"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."

"Don't do this to me."

"I suppose."

He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.

Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."

"I'm surviving."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."

You laughed softly.

"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."

You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."

"...Ahem."

The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.

Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled. 

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. 

"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"

missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3

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[spacejjunk]

Pepperoni new york style, wings and a root beer please!

When was the last time someone fucked you? - optional plot twist you are a virgin so the answer is never.

nothing else matters

pairing: eddie munson x reader

w/c: 2902

warnings/tags: smut, stoned sex, virgin! reader, first time, cuteness

masterlist // pizza party

The trailer has become your favorite place to be every Friday night.

Smoke hung in lazy curls under the dim lamp, turning the cluttered space into something softer, warmer, more secret. Dio played low on the stereo, the heavy guitars vibrating through the floor and up into your bones. You were sunk deep into the sagging couch, legs tucked under you, the high making everything feel slow and liquid and a little too bright at the edges.

Eddie sat across from you in the armchair, one boot kicked up on the coffee table, the other leg sprawled wide. His vest hung open over a faded Metallica shirt, curls wild and haloed by the light. The joint burned down between his fingers, silver rings glinting every time he gestured. He’d been like this all night- theatrical, loud, impossible to look away from-  but the flirting had crept in heavier with every hit. The way he’d called you “sweetheart” like it was your actual name. The way his eyes kept dropping to your mouth when you laughed. The way his knee had “accidentally” brushed yours and stayed there a second too long.

You both felt it. That thing you’d been dancing around for weeks. The late-night talks that stretched until dawn, the almost-kisses that never landed because one of you always got nervous and cracked a joke instead. You wanted him so badly it ached sometimes, but saying it out loud felt terrifying. What if it ruined everything?

The game had started dumb and safe- “Favorite D&D monster to fight?” “Worst thing you’ve ever eaten?”- but the weed had loosened every filter. Questions got sharper. Edgier. Eddie’s grin had turned wicked about twenty minutes ago, and now he was watching you like he was waiting for something to break.

He took one last slow drag, held it, then crushed the roach into the overflowing ashtray. When he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the air shifted. His dark eyes locked onto yours, playful and hungry at the same time.

“Alright, my turn,” he said, voice low and rough from the smoke. That signature Eddie Munson smirk curved his mouth, but there was something hotter underneath it. “And you can't get all shy on me now, sweetheart.”

He tilted his head, curls falling across one eye, and asked it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“When was the last time someone fucked you?”

The words hit like a live wire. Your brain stuttered hard. The high made everything spin, but that question sliced straight through the fog- blunt, filthy, and aimed right at you. Heat flooded your face so fast it felt like a fever. Your chest tightened. Your thighs pressed together on instinct. You opened your mouth and nothing useful came out, just a broken little sound.

“I… I-I’ve never…” You swallowed, voice small and cracking. “No one has. I’m… I’m a virgin.”

The confession tumbled out in a stammered rush. You wanted to disappear into the couch cushions, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Eddie went still for a second, eyebrows lifting, mouth parting in genuine surprise. For one suspended heartbeat the only sound was the low thrum of the music and your own pulse in your ears.

Then that slow, crooked smile spread across his face- not mocking, not laughing at you. Something darker. Warmer. Interested in a way that made your stomach flip and your skin prickle.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, almost to himself. A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “You’re serious?”

He sat back just enough to rake a hand through his curls, rings catching the light, then leaned in again, closer this time. His gaze dragged over you- slow, deliberate, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers were still gripping the couch cushion like a lifeline. When he spoke again his voice had dropped lower, intimate, that flirty edge sharpened into something that felt like a promise.

“Damn, sweetheart… that’s actually really fucking hot.” He shook his head once, like he was trying to clear it. “No one’s ever touched you like that? Not even a little?” His eyes flicked down to your mouth again, then back up. “I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. Like, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you weeks. And now you tell me this?”

He shifted forward until his knees were almost touching yours. One ringed hand rested on the arm of the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The usual manic energy was still there, but it was tempered now by something careful. Something hungry.

“You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “We can keep playing the game. Or we can… not.” A tiny, wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Your call, pretty girl. But just so you know- hearing that? It’s doing really filthy things to my brain right now.”

The air between you crackled. The high made every detail sharper- the way his voice vibrated in your chest, the faint scent of leather and smoke clinging to him, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

Your face was still burning, but the embarrassment was twisting into something else- something warm and electric and terrifyingly good. The nervousness was still there, thick in your throat… but so was the want. Finally out in the open between you both.

Eddie waited, that crooked, flirty smile soft around the edges, giving you all the space in the world while his eyes said he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d ever admit.

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them.

Your voice was soft, a little rough from the smoke, but steady enough. The high had your heart racing and your skin buzzing, and the way Eddie was looking at you- like he wanted to devour every shaky breath you took- made something bold and reckless rise up in your chest.

“How would you fuck me?”

Eddie’s eyes darkened instantly. That crooked, filthy grin spread slow across his face, but there was heat in it now, real and hungry. He let out a low laugh, running a hand through his curls as he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He shook his head once, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually asked. “You want the whole picture? Alright. I’ll give it to you.”

His voice dropped lower, that theatrical Eddie drawl turning intimate and rough.

“I’d start slow. Real slow. Because I know it’s your first time and I’m not about to rush the best thing that’s ever gonna happen to either of us.” He licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “I’d kiss you until your head spins worse than this weed does. Then I’d get my mouth on your tits- suck on them nice and gentle until you’re arching up and making those pretty little sounds I already know you’re hiding. I’d take my time. Kiss down your stomach, spread your legs, and eat this pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

He was watching your face now, gauging every reaction, his own breathing heavier.

“I’d use my tongue first. Get you wet and messy. Then two fingers- slow, curling just right until you’re shaking. I’d talk to you the whole time. Tell you how tight you feel. How good you taste. How I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.” His grin turned sharper, filthier. “And when you’re dripping and begging, I’d finally give you my cock. Nice and easy at first. Let you feel every inch stretching you open. I’d hold your hand. Kiss you through it. Tell you how fucking perfect you feel wrapped around me raw.”

He was breathing harder now, eyes locked on yours.

“Then I’d fuck you. Deep. Steady. Not hard- not yet. Just enough to make you feel me everywhere. I’d tell you how good you’re taking it. How pretty you look when you come on my cock for the first time. I’d probably lose my mind a little when you do. Might even come inside you if you let me. Fill you up while I’m still buried deep and whispering how long I’ve wanted this.”

Eddie stopped. The air between you was thick, crackling. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling fast. For a second he just stared at you, that filthy little smile still playing on his lips… then something shifted in his expression. Playful. Decisive. Electric.

He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and shook his head.

“Wait. Why the fuck am I just telling you about it when I could show you?”

Your stomach flipped hard. The high made everything feel dreamlike and hyper-real at the same time. Eddie was already standing, offering you his hand- rings cool against your palm when you took it. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice softer now, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Only if you want. We can stop any time. Just say the word.”

You nodded. Your legs felt a little unsteady as he led you down the short hallway to his bedroom.

He closed the door behind you both, then turned to face you, his hands gentle as they came up to cup your face.

“You sure?” he asked again, eyes searching yours. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all he needed.

