The Freak

“i love you, man.” •22 yr old writer• —stranger things—

[valeisaslut]

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐭?⊹ ˖

⊹ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬—A normal day at the hospital with routine disasters gets interrupted when Robin makes her usual surprise visit, cancels your date, and then makes it up to you in the best way imaginable.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭— 2,5k

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬— robin buckley x fem!nurse!reader, oral sex and fingering (r!receiving), robin cumming untouched, semi-public sex, dom-ish service top robin, hair pulling, uniform kink, possible malpractice but who cares, strong language, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated <3

The day at the hospital is going normally.

Well, “normally” for you. For anyone else, it would qualify as a year worth of trauma.

A dead body here, a guy rolling in with his intestines practically trying to escape his abdomen, an elderly woman who peed all over herself and required full clean-up, another patient who absolutely refused to take his meds until he had to be restrained and you got the honor of tying him down and explaining why he couldn’t throw a bedpan at the doctor’s head.

It’s exhausting.

But you’re used to it after years of working here.

You’re changing the sheets in a newly vacated room, humming quietly to yourself as you smooth down the corners, when — click.

The door opens. You turn, expecting maybe a janitor, or a visitor who got lost.

Instead, there she is.

Robin.

Like she always appears, when you least expect her, but exactly when you need her. Her hair is a little messy, cheeks pink from the winter air. She slips inside and locks the door fast, smoothing her shirt as if attempting to look professional, then immediately failing at it.

“Okay,” she declares dramatically, hands gesturing. “So I have good news, and I have bad news.”

You laugh. “What are you doing here?”

You pick up a vase of dead flowers from the nightstand and dump the shriveled remains into the trash.

Robin strolls closer, hips swinging, eyes bright. “I have to cancel our date tonight.”

You give her the flattest look known to humankind.

Because of course.

Of course she is.

Robin Buckley is the single worst person in the known universe at committing to plans. She always cancels for the most absurd reasons, “Steve really needs to talk about his emotional development”, or “my mom wants to analyze a weird dream she had”, or “I think I might be allergic to the moon tonight.”

You’re starting to suspect what is the actual reason behind her cancellations...

“Of course.”

Robin clutches her chest dramatically as if you’ve wounded her. “But! BUT the good news is I made us a reservation. Eight p.m. tomorrow at Enzo’s.”

You blink. “Enzo’s? Okay, how exactly are we gonna be able to afford that?”

“You mean how am I going to afford it? Because you, my dear, are paying for nothing.” She raises one finger.

You toss a sheet into the hamper and arch an eyebrow. “Double how, then?”

 “I stole money off the dead guy they just wheeled out.” She wiggles her brows, proud and mischievous.

You gasp, swat her shoulder, “That’s not funny. His name was Mr. Pentergast, and he was very nice!”

“And very rich.”

“Robin…” You poke her in the chest, firm, accusing but she only smiles wider.

“Look… dinner’s on me, okay? But, uh… maybe for dessert, I could… see you in this hat… and, like… only this hat.”

You snort, loud. “I hate you. I—”

Robin giggles, bright and unstoppable, and she kisses you, quick at first, then deeper. She shoves you playfully into the door, accidentally slamming it hard enough to echo.

You both freeze, then burst into laughter.

“Was that on purpose?” you whisper.

“Totally.”

“That’s so sexy.”

She grins against your mouth, hands slipping around your waist.

You pause for a moment, soaking her in, the way she smells like winter air and coffee; the way her fingers fidget absentmindedly on your hip; the ramble that’s always on the edge of escaping her mouth.

Because Robin doesn’t think linearly. She thinks in sparks — fast, affectionate, distracting, like a radio switching stations — and you’ve learned to understand her frequency.

You hold her face gently, thumb stroking her cheek. “You’re crazy.”

She beams at you, eyes softer suddenly, voice quieter:  “Yeah. And you love me anyway.”

You sigh, defeated. “I do. God help me, I do.”

She kisses you again, forehead pressing to yours, breath warming your lips. And for a moment, the chaos of the hospital fades away.

There’s just her. Her laughter. Her touch. Her absurdity. Her warmth.

You open your eyes again and she’s looking at you, not joking, not frazzled, not narrating a side-tangent about Steve’s latest meltdown, just... looking. 

She brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, and her voice dips, a little hesitant but hopeful, “But… is there any way I can make it up to you for canceling tonight’s date?”

You let the silence stretch a moment, watching the way she fidgets, tapping her fingers together, rocking on her heels slightly, the picture of anxious sweetness wrapped in bad decision-making and too many freckles.

Your lips curve.

“Well… maybe there is a way.”

Her brows lift, then her mouth opens just a little and she actually blushes. Robin is not subtle; she’s a walking exclamation mark, but she’s also not immune to suggestion. Especially this kind.

“God,” she sighs, half-exasperated, half-delighted, “you’re dirty.”

“And you love it.”

She dramatically checks the door one more time as if the ghost of Mr. Pentergast might suddenly float in and tattle then turns back to you, eyes bright with mischief and hunger.

And then, she sinks to her knees.

It’s not smooth or practiced; it’s Robin, so it’s slightly awkward and incredibly endearing. Her knee almost hits the rolling IV pole. She mutters something like “ohshit–sorry,” then gets herself settled.

Your back presses to the closed door, breath catching as she lifts your leg gently, placing it over her shoulder. Then the other. Her hands slide up the back of your thighs, slow, but still filled with excitement.

Robin looks up at you from between your legs — eyes wide, cheeks flushed — and it’s the filthiest, most unexpectedly confident expression you’ve ever seen on her.

Her voice is low now… teasing. “So… just for clarification… when you said maybe there’s a way… you meant this way?”

You grin down at her, your hand sliding into her hair automatically, feeling the soft blonde locks wrap around your fingers. “Yeah. I think you’re catching on.”

She laughs, breathy, a little undone, then presses a warm, slow kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You’re terrible.”

You let your head hit the door behind you, eyes fluttering. “And you’re still on your knees.”

The sound she makes is half-groan, half-laughter, “No bedside manner at all,” she whispers against your skin.

“Funny,” you murmur, voice roughening, “I’m pretty sure this counts as excellent bedside manner.”

She kisses higher, intentional. Each press of her mouth feels like a countdown.

You bite your lip — hard. 

“Robin…”

Her reply is wordless, just a satisfied hum against your skin as she shifts closer, her arms tightening around your thighs. She noses just beneath the edge of your scrub shorts and inhales, lingering there, taking in your scent. Her breath warms the crease of your hip.

Those piercing blue eyes — curious, unguarded, shining with mischief and hunger — lock onto yours. You feel pinned by them, more exposed under her gaze than under her hands.

Her fingers hook into the waistband of your scrubs, teasing at first… then pulling them down. She never looks away. Inch by inch, she slides them past your hips, down your thighs, letting them fall around your ankles.

And Robin — sweet, rambling, anxious Robin — looks up with eyes that are suddenly sharp and focused that make your pulse trip over itself.

She breathes out the softest sound. Not quite a gasp, more like awe.

“Oh,” she murmurs, “that’s perfect.”

Then she settles between your legs again, her hands warm on your thighs, her mouth open, her breath hot, and she begins.

Her tongue parts you slowly, tracing a wet line through your folds, tasting you, savoring you. You gasp too loud and immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

Robin pauses only to smile against your pussy, then flattens her tongue and drags it up again, deeper this time. Your knees tremble against her shoulders.

Her movements grow more confident, more sure with every reaction you try to suppress. Broad, steady strokes that coat her mouth, followed by smaller teasing circles that make your stomach jolt. One hand slides up, curling around your hip, holding you in place.

You force out a whisper, barely audible. “Jesus… Robin…”

She gives a pleased little hum, her tongue flicking your clit with sudden precision, and the sound that rips from you is desperate, strangled. You clamp your palm harder over your lips.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” she murmurs, voice muffled by your flesh. “Trying to be so quiet…”

You glare down, breath shaking, “People are right outside—”

“Mhm,” she answers vaguely, clearly uninterested in restraint. She parts you with both thumbs now, opening you to her mouth completely. Her lips close around your clit —slow suction, steady pressure — and your back hits the door with a muffled thud.

Your throat works with the effort of silence. She can feel your body attempting to betray you.

Her tongue moves faster. Quick, insistent pulses that make your hips twitch involuntarily against her face. She follows you, matching your movements, keeping you pinned exactly where she wants you.

“Robin—”  A whisper, broken.

She glances up, her eyes glassy with arousal. “Oh, I’m nowhere near done.”

She slides one hand lower, fingers brushing your entrance while gathering the slick dripping eagerly from you, and then she presses two fingers inside with a slow, greedy thrust.

You grab her hair, you knuckles turning white.

Her fingers curl forward, searching, then hooking into that spot that makes your vision blur. At the same time, her tongue returns to your clit — frantic now, determined. She’s attacking you with mouth and hand together, working you open, pushing you toward the edge whether you’re ready or not.

Your breath breaks into ragged fragments.

“Stop— I’m gonna — people will hear—”

She doesn't stop. She only sucks your clit harder with determined hunger, her fingers working harder, faster, pushing deeper, and the obscene wet sound of it fills the room. Your pussy pulses around her fingers, eager and unrestrained.

You feel the orgasm build too fast, rising hot and unstoppable. Your thighs clamp around her head, squeezing her in. Robin just groans into you, the sound low and wholly unfiltered, and pushes deeper.

You come with a muffled cry crushed into your palm, body bowing, chest heaving, pulse hammering. And if anything, she gets greedier. Her tongue is relentless, fingers curling just right, milking every last trembling wave out of you until your legs give out.

It’s in the haze of that release that you notice something else.

She’s whimpering.

Not speaking, just small, sharp sounds that break out of her throat without control. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath quick and uneven against your inner thigh. And then through your watery eyes, you see it:

Her thighs are pressed tight together.

She’s grinding them, slow at first, then with more rhythm. Desperate rhythm. Her hips move gently against nothing, chasing friction. Chasing pressure.

You whisper, voice barely there:  “Robin…?”

Her eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows pinched; she’s lost in it. Her mouth glistens with your release, her lips parted around a trembling breath. She buries her face back into your pussy again, licking you messily, but now she’s moving against herself too.

Your hand slips into her hair, holding her there, and your focus sharpens enough to fully see it, her thighs gliding against each other, tense and slick with her own arousal. Every time she sucks at your clit, her own hips jerk quietly, uncontrollably.

Her breath hitches sharply.

“Ah—”

And her body folds in on itself. A shudder runs through her and she presses her thighs together hard, trembling.

She cums just like that, untouched by any hand but her own desperate movement, her orgasm clenching through her as your scent fills her lungs and your taste coats her tongue.

You feel her gasp into your skin then collapse slightly forward, forehead resting against your thigh, breath fluttering over you.

For a few seconds, neither of you speak.

Just pant. Just exist.

Then, still on her knees, she lets out a soft, dazed laugh, shaky and ruined: 

“Well… that was… wildly unprofessional of me.”

You stroke her hair gently, breath finally steadying. “I’d say so.”

She looks up at you — cheeks flushed, lashes damp, eyes shining with post-orgasmic delirium, and grins crookedly. 

 “So… still mad about the canceled date?”

Your voice is gone but you manage to let out a chuckle. You shake your head helplessly.

She stands, kissing your thigh, then your hip, then up your ribs until her face is level with yours again.

“Well,” she teases, “good thing tomorrow’s dinner is at Enzo’s. Because tonight, clearly, you already got… eaten.”

You shove her playfully, still half-dazed, “Stop.”

She only laughs and leans in as if she can’t keep away from you for even a full second. She kisses you again, not hungry this time but tender. Like this tiny stolen moment in a hospital room is all that she ever needed.

Her hand rests against your jaw and she hums into your mouth, basking in the closeness, the kind of quiet that only exists between two people who know each other intimately. You almost sink back into her, ready to melt into that warmth, but then—

“Nurse?”

The call echoes faintly down the hallway. More distant than urgent, but close enough to jolt your heart into your throat.

You both freeze.

Robin’s eyes widen comically, and she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Shit.”

You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh, trying not to picture exactly how obvious your state must be.

She adjusts your scrubs for you, smoothing the fabric over your hips, straightening the hem, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary. You swat her hand away gently, cheeks hot.

“Nurse, are you in here?”

Closer this time.

Robin gives you a hurried, breathless kiss — one last press of her lips to yours — then spins toward the door.

But before she slips out, she peeks back in, eyes sparkling with mischief and absolute desire.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she murmurs, “You look too fucking sexy in the nurse fit. Don’t forget to wear it again tomorrow.”

Then she’s gone, slipping into the hallway like she was never there.

You straighten your posture, clear your throat, and call back, “Yes! I’m here, one moment!”

Your voice sounds steady and professional.

And no one would ever guess that just two minutes ago your legs were shaking.

You take a deep breath, fix your hair, smooth the front of your scrubs, heat still coiled low in your belly, and step back into the fluorescent world of the hospital.