Eddie kissed you like he’d been holding back for months- slow at first, then deeper, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting like weed and something sweeter. His hands stayed respectful even as the kiss grew hotter, one sliding into your hair, the other resting at the small of your back, pulling you gently against him. You could feel how hard he was already through his jeans, but he didn’t grind on you. He just let you feel it. Let you know.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he promised, voice low and rough. “Gonna make it so good for you, sweetheart. You tell me if anything feels off, okay? Even if it’s just a little.”

You nodded again, breathless.

He started slow- peeling your shirt up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. His mouth was warm and a little chapped from the smoke, and the contrast of his soft lips and the cool metal of his rings dragging lightly over your sides made you shiver. When your bra came off, he paused, just looking, eyes dark and reverent.

“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed. “So pretty. Been thinking about these for way too long.”

He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling. Your back arched and a soft sound escaped you. Eddie groaned against your skin like the noise alone was doing things to him.

“Love the sounds you make,” he murmured, switching to the other side, one hand cupping and squeezing while his mouth worked. “Gonna make you even louder in a minute.”

Clothes came off slowly between kisses and soft laughter. When you were both down to nothing, Eddie guided you onto the bed like you were something precious. He settled between your thighs, kissing down your stomach, nuzzling the soft skin there.

“Gonna taste you now,” he warned, voice filthy and sweet at the same time. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue before I fuck you. That okay?”

“Please,” you managed.

He didn’t rush. He licked broad and slow, groaning like you tasted better than anything he’d ever had. His tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it, and two of his long fingers slid inside you- careful, checking your face the whole time. The stretch burned a little at first, but he was patient, curling them just right, finding that spot that made your hips jerk.

“There she is,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Fuck, you’re so tight. So wet for me already. Been wanting this pussy for so long, pretty girl. Gonna take such good care of it.”

He worked you open with his fingers and mouth until your legs were shaking, until you were gasping his name and coming hard against his tongue. Eddie didn’t stop until you were whimpering from oversensitivity, kissing your inner thighs and murmuring how good you were, how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.

When he finally crawled back up your body, his mouth was shiny and he was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Still with me?” he asked, brushing hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Eddie… please.”

He kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he reached toward the nightstand out of habit, fingers brushing a condom wrapper- but he paused, looking at you.

“You on anything?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got one if you want it. No pressure either way.”

You shook your head, heart pounding. “I’m on birth control. I… I want to feel you. All of you.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut for a second like the words physically hit him. When he opened them again they were darker, softer.

“Fuck. Okay. Yeah. I’ve got you.”

He lined himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your slick folds. He was big- not in a scary way, but enough that you felt the stretch even before he pushed in. Eddie went slow. So slow. One hand laced with yours beside your head, the other stroking your hip, your thigh, anywhere he could reach.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “That’s it. Just like that. God, you feel… fuck, you feel perfect. So warm. So tight around me.”

He pushed in another inch, pausing when you tensed, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth.

“You’re doing so good. I’ve got you. Tell me if it’s too much.”

It stung a little, then burned, then melted into something fuller, deeper. When he was finally all the way inside you, buried to the hilt, Eddie let out a shaky groan and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’m inside you. Really inside you. You okay?”

You nodded, overwhelmed, clinging to his shoulders. “Move… please.”

He started slow- long, deep strokes that let you feel every inch. His dirty talk never stopped, but it stayed wrapped in that gentle, caring tone.

“Feel that? That’s all me, baby. Stretching this pretty little virgin pussy so nice. You’re taking me so well. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me every time I talk like this.”

He kissed you through it, rocked into you steady and careful, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in slow circles.

“Gonna make you come again while I’m inside you. Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock. You’re so fucking beautiful like this. All mine right now.”

The second orgasm built slower. When it hit, you cried out his name and Eddie groaned like it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He fucked you through it, pace still controlled, still gentle, even as his own control started to fray.

“Can I come inside you?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Please, sweetheart- I’m so close. Wanna fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Eddie- yes.”

He came with a low, broken moan, hips stuttering, cock pulsing deep inside you as he buried his face in your neck and whispered your name like a prayer. You felt every throb, every spurt of warmth, and it made you clench around him again.

For a long minute afterward, neither of you moved. Eddie stayed inside you, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips. When he finally pulled out, he did it carefully, murmuring apologies when you winced, then immediately gathered you against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer now, the filthy edge gone, replaced by pure Eddie tenderness. “Was that… was it good for you?”

You nodded against his chest, still floating. “It was perfect.”

He let out a relieved little laugh and kissed the top of your head, one hand stroking slow circles on your back.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to do that with you for a really long time.” He paused, then added with a sleepy, satisfied grin, “And I’m gonna want to do it again. A lot. But only when you’re ready. No rush.”

The high was still humming in your veins, but the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the weed. Eddie Munson- your Eddie- was holding you like you were something he’d been afraid to break and now couldn’t stop touching.

You smiled into his skin.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I want you to be a little less gentle.”

Eddie’s laugh was low and delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He pulled the blanket over both of you, tucked you closer, and let the music from the living room drift in while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm.

[sterlingvenetia]

fuck summer i want it to be dark and misty and frigid and october

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

completed work on Wattpad

CHAPTER 5

wc: 1.5k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You'd made up your mind about the Hideout. Eddie was your friend and you wanted to see him play. Even if it was far away and it was late and it was probably dangerous. Alright, maybe it wasn't such a good idea. You'd definitely get in trouble if you were caught.

You spent the next 15 minutes sitting at your windowsill debating whether you should go out or not. You had already spent almost two hours getting ready and it seemed a waste not to go, but your legs refused to move. It wasn't your first time sneaking out, but leaving with the approved friends after curfew was one thing, sneaking out to see the town's outcast drug dealer play at a dodgy bar across town was another.

Eventually, you shamefully admitted defeat and started to climb back in. As you turned, you came face to face with your Ferris Buller's Day Off poster, perfectly illuminated by the only lamp on in the room. The universe seemed to enjoy playing jokes on you. It was taunting you, the stupid thing. It had been your favorite movie since it came out, even before you started to pretty much live its plot.

As much as you liked to pretend to be Sloan, you were most definitely Cameron. Stuck in his own mind, too afraid to do anything that upsets his rich strict parents. So afraid that he barely even lives life, and when he does, he feels guilty about it. Oh, how you got poor Cameron. And Eddie? Eddie was Ferris. Free, confident, unafraid. And he'd get just as disappointed in your lack of strength to live a little.

You'd told Eddie you were going, and it was unpolite to go back on a promise, right? Your parents couldn't really be mad about it. And if you played your cards right, they wouldn't even find out. Besides, everything worked out for Cameron in the end, at least you liked to imagine it did. You turned your body outwards again; feet dangling out the window. And with Mathew Broderick's judgmental eyes burning a hole into your back, you jumped.

The bar was fuller than usual, a group of bikers having stopped by on their way to somewhere else, which also brought down the usual age rate. Unfortunately, it wasn't brought down enough. You tried your best to fit in, but it was a lost cause; you stood out like a sore thumb. Not only were you the only person under 30, but you were also the only one that looked like she might break. Which you figured was not a great look for a place like this. You found a spot to sit at the bar and focused your efforts on looking for Eddie while simultaneously trying to go unseen.

"Are you lost kid?" The old man behind the counter asked.

He was a big man with long gray hair and beard, tattoos covering his arms and neck. He was by far the most menacing person you'd ever interacted with. There was something in his eyes, though, that made you relax. You didn't know exactly what it was, you just knew he meant no harm. They showed genuine concern. He wasn't trying to scare you away or get you into trouble; he was genuinely asking if you needed help.

"No, I- I'm here to watch Eddie. He said they were playing here today." You managed to get out of you over the loud music.

The man looked stunned for a second, confusion reflected clearly in his eyes, but then he shrugged it off and offered you a smile.

"If you're with Eddie you don't have to worry about a thing. The place is rough, but if you sit there, you'll be fine. He'll be going on any second now. You want anything to drink?"

"Uhm... My friends usually make margaritas...?" You offered unsurely.

"A margarita it is" The older man laughed amused.

You were almost finished with your cocktail when Eddie finally spotted you from the stage. You had to stifle a laugh at the faces he made; the poor boy was going through every emotion in the book at a hundred miles per hour. It was hilarious. He never missed a bit though; you were already seriously impressed with his skills but that really nailed it in. You'd never thought he'd be this good. He played like a real rockstar, as if he had trained his whole life for this. Which you knew wasn't true, he hadn't even picked up a guitar before he turned 16. He even wrote some of the songs too. It was clear to you he belonged on a stage. The lights reflecting off the sweat dripping down his face. The loud music reverberating in the walls, the floor, the people. The pure energy that filled that otherwise lifeless bar. It was a mesmerizing scene to witness; something that made so much sense, that was meant to be. It was incredible. He was incredible.

"What the hell are you doing here? Are you out of your mind?"

Eddie came striding up to your seat at the bar as soon as he got off stage, arms wide open. You took it as an invitation for a hug and launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck. He smelled of sweat and cologne. He was warm. The way his body tensed up beneath you gave you the sense that maybe you weren't supposed to hug. Good thing you were halfway on your second margarita and a bit too tipsy to care.

"You're amazing!" You screamed over the loud music as you pulled back, a smile beaming ear to ear. You hadn't felt this loose in forever, it felt wonderful.

"You're drunk." Eddie stated back, a mix of astonishment and pride.

"Your friend makes a mean margarita." You exclaimed.

"You mixed her a margarita?" Eddie asked the bartender, amazed. This night was a gift that just kept on giving.

"You repeat that to anyone and I'll deny it" The older man responded, face closed, before letting a small smirk slip.

He passed a drink to Eddie and asked if you needed a refill. You were about to say yes but Eddie beat you to it.

"I think she's good, Randy. Thanks."

"Hey, I'm fine! I can handle another one." You whined, your body leaning against his involuntarily.

"Sure, but I'd like for you to be able to sneak back into your house without getting caught. I think you've broken enough serious rules for one day, don't you think?"

The two of you stood there, cramped against each other and the bar for the rest of the night. Between screaming and whispering into each other's ears, you pull Eddie up to speed on your home evasion and he walked you through his process before a show. He looked for his friends once, wanting to introduce them, but couldn't find them and never bothered to try again. You eventually gave up on your third margarita, remembering in a moment of clarity that you had to drive back home at some point.

After a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence as you watched yet another band perform. They had a different sound but were nowhere near as good as Eddie's band in your opinion. You turned to him suddenly, grabbing his arm; an idea striking you like lightning.

"Came with me to New York!"

"What?" Eddie whipped his head around, startled by the sudden movement.

"I said, come with me. To New York. You're too good for this place Eddie, you need to leave, find a crowd that acknowledges your talent."

Eddie was rightfully lost for words. Where the hell was this coming from? Everything became very detailed all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of everything surrounding him.

"I... what? I thought you weren't sure about New York."

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought. That was true, you hadn't made your mind up about New York. Yet this felt right. It felt like a plan that could actually work. New York with a friend was different than New York by yourself.

"I wasn't, but now I am. I'm tired of this shit, Eddie. I don't want to be Cameron anymore; I want to be Sloane."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He laughed, mildly amused but still uneasy. "I can't go to New York. I've got no money."

"We'll get jobs, and we'll share a place. I've got money saved up, Eddie. C'mon, we don't belong here, you know that."

Deep down he knew he was good, good enough to make it somewhere if he was lucky. But he had never let himself entertain that idea, and nobody had ever told he wasn't crazy if he did. And yet, it was something about the way you rolled your words, or maybe it was the way your eyes glistened a bit too much. You were drunk, and anything you said drunk didn't really mean anything, did it? Sure, you'd sneaked out tonight, but that was not the same as moving with him to New York. That was crazy talk. For God's sake you didn't even say hello to him in the school hallways. Was he really supposed to take this seriously?

"You're funny. Ask me again when you're sober." He dismissed.

"I mean it, its not drunk talk." You whined.

"Whatever you say sweetheart. Whatever you say"

Taglist: @bonnieprincess

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Completed story on Wattpad

CHAPTER 1

wc: 2.3k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Your parents had always been on the stricter side. They liked having people's approval, and in Hawkins that mostly meant being a God fearing, rule respecting, status quo following type of family. You went to church every Sunday, you had good grades, you were on the cheer squad and sat at the table with all the popular kids. You were vain, spoiled and sweet and stuck in a cage of their making.

It wasn't necessarily that you didn't care for all those things you participated in, you loved cheering and took pride in being top of your class. Pink suited you and you enjoyed experimenting with the styles from the magazines. It was simply that they weren't the only things that peaked your interest. So, you tried from time to time to explore the other stuff that did.

Your first battle with your parents was at 13 years old, trying to convince them to allow you to listen to pop music. Each album had to be approved by them or by one of their so-called friends. You came to realize, that if the other sweet girls were allowed, their own sweet girl was too, and if not, it was borderline criminal. You started to learn how to use that to your advantage, quietly manipulating your friends to buy an album you wanted to hear, or rent a movie they'd usually never go for. Unfortunately, after a while these tactics started to prove to be less efficient. Your peers began to question your suggestions, and you decided to cut your losses and play safe.

Over the years you learned new tricks, but the hardest part was keeping everything under wraps. Your friends' parents were friends with your parents. They went to the same church, the same parent teacher meetings, the same school games and assemblies, some of them even worked with your dad. That meant that Hawkins was full of spies. If anybody saw you do, or be somewhere you shouldn't, it was almost certain that it would reach their ears in no time. You had to keep everything extremely close to your chest and be as discrete as humanly possible.

Movies had proved to be a hard task. You couldn't rent them because Debbie's father owned the store, so watching them in the theater was your only option. More than once, you had gone with friends to see a parent approved movie, only to excuse yourself with some lame explanation and change rooms to watch something else. That meant most movies were a once in a lifetime experience, to be appreciated and lived in for 90 minutes and never to be seen again.

Music wasn't a walk in the park either, you'd manage to snag a few unapproved tapes at a garage sale on the other side of town once, but you could only listen to them in your car, and not too loud. If the wrong person heard you singing Madonna you'd lose TV privileges for a month.