But all throughout the rest of your shift, you’ll be thinking about tomorrow's dessert.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓— @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @isabelckl @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @thinkingabtellie @ssijht @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @angellvk @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @satellitespinner @yunaversalluv @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @letmebeurbaby @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @marscardigan @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @les4elliewilliams @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater @savagestarlight28 @metalringzz ࿐

[piastridreams]

sʞuı˥¡Ԁ sɓuıɥ⊥ ɹǝɓuɐɹʇS

a/n : stranger things won so here you go

stranger things masterlist

Steve uoʇɓuıɹɹɐH

a good ole shower session

backshots during the movie never fail to happen

during the crawl got boring , so why not be entertain steve?

steve’s favorite view

rise and shine harrington

Johnathan sɹǝʎᙠ

waiting for steve and nancy got boring

sitting on your throne

johnathan never leaves a hole untouched

safe to say johnathan loved your new outfit

johnathan ‘the eater’ byers

Nancy ɹǝlǝǝɥM

you and nancy were supposed to be studying

your favorite fox

robin recorded this

nancy looked to innocent in her new work uniform

sleepovers at the wheelers always end up like this

Robin ʎǝlʞɔnᙠ

using the new toy you bought on robin after steve ditched you

robin’s new plaything

under the covers at the sleepover

robin rides you so good

the double sided toy is definitely a fan favorite

Vecna / ʎɹuǝH

vecna missed you after a long day

he was such a good boy for you

his little cheerleader

henry loves face fucking you so much

he bought you new toys to try

[feelingdozy]

SUNBATHING - Robin B.

Summary: After graduating, you and Robin decide to take the time on vacation visiting little nooks and crannies of the world that lingered outside of Hawkins. Stumbling across your own little beach resort of sorts, Robin decides to soak up this time with you in more than one way.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mention of stretch marks & love handles, fingering, oral (f!rec), cunnilingus, making out, teasing, hickeys, pleasure top!Robin, bottom!reader

Req: hi! I'm wondering if u could write a Robin Buckley fic inspired by the lyrics "I'm in his favorite sundress, watching me get undressed" [read more..]

₊⊹⁀➴ w/c: 2,6k ･ a03 ･ prompts ･ ST masterlist

Your car hauled to a stop when Robin had exclaimed that you reached the place on the map she held half-crumpled and sideways within her sweaty fingertips. Her hair was up, still relenting the hair-do because some strands had strayed from their proper place, turning to you as they flew from her forehead in the wind of an open car window.

"We finally made it" she grinned, excitement making her squeak.

"That, we are" both doors opened at the same time, and both your expressions stilled as you took in the scene you stumbled across. The sun lit the expanse of greenery that roamed for a couple miles, trees and bushes, flowers that gave way to beautiful colors of the different shades of green, pinks, whites, yellows and so on.

The bugs hummed quietly, and the sun blazed perfectly, reflecting off the lake down more than a couple steps in a way that made it look a little too nice, like something out of a movie. Something tempting. Something.. peaceful.

"Wow" was all Robin was able to say, too shell shocked by the true sight in front of you. The two of you decided a little trip was the best way to get out of what once was a stuffy and overbearing Hawkins, full of creatures lurking in dark places.

When Hawkins had been shut down, both of you thought maybe it was the end of finally finding somewhere peaceful to travel across, and looking at where you stumbled was like a dream come true. What once seemed so far away like a silly dream now was reality by your girlfriend.

A couple places were marked on a map, and the two of you headed out for wherever the road would lead you.

As she stood at a makeshift railing that was built to keep whatever visitors approached somewhat safe, flipflops clacking on the dust of road and rock you were still on, hard underneath your toes. Opening the trunk, you scooped a couple of drinks into your hands, resulting in a coke, ice tea, and two matching water bottles.

Interlacing her fingers with yours, Robin led the two of you with a smile, hands swinging together as you both were delightfully excited and squirmy to get down there and take a look.

The grass was tall enough to reach you through your flipflops, subtly tickling the open skin of your feet as the two of you navigated the thick wilderness that led down to a calm area of surrender, piles of shrubs and grass leading to a carved pathway indented with others footsteps in the oncoming sand, the tiniest beach you've ever seen in the distance.

Neither of you expected it to be this pretty, grazed by the sun and reflecting beautifully off the ripple that was flowing through the iridescent body of water. The sandy patch that made it a 'beach' was scarce, moreso made up of rocks accompanied by sand, but enough to comfortably lay a towel down and act like it wasn't there.

The both of you came prepared with foldable lawn chairs, paired with a hefty umbrella that took up most of the room in your new van— Robins great idea after all.

The waves were calm, splashing across what shore they had and putting smiles on both your faces at how absolutely serene it was out here. Alone, in the comfort of what looked like a place never seen before— it was.. magical.

Not a face-eating demogorgan kind of magical. Just magical.

"You want to set up here?" Your girlfriend broke the silence, pointing to a spot where sand roamed underneath her sneakers, making for a better set up.

"Sure" you replied, following in tow as you plopped yours down right beside her. You supplied the cooler as it followed behind you, having a pull-out handlebar and it sat now in the middle right in front of the umbrella that allowed you a nice amount of shade, tilted more towards her side since you wanted a bit of sun to take in.

"could you put some sunscreen on my back, babe?" Robin asked, eyes glistening back at you.

"Sure, Hun" you replied, quick to grab it from your tote bag that was hanging off your pool chair. It had your matching towels, the water bottles, hair ties, sunscreen and one of your books in there.

You dug deep for the bottle, hand squashed into the little space left for any extra items. When you found it, you ushered Robin closer, squeezing a good amount onto your palm and rubbing the dollop into her sun-kissed skin, starting at her neck and working your way downwards.

Her arms were easy, pinching every now and then just to hear her complain and get easily worked up at your teasing. Her legs next, grabbing and hoisting them up to lather them while balancing her tallness on your chair, needing to reach all the way to her foot. Then lastly her face, gently rounding the area of her cheeks, brushing the hair out of her face to get the curve of her brows, forehead all the way til the tip of her hairline, and the tip of her nose. You kissed the tip before smothering it.

She smiled at you lazily, one that had you pinching her cheeks as she tackled you into your seat.

The silence (other than your girlfriend's conversation) was comforting as the day faded into a gentle afternoon with a calm breeze that swept perfectly across your newly claimed spot, and after laying herself on you for a good twenty minutes, Robin had decided to finally climb into the little pool of water because she claimed she was suffering some variation of heat stroke.

"Baby, come oooonn" she whined, trying to grab your wrist, relenting as she hauled all her weight wanting to get you up.

You sat in place as you listened to her pleading, unmoving, giving her a cold shoulder and hearing her huff in return. She approached the water by herself, a new pair of green bikini bottoms you decided to get for her as a gift once awhile ago and an old tank of hers on top. You couldn't help yourself to staring, freckles lining her arms, a little muscle put into her biceps since everything ended.

Blessed by the sun as she walked into the shallow end, her feet were now totally submerged as she shivered, adjusting to the chill.

"Babe!" She yelled, hands cupping her mouth as she then waved you over with a huge smirk. "Water's real niiiceee.. why don't you come join your very nice, very generous and sad girlfriend!"

You couldn't help but giggle at her expression this time around, her enthusiasm infectious.

"One more chapter of my book, okay?" You replied, holding it up as she pouted.

"Fine! One! One!" She yelled, distraught, as she wagged a finger.

She finally got in all the way, hair a little soaked at her nape. You continued on the chapter you were on, having taken up reading as a hobby after everything had ended to calm you down a bit— a way to fixate you into another world.

You heard the distant splashing of water, her legs kicking around as she swam in quick laps, enjoying the sun landing on her skin through the open patch of trees.

When she exited, limbs tired and ready to warm back up, she found herself looking straight at you, knees drawn up on the chair, flipflops discarded to the side, just sitting there.. looking pretty.

Water droplets fell from her shoulders as she shook herself off, almost like a wet dog which made you giggle at the similar comparison coming to mind when you looked up from your page.

"What's so funny?" She questioned at your teasing laugh, coming straight for you.

You didn't have time to jump off with the pose you were in, legs crossed and arms folded in relaxation just gazing at her from afar, though you did eventually want to join in.

For some reason, she hadn't really processed exactly what you were wearing. Of course she had seen it, knew you picked out something white and flowy from the suitcase in the back. But the way it hugged you so daringly? The way you flaunted it so casually? She couldn't help herself roaming your body, your curves accentuated, her fingers twitching with eagerness at the simple thought of you.

She always had a thing for being skin-to-skin, gripping you, holding you, kissing you. Since everything had gone to shit in their world, she had learned to treasure it with physical touch being a constant.

Robin was a real life love machine if they adored your love handles and kissed your stretch marks. And of course had to include a feature to fill every silent moment with conversation, especially when she was nervous or worked up. She couldn't forget that part. But you loved it. Very much.

The sundress didn't leave much to the imagination, your boobs pouring out nicely at the top while a necklace travels down through the middle of your collarbones all the way to where they come together and create a devilish crevice, and she almost allows drool to fall from her lips at the amount of saliva she's producing at the sight. Unconsciously, it tips the bucket of her sanity because she's reaching out and laying a soft kiss to the top of your chest.

"Rob?" You ask, caught off guard to her sudden clinginess. Hand reaching for anything she can have, she's grabby. She lets you sit in silence, continuing her ministrations, the only sounds being made are her grunts as she continues, a little harsher, wilder even. That's how you know she's up to something. She's never quiet.

"Baby—" you try, but nothing distracts her from her spot in between your legs. Luckily her towel is there to aid some comfort for her knees, not having to climb you like a tree this time around you get ahold of you.

Her hands reach the delicate edge of your dress, and instead of flipping it over, just plants herself under it, leaving you blindsided to what she was going to do to you— and oh, you couldn't lie and say the anticipation didn't have you reeling.

You looked out onto the stillness of the water, then left, right, like someone would magically appear and ruin the moment. Robin, knowing how your mind works, pinched your thigh without a moment's retrieve.

"youch— hey!" But before you could protest, she was rubbing you teasingly through the fabric, a smile on her lips you couldn't see. Your head tipped back immediately, "Robin, please"

She listens, now ripping them off you with haste and unintentionally over a log somewhere in the distance you're sure to stumble across when you're in the right mind and not in this pent up, eager, craze you have going on for the way you've got your girlfriend in between your legs.

You attempt to squeeze them together, but they don't budge with her strong hold on them, kissing up your thighs. She sucks at one point, making them snap shut as she shushes your desperate whines. The bruise there is tender, confidently rubbing your skin to make the pain fade just a little, because she won't admit that she wants you to feel her imprint on you when she's done.

Having enough of your grumbling, she's finally lapping up whatever has leaked out of you, trailing her tongue all the way up to your clit before giving it a harsh suck. Skin glistening with sweat now, both collectively from you and her, the heat shining harshly onto the two of you. You did nothing but grasp onto the chair for help as she licked slow stripes up your slicked folds to start, tasting you.

Your eyes are tightly squeezed shut, and luckily she can't tell or else you know you'd definitely be forced to watch her right now. She's eager to have the attention on her when she's pleasuring you, yet it feels different this time as she takes no extra care to remove the dress off of your figure.

No, she's too busy exploring you, teasing up and down in kitten licks before she does one solid stripe up your cunt. Your honey sweet voice called out to her in a whine, tempting, but she wasn't going to take the bribe that was you distracting her from your cute pussy. She was busy— so much so, and impatient.

Your legs attempted to clamp shut at her sudden intrusion, but she kept you eagerly open as she slid a finger into your wet heat, slick entrance as she eased in and you tightened around her in a gasp. You could hardly form a sentence as she lodged herself deep as she could go, her one lengthy finger just able to reach your gummy spot.

One hand was kept present on your thigh, squeezing, kneading it, lingering. Her tongue was absent until she bit a love mark into your skin, close to where you needed her but not close enough. Her finger still dragging, she never curled, only let you feel the sensation of her filling you.

So another bite appeared. Another, and another. Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, hands coming to grip what was now her wild ball of hair still somehow in a bun though it was messy, strands wild.

You urged her toward your clit, and you could feel her smile ghosting it. She blew on the sensitive nub, making your back arch into her and took the opportunity to envelop you then. She let her tongue devour you, feeling your juices now pool from her fingers onto your chair as she finally gave you the attention you've been craving.

She put another finger in while you were distracted, now curling them, hearing you pant her name with fast muttered curses.

"Rob, oh fuck, Robin!" She scooped the soft plush of your ass into her huge palms, keeping you in place for you to stop shaking and instead let her lock in on your clit.

Moaning into you, she listens to your pleas like they're a song, and she was definitely addicted. Paired with your tangy, honeyed taste? It was everything she needed. The way you were subdued by her, in your sweat and glory and letting her take what she needed?

Her tongue flattened then curled, repeated, then finally sucked on your clit. Again. And again. And again. Her slurping noises are obscene,

Bunching up your dress with her free hand, she hadn't noticed she was white knuckled as she put all her effort into pleasing you, hearing you scream her name out as you were about to cum.

"Fuck— Rob, I'm about to cum— shit!" Legs trembling harshly, wetting her delightfully with your juices as it dripped down her chin, rightfully soaked.

She let you ride it out on her mouth, only stopping when the aftershocks faded and you relaxed into the chair, head slung back and mouth open in ecstasy.

"You taste really good"

You laughed, practically a huff because of how worn out you were. "Well thank you. I'd hope so, after you just ate me out like your fucking five course meal"

She climbed you, and pulled you in for a kiss as her eyes were dark and playful, tasting yourself on her lips and having it smeared on your face as she sucked your tongue in haste, too lustful to notice the mess. You pulled back, once again breathless as you admired her, also just as wrecked as you.

"Are you always going to do that when we go on vacations?" You wondered out loud.

"We have to mark every place we've been somehow, right?"

[grenadehearts]

robin buckley

mdni – brief mention of 18+ content.

thinking about robin reciting what she’s going to say to you, exactly how she’s going to say it, running the words over and over in her head in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves. it doesn’t work. it never does.

she goes to push the door open, hesitant when she realizes it’s already cracked ajar, and there you are—sitting in front of your vanity, eyeliner poised in hand. black coal smudges against your eyes in a few careful strokes, and robin freezes.

she feels like a peeping tom, even though she isn’t doing anything wrong. you aren’t doing anything out of the ordinary, either. that’s the worst part. you’re just… there. pretty in the soft glow of the mirror, quietly muttering curses to yourself when you mess up the wing. your lashes flutter with each pass, concentration etched into your face.

and robin feels wrecked.

her thoughts betray her immediately, spiraling somewhere they shouldn’t. she imagines what your lashes would look like when she’s above you, looking down, her fingers buried to the knuckle inside you. your voice breaks into small, breathless whines as she pumps and curls in and out of you.

fuck.

now she’s chewing on her knuckles, pulse loud in her ears. how can something so ordinary stir up something this visceral, this needy? how can one person be this horny? she thinks, horrified.

still, she peeks again.

you lean forward to adjust the dial on the radio, your tank top riding up just enough to bare a sliver of smooth, supple skin—skin robin wants to lick a stripe of, just to see if you taste like nectar. she sucks in a sharp breath. you’re so pretty. so, so pretty. and just like that, her mind slips fully into the gutter, whatever composure she had left scattered somewhere on the floor.

splat, she thinks, the sound cartoonish and mortifying in her head.

robin counts silently to ten, just to prove she can. one. two. three. but her feet stay rooted to the floor, fingers trembling where they curl around the doorknob.

she chews on her bottom lip, teeth worrying the skin raw as her thoughts spiral faster than she can keep up with.

what if you don’t feel the same? what if she’s about to waste her breath and throw away everything they already have? what if this—this crack in the door—is all she ever gets?

these stolen moments that mean nothing and everything all at once. the fantasy she’s built so carefully in her head would shatter the second you said no. and she can’t hope for you to like her back if she gives you the chance to crush it.

robin decides, miserably, that she prefers a world where she can still see you. even if it’s only through small cracks. even if it hurts.

because a world without you at all is so much worse.

masterlist link.

[dearwalker]

But daddy I love him!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k

Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.

Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent, weed and suggestive comments.

Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼

masterlist | archive

Dad’s not home yet. 

Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task. 

“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms

I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”

The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long. 

“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”

With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven. 

You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower. 

His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp. 

“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight. 

He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is. 

Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back. 

“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it. 

How much you actually want it. Damn it. 

Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”

“Eddie–“

“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”

You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.” 

“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack. 

The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you. 

You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers. 

To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed. 

“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point. 

He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes. 

“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth. 

“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck. 

“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…” 

The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.

“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds. 

“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.

You both freeze. 

“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?” 

You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.

“I don't think so.”

Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?” 

“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan. 

The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in. 

“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”

“Too late.”

The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.

“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues. 

You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”

The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move. 

“I’m telling him,” she says. 

“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process. 

“Shit!” 

“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed. 

“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”

“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”

“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”

She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face. 

“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie. 

She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there. 

“Okay. But cover for me and Mike next time.” 

There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”

Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.” 

You flip him off before you turn back to her. 

“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”

“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide. 

Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume. 

“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door. 

Click. 

You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin. 

“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again. 

But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off. 

You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following. 

All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit. 

“Ed…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”

“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?” 

You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”

“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him. 

The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin. 

God, how he loves the way you come undone under him. 

If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.  

The sheer thrill of it. 

And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either. 

Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight. 

Which always means trouble. 

His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open. 

“How many times have I told you–”

He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo. 

“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?” 

“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.” 

“She?”

“Sister,” she smiles. 

That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager. 

“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly. 

That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.

“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes. 

“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door. 

And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently. 

“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”

The booming voice makes you both stop. 

“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed. 

“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”

“No!” 

Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time. 

“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”

You ignore his dramatic monologue. 

“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”

“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”

BANG BANG BANG.

“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!” 

“Coming!” You yell back. 

“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff. 

You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest. 

“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!” 

You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him. 

“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”

If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it. 

“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”

“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”

But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges. 

“MUNSON?” 

He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.

Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder. 

“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly. 

“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!” 

Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can. 

“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.

“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“

“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!” 

El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life. 

Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?” 

You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react. 

“Oh, so you think this is funny?”

“Dad, I–”

“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”

Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly. 

“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”

Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. 

“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey. 

“Okay, fair, but–” 

“Were you even using protection?”

“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.” 

You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!” 

“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”

You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child. 

He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground. 

“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps. 

“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”

Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down. 

“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”

You groan again, covering your face with your hands.  “God–I hate you.”

Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie. 

You mouth RUN.

And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine. 

“TILL OUR PATHS CROSS AGAIN, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch. 

Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–COME BACK HERE!”

He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches so he trips, nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose. 

“Damn it, El!”

You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life. 

You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand. 

Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut. 

“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”

“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back. 

“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”

“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say. 

She doesn’t need to hear more of this. 

He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”

This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut. 

He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”

You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago. 

Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent. 

Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you. 

“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”

She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.

You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.” 

You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself. 

“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”

She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way. 

“He…doesn’t like boys.”

You both snort at the same time.

“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle. 

El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.

“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”

The question knocks the air out of your chest. 

“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”

“Consensual?”

“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”

She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway. 

“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.” 

She nods, still a bit hesitant. 

“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”

She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”

You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home. 

“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe. 

She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm. 

You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before. 

You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line. 

“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour. 

“Hi, Ed,” you chuckle. 

He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??” 

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers. 

“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”

Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.” 

“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”

“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?” 

“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?” 

“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.” 

“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”

“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.” 

The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall? 

“…Eddie?” 

“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.” 

You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”

“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” you tease. 

He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.” 

“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh. 

“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”

“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation. 

“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...” 

You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”

He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”

“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter. 

God, you never got bored with this man. 

“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loooud as you want here.” 

You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want. 

“You better have enough whipped cream, Eddie.”

Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼

[levanswrites]

can you help me occupy my brain?

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: You don’t know how deep this runs. How badly he wants to ruin you, in the kind of way that feels so natural it scares the shit out of him.   

Because if you gave him that part of yourself, let him guide you, teach you, take care of you the way he aches to—

He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop.

warnings: 18+ mdni, softdom!eddie, experienced!eddie, virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise kink, guilt/shame around intimacy, eddie's pov, self-loathing, yearning, angst, comfort, dom/sub undertones, established relationship, love confessions, fluff

word count: 6k

prev pt here | series masterlist | series playlist

It’s been two months.

Two months since Eddie Munson fell into your life like a comet, all noise and heat and unexpected gravity, and somehow decided to stay.

Two glorious, heart-thumping months of falling for the boy who laughs too loud, talks with his whole body, and kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do.

Two months of Eddie. Your Eddie.

Two months of car rides with the windows down, limbs hanging out the passenger side while Eddie passionately explains why this wailing seven-minute track is a “fucking masterpiece.” Sometimes you’d stop for gummy worms and neon-red Slurpees. Sometimes you’d wind up somewhere off Route 6, parked under a bowl of stars while he spins stories about cosmic gods who could shatter galaxies with epic guitar solos. Half nonsense, half magic—all Eddie.

Two months of burned dinners, of dancing in his kitchen to scratchy cassettes, letting the garlic catch on fire because he’d rather spin you under his arm than stir the sauce. A dozen ruined meals, but who cares when there’s takeout in the fridge and the air smells like home?

Two months of late nights on his couch, your book open in your lap, his sketchpad filled with dragons and dungeons and ink-smudged dreams. He’d doodle monsters while you turned pages, but you were always watching him more than reading. The way his brow furrowed when he was focused. The curve of his mouth when inspiration struck. The absent way he’d reach out, blindly tangling his fingers with yours. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there, head in your lap, curls splayed across your thighs. You’d stroke his hair, trace circles into his scalp, and wonder how someone so loud, so vivid, could make you feel this quiet. This safe. This wanted.

Two months of tiny rituals. Of new traditions. Of learning him and letting him learn you.

You were stitching a life together in fragments. Moments strung like beads on a thread. Little pieces of him, slowly becoming yours.

Sewing the tear on his Hellfire shirt. Painting tiny dragons for his campaign. Burning your thumb on a birthday cupcake you baked two weeks too early because you couldn’t wait to surprise him.

Two months of this soft, slow thing.

And then—there was the kissing.

God, the kissing.

Soft ones. Sleepy ones. Clumsy, breathless, giddy ones. Kisses that taste like cherry ice and cinnamon gum and Eddie, through and through.  

Your boyfriend was a good kisser. You didn’t have much to compare him to, but some things you just know.

You kissed him everywhere. On porches, in movie theaters. In the back of his van. In the hush of his living room. In the rush between class bells, sneaking out behind the gym, the thrill of it bubbling up up up like Pepsi Cola.      

Sometimes they were silly, all teeth and laughter. Sometimes they were syrupy-slow, honey-sweet, affection melting you like sugar on his tongue. Sometimes they were nothing more than punctuation—a press to your temple, a kiss to your knuckles.

A soft I’m here, I see you.

And sometimes, they weren’t soft at all.

Sometimes, they burned.

Like that night on his couch.

His thigh between yours, his mouth dragging heat down your neck. The roll of his hips, slow and deep, a rhythm that made your whole body light up like a struck match.

And just as something wild and dizzying began to bloom in your belly, just as you whispered his name—

He pulled away.

He always, always pulls away.

Sometimes with a joke. Sometimes with a nervous laugh and a mumbled, “You want water?” or “We’ll miss the movie.”

And sometimes, worst of all, with his forehead pressed to yours, voice frayed to a whisper:

“Sorry.”

You never asked why. Never pushed.

Because he’d always looked so… scared.

Like there was a fire in the room only he could see.

And you didn’t want to shatter something delicate by asking for too much.

But two months is a long time to wonder, and the weight of not-knowing was starting to bruise. 

Lately, in those quiet moments after he pulled away—after he kissed your forehead and stared up at the ceiling like he’s trying not to drown—you’d lie beside him and wonder:

Was it you?  

It all comes to a head on one beautiful, opportune Monday. 

Monday, in Eddie Munson’s opinion, can go fuck itself.

It starts with the death of his alarm clock. He must’ve knocked it off the nightstand in a half-conscious flail sometime around 4 a.m. It hit the floor, cracked open like a bad egg, and promptly gave up the ghost.

So yeah, he’s late. No coffee. No time to fix his hair. He yanks on a crumpled Slayer tee and the same jeans he thinks he spilled soup on last week. No time to care.

The van, by some miracle, starts. Then dies a mile and a half into the drive, coughing out one final, wheezing breath before sputtering into silence.

“Cool. Awesome. Fucking incredible.” 

He hoofs it the rest of the way to school, two miles of gravel shoulder with the sun in his eyes. Grit in his shoes. Sweat down his back.

And the day just keeps giving.

Late to class, again. His backpack’s unzipped and leaking a crumpled D- from last week’s quiz. Then, before third period, a rogue water fountain nails him dead in the crotch and he ends up giving a presentation on post-industrial America looking like he pissed himself.

At lunch, the gods laugh harder: a freshman trips, launching a carton of chocolate milk across the table. It drowns Eddie’s beloved D&D binder—maps, character sheets, weeks of world-building, soaked beyond saving.

He doesn’t scream. Doesn’t flip the table.  

Just mutters a tight, “It’s fine, man,” and locks himself in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

By final bell, he’s got a stress headache, a ruined campaign, and exactly six stolen minutes with you.

Just long enough to hug you. Long enough to hear you say, "I’ll come by after tutoring, okay?”

Long enough to see you smile. The only thing that doesn’t suck about his day.

That smile almost saves him.

Until he trudges back to where his van died, still rotting on the roadside, and remembers Wayne’s pulling a double shift and they’re too poor for a tow.

So he walks home.    

And by the time he stumbles into the trailer, something inside him is fraying at the edges.

His skin feels too tight. His thoughts snarling inside his skull like static.  

He drops his bag. Stands rigid in the doorway, shoulders tight, spine wound into knots. The late afternoon light bleeds through the slatted blinds, painting the living room in that soft, decaying gold that makes everything feel like it’s fading.