Nobody could know that you spent hours in the library reading fantasy books pretending to be studying algebra, or that you had a secret hiding place in your car where you kept your secret tapes. And the worst part was that you could speak to nobody about any of it. It was exhausting and stressful, and it drove you crazy. Yet every time you were alone, engulfed so completely in something forbidden, something you loved outside your parents' bubble, it felt so thrilling, so all-consuming that it made everything worthwhile.

That is why you had been sitting in your car still parked in your usual spot for more than an hour waiting for the last person in Hawkins you were allowed to even be nearby. You had started the car many times, so close to convincing yourself to leave, but ultimately failing every time. It was getting dark outside, which you welcomed. The darker it was the more hidden you'd be, and being hidden was the key part of everything in your life. Your friends in the cheer squad and in church were able to open many doors for you in the past, but this one? This one was locked and barricaded. Suddenly, the school door busted open and out they came. The Hellfire Club.

He came out last, juggling books and boxes full of whatever they used to play... whatever it was they played in that club. You watched, transfixed, as he made his way to his van. All swagger and certainty. He moved like he didn't have a care in the world. He didn't give a toss about anything. Anything at all. And you envied him profoundly. Your friends had never had a kind word to say about Eddie Munson, but you'd always thought that he was the most honest person you'd ever met. That's why they were all scared of him, it wasn't just that he was different, it was that he wasn't afraid. Ironically, when you approached him, he was finishing putting his things in the back of the van and you almost startled him to death.

"Hi" You greeted, voice loud enough that he could hear you, but not so much that it could crack under your nervousness. You did your best to appear indifferent, like everything was fine, like approaching Eddie "The Feak" Munson, a drug dealer that kept failing his classes was totally normal.

The oh so feared delinquent almost had a heart attack. You had to force back a smile at the startled way he turned around with a jump, eyes wide open and hand flying to his chest to rest over his fast-beating heart. Always so dramatic. Once he realized he wasn't in any eminent danger, he finally took a good look at you. It took a lot of effort to keep his composure after the shock of coming face to face with the last person he'd expected to see. He did a better job than he gave himself credit for, for to you Eddie Munson never let on anything other than complete coolness.

"Jesus, sweetheart, are you trying to scare me to death?"

The way he was able to call you a pet name so easily when he didn't know anything about you, let alone never met you before, made something flutter in your stomach. How could someone be so confident all the time? He had all the reasons and more to think you despised him like everybody else, and still.

You had had plenty of time in the car to rehearse what you were going to say to him, but now, standing there, with him towering over you, smelling like weed, cheap cologne and bad decisions, your mind went completely blank. This had been a dumb idea.

"Uh...no."

"Well, that's a good start" He responded, eyebrows raised willing you to continue.

"I... I'm sorry if I scared you. I... you don't really know who I am but I, sort of, need a favor?"

Eddie had never been so confused. Firstly, because he definitely knew who you were. Which meant that you were either feigning humbleness (most likely with your kind) or you were extremely naïve. He knew exactly who almost everybody was, having been in that school for so long, but he knew especially who the popular kids were; they made themselves known. Cheerleaders don't go unnoticed; that's their whole deal.

Secondly because, what the actual fuck was a cheerleader doing talking to him? And not just a cheerleader, you. Others he could've expected, they approached him from time to time, for weed and other stuff for their parties, but of all the popular cheerleader gang people, you had always been the coyest one. You didn't make out in the hallways, you didn't speak obnoxiously loud or snicker when he and the other mere mortals passed by.

You didn't go unnoticed, it was impossible to be a cheerleader and not be under the spotlight, but you didn't try to be under it too much either. He guesses that might have made you go under the radar of some people. Not his tough. For someone who couldn't stand still for a minute and had been repeating the same classes for two years, Eddie had an exceptionally keen eye. He was observant and retained a lot of information about his surroundings without really meaning to.

So, he knew exactly who you were. And even if you weren't as loud, you were still one of them. A voice in the back of his mind pestering him about this being some sort of prank forced him to look around the parking lot discreetly. But, to his surprise, there was only your car there, nobody else in sight for miles. You'd outwaited even the teachers.

"You need to ask me for a favor?" He asked slowly, pointing his finger in his direction, eyebrows still stuck high on his face.

You only nodded your head.

Eddie seemed to contemplate his predicament for a second.

"Alright, I'm intrigued. Please, proceed."

"Ok, this is going to sound pretty stupid, so please bear with me."

The boy nodded and you kept going. You started off strong, pushing the words out of your mouth as fast as you could, but as you went on and realized how brutally idiotic it sounded out loud you started to lose steam. The words taking a lot more effort to be expelled from your lips.

"I parked next to you, and you were smoking inside the van. I was doing my make-up, but I had my window open. You had a song on that I liked, and I was just wondering if you could tell me what it was."

You decided to just evert your gaze and just wait for him to speak.

It's fine worst case scenario Eddie Munson thinks you're crazy. So what? He's not really in any place to judge.

"So, let me see if I got this straight. You waited in your car for like 2 hours on a Friday evening only so that you could aske me what song I was listening to... When exactly?

"Oh, this morning"

"This morning, right. Because you...liked the song?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if they didn't have any real meaning.

"Pretty much, yeah." You responded. Every extra second this interaction took, every extra second you spent under his scrutinizing gaze, was only good to make you more uncomfortable.

"I feel like I hit my head. You're aware this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever?"

"Painfully aware, yes."

Why couldn't he just give it to you? It was a song title. Not even a song, you could survive with just the name of the band. You were starting to learn that nothing was ever simple with Munson, you should've seen that coming.

"Alright." He responded slowly, as if his brain was finally being able to accept the whole ordeal.

"So... Do you know what it was? The song?" You asked after he didn't move an inch.

You could tell a million questions still ran amok in his mind. He had a very expressive face.

"Uhm... I... let me check."

Eddie finally snapped out of his trance, opened the passage door and leaned in enough to eject the tape. He was wondering if maybe he had been listening to something different? Maybe Wayne put on one of his tapes and he didn't notice. But no, clear as day, Ride the Lightning by Metallica sat peacefully in his hand.

The only reason he was sure he wasn't dreaming was because this was way to random a dream to come up with, even for him. If you were asking for drugs? That he could understand and would make for a much more reasonable dream. But this? You, hair armed up to the heavens, denim skirt and rosy cheeks asking him for song recommendations? He would've had to be on mushrooms to come up with that.

Still sitting inside the van, Eddie posed another question.

"Are you sure it was even me?"

This time it was your turn to look confused, and slightly annoyed.

"It's pretty hard to confuse you with somebody else, Munson."

Eddie sighed and jumped out of his seat. He extended his hand to you, giving you the tape, defeated. You took it from his hand, a slight chill running up your arm when your fingers brushed his. You examined it closely, twirling it between your fingers. Eddie's eyes were fixated on the way your manicured hands tapped on the small piece of plastic, as you made a mental note of all the information it held. It felt wrong in your hands, out of place, he had half a mind to reach out and take it from you. You were only going to ruin it; you'd realize you didn't actually like it and turn it into a big joke that everybody would laugh at but himself.

This was his thing. Eddie "The Freak" Munson's thing. And he wasn't entirely comfortable with sharing it with somebody so... different. So completely outside of the bubble where it was supposed to exist.

"Thank you." You finally said with a polite smile, giving him the tape back.

"You're welcome, I guess."