It’s too quiet. Too still.

He lets his forehead thump against the door. Closes his eyes. Tries to breathe.

It doesn’t help.   

Something inside him thrums. Itches. Crawls.

Not just arousal. Not just loneliness.

Need.

Need for control. For release. For something inside him to shut the fuck up.

And he hates this part of himself. Hates how fast it turns from wanting into craving into obsession. The way it gnaws at his spine, coils around his throat and chokes.

So he does what he always does when the ache becomes unbearable:

Drags himself to his room. Cranks Sabbath until his ribs rattle. Collapses onto the mattress and throws an arm over his eyes.

And with the other—he spits into his palm. Shoves it down his jeans.

No lotion. No comfort. Just this: dry and rough and angry. A punishment more than anything else.  

A desperate effort to scrape it all out of him. To burn it off. Kill it.

His jaw clenches as he works himself hard and fast, staring at the ceiling like it might offer forgiveness. Like it could soak up the guilt bleeding through his skin.

He tries to keep his mind blank.

It doesn’t work.

It never works.

Because his mind always, always finds its way back to you.

To your laugh. Your breath on his skin. Your fingers in his hair. The way you said his name that night on the couch—

Eddie.

God. He could’ve come from that alone.

It lit something up inside him, and it broke something else. 

Because all he wanted, all he fucking wanted, was to slide his hand between your thighs.

To guide you. Teach you. Worship you until you were shaking, until you were gasping his name again. Only louder this time, needy.

He wanted to take you apart. To coax you open. To say: There you go. Just like that. Good girl.

He jerks harder now, chasing the edge like it might erase him. Like it might exorcise whatever’s wrong with his head.

Tries not to think of your voice, your face. Tries not to imagine you whispering please in the dark. Asking for more, asking for him.

He does, of course, but fuck it, it's fine, he’s right there, teetering on the edge, so close he can taste it—

And then it drops.

The wave collapses before it crests.

His hand falls still. His breath stutters. His cock aches, flushed and untouched, angry with the unfinished heat of it all.

Shame clamps around his ribs like a vice.

It’s become a routine, at this point. Heat, guilt, silence, disgust.

He wipes his hand on his shirt, though there’s nothing left but spit and shame, and prays the ceiling would crack open and swallow him whole.

It never feels good. Not when it’s like this.

Because whenever he looks at you, he sees everything.

Everything soft and warm and golden.

Everything he doesn’t deserve.

You’re too good.

Too kind. Too full of light.

And he’s—

He’s this.

Tangled up in guilt and fear, warped and wired all wrong. Buried under the constant, gnawing certainty that if you ever gave him that part of yourself, he’d ruin it. Take too much. Break something sacred.

Hurt you.    

Because no matter how many times he tells himself not her, not like this, his body doesn’t care. The part of him that craves control—quiet, aching, patient control—still wants to see you pliant beneath him.   

Wants you flushed and panting and pleading for more. Wants to draw out every gasp, every moan, every broken, holy sound as he takes you to the edge.

Wants to believe you’d trust him enough to let him see you like that, vulnerable and open.

To touch. To take.   

And that’s when the guilt sinks in deepest. Sharper than fangs digging into his sides.

Because you do trust him. You already trust him.

You trust him without knowing what he’s capable of wanting.

And you don’t know what that means to someone like him. Someone who’s spent most of his life being too much. Too loud, too intense, too hungry.

You’re such a freak, Munson.

You don’t know how deep this runs. How badly he wants to ruin you, in the kind of way that feels so natural it scares the shit out of him.   

Because if you gave him that part of yourself, let him guide you, teach you, take care of you the way he aches to—

He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop.

Doesn’t know if he’d be gentle enough. Doesn’t know if he’d be good enough.

So he pulls away.

He always pulls away.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

Devotion and hunger. Reverence and ruin. All the fucked-up wires in Eddie Munson’s brain are twisted beyond salvaging. Lines so blurred he can’t walk them anymore. Isn’t sure he ever can.

And that part of him, the part that wants—it should never be in the same room as your first time. Shit, maybe not any time.

You deserve soft. You deserve space. You deserve to stumble through this at your own pace, with someone who doesn't come pre-loaded with instincts that sound like care and feel like safety but might just be another kind of selfishness.

You deserve better than a burnout metalhead with a hand down his pants and a head full of self-loathing. Better than someone who wants things from you he has no right to even imagine.

But his body won’t let it go.

His fingers twitch again, needy and insistent.

One more time. Just enough to dull the edge. Reset. Rewind. Pretend this day never happened.

Then he’ll take you out. Somewhere safe, somewhere easy.

Maybe the record store on Elm. Or that diner you like, the one with the vanilla milkshakes and the broken jukebox.

He’ll make you laugh, he promises to himself. That’s the plan. 

He closes his eyes. Spits into his hand.

Just one more—  

He doesn’t hear the door creak open.

“Eddie?”

Your voice cuts through the static like a blade.

His whole body locks, heart stuttering like a misfiring engine.

Fuck.

For a split second, he hopes maybe, just maybe, he imagined it. That you aren’t really standing there in the doorway, eyes wide and searching, backpack still slung over your shoulder. Like you didn’t just walk in on him like this—flushed, half-naked, drowning in his own shame.

Then you blink, and reality slams into him like a truck.  

“Shit—fuck—fuck—sorry—” He scrambles upright, yanking his hand from his jeans, fumbling for the button. Hisses when his still-hard cock catches on the zipper. “Didn’t hear you—thought I closed the door—fuck—”

The music is still howling behind him. He stumbles toward the stereo, half-zipped and red in the face, and slams it off. Sabbath cuts off mid-wail. Silence crashes down like a guillotine.

He turns back around, breaths coming sharp and uneven.

You’re still there.

Staring. Not leaving. Not saying a word.

His heart kicks hard against his ribs. Fight-or-flight with nowhere to go.

And then your gaze dips.

Lower.

To the flush on his neck. The strain in his jeans. The guilty distance in his body, like he’s bracing for you to flinch.

But you don’t.

And when your eyes meet his again, there’s no disgust, or regret.

Just this strange, near curious sort of calm.

You break the silence first, voice soft but impossibly steady. “Hi.”

His throat feels like sandpaper. “…Hi.”

The air between you stretches, tight as guitar string wire, thrumming with tension neither of you dares to cut.

“Sorry. You were just… saying my name.”

The words land like a sucker punch.

His stomach flips. His face burns hotter, and his useless, traitorous hands hover awkwardly in midair, unsure if they should reach out or retreat. 

You step forward, careful and patient, like he’s a wild thing caught in a snare.

“Eddie,” you say again, and god, it’s soft. Too soft. It cuts. “Were you thinking about me?”

Fuck.

He can’t hide. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

His eyes dart to the floor, shame burning like acid up his neck, but they flicker back up just as fast. Because he still wants to see you, even if it hurts. Even if it damns him.

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Tries again.

He could lie. Could joke, like always. Toss out something lewd to make it less… intimate. But when your eyes catch his, he forgets how to do anything but feel.

Eddie Munson has never been good at pretending with you.

“Yeah,” he says. His gaze doesn’t waver this time.

Always.

You breathe in slow. Something shifts in your face, then. Relief, maybe. Understanding. Softer in the undercurrent, like a kind of quiet courage.

Like maybe you were hoping he’d say it out loud.

You nod. And then, steady, brave, beautiful, you say:

“Tell me.”

He blinks. Takes the better half of a minute to process two simple words. “…What?”

“I want to know what you imagine,” you say, still calm. “When you’re alone, thinking about me."

His whole body jolts like a live wire.  “I…” He laughs, startled, breathless. Shaking. “I don’t think you want to know.”  

“I think I do.”

And then you step even closer. Close enough that he could just reach out, if he were brave enough. If he didn’t feel so damn wrong.

Your hand brushes his, tentative, tender. And when he doesn’t flinch away, you take it fully. Wrap your fingers around his like he’s worth holding.

Like he’s not the kind of monster that could ruin someone like you.

“Sorry,” he whispers, voice rough, cracked open by guilt.

“You weren't supposed to…” he trails off, head dropping, curls falling like a curtain across his face. He can’t meet your eyes. Can’t let you see all of him like this: bare, aching, twisted up in hunger and self-loathing.

You weren't supposed to see me like this.

Wanting. Weak. Caught in the mess of everything he’s trying to bury.

You squeeze his hand. “Eddie.”

Just that. Just his name. Soft. Sure. Certain.

And he hears something crackle inside him: a hairline fracture he’s been pretending wasn’t there, splintering like glass beneath pressure. Behind it, the floodwater churns—cold, relentless, impossible to contain. Because he knows what he sees in your eyes now. That same thing he’s spent countless nights trying to crush inside himself. What he’s been trying to kill every time he wakes up with his hand between his legs and your name in his mouth. Want tangled with fear. So tightly fused at the root he can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

That unbearable, unspeakable, beautiful truth.

The guilt claws its way back up like it’s got teeth.

It’s not something he can explain. Not in clean lines. Not without cutting you on the jagged edges of it.

Because what he wants to say is:

I didn’t pull back all those time because I didn’t want you.

I pulled back because I want you too much.

In ways that scare the hell out of him. In ways that don’t feel safe, not for you.

I want to ruin you in the most reverent way. I want to hear you beg. I want to be the one who teaches you what it means to need someone like that.

To need me.

Because he’s only ever known people who came into the world already knowing the rules. Who could play the game with sharp smiles and empty hands.

But with you…  

With you, it feels like trespassing. Because wanting you the way I do could hurt you.

And he’d sooner die than let that happen.

Because he breaks things. That’s what he does. That’s who he is.

Takes too much. Ruins them.  

I’ll turn something beautiful into something I can’t come back from.

He swallows hard, jaw locking. Shoulders tensing like he’s waiting for a blow.

And all he manages, small and hoarse and hopelessly inadequate, is:

“I didn’t want to rush you. I just… I want it to be good.”

A coward’s version of the truth.

But you nod, eyes soft.

“I want it to be good too,” you whisper. “With you.”

Then, without even flinching:

“I trust you.”

His breath stutters, chest tight. Eyes squeezing shut like he can block the word from settling into him.

The fracture in the glass grows, spiderwebbing across everything. The water rises higher, pressing harder against the fragile barrier.

He wants to believe you. God, he wants to earn that word. Wrap it around himself like armor—but it cuts. It draws blood on the way in.

“You can’t…” His voice trembles. Breaks. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I—” He chokes on it. Shakes his head like he can shake it off his skin. “Because even I don’t know what that means.”

The words taste like rust in his mouth.

But then he feels your hand on his cheek. Gentle. Certain. He leans into the touch before he even knows what he’s doing.

“I do,” you say softly. “I know what it means.”

You brush the curls from his forehead like he’s something worth holding.

“It means you make me feel safe.”

Your thumb comes to rest on the curve of his cheek, stroking gently.

“You make me feel seen.” Another stroke.

“Held.” Another.

“Loved.”

He flinches.

That last one lands like a blow. A rib-shattering strike that leaves him breathless.

“It means,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper, “that I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like… until you.”

Your smile—radiant, wondrous—burns through him like sunlight through stained glass. Too beautiful to touch.

“Eds, I’m ready,” you murmur. “But if you’re not… that’s okay. I mean it.”

He stops breathing. Eyes snapping open, wide, stunned.

Because he knows. He knows what it costs you to say that.

To offer softness like that after all the times it’s been taken from you.

After everything.

After assholes who used your trust like a weapon. People who made you feel wrong for saying no, like you were the problem for wanting to feel safe.  

It’s how he stumbled into your life in the first place, isn’t it?

That night in his trailer, your voice shaking when you asked him for something to make you feel brave. For something that should never require courage.

Then the night on your back porch, that party, your tears bleeding into his shirt.  

Both nights carved something permanent inside him.

Etched in lines under the skin. Sunk in deep. Stayed.

And he’d sworn, sworn, that he would never be one of them.

That he would never make you feel that way again.

And now, after all that—

You’re looking at him like you're doing the same thing to him.

Like you're becoming the same kind of person who hurt you.

The thought guts him.

It strikes him like lightning then. Like cut glass, something he’s always known, but becoming crystalline clear in this moment, sharp and sudden and slicing clean through his walls—

He loves you.

No questions. No caveats.

He loves you.

Eddie stares for a long, aching moment.

His chest heaves. His eyes shine, glassy and wide.

“It’s not… it’s not that I don’t want to.”

You nod. “I know.”

“It’s never—I never—” His gaze drops, throat working.  

But you don’t let him fall.

You reach down, slowly, tenderly, fingers sliding along his wrist, tangling with his.

A soft I’m here, I see you.

He breathes, shaky. His hand tightens in yours. And—as another crack splinters down the glass, as everything he's been holding back threatens to break loose—

He kisses you.

It’s everything.

Hot. Urgent. Breathless. Like the weight of all this emotion was just waiting to catch a spark.

Your hands slide down his neck, his chest, his stomach, down to the waistband of his jeans—but they hover there. Waiting. Letting him decide.

“I think about that night,” you whisper between kisses. “When you were on top of me. Between my legs. I couldn’t—can’t stop thinking about it.”

He groans, breathing hard through his nose. “Me too. Baby, god—”

He kisses you like he’s drowning. Because he is. Drowning in want, shame, every dark thought he’s tried to smother beneath bright colors.

Step by step, he backs you toward the bed until your legs brush the edge.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he lowers himself down first, shifts the center of gravity so that you're placed above him.

Because that’s what he needs.

Show me it’s okay to want you like this. Show me it doesn’t make me like them.

His hands are careful. His breath shallow. His eyes scan your face, reading for hesitation. But you don’t flinch. You don’t pull away.

You settle into his lap like you belong there, like this is exactly where you want to be.

And that’s what he needs right now.

Because when you’re in control… then wanting you feels safe.

When you set the pace, it means he doesn’t have to question every breath, every touch, every tremor under his palms.

If you’re the one moving, deciding—then maybe it’s not selfish. Maybe it’s not too much. Maybe it’s not wrong to feel this way about you.

“Do you still want to…?” You glance down, smile soft and teasing. “I could just… help.”

He nods before he can find his voice. Hands trembling, rings clinking.

“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart. Please.”

And when you start to move—hips slow, purposeful, grinding against the growing ache in his jeans—the room begins to tilt.  

“I think about you too, you know,” you whisper, low and lethal. “When I’m… touching myself.”

His eyes slam shut. “Fuck.”

“It’s true. I think about you all the time.”

“You can’t just—say shit like that—” he groans but you laugh, soft and dangerous, hips still rolling.

You kiss him again, slower now. Deeper. No pressure to go further. Just want. Trust. Presence.

He fists the linens on his mattress, kisses you back hard.

And this close to you, this close to unraveling, he starts getting greedy.

“What do you—ah, fuck—what do you think about?”  

“Mm, your hands,” you murmur, right into his ear. “Your voice. What you’d say to me while you’re inside me.”

He chokes on nothing but air, eyes squeezed shut. You hold down the rhythm, soft and steady.

It’s like every dumb adolescent fantasy he’s ever had collapses in on itself. Every dog-eared porn mag, every secret late-night movie—all of it fades away.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, watching the way your face is screwed up in concentration. “I’m—"

“It’s okay, Eddie. Let go.”

Then, softly, like a spark to gasoline:

“Please.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s done.

He comes with a hoarse groan, hips twitching as warmth blooms through his jeans. It slams into him like a Mack truck, too hard, too fast, fierce and unforgiving. His legs are trembling by the end of it, chasing a release he can’t contain. Fingers curled tight in the soft, worn cotton of your shorts to try and anchor himself.   

And when he looks up, vision blurred, you’re watching him.

Eyes locked on his face, pupils blown wide, lips parted in something like desire and awe and maybe even something else.

Your expression is so open, so unguarded.   

Like he’s beautiful. Like what just happened was beautiful.

You blink slow, lashes heavy, then smile.

It’s blinding.

One trembling hand reaches up and pulls you down for another kiss—warm, messy, soft around the edges, the high still settling. He feels your arm shift against his chest, a quiet inhale catching in your throat. Eddie watches, utterly entranced, as your hand slips out from beneath your waistband.

You were touching yourself.

But you waited. Just to see him. Just to be with him through it.

And you haven’t finished. You’re still aching.

“You didn’t…?” he starts.

You shake your head, cheeks flushed.

“Didn’t want to miss it.”

He groans, hands moving before he can stop them. Thumb brushing your waist, voice thick with awe.

“You wanna…” he breathes, barely believing, “… use my leg?”

Your nod is small. Lips caught between your teeth, eyes shimmering. All soft certainty. All permission.

And it floors him. Because no one’s ever looked at him like that, like he’s safe. Like he’s something you can trust with your body, your needs.

You shift, lifting your hips, and he braces you, helping you find the right angle. Steady hands on your sides, guiding you as you straddle his thigh. He plants his feet against the floor, lifting just enough to offer the resistance you need.

The seam of your shorts drags against him. You suck in a sharp, stuttering breath.

Eddie feels it like a punch to the sternum—that tiny, wrecked sound zipping through his bloodstream like the first hit of nicotine. His hands tighten on your hips.

And then you move.

Grinding slow at first, testing pressure, rhythm. Every drag of denim and cotton drawing out soft whimpers that catch in his skin.

“Yeah?” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw. “Feels good like this?”

“So good,” you breathe. “You always feel good, Eddie.”

He groans; it wrecks him every time you say something like that. Like it isn’t just praise. Like it’s the truth, pure and uncomplicated.

Your breath hitches against his mouth.

“Wanna… wanna make a mess on you.”

His whole body locks up, muscles going rigid like he’s been jolted by a live current. The part he’s been trying so hard to keep silent comes throbbing to life.

He shifts underneath you, near frantic, pressing his thigh up against your heat, adjusting the pressure until you gasp, sharp and sweet in his ear.

And he watches you like he’s starved.

Watches the way your jaw goes slack when the angle hits just right. The way your lashes flutter, the tiniest crease between your brows. The way your nipples go stiff under your shirt. The little tremor in your fingers as they slip back under your shorts, gliding through your arousal.

And he can feel it, too. Damp heat seeping through denim. Hear the slick, rhythmic drag of your knuckles. Sticky sounds of plush skin, matched by the soft, broken moans spilling from your throat.

He feels it, hears it, smells it. Drenched in it, drowning in it, he never wants to come up for air. Never wants to break the surface. Won’t ever come up unless you tell him to.

His mouth starts running, unbidden. No amount of shame could stop him from giving this to you now.

“That’s it, baby. Use me. Whatever you want. Fuck, look at you, so beautiful like this. Gorgeous. Yeah? Right there? There you go, don’t hold back.”

You shiver like each word hits something deeper inside you, hips rolling fast, hard, rough. Bearing your weight down, hand clenched tight around his shoulder.   

That’s what he wants most. For you to have this. To take it. To feel safe claiming it.

“Still good?” he breathes, kissing your shoulder.  

“So good,” you nod, voice shaking. “So close. Don’t stop—please—”

“Won’t. I’ve got you,” he promises. “Just like that. That’s my girl.”

“Oh my god, Eds—"

And then you fall.

Soft, like everything between you.

A sharp little gasp. A tremble through your thighs. A whispered, broken:

Eddie.

He feels the exact moment you let go.

Feels it in the way your breath catches, in the way your hands scramble for something to hold—fisting his shirt, his hair, pressing your face into his neck like you’re trying to sink into him.

Your hips stutter, grinding down one last time, chasing every ounce of feeling left in you. Your body collapses forward, breath shaking against his neck, arms curling around him like you might disappear without the anchor.

And he holds you through it. Holds you like he’s holding his entire fucking world.

Arms locking around your back, hands clenched in the back of your shirt, mouth moving against your temple.

“I got you,” he breathes, over and over. “You’re okay. I got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

You collapse fully against him, hips jerking through the aftershocks, thighs twitching. Still trembling.

He feels every aftershock, every breath that shudders against his skin, and holds you tighter. Like he can absorb it. Soak the overwhelm right out of your body.

He kisses your temple, your cheek, your jaw—whispering breathless praises into your skin. Make it stick. Keep you safe.

“So good. You did so good, baby. So fucking beautiful.”  

You breathe against his shoulder, shaky and dazed. Your chest heaves against his as you float back down.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, laughing softly as you nuzzle into his hair. “That was… holy shit.”

He huffs a stunned, stupid breath, eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

Eventually, you lift your head, just enough to see him. Eyes glassy, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

And you smile.

Not embarrassed. Not awkward.

Just soft. Glowing.

Radiant in a way that makes his throat ache, pressing hot behind his eyes like too much light after too much darkness.

“You make me feel so good, Eddie,” you whisper. “So fucking safe.”

And just like that, the glass shatters.

The dam breaks.

The flood rushes through, relentless and inevitable.

It fills every chamber of his chest, crashing in like cold, clear water that cuts deep beneath the skin, scouring away years of doubt and fear.

Your voice, your gaze. The way you touch him like he’s something worth holding. The way you speak to him like there’s nothing wrong with how much he feels, like his hunger isn’t monstrous. Like love isn’t a thing he has to earn through pain.

It rushes into all the hollow places. Fills him full of things he’s spent so long trying to seal up, starve out.

Hope. Tenderness. Acceptance.

He’s soaked in it. Drowning in it. Dripping with your scent, your heat, your hands sliding up his arms, around his neck. You’re pressed so close he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

There’s no stopping it now. No holding back.

It pulses through him, cell by cell. Can feel it everywhere, down to the marrow. Just how deep this runs. How thoroughly it’s woven into him.

How much he loves you.  

It’s always been you.

You, in every look that steadies him, in every gentle touch that tells him he’s not too much, not too broken. You, in every breathless laugh, every whispered Eddie that sounds more like a prayer than a name.

You, with softness that doesn’t flinch. Kindness that doesn't demand. Strength that chooses him, even when he can't choose himself.

And now that he sees it, truly sees it, it’s all he can feel.

The tide has finally taken him under. And he’s grateful for it.

Grateful to drown in this.

In you.

Because this love—your love—it’s been patient. Quiet.

Steady in ways he’s never quite known.

It’s been waiting. You’ve been waiting.

And he can’t stand to keep you waiting a second longer.

His voice cracks as he says it:

“I love you.”  

You go still for half a breath. Then your smile blooms, slow and stunning, like sunrise breaking over still water.

You lean in. Press a kiss to his lips. Another to his cheek. One more at his temple.

Your rest there, forehead pressed to his, and whisper it back:

“I love you, too.”

Your words land soft. Gentle.

His breath catches all the same.

Too.

A word has never sounded quite so holy to Eddie Munson.

It drops like a stone in water, ripples, reverberates, rings out through every nerve ending.

Because he’s been wanted before, but only in pieces. Only for what he could give. Only until he became inconvenient.

Used. Tolerated.

But loved?

Not like this.

Not freely. Not gently.  

That voice in his head, the one that whispers that he ruins everything he touches, it’s still there. But your voice—your love—is louder.

And for the first time in his life, he believes it might stay that way.

His heart’s still catching up, staggering under the weight of something he’d convinced himself he’d never get to feel.

And then—your soft little sigh.

Happy. Content.

It tugs him gently back to earth.

You curl into him again, arms wrapping tight around his neck, warm and buzzing and real. And Eddie’s arms won’t stop moving—can’t. His hands drift across your back in slow, reverent sweeps, tracing your spine, your waist, the curve of your shoulder blades.

Trying to memorize this. Press it into his bloodstream. Etch it into bone so it can’t ever leave.

So even on the days when the ache creeps in, he’ll still have this.

Your smile deepens against his neck, the silence draping like a warm blanket.

And then, light and teasing:

“So… what do you wanna do now?”

Eddie laughs.

Really laughs.  

It bursts out of him before he can stop it—a bright, breathless sound, a lungful of clean air after being underground for so long. Light spilling out through all the little cracks, in a way it hasn’t in years.

It feels new. It feels free.

It feels like you.

God, he loves you.

Loves you like it’s easy. Like it was always going to happen.   

He wraps you tighter in his arms, lets the moment settle like starlight. Then, with a spark of mischief creeping into his grin, he shifts, hands sliding toward your ribs.

Digs his fingers in just enough to make you squeal, twisting in his hold as laughter bursts out of you, squirming to get away.

“Eddie!”

“What?” he grins, catching your hips before you can slip off. “You asked me what I wanted.”

You smack his chest without any real force, still breathless with laughter as he pulls you back into him, tucking you under his chin.

There, he closes his eyes, breathes you in.

Hears the ripple of your laughs soften against his chest and smiles. Knows he’s made good on at least one promise he made to himself today.

Then—with his eyes wet, heart full, voice thick with everything he knows he’ll never be able to fit into words—Eddie Munson vows:

“Anything. We can do anything you want.”

a/n: sorry it's been a while gang! wanted to get this one right. can't believe we've breached 40k words and we're just now getting to dry humping. anyway. much to look forward to. we're barely getting started here...🙊

thank you for following this story and sending me so many kind words about it! it means everything to me 💙💙

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[bitterreid]

🐛 Choose the latter, choose the latter 🐛

Summary: Your dad has a fondness for vintage cars. You have a fondness for his mechanic. A collection of times you run into Hawkins' resident freak-turned-car-mechanic and can't seem to stay away from him. --- (This is part one of my mechanic!Eddie series My Clementine, but can be read as a stand-alone!)

Wordcount: 4.1k (fluff/smut)

Contains: fem!reader x mechanic!Eddie, teasingggg, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, eddie being down bad, incorrect car facts probably, woops 

A/N: This came to me in a vision, def let me know if anyone wants a part two because I loved making this and I have more ideas for this pairing, title is from Finn's song which is a BANGER, also, am I developing a mechanic kink? Is that a thing? Does anyone else share this? It's starting to become a problem lol

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"You sure you need me today, Wayne? It's like, 700 degrees out." Eddie simply did not care enough to conceal the whining tone in his voice, already feeling the way his clothes stuck to his skin. 