You started to turn around to walk back to your car and Eddie made his way into the driver's seat. A few steps in, you stooped yourself and turned back to him.

"Eddie, could you not mention this to anyone, please?"

"Who would I even tell?"

All of this weird shit was starting to stress him out. He just wanted to get in his car, lit a joint and drive. Maybe blast an album that wasn't Metallica.

"Just... I can't have people knowing."

"That you spoke to me?"

"No! Well, my parents wouldn't be thrilled about that either, but I meant the music. They can't know about the music."

He held your gaze for one more second, brows back to being frowned. This was way too much to handle sober.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He dismissed before getting in the van and closing the door with a loud bang.

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

completed work on Wattpad

CHAPTER 4

wc: 1.4k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

To the best of his abilities, Eddie buried his conversation with Henderson deep down and pretended it never happened. He kept writing notes, and copying tapes and, strangely, his grades even went up. Studying seemed to really work after all, when one actually did it. He was extremely grateful for your help. Deep down, beneath all his uninterest attitude, Eddie really cared about finishing his studies. He'd be the first in his family to do so. It meant something to him. And year after year of seeing his goal move further and further back with each step he took had started to take a toll on him. He had no idea what he would've done if you hadn't showed up. With your color coordinated notes, flashcards and mnemonics. He only hoped he could pay you back somehow.

As April rolled into May and this new normal started to settle in, you started to try to put Eddie onto some of your favorite albums as well. For someone who considered themselves to be a musician he could be extremely close-minded about what was and wasn't good. And as of that moment what was good was metal and nothing else. You had set your mind to change that.

Sat in your car, Landslide by Fleetwood Mac filled the silence softly. You could see the band was growing on him. His head swayed gently with the music and his brows frowned slightly in thought, as if he was listening closely to the lyrics. It filled your heart with warmth to know that he was enjoying something that meant so much to you. Was this how he felt when you genuinely showed interest on his favorite bands and his campaigns? You hoped so, it felt really nice.

"When can I see you play?" you asked quietly over the song. You had recently realized that you'd never actually heard him play.

You sat comfortably in the front seat of your car, legs crossed and a magazine placed under your left hand, carefully applying a second coat of nail polish. Eddie took his designated place in the slightly reclined passenger seat. His left hand held the tiny bottle of red nail polish, making it accessible for you. His other hand held a cigarette lit in between his fingers, arm swinging out the open window.

"What do you mean?"

"You keep saying you're the best guitarist that ever lived and yet you've never shown me. Doesn't that sound fishy to you?"

"When have I ever said that?"

"Uhm, its implied."

Eddie breathed out a laugh.

"Well, you don't really frequent the type of spots we play at, sweetheart."

You weren't entirely sure when it had become a frequent thing, but sweetheart was a word that was seen falling of Eddie's lips more and more often. You still weren't sure it was a pet name for you or if it was just something he used with every girl. He had had no trouble calling you sweetheart the first time you ever spoke, after all. Yet, you couldn't be certain since you'd never seen him interact with another girl, but it seemed plausible that he was just one to use pet names to refer to everyone.

He seemed very comfortable around his friends in that way. You'd watched them from afar on occasion. He always seemed so carefree. Big gestures, running and jumping on tables, speaking loudly and laughing like nobody was around. He was touchy with them, too. The way he was with you. He liked to be near people, brushing arms, touching knees, and throwing an arm around shoulders. It was just the way he was. So, it was plausible that the pet names weren't just for your ears either. You tried to ignore the little voice that whispered that you wouldn't have minded if they were.

"Tell me where and when and I'll show up." You insisted.

"Yeah, right." Eddie snickered unconvinced as he blew smoke out the window.

"I mean it." You pressed, slightly amused at his disbelief. "You seem to think I'm some sort of goody two shoes, or something."

You blew on your freshly colored nails and took the bottle from Eddie to close it up.

"And you're not?" He asked, perplexed by your seeming lack of self-awareness.

"No! For your information I've broken a number of very serious rules."

"Listening to Metallica is not breaking a serious rule. Do you even drink?"

"Yes. Maybe I don't get plastered, but I drink at parties. I even do tequila shots."

"Wow, I'm impressed. You ever smoked?"

"Not yet."

"You're hilarious you know? Your parents would die if I let you come to the Hideout, you'd come home smelling of smoke and give them a heart attack."

"I already come home smelling of smoke, they don't notice. My whole car smells of smoke thanks to you."

Eddie shook his head playfully and closing his eyes brought the cigarette to his mouth again, taking a long drag. You took the opportunity to push forward and snatch it from his hand before he could bring it outside.

"What are you doing?" He asked dumbfounded.

"I'm breaking very serious rules."

You pressed your back against the door, putting as much distance between you and Eddie as possible.

"Give it back."

He reached for the cigarette again, but you were faster. You put the small paper cylinder to your mouth and took a drag. Immediately, you started to cough your longs out.

"It burns." You sated incredulous.

"Well yeah, it's on fire. What did you expect?"

"Why would you do this voluntarily?"

"It gets better." Eddie defended himself.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you brought the cigarette to your lips again, despite his protests. It still burned like hell, and it tasted terribly, but you were able to not cough so hard. You opened your window to let the smoke out and clear out the ashes that were beginning to form.

It was a vision Eddie had never guessed he'd witness; it nevertheless burned a permanent image in his brain.

You seemed to have acquired a taste for the thing, for you brought the stick to your lips once again. And Eddie, who previously had a collection of stupid things to tease you with ready to roll off his tong, suddenly went strikingly quiet. You were too focused on not coughing your lungs out again to notice the way his eyes were glued to the small pink imprint your lipstick painted lips left on the small white cylinder. He watched entranced as your lips enveloped his cigarette again, making the marking even more prominent.

He was powerless against the thoughts that invaded him. Your lips on his lips, lipstick smudged all over his face, all over his neck, all over him. Cheery flavor. He watched as you went for it one last time and decided to put an end to his misery before he went crazy. He reached to take the cigarette from your fingers and tried his best to keep his voice steady.

"Easy there. They don't give these out for free, you know?"

You only offer a small cough in response. It was probably a good idea for him to have it back; you were starting to feel lightheaded. There was no other explanation for the way your stomach flipped on its axes as you watched Eddie bring the cigarette – your cigarette, his cigarette, that had just been in your mouth and had pink lipstick smudge all over it to prove it – up to his own lips.

It took everything in Eddie to keep his cool too. He thanked the nicotine for keeping his hands from shaking.

"I'm I cool enough to go to your show now?" You offered tentatively. Doing your best to go back to your previous conversation as fast as possible.

Why you were insisting on this thing you'd never actually follow through with was beyond Eddie. He knew better than to get his hopes up. As much as he'd love for you to watch him play, he knew you'd never be caught dead at the Hideout. Still, he gave you the time and address anyway. He was afraid he'd give you the clothes off his back if you asked nicely. The visions of you looking up at him from the audience as he played Black Sabbath's N.I.B. were enough to break him. The song wasn't even on their usual setlist. His overactive imagination was always doing too much. What the hell was wrong with him? 