"Stop complaining and be grateful you got a job at all, kid." Wayne tossed over his shoulder, used to Eddie's constant chatter by now.

"No, of course, yeah, yeah, but you see this? The soles of my shoes are melting into the pavement," Eddie clumsily put his foot in the air - soles completely intact - to show Wayne, who did not turn around. 

Slightly begrudged, Eddie continued his sulking pace. Not that he really minded his job, after all.

"Remember," Wayne said as he pushed the big doors to the garage open, "I need you to be on your best behaviour today. No antics, you get me?"

"Oh I got you," Eddie quips absentmindedly, too taken aback by the legion of vintage cars that awaited them. "These are all property of your supposed childhood friend? What is he? A mob boss or something?"

Wayne rolled his eyes, "Just a businessman, Eddie, and I mean it, no standing around either, he's been a customer for almost twenty years now, and I'd like to keep it that way. I even held his daughter when she was a baby, this is not someone you want to disappoint."

But Eddie was lost in the shiny contours of the expensive cars, trying to calculate just how much cash was gathered in this room alone. 

"Oh and make sure to keep an eye out for the neighbourhood kids, they like to sneak looks inside, so don't let them in, understand?" Wayne got no answer, "Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, let no one in, I'm not a toddler you leave home alone for the first time I'll be fine." He waved Wayne away, perusing through the rows of cars.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Half way through the day, the first kids popped up at the large doors. At first Eddie just heard giggles, then whispers, then he saw three little heads poke through the doorway, eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight.

"No, nu-uh, out, you three!" He felt like an old man yelling for children to get off his lawn. But it worked, the kids scurried away again, giggling and screeching in the process.

Eddie wiped the sweat off his brow, again, as he had done every ten minutes since he had gotten here. He was eternally grateful for the faint breeze every once in a while, but the white tank top he was donning was - besides smeared with oil - now also almost drenched. Great. Just as he was about to bend back over the 1957 Porsche, he heard more footsteps approaching. Wayne had left to go get them some lunch in the supermarket down the street, leaving Eddie to deal with the greedy little onlookers all on his own, but he was getting tired of scaring them away.

"Just go already! How many more times do I-" his tirade halted when he turned around to find you. Huh, he thought, okay, not the normal crowd, but he wasn't one to judge. "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

You cocked your head at him, cherry lollypop between your lips, your summer dress faintly blowing in the wind. "I can't?"

Eddie was somewhat taken aback. "This is private property" was his lame response, which even sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

"Is that so?" you replied idly, stalking forward and running your fingers over the hood of one of the cars. 

Eddie surged forward, "Hey! You can't just-" he grabbed your wrist, not hard, just to keep you away from the precious cars left in his care. All you did was smile up at him, completely unbothered.

Eddie was stunned, like all the files in his mind had been corrupted, and in pure desperation threw it back onto the old guy lecturing kids, "Listen here, missy," (missy, really, Eddie?) "You can't just barge in here, okay? I'm gonna need to ask you to leave, respectfully."

The cheshire cat grin on your face only grew at his words, "Ooh, respectfully? Well, if you ask so nicely…" Your tone was teasing, all drawn-out and suspiciously sweet. "I guess I'll see you around, then…"

"Eddie," he supplied, partly against his better judgement.

"See ya, Eddie." And then you were gone.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Wayne, I already know what you're going to say, but can I test-drive one of these babies?" Eddie harboured no hopes that the answer would be yes - ever - but daydreaming never hurt anyone.

All he got back from his uncle was a deadpan stare and a raised brow.

"Right, right." 

I was the next day, still doing check-ups on the cars, whose drivers' seats seemed to glint alluringly at him every time he popped their hoods. 

"Did I tell you about that girl who came by yesterday? That was weird,"

"Eddie. You've told me several times now, I think I get it." Wayne was changing the oil on one of the Ferrari's, wondering for the umpteenth time why, again, he had hired his own nephew?  

"Oh, right. Right." Eddie couldn't seem to get you out of his head, the way you had been so unfazed, your eyes trained on him the whole time, there was an undeniable pull towards the idea of you. See you around, you had said. Faintly, somewhere, Eddie hoped it was true. 

And it was.

Around noon, once again, you appeared in the door opening, this time with a different coloured lollypop and a dog circling your feet. Eddie took in the sight of you, radiant in the contrasting light of the doorway, but it wasn't him you were looking at.

"Mister Munson!" you exclaimed, a bright, honest smile taking over your features.

"Sweetheart, hey, how you been?" Wayne wiped his hands on a rag and came over to you, smiling almost affectionately.

"Not too bad, just making sure I don't melt, you know, in this weather. How about you? I see you brought help this year?"

"I'm good, honey, thanks, yeah, this is my nephew, Eddie." he gestured vaguely in Eddie's direction.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," your smile was coy and well-practiced, with a glint of mischief behind your eyes that Wayne didn't seem to notice at all when he tumbled into a slew of questions, keeping you entertained. 

 "Tell me, how's your father, how are you finding college? Are you home all summer?" 

Eddie was gobsmacked. Could it be that he had commanded you to leave your own garage? Your own house? Oh how he wished the floor would grow teeth and swallow him right about now. Instead, he busied himself with polishing the same mirror roughly eleven times over, not so subtly eavesdropping on your conversation. 

"So, I'll be heading off now, gotta take this one out for a walk," you scratched the dog behind her ear, "See you later, Mr. Munson," you looked over your shoulder, smiling sweetly "and bye, Eddie." All Eddie could muster was an impressively fake smile until you rounded the corner.

"Wayne!!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing his dirty rag at his uncle, "what the fuck??"

"Hey!" Wayne scrambled to swat the rag away, "what now-"

"That's the girl! The girl that came by! The girl that I sent away!"

Wayne could hardly suppress his smile, "You sent the daughter of the owner away? Nice, Ed, real classy."

Eddie raised his hands in desperation, "You said his daughter was a baby!"

"Boy, I said I held her as a baby! Years ago! That's what you get for never listening to me," Wayne snickered.

Eddie groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I called her missy."

At that, Wayne couldn't help but properly burst out laughing, "Missy?! Well, you have only yourself for that one, don't ya?" This earned him another rag to his face.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

That afternoon, heat almost unbearable in the garage, Wayne had a plan.

"Eddie, fetch some water, will ya?"

"Water, from where? The store?"

"Nope," Wayne answered, barely looking up from the screw he was fastening, "the kitchen."

Eddie stood up straight, "The kitchen? You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Why do you want to punish me, Wayne?"

"Boy, it's just some water, go fetch."

"I'm not a dog," Eddie mumbled as he wiped his hands and attempted to fix his untamed curls in the reflection of one of the windows. He stalked out of the garage and rounded the corner into your backyard. They had been given permission to help themselves to anything they needed, but normally Eddie made Wayde grab him stuff. Not that he was scared of you, or anything.

He climbed up the steps to your backdoor, looking down at his oil-smeared outfit that clashed starkly with the light blue kitchen tiles coming into view. If he was lucky, he would be in and out before anyone noticed him. He just had to find the cabinet you kept your cups in and get some water and he'd be a free man. Only, which cabinet?

This kitchen was about seven times as big as his own, with about seven times as many cabinets, which made the guess, somewhat… impossible. So he started opening doors, and shutting them as silently as possible after the so manieth cupboard of only decorative plates. (How many decorative plates could one family need?)

He was almost getting desperate, nearing the end of the row of doors, thinking maybe fancy people didn't use cups? Until he finally found them, shiny and sparkling. He grabbed the first one he saw, finally turning around towards the tap and-

"Jesus- oh my god, what the-" You were smiling at him from the other side of the room, languidly draped against the doorframe.

You cleared your throat, putting on fake wide eyes, "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

"I, um, I just needed to get some wat-" he barely managed.

"This is private property" you mocked, a smile seeping through your tone. The twinkle in your eyes was what finally betrayed your agenda to him.

"Ahh, ha ha, real clever, I get it." he turned the glass over in his hands, trying to will his nerves away.

"Took you long enough," you chirped, pushing yourself off the doorpost and strolling towards him. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, um, no, it's, it's for Wayne," could he sound any more like a middle schooler that got caught red-handed?

"Aah, then you'd want this," you said, pulling open the doors of your giant refrigerator and producing a bottle of sparkling water, "he likes this one the best." 

Eddie had never seen the drink before, probably too fancy to keep around in the trailer, "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the blue bottle from you.

"No worries," you started backing away into the doorframe you had come from again, while Eddie grew faintly more aware of a feeling blooming in his chest that somehow wanted you to stay. "Just, yell if you need anything else, alright?" 

And then you were gone. Again. The smile on your lips lingered in Eddie's mind for longer than he'd care to admit.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The next day, Eddie was determined to strike up a real conversation with you. Preferably one where he didn't scold you like a mean teacher or came off extremely clueless, if possible. But the day rolled by, and no sign of you. He even volunteered to get more water in the kitchen, hoping to run into you, but to no avail.

He had all but lost hope, until he spotted you in the garden. You were sitting at the far end, reading a book at a picnic table underneath a wooden arch covered in flowers. You were a vision, in your short shorts and the soft sunlight on your face, you could have stepped into any of those mushy romance movies Eddie pretended not to like. 

"Hey, Wayne, you go ahead and leave without me, alright?" Eddie said, hoping to sound casual.

Wayne glanced up from packing his things, inquisitively at first, but then he spotted you. "Sure, kid. Just one word of advice-"

Eddie groaned in anticipation of the words to come.

"Don't call her missy, alright?" a grin taking over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, I'll try for sure." Eddie rushed away from his uncle, checking his appearance one more time in one the windows of a particularly shiny Mustang. He looked like he just worked an entire day in unbearable heat, which he did, so at least that checked out, but it would have to do. He slowed his walk, tried his best for casual, and strolled up to you in your large, well-kept garden.

"Hey there," he said, alerting you of his presence, and slid onto the bench opposite you.

You looked up from your book, not startled at all, Eddie noted, and smiled at him, "Hi." 

Eddie smiled back, already scrambling for words, swallowing hard at the sight of you, framed inside a border of roses.

But conversation seemed to come easily to you. "So, which of the cars have you been dreaming of stealing the most?"

Eddie let out a surprised laugh at that.

"I bet it was the red Porsche, or the Black Corvette?" You raised your eyebrow, "or are you more of a convertible type, Eddie?" 

"Aah, you got me," he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Hmh, then I bet you'd like, the dark green one," you snapped your fingers, "the uh, um, what's it called?" 

"The 1955 Ford Thunderbird, with the 312 cubic inch Y-block V8 motor," Eddie blurted out, too enamoured with the car to curb his enthusiasm. 

"That's right," your smile widened, "See, I got you all figured out."

Oh, Eddie was in looooveee. And very much unable to play anything cool, ever, though he was willing to die trying. "And you? Any favourites you'd run away with?"

"Oh, I'm not really a car kinda girl, only really know what my dad tells me about them."

"Oh really? But I bet you have a favourite, right?" He was trying to throw all of his charm in the ring.

"Hmm," you pondered his question, "I guess I have a soft sport for the Porsche, the light blue one?" 

"The 911 T? Good choice, good choice, a lady with taste."

You laughed at that, "Yeah, you know how cars kind of have a face?"

"I, um, I can't say I do?" but he was intrigued by where this was going.

"Yeah you do, the headlights are the eyes, the bumper is the mouth, and that one just looks, kind? I don't know," your laugh was getting bashful now, almost shy, "Maybe I'm talking nonsense."

"No! No, I see it, sure, you're right, even, very friendly car. Real sweetheart." You swatted at his arm, only making his lopsided grin more fond. "No, I mean it, didn't even give me any trouble during its check-up."

"Isn't it exhausting, all these long days in this heat?" You asked.

"Eh," Eddie waved his fingers, "had better days, but it's alright, honest work, you know."

You nodded, "Seems like hard work… you must be tired." Your eyes were flicking over his body now, but your smile remained kind and compassionate.

"I mean, well, yeah, kinda…" Eddie was slowly getting flustered by your attention.

"Working with your hands all day, can't be easy…" you trailed off, fidgeting with the edge of your book, "You know, I admire that, the craft, I mean." You slowly stood up, abandoning your book and walking around the table.

Eddie swallowed hard, trying to stay cool and collected, as he couldn't tell where this was going for the life of him. 

You came to a halt behind Eddie, still musing aloud, "Not afraid to get your hands dirty, and, you have to be quite strong… right?" 

You trailed your fingertips over his exposed upper arm, just like how you had done to the car a few days ago, but this time, Eddie didn't stop you. Instead, he inhaled sharply, tracking your movements with his eyes. 

"Right, Eddie? I bet you're really strong, carrying all those things, lifting the tires…" You bent down, your face nearing his ear, to whisper, "I bet you work really hard, Eddie, and I think- " your lips grazed the shell of his ear and Eddie thought he might faint on the spot, "I think you deserve a reward for that."

Eddie felt a shiver run down his spine at your words, his eyelids fluttering to stay open. Your hands were on his shoulders now, while your lips dragged over the hot skin of his neck. Sparks ignited all over his body upon the soft contact, rendering him speechless.

"Right, Eddie? Don't you think you deserve to be spoiled a little? For all your hard work?" You planted small kisses all over his neck, and when his head tipped back - involuntarily - you moved on to the column of his throat. Not satisfied with his lack of response, you purred his name again, "Eddie?", which poured oil on the flames igniting in his belly.

"Y- yeah, I do." His voice was hoarse, even to his own ears.

You smiled against his skin, satisfied with his reply, "That's right, so do you want me to take care of you, Eddie? Spoil you? Hmm?" Your voice was velvet to the touch, the words curling around him in an intoxicating spiral.

"Yeah, yeah, I- I do," his mumbling was interrupted by a low groan that left his throat as you planted hot, open mouthed kisses on his jaw. He was pretty sure he was in heaven.

"Turn around then," was all you said, and Eddie couldn't obey you any faster, swinging his legs over the bench to face you, no doubt red-cheeked and with dazed eyes. And you, you were a vision. So innocent looking, just standing there with your sweet smile and your gorgeous legs, looking at him, of all people. 

Then, you slowly, ever so slowly, got on your knees in front of him. And oh god. Eddie thought he might lose it, might wake up from this daydream, might get told this was all a cruel joke, but the way you held his eyes as you sank down, this was his ultimate wet dream come true right before his eyes. He swallowed, by lack of anything else to do, as 'casual' had gone out the window a long time ago. 

You looked so pretty sitting in between his spread legs, Eddie almost felt the need to stop you right there and ask to take a picture. But he didn't, because you were reaching your hands up to his belt now, carefully unbuckling it. The metal sounds of the clasps sounded out of place between the twittering birds in your garden, but Eddie couldn't care less, so entirely enveloped by your gentle stare and careful hands.

"May I, Eddie?" you asked, voice still as sweet as ever.

All he could do was nod, vigorously, and lift his hips to help you slide his jeans down his legs. He was hard. Of course he was, who could blame him? He had been living out his own personal wildest fantasies for the last ten minutes. 

His breath hitched once more when your lips got closer to his length, but instead you attacked his thighs, planting sweet, soft kisses on the pale skin there. You were driving him wild, insane, mad, deranged, you name it. All of it the work of your plush lips on his skin.

Suddenly, a clear thought made its way through the fog in his brain "W- what about your parents?" There was a clear wobble to his voice, but he was under strict instructions from Wayne not to screw this up. 

You laughed a little, maybe at his question, maybe at his disheleveld state, "Out of town, Eddie, don't worry." 

"Oh," he swallowed thickly, "right, yeah. Neighbours?" 

"What neighbours?" you giggled, as indeed, your house was located far away from the rest of the town.

"Right, right," he couldn't think straight with your lips so close to his aching dick that was straining his boxers by now. 

You smoothed your hands up and down his legs, "Relax, Eddie, lay back, let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he tried to chill, but the mix of nerves, butterflies and arousal in his stomach was a hard one to swallow. All of his efforts, though, went completely out the window as soon as you palmed his dick through the fabric. A sinful, drawn out moan immediately escaped his lips upon the first experimental stroke you gave.

You giggled quietly, a matching heat catching on your cheeks as you leaned forwards and licked his leaking tip through his boxers. Another sound escaped him, and he was sure by now his mouth was hanging open, bewitched by the (un)holy sight before him.

"You like that, Eddie?" you purred, slowly working his dick over.

"Y- yeah, oh fuck, yeah."

"Good," you said as you finally hooked your fingers behind the waistband, pulling his boxers down. "Be as loud as you want, by the way, I think it's really hot."

The compliment, paired with the casual way you said it, made the burn on Eddie's cheeks even brighter, the blush now creeping down his chest as well. You looked absolutely angelic, and yet absolutely sinful, the way your beautiful face was framed between his thighs now, and your delicate hand wrapped around his dick. 

When you licked up his shaft for the first time, fire sparked right through his entire body, igniting something stronger, deeper, than he had ever felt before. Your tongue wrapped around his head next, while it glided between your soft, plush lips. Eddie was so gone, groaning in pleasure with every stroke. 

You worked up a steady rhythm, your mouth as warm and intoxicating as your touch. The way you looked up at him, all innocent and pretty, made Eddie's insides swoop, drawing a high-pitched whine from him which he didn't know he was capable of. 

His eyes wanted to roll back into his skull, but he fought to keep them open, not wanting to miss a single second. He carefully weaved his fingers through your hair, not so much steering you as just going along with your movements, craving more contact. "This okay?" he asked, voice raspy and deep.

You hummed around his dick, sending shivers of pleasure through Eddie's body. He was sure you'd be the death of him. 

Eddie was getting closer, though he tried to hold off from finishing for as long as possible, both to save his ego and to savour every last second of this moment. But your skilled movements and honestly just the mere sight of you kneeled between his legs alone made it extremely hard on him. 

His moans became breathier, and he knew that he was getting close. His heart was pounding in his chest, the muscles in his abdomen were flexing tight, and pleasure was clouding his brain to the point that the only thing that existed in the whole universe for him were you, and the way you looked, and felt around him.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart," he moaned the words rather than said them, "Oh, fuck, I'm so- so close." But you didn't stop. On the contrary, you kept going, even faster, sucking the head exactly the way he liked it. "Oh god, jesus, fuck," all kinds of profanities tumbled from his lips, feeling his high rapidly approaching. You looked up at him one final time, your big eyes locking onto his, and that's what did him in.

His orgasm crashed over him in burning, white- hot waves of pleasure, making him moan out your name over and over as he finished. His hands were still in your hair, feeling the way you carefully worked him through his high. When he opened his eyes again, he saw you wipe your mouth, a satisfied smile on your face.

Eddie was still beyond dishevelled, completely out of it, you name it. He watched you with wide eyes and pink cheeks as he caught his breath, still half in disbelief about what just happened. 

You licked your lips, still kneeling before him, "Was that good?" 

"Good? Good?" (Eddie's brain had stopped working like half an hour ago) "Sweetheart, 'good' would be the understatement of the century." He brushed your hair behind your ear, "That was, fuck, that was like, the best moment of my life." 

You laughed at that, finally standing up and dusting off your knees, "Ah, don't flatter me, Munson." Your smile was bright and warm, and Eddie found himself in deep, deep trouble. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx + If anyone has requests, tell meeeee, and lmk if I should make this a series :))))

[keeksandgigz]

somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

Bargaining

Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Hit with an overwhelming desire to fuck your boyfriend, you try to convince Eddie to waste another fifteen minutes with you, despite both of you already being abysmally late.

A/N: In heat and this stemmed from thinking about rubbing my face on Eddie’s bulge, Ellen from Nosferatu style. I think this is my favorite fic that came from my ovulation plague. It started as an informal drabble that turned into an actual thing, so if the beginning gives off that vibe—that's why. Check this post out!!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ mdni!!!! Smutttt, PiV unprotected, mean!dom!eddie, lowkey did I just recreate the nosferatu scene but hornier? Cream pie, maybe dacryphilia, kinda face slapping (not really tho, just firm taps), lot of dirty talk, degradation, name calling (whore), panties as a gag, Eddie loves you–you’re just a brat. dom!Eddie, brat!Reader, you bratted a little too close to the sun in this one

Masterlist

Eddie and you are late to a get-together with friends, but you’ve suddenly been hit with the most potent, desperate desire for him. Every plea for attention is met with his fidgeting and anxious reminders that you’re already running late—there’s no time to squeeze in a little squeezin'.

But you just can’t take no for an answer. You need him so fucking bad it's almost uncomfortable. Your pussy is so wet, your whole pelvic area is warm with desire, and you feel tickling kind of flutters in your folds—like a need that has to be met or else the tickling will shift to deep discomfort very soon.

None of the classic tricks are working. When you emerged from the bedroom in only your underwear to show him how ready you were—how quick you could make it—he just asked you to “please put your clothes on." When you tried talking dirty, telling him how long it’s been and how hot he’s made you, he just gave you a placating, “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” while he continued to look for his keys. Nothing is working.

You can tell he’s just barely holding you off, your womanly wiles nearly too much for him, but he’s determined to not be an hour late to dinner with Steve and Robin…again. He can take care of you after. Then, you’ll have all the time in the world—he’ll give you as many orgasms as you need.

When he tries to tell you that, however, you only whine like a petulant child, insisting that you need him now—not later. Again, you’re met with a lamely sympathetic, “I know, I know.”

As a last ditch effort—your hail mary pass—you strip back down to your bra and panties, getting on your knees behind him. When he turns around, finally having found his keys, he’s met with you—your half-naked body blocking him from the door.

Shuffling closer, you wrap your arms around his thighs, straightening up on your knees as you drag your face up the seam of his black jeans. Looking up at him through your lashes, you close your eyes in solace as your face brushes against his bulge. You know he wants you. You know he’s struggling to be the responsible one in this situation. If you can just push him a little further…

Panting out heavy breaths, you nuzzle your cheek against him once more, pressing into his hardening length.

Gazing down at you with heavy lids and a quickly vanishing willpower, he tilts his head. “Sweetheart, we can’t.”

Peering up at him again, you give him your best pleading eyes. “But I need you, please,” you practically whine. 

The sight of you on your knees is enough to break down the will of even the strongest man—and Eddie is definitely not the strongest.

Trying once more, he attempts to reason with you.

“Baby, we’re gonna be so late. We can do whatever you want later, okay?” 

Frustrated by his constant dismissal and his sudden turn to bargaining, you're upset that your boyfriend still won't just fuck you already. If you had a clear head, you’d probably be embarrassed over your following actions, but your brain is fogged up with pure desire, so the humiliation factor is not plaguing you at the moment. 

Indignant, you shove your face into his crotch even more—almost like it’s a pillow you’re pouting into. He can practically feel your words as you mumble them into his hard-on. “I don’t wan’ it later, I wan’ it right now.”

Fed up with your attitude, Eddie yanks you off your knees, roughly shoving you onto the nearby couch, ignoring your surprised yelp.

“Fine,” he spits out, “you don’t wan’ it later? You need it so fucking bad right now that you can’t even pull yourself together like a damn adult? Then fine. You’ll get it now, but don’t bitch to me if you don’t get everything you want.”

Ripping your panties down your legs, he holds them up for you both to see. Acknowledging the way you’ve basically soaked through them from how wet you are, he shakes his head. “I see these aren’t good for much.” 

You mewl as he balls them up, a shocked garble emanates from your throat as he shoves the makeshift gag into your mouth. 

“Good for that, though,” he shrugs, “I don’t wanna hear any complaints.” With that firm warning, he quickly undoes his belt and then his pants. 

Once he’s got the fabric shoved low enough on his legs to allow for some movement, he kneels onto the couch, leaning over you and lining himself up at your entrance. 

With very little regard for your pleasure, he sinks into you, initiating an immediate, bruising pace. Thankfully, you’re wet enough to take the sudden intrusion in stride. Muffled moans are tumbling out of your mouth as his cock abuses your warm walls—thick and rough with haphazard speed.  

“You want it so fucking bad, you got it, baby. But if you’re gonna act like a whore to get it, then you’re gonna get it like a whore,” he grits, baring his teeth and clenching his jaw. 

Your eyes are starting to water as his fat cockhead drills its way into your deepest, most sensitive parts. You can barely breathe with the gag’s obstruction and the way every thrust into you knocks the air out of your lungs. He’s being so rough, so mean, you can’t help the way you clench down onto his length—your walls yearning to be full of his spend. You wish he could live inside your pussy, you’d keep him warm and satisfied forever. 

“Fuck! You’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me on purpose, aren’t you? You tryin’ to get me to take it easy on you?” 

Vigorously shaking your head, you pinch your brows, imploring him to believe you. He just feels too fucking good, you’re not trying to trap him inside you—though you wish you could. You know he can’t stay mad at you when your fluttering walls constrict him so sweetly, but you’re not using that against him right now—not on purpose, at least. 

A strangled whine rips from your throat as you feel him press his palm down onto your lower stomach, looking to feel himself deep in your cunt. “Fuck, baby. Can feel my cock inside o’you. You takin’ good care of it, sweetheart? You gettin’ what you wanted?” 

Tears stream down your temples as you nod, your hole pulsing wildly at his salacious words. His cock is barreling into you so fast, you barely have enough time to feel the pleasure, all you feel is the force of it bullying your pussy into producing more slick.

“Ah, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, his cock twitching and flexing as it shoots ropes of cum all over your inner walls, covering your most intimate area in his essence. Heavily breathing, Eddie glances down to where your bodies connect. Letting out a content hum, he admires the milky ring your cunt left around the base of his cock. 

He starts to pull out slowly, but before he fully removes himself, he makes sure to give his length a firm squeeze, ensuring every last drop of his cum resides safely in your quivering pussy. Once he’s out, he registers your whimpering. One look at your crumbling face tells him you’re so worked up, you’re losing control of your emotions. Frustration turns to tears as your hole clenches around nothing. He could tell by the way you had his cock in a vice grip, you were almost there when he came. 

But it’s just as he warned you—you may not get everything you wanted. Consequences of being a brat—or rather a whore. Sobs work their way up your throat as you realize he really did treat you like a whore. He fucked you until he was spent, leaving you full of him and orgasm-less. This was not at all what you wanted when you told him how much you needed him. If you knew this is what he’d do to you, you’d have sucked it up and gone to dinner. You’d probably pout, but at least you wouldn’t be sticky. 

Eddie watches the tears stream down your temples as you stare up at the ceiling, chest heaving with muffled sobs. He reaches for your chin, holding you in a firm grasp as he forces you to meet his penetrating gaze. “If you behave for once in your fucking life, maybe I’ll consider letting you cum later. You understand?”

You give him a pitiful, teary-eyed nod—your mouth still humiliatingly full of your own dirty panties. 

Sighing at the sight of you—miserable and used—he cocks his head in a reproachful manner. “You know, if you’d have been good like I told you to be, I was prepared to spend all night between your legs just to make up for the wait.”

The more favorable hypothetical scenario has you whimpering and crying harder. 

“But no, you can’t even go three fucking hours with out my cock in your needy little hole, huh?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shake as another stifled sob wracks through you. 

Glancing at his watch, he realizes you’re both forty-five minutes late now. At least it’s not an hour, but still, he hates having to make up an excuse for why his nympho girlfriend won’t let him arrive on time.

Eddie gives three firm taps to your wet cheek, grabbing your attention once more. “When we get there, you’re apologizing to them and telling them why we were late. And you better tell them it was all you.” 

As soon as you nod, agreeing to his terms, he tugs the underwear from your mouth, backing off of you to pull his pants up. You sniffle as you listen to his belt buckle clink, cringing at the way his cum oozes out of you as you try to stand up. 

“Now go put on a fresh pair of panties, and don’t you dare let one drop escape that pretty cunt o’yours. I think feeling me inside you will be a good lesson. Maybe it’ll motivate you to think of a decent lie.” 

When you only respond with another whimper, he grasps your jaw again, dragging your attention back to his scathing gaze. His eyes roam across your face, admiring your running mascara and smeared lipstick. He presses his fingers into your cheeks, making your lips pucker out, and then adorns them with a bruising kiss. 

The small act of affection makes everything a little better. Sure, you didn’t cum and you pissed him off, but at least he got to enjoy himself—relishing the pleasures your body could allow. Maybe that’ll earn you some brownie points for later. 

When he pulls away, you barely have time to swoon before he knocks you right back down from cloud nine. “Go clean yourself up, you look like a fuckin’ mess.” 

A/N: Chat, are we in heat yet? Posting this while I do my final read through on the Dream fic (the red link at the top^). It’ll probably be out on Saturday.

Tag List: @defututus @ratsematary @american-idiot-jpg @glassbxttless @justalotoffanfiction @savybabyyy @thepinkpanther83 @sorayasworld @slaytheusurper @dangerousnbeautiful @hellmastereddie @ali-r3n @lilithera0 @tlclick73 @joonbread @jesterghuleh @bellalillyrose @bigboymoozz @am0iur @pastelpoppies @lionkingshiddenmessage @girlwedontcare @cheesesandwichsanto @avenjames-anderson @munsonzgf @iheartgrayson @cowboylikemunson @skyfullofsong123 @thepurplelovewitch @munsondjarin @jayden-killer @fairylights-throughthemist @hippiegoth97 @whoschantel @wolfqueenxxx @kelsiegrin @ashly1576 @seedlingghost @alexxavicry @wheel-of-hyperfixation @leroisoleil @samslvrgirl @emberaxllian @emxxblog

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

Entropy

Gif by I think @/samantha-rae-velcher

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie’s at war with his subconscious as it continues to dress up like you—his best friend—painting pretty dreamscapes in his mind. That would be fine—if not a little awkward—if he wasn’t dating Chrissy Cunningham.

Or, colloquially known as the Dream fic.

Word Count: 19.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Smutttttt, PiV unprotected sex, emotional cheating, Chrissy is not demonized, angst with a happy ending, almost all of it is written in Eddie’s POV, one-sided storytelling bc Eddie’s wrapped up in himself, meta mind fuckery, childhood best friends to lovers

Warnings continued below the cut! It's a lot, lol.

Warnings continued: clueless!eddie, Dream!Reader is a chatty cathy, Dream!Reader is a little mean at times but remember it’s his own subconscious, loooots of dirty talk, cream pie, handjob, wet dreams, guilt, shame, Eddie’s kind of a bad friend at times, allusion to suicide (not actual feelings just embarrassment from saying something stupid), maybe dubious consent but remember it’s his own mind conjuring you and dreaming of having sex with you, Reader has boobies that jiggle (1x throw-away mention), loooottt of teasing, kissing, a little biting, lot of endearments (baby, pretty, sweetheart, teddie, lover, loverboy, etc), one scene with daddy/mommy kink but in the playing house kind of way (read it–you’ll understand, I’m not necessarily a fan of straight up daddy kink either if this tag gives you pause), brief hair pulling (Eddie’s), mention of masturbation, friends to lovers, tension, déjà vu, Old Yeller joke lol, jealousy, mentions of alcohol and weed, nipple play, if I missed anything lmk!

A/N: A couple things: Pay close attention to everything that’s said in the dialogue, there’s a lot of callbacks. In the same vein, if you think I forgot to describe changing scenes or actions—remember how glitchy dreams are. One last thing about the contents of the fic: remember that, in the dreams, he’s hearing what he wants to hear—so it may not be realistic to the bits we see of y/n outside of his dreams. I made a playlist of songs that helped me write this inspiration-wise, so here’s that. There Is Something on Your Mind by Big Jay McNeely is probably the song that reminds me most of this fic and them as a whole. Also, I hit 1k followers which is very wild and crazy and cool, so thank you all for reading my shit. That’s very rad of you and you guys bring me so much happiness with your interactions. Lastly, I worked on this almost nonstop for over a month, so please, please, please let me know your thoughts. Gimme the play-by-play, I need to geek out over this fic. There’s a lot of moments in here that have been added to my mental list of the best excerpts I’ve ever written, so yeah!

Masterlist

He would walk for miles muttering

“I’m sure this rain won’t last

I’m sure its time is up

Though it’s pouring down, I’m sure this rain won’t last”

As it fell on Job’s eyes, this water of doubt

He said, “I’m wading in lies, it’s wearing me out

But if you want it, alright

I’ll buy it 

I’ll buy it 

I’ll buy it

I’ll buy it

I’ll buy it”

The wind screamed, “Blood too dirty for mosquitos

I hope that you die soon

Pray to any god you believe in”

—Job’s Eyes by Far

Eddie pats the pockets of his jacket, then his jeans, missing the obvious lump of his wallet. He lifts random items on the counter, checking beneath them for the folded leather. A glance at the microwave’s digital clock reminds him—he’s running late.

“Fuck,” he mutters, running back into his room to search the pockets of discarded jeans. Once he finds the missing item, he secures it to the chain on the pair he’s wearing, swiping the van keys off the table, ready to head out the front door. 

When he opens the door, he jumps at the sight of you on his front stoop, your fist raised to knock. Stumbling back, he presses a dramatic hand to his chest. “Jesus, dude! You scared the shit outta me!” 

Your shock melts into amusement, huffing out a laugh as you lower your hand. “Sorry, Eds.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was just about to meet up with Chris. What’re you doin’ here? D’you need something?” He’s more jittery than usual, the clock ticking down the seconds until he’s well and truly late for the date with his girlfriend. 

Instead of answering, you climb up the last step entering his trailer, brushing past him into the living room. He watches you turn around to face him, standing with your hands clasped in front of you, hanging from your body. Letting the door swing shut, he glances at the clock again.

“Sweetheart, I really gotta go. What’s up?”

Any amusement you showed is now wiped clean from your face. Wide eyes and fluttering lashes gaze at him as you let out a mumble, “She’s not right for you.”

“What?”

He heard you, but he’s not sure if he heard you correctly. 

Letting go of your hands, you carefully move toward him, but your timid steps don’t stop until you’re almost toe-to-toe with him, sharing the same shallow breaths. Wide brown eyes follow the way your tongue slides over your dry lips, wetting them with a shine in the low lamp light of his trailer. 

The sight of you nearly chest to chest with him has his heart rate picking up. He’s been your best friend since preschool, but he’s only ever been this close to you a handful of times, and neither of you are in formal wear—so it can’t be one of those times.

The staring contest breaks with the downward tip of your chin, glancing at the minimal space between both of your bodies. His stare remains on the crown of your head—where your nervous eyes just were. His stomach twitches at the feeling of wandering fingers inching up the side of his abdomen. 

“You heard me,” the mutter is almost unintelligible until you look up at him again through painted black lashes. “She’s not right for you.” 

His huffing breath hitches at the smooth fingers weaseling their way under his band tee, the skin on his stomach jerks at the unfamiliar, cool touch. Sucking in a stuttering breath, his eyes flutter shut at the teasing tips of painted nails as they dance across his waistband. Forcing his eyes open with a struggle, he gulps. “I–I d–don’t…under–understand.”

Meeting his wide, brown irises with drawn brows and pouty lips, you whisper, “No? Wan’ me to explain?”

Nodding his head, he nervously clears his throat as your lips creep closer to his. This isn’t what he was expecting in terms of an explanation. He’s trying so hard not to lean in, but it’s like there’s a gravitational pull—like he’s stuck spinning aimlessly in your orbit. 

A strangled sound escapes his throat as you pull him by the shirt to the couch, shoving him down before settling onto his lap, legs bent on either side of his thighs. He calls your name softly, a miserable attempt to deter your actions.

“Y–You know I’m with Chris…” he shakily defends, an earnest attempt to remind you he’s a taken man. But you won’t hear it, sitting your weight onto the bulge beneath his fly. 

Roving hands slide up his chest, past his throat, and into the curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes close on their own volition, the scratching sensation of your nails on his scalp too much for his nervous system to handle. He can feel the soft puff of breath on his lips, the heat from your taunting mouth. He can almost feel the words you speak, your lips are practically on his own.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I have someone too. So let’s call it even.” 

The mention of you having a boyfriend or someone—as you put it—has him frowning. He doesn’t recall you mentioning anybody. You two told each other everything. Who is this guy? Eddie doesn’t get the chance to interrogate you when he feels your soft hand on his bare cock. 

Looking down, he watches you spread a bead of precum around the ruddy tip. He doesn’t remember you undoing his pants or pulling them down enough to free his length, but he also feels like he doesn’t remember the past minute since you walked in, guns blazing. 

“W–What are you doing?”

You let out what almost sounds like a whine, the noise makes his cock twitch in your firm grip. You breathe desperate breaths into his mouth, head bobbing forward to graze deprived lips to his. “I need you, Eddie. Please…I’ve needed you for so long,” you mewl, guiding his head through your drenched folds.

His forehead presses to yours, mouth dropped open in anguished pants. He’s trying so hard to understand what’s going on, but all the blood from his brain has rushed south. An unwilling moan leaves his throat at the feel of your warm arousal. Looking down his nose, he watches you sink down on his cock, the skirt he hadn’t even noticed you wearing now offering perfect, easy access. 

Biting back a groan at the way your walls adhere to him, squeezing him so well, he musters up enough power to utter a single word. “B–But–”

Rolling your hips, you hurriedly peck the lips you’ve been grazing with your own for the past twenty seconds, assuring him, “Nobody has to know, I promise. You know I can keep a secret…”

The way your head tilts has him following your lips, entranced by the small peck you granted him. Ringed fingers slide up your thighs, settling on your slow moving hips. Moaning at the feeling of you everywhere—breath on his lips, hands in his hair, cunt on his cock, scent in his nose—he can’t stop himself from guiding your hips faster. 

“T–This is wrong, we sh–shouldn’t be d–doing this.” His words are interrupted with stuttering moans and hissing pleasure as your pussy squeezes him so tightly. He’s getting close and he has no fucking clue how any of this happened. 

He was going somewhere when you arrived, somewhere he can’t remember now…

He was meant to do something—meet someone? Thoughts are functioning at a third of their typical speed in his head, every idea is dragged down by the drawl of your sinful hips. The pulsing of your walls mark each passing second his morality degrades in the flames of his desire. 

He feels your soft hands pull his head, catching his foggy gaze. “Don’t you know, baby? It’s not cheating if you don’t cum inside me… Be good, Eddie, baby. You can be good for me, right?” 

Melting at your saccharine words, he has to grit his teeth not to cum right then. Moans are free falling from his lips as your hips pick up the pace, fucking yourself on his hard cock. 

Planting a wet kiss to the corner of his lips, you mumble against his hot skin. “Or maybe…you want me to be good for you? I can do that… Is that how you wanna play, lover?”

A growl leaves his lips, hips twitching upwards, needing more from you. He’s never heard you speak like this, your voice is so fucked out, the things you’re saying—he feels like he’s losing his mind. Large hands grope your ass, working you up and down on his throbbing cock. 

“You’ll be good for her and I’ll be good for you. Or how about, you’ll