Taglist: @bonnieprincess

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

completed work on Wattpad

CHAPTER 3

wc: 1k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

It had started with the car. The green car that was suddenly always there on Friday. Dustin knew it wasn't from anyone at Hellfire, nor from the teachers, and there wasn't another club running at the same time as them. It wasn't hard to figure out though, because you didn't bother changing parking spots. You parked your green Mustang at the same place every day, including Fridays. All it took was seeing who stepped in the morning. It was almost too easy.

Then, it became about the "why". Why where you there every Friday? That one could've been trickier if Eddie wasn't so damn obvious. He'd recently started to always stay behind after Hellfire, he went quiet every time you walked remotely by him, and he developed the annoying habit of going to his locker multiple times a day every day, for no apparent reason. Most of the time, he didn't even get anything, just opened it, looked inside and closed it back up. Like a freaking mailbox. On the occasions that he did linger, he always made sure to be super secretive about shoving something into his pocket.

So, Dustin had the who – you – and the why – talking to Eddie. What he didn't get was how. How in the world had that happened, and what exactly was that. By that point in time curiosity was getting the better of him, and so he decided to skip the detective work and go for something slightly more straight forward.

They were sitting at their usual Hellfire table. It was just him, Mike and Eddie, the others still in the long queue to get their lunch.

"So, Eddie. When were you going to tell us, you're dating a cheerleader?"

"What?" Mike asked confused and mildly uninterested, looking up from his book. Dustin was always coming up with the weirdest shit.

Eddie almost choked on his coke.

"When did I what now?" He asked trying and failing to play it cool.

"Start dating a cheerleader." Dustin enunciated.

"Are you out of your mind, Henderson? Wheeler, please control your friend."

The deflection peeked Mike's interest. Eddie wasn't one to shut things down so fast; there was always a joke or a stupid story with him. Being accused of dating a cheerleader was perfect ego fuel or at least fuel to fire up a new monologue about the class divisions of high school and whatever else. The fact that he just completely dismissed the insinuation was strange.

Dustin continued to stare daggers at the older boy, trying to will him to come clean on his own accord. But when Eddie kept pretending nothing was happening, the freshman changed strategies. He laid all his cards on the table. How he had seen your car multiple times, how Eddie always stayed behind after Hellfire, how strangely he'd been acting. And then, to really get Eddie, he threw in another thing he'd been noticing lately.

"And, she always fixes her hair when she sees you around."

Eddie, who was completely ready to start denying everything and bring his secret to the grave with him, suddenly forgot all about it.

"She does?"

"Oh, so now I'm not crazy anymore!"

"I... No, I... Goddammit, Henderson."

Eddie sighed defeated. He spared you a glance across the crowded cafeteria and silently begged the metal gods for mercy.

"You cannot tell anyone."

He proceeded to walk the boys through the last few months and if Dustin hadn't just confirmed that he'd seen it whit his own eyes, Eddie would've definitely wondered if he didn't just made it all up in his head. It still felt completely bizarre.

The freshman boys tried to convince him to let them at least tell Lucas, but they were firmly forbidden. Lucas was on the basketball team, which meant he and you ran in the same circle, he was too much of a liability. Eddie had already run his mouth to two too many people, he wouldn't risk that. They also had explicit orders to not comment on it again, or even look in her direction, just in case.

"If I don't look at her, how will we find out if she likes you?" Dustin asked like it was obvious.

"Ugh... We don't need to find out if she likes me, Henderson. We know she doesn't."

"We don't know that" Mike offered trying to cause as much mayhem as he could.

"Well, I don't like her like that, so..." Eddie concluded.

Dustin snorted.

"Yeah, right. You have been running around with a beautiful, rich, smart cheerleader who likes metal and Tolkien, but you just want to be friends. Sure, whatever, makes perfect sense to me."

Eddie glanced at the cafeteria line, the rest of the group still waiting in it. It was like time had decided to stop moving just when he desperately needed it to move at double the speed. Damned Henderson and his keen brain. Eddie pressed the palms of his hands to his head and groaned. This was stressing him out. His leg was bouncing uncontrollably under the table, and he could feel his hands getting sweatier by the minute. He had not prepared for this today. Not here, not now. They had gone months unnoticed, months. They had been careful, and so they had been free. Free from all pressures, and judgments and rules. And now it was ruined, tainted. He just wanted this conversation to end so he could pretend it hadn't happened.

Unfortunately, the past months had taught him that Henderson does not give up. It was probably better to try to bury the subject as soon as possible. The fastest they dropped this the fastest it could go back to being their secret arrangement. Just his and hers. Peacefully free once again. And if Eddie wanted them to give it up, he'd have to give them something first.

"She's not even allowed to speak to me in public, let alone like me in any capacity." He sighed backing down, hands running through his tangled hair.

"I mean she has to like you in some capacity if she keeps hanging out with you" Mike pointed out.

"Exactly, now we just have to..."

"We "have to" nothing, Henderson. If anybody finds out, it's over. Her parents will know. They'll lock her inside and homeschool her till she graduates. Just... let it be. I'm handling it."

"God, you're totally in love with her."

That was the last thing out of Dustin's mouth before Eddie was saved by Gareth approaching the table.

Taglist: @bonnieprincess

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

completed work on Wattpad

CHAPTER 2

wc: 1.4k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Monday morning, right before fourth period, you went to your locker to pick up the assigned reading for your English literature class. You were in such a hurry you almost missed it; it was complete luck that you glimpse the small, folded paper as it fell when you yanked the book out of the pile. The slip of paper had clearly been torn off a notebook page, and the messy handwriting read something like:

Got something for you

AV room. Lunch

- Eddie M.

After class, you realized that you couldn't go right to the AV room because the hallway was still filled with people making their way to the cafeteria. No matter how strangely intrigued you were, you couldn't start being reckless now. There weren't many passable excuses to being seen going into a locked classroom with Eddie Munson on lunch break. There weren't any at all. So, you took a little longer to pack your things and told your friends to go ahead, making a point to only leave the room once you were sure the hallways were clear. By then it had been 10 minutes since the bell rang. You made your way to the meeting spot in quick steps all the while trying not to look conspicuous.

"There you are. I thought you'd stood me up." Eddie said when you finally entered the small room. He was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, fidgeting with the radio. You stood by the door.

"Sorry, had to make sure the coast was clear."

"Oh right, forgot they have spies everywhere."

He was poking fun at you, but deep down he understood that you weren't really exaggerating. Eddie knew better than most how rumors spread around Hawkins High, and he had no doubt they could catch like wildfire outside the high school walls too.

"Exactly. I'm glad to see you've recovered from Friday. I was afraid I'd traumatized you."

Eddie let out a breathy laugh. He wasn't expecting you to make jokes at all. Interesting.

"Oh, no. I'm terribly traumatized. You basically burnt everything I took for certain about the inner workings of humanity's social interactions to a crisp. I doubt I'll ever sleep again."

That earned a breathy laugh back. Eddie mentally kicked himself for the swell of pride that rose momentarily in his chest.

"You said you got something for me?"

Suddenly, he didn't feel so confident anymore. Of course you'd want to get it over with, small talk was for friends, acquaintances even. He was just a stranger. And a weird one at that.

"Going right to the point."

"What can I say, I was a spoiled child. I like getting stuff."

Eddie offered a smile; it was strangely endearing that you could acknowledge it so easily. He could tell you meant it, even if you were joking; you owned it. He imagined you, birthday girl all dressed in pink, sparkles and tiaras, surrounded by piles of presents that towered around you. What a childhood that must've been.

"Well, you should lower your expectations, then. It's not a new Mustang."

He got up from the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out a tape and handing it to you. He had thought long and hard during the weekend about their weird interaction on Friday. After a while, the idea of you listening to his music started to grow on him. Nothing bad could really come out of it. You either didn't like it and just never spoke to him again, which just meant things would go back to exactly the way they'd been till Friday. He could easily live with that. Or you'd actually love it. Maybe, for some odd, unexpected and uncomprehensible reason, the universe had gotten something wrong, and it'd made you into a popular, rich, preppy cheerleader that liked metal. And that he could also live with, maybe it would even be kind of cool. He had to admit he didn't hate the idea of sneaking around with a cheerleader to listen to Metallica, even if it was just to listen to Metallica.

"I assumed you wouldn't have gotten the chance to buy it - that being with church and the game and everything – so, I made a copy. I didn't write anything on it so nobody would find out what it was, and..."

He reached into another pocket and took out a small piece of paper all crumbled up.

"I wrote the track list here, so you could know the names. Sorry about the handwriting."

Your mouth hung slightly open, eyes brighter than before as you looked over the precious gifts you'd been handed.

"Eddie..." You muttered absentmindedly as you looked very thing over.

His name fell softly from your lips and it caught him off guard. He was sure it was the first time it had sounded that way in years. Like it meant something sweet, something good. You had to take a moment to look between the tape, the song titles in his messy handwriting and him, his big brown eyes looking at you expectantly, as if your reaction would decide the fate of the world.

"You didn't have to do this. Thank you. It's perfect."

And just like that, that silly feeling of pride was swelling in his chest again.

The next time Eddie heard from you was two days later. It was his turn to open his locker to find a note. It was simple, pink glittery ink on smooth white paper. The greatest contrast to its content.

The song was "For Whom The Bell Tolls"!

Thanks again :)

It was sweet of you to follow up, and that could've been the end of it, except Eddie Munson had never been good at sitting still nor letting things go. Also, he was growing more curious than he anticipated over your opinion on the album. Did you like all the songs? Which one was your favorite? Why the hell did you like it in the first place?

And so, he sent a note back to which you happily replied. Two days later there was another note, this time with a new tape and a new messily scribbled track list attached to it.

Out of nowhere, it became a regular thing. There were notes left on each other's lockers every couple of days, and you started to make a habit of sitting in your car for an extra hour and a half on Fridays to wait for him. You'd listen to the albums he'd bring you and then you'd discuss them with him.

Eddie found the whole thing way too good to be true, especially when you'd offered to tutor him in return for the music. He'd politely declined at first, but then you insisted, and he couldn't really find it in him to tell you no. He understood your parents better after that, it was hard to say no to you.

And just like that, notes every couple of days became notes every day, tutoring sessions after school two days a week and late Friday evening discussions about metal and rock music. And if Eddie could hardly believe his luck, you could hardly believe your nerve. There was no way this wasn't going to blow back in your face later. It was one thing to talk to him for 1 minute and ask for a song title, it was another completely different to hang out with him on a regular basis and sneak notes into his locker every day. Yet nothing had ever felt so right, you had finally found someone to talk to about everything.

Eddie loved to talk anybody's ear off about music, fantasy books, and all that nerdy shit. Against all odds, you'd even found out he liked movies too, even the popular mainstream ones. Yet the best part wasn't even the shared interests, it was that Eddie also let you talk for hours about all the other things that mattered to you, even if he couldn't relate to them. You complained about your parents, you talked about cheer practices, fashion and gossip, and he always listened. You could even speak to him about leaving Hawkins. You had never even been able to verbalize it before. Not until Eddie asked you where you wanted to go for college. The truth was, your parents weren't too keen on the whole college idea, let alone one far away from home, but you'd had an idea brewing in the back of your mind all throughout junior year. A vision, clear as day. New York City.Some crazy spell of courage and delusion had made you sent applications secretly at the biggening of your senior year. And now here you were, waiting to hear back.

The friendship grew in the month you spent in this routine you'd' built; you were as close as one could be with someone they're not allowed to speak to in public. But the thing about routines is that, for keen-eyed people, they're easy to spot. Dustin Henderson had had no trouble at all. 

[auroraswords]

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?

wc: 15k

Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Completed story on Wattpad

CHAPTER 1

wc: 2.3k

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Your parents had always been on the stricter side. They liked having people's approval, and in Hawkins that mostly meant being a God fearing, rule respecting, status quo following type of family. You went to church every Sunday, you had good grades, you were on the cheer squad and sat at the table with all the popular kids. You were vain, spoiled and sweet and stuck in a cage of their making.

It wasn't necessarily that you didn't care for all those things you participated in, you loved cheering and took pride in being top of your class. Pink suited you and you enjoyed experimenting with the styles from the magazines. It was simply that they weren't the only things that peaked your interest. So, you tried from time to time to explore the other stuff that did.

Your first battle with your parents was at 13 years old, trying to convince them to allow you to listen to pop music. Each album had to be approved by them or by one of their so-called friends. You came to realize, that if the other sweet girls were allowed, their own sweet girl was too, and if not, it was borderline criminal. You started to learn how to use that to your advantage, quietly manipulating your friends to buy an album you wanted to hear, or rent a movie they'd usually never go for. Unfortunately, after a while these tactics started to prove to be less efficient. Your peers began to question your suggestions, and you decided to cut your losses and play safe.

Over the years you learned new tricks, but the hardest part was keeping everything under wraps. Your friends' parents were friends with your parents. They went to the same church, the same parent teacher meetings, the same school games and assemblies, some of them even worked with your dad. That meant that Hawkins was full of spies. If anybody saw you do, or be somewhere you shouldn't, it was almost certain that it would reach their ears in no time. You had to keep everything extremely close to your chest and be as discrete as humanly possible.

Movies had proved to be a hard task. You couldn't rent them because Debbie's father owned the store, so watching them in the theater was your only option. More than once, you had gone with friends to see a parent approved movie, only to excuse yourself with some lame explanation and change rooms to watch something else. That meant most movies were a once in a lifetime experience, to be appreciated and lived in for 90 minutes and never to be seen again.

Music wasn't a walk in the park either, you'd manage to snag a few unapproved tapes at a garage sale on the other side of town once, but you could only listen to them in your car, and not too loud. If the wrong person heard you singing Madonna you'd lose TV privileges for a month.

Nobody could know that you spent hours in the library reading fantasy books pretending to be studying algebra, or that you had a secret hiding place in your car where you kept your secret tapes. And the worst part was that you could speak to nobody about any of it. It was exhausting and stressful, and it drove you crazy. Yet every time you were alone, engulfed so completely in something forbidden, something you loved outside your parents' bubble, it felt so thrilling, so all-consuming that it made everything worthwhile.

That is why you had been sitting in your car still parked in your usual spot for more than an hour waiting for the last person in Hawkins you were allowed to even be nearby. You had started the car many times, so close to convincing yourself to leave, but ultimately failing every time. It was getting dark outside, which you welcomed. The darker it was the more hidden you'd be, and being hidden was the key part of everything in your life. Your friends in the cheer squad and in church were able to open many doors for you in the past, but this one? This one was locked and barricaded. Suddenly, the school door busted open and out they came. The Hellfire Club.

He came out last, juggling books and boxes full of whatever they used to play... whatever it was they played in that club. You watched, transfixed, as he made his way to his van. All swagger and certainty. He moved like he didn't have a care in the world. He didn't give a toss about anything. Anything at all. And you envied him profoundly. Your friends had never had a kind word to say about Eddie Munson, but you'd always thought that he was the most honest person you'd ever met. That's why they were all scared of him, it wasn't just that he was different, it was that he wasn't afraid. Ironically, when you approached him, he was finishing putting his things in the back of the van and you almost startled him to death.

"Hi" You greeted, voice loud enough that he could hear you, but not so much that it could crack under your nervousness. You did your best to appear indifferent, like everything was fine, like approaching Eddie "The Feak" Munson, a drug dealer that kept failing his classes was totally normal.

The oh so feared delinquent almost had a heart attack. You had to force back a smile at the startled way he turned around with a jump, eyes wide open and hand flying to his chest to rest over his fast-beating heart. Always so dramatic. Once he realized he wasn't in any eminent danger, he finally took a good look at you. It took a lot of effort to keep his composure after the shock of coming face to face with the last person he'd expected to see. He did a better job than he gave himself credit for, for to you Eddie Munson never let on anything other than complete coolness.

"Jesus, sweetheart, are you trying to scare me to death?"

The way he was able to call you a pet name so easily when he didn't know anything about you, let alone never met you before, made something flutter in your stomach. How could someone be so confident all the time? He had all the reasons and more to think you despised him like everybody else, and still.

You had had plenty of time in the car to rehearse what you were going to say to him, but now, standing there, with him towering over you, smelling like weed, cheap cologne and bad decisions, your mind went completely blank. This had been a dumb idea.

"Uh...no."

"Well, that's a good start" He responded, eyebrows raised willing you to continue.

"I... I'm sorry if I scared you. I... you don't really know who I am but I, sort of, need a favor?"

Eddie had never been so confused. Firstly, because he definitely knew who you were. Which meant that you were either feigning humbleness (most likely with your kind) or you were extremely naïve. He knew exactly who almost everybody was, having been in that school for so long, but he knew especially who the popular kids were; they made themselves known. Cheerleaders don't go unnoticed; that's their whole deal.

Secondly because, what the actual fuck was a cheerleader doing talking to him? And not just a cheerleader, you. Others he could've expected, they approached him from time to time, for weed and other stuff for their parties, but of all the popular cheerleader gang people, you had always been the coyest one. You didn't make out in the hallways, you didn't speak obnoxiously loud or snicker when he and the other mere mortals passed by.

You didn't go unnoticed, it was impossible to be a cheerleader and not be under the spotlight, but you didn't try to be under it too much either. He guesses that might have made you go under the radar of some people. Not his tough. For someone who couldn't stand still for a minute and had been repeating the same classes for two years, Eddie had an exceptionally keen eye. He was observant and retained a lot of information about his surroundings without really meaning to.

So, he knew exactly who you were. And even if you weren't as loud, you were still one of them. A voice in the back of his mind pestering him about this being some sort of prank forced him to look around the parking lot discreetly. But, to his surprise, there was only your car there, nobody else in sight for miles. You'd outwaited even the teachers.

"You need to ask me for a favor?" He asked slowly, pointing his finger in his direction, eyebrows still stuck high on his face.

You only nodded your head.

Eddie seemed to contemplate his predicament for a second.

"Alright, I'm intrigued. Please, proceed."

"Ok, this is going to sound pretty stupid, so please bear with me."

The boy nodded and you kept going. You started off strong, pushing the words out of your mouth as fast as you could, but as you went on and realized how brutally idiotic it sounded out loud you started to lose steam. The words taking a lot more effort to be expelled from your lips.

"I parked next to you, and you were smoking inside the van. I was doing my make-up, but I had my window open. You had a song on that I liked, and I was just wondering if you could tell me what it was."

You decided to just evert your gaze and just wait for him to speak.

It's fine worst case scenario Eddie Munson thinks you're crazy. So what? He's not really in any place to judge.

"So, let me see if I got this straight. You waited in your car for like 2 hours on a Friday evening only so that you could aske me what song I was listening to... When exactly?

"Oh, this morning"

"This morning, right. Because you...liked the song?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if they didn't have any real meaning.

"Pretty much, yeah." You responded. Every extra second this interaction took, every extra second you spent under his scrutinizing gaze, was only good to make you more uncomfortable.

"I feel like I hit my head. You're aware this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever?"

"Painfully aware, yes."

Why couldn't he just give it to you? It was a song title. Not even a song, you could survive with just the name of the band. You were starting to learn that nothing was ever simple with Munson, you should've seen that coming.

"Alright." He responded slowly, as if his brain was finally being able to accept the whole ordeal.

"So... Do you know what it was? The song?" You asked after he didn't move an inch.

You could tell a million questions still ran amok in his mind. He had a very expressive face.

"Uhm... I... let me check."

Eddie finally snapped out of his trance, opened the passage door and leaned in enough to eject the tape. He was wondering if maybe he had been listening to something different? Maybe Wayne put on one of his tapes and he didn't notice. But no, clear as day, Ride the Lightning by Metallica sat peacefully in his hand.

The only reason he was sure he wasn't dreaming was because this was way to random a dream to come up with, even for him. If you were asking for drugs? That he could understand and would make for a much more reasonable dream. But this? You, hair armed up to the heavens, denim skirt and rosy cheeks asking him for song recommendations? He would've had to be on mushrooms to come up with that.

Still sitting inside the van, Eddie posed another question.

"Are you sure it was even me?"

This time it was your turn to look confused, and slightly annoyed.

"It's pretty hard to confuse you with somebody else, Munson."

Eddie sighed and jumped out of his seat. He extended his hand to you, giving you the tape, defeated. You took it from his hand, a slight chill running up your arm when your fingers brushed his. You examined it closely, twirling it between your fingers. Eddie's eyes were fixated on the way your manicured hands tapped on the small piece of plastic, as you made a mental note of all the information it held. It felt wrong in your hands, out of place, he had half a mind to reach out and take it from you. You were only going to ruin it; you'd realize you didn't actually like it and turn it into a big joke that everybody would laugh at but himself.

This was his thing. Eddie "The Freak" Munson's thing. And he wasn't entirely comfortable with sharing it with somebody so... different. So completely outside of the bubble where it was supposed to exist.

"Thank you." You finally said with a polite smile, giving him the tape back.

"You're welcome, I guess."

You started to turn around to walk back to your car and Eddie made his way into the driver's seat. A few steps in, you stooped yourself and turned back to him.

"Eddie, could you not mention this to anyone, please?"

"Who would I even tell?"

All of this weird shit was starting to stress him out. He just wanted to get in his car, lit a joint and drive. Maybe blast an album that wasn't Metallica.

"Just... I can't have people knowing."

"That you spoke to me?"

"No! Well, my parents wouldn't be thrilled about that either, but I meant the music. They can't know about the music."

He held your gaze for one more second, brows back to being frowned. This was way too much to handle sober.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He dismissed before getting in the van and closing the door with a loud bang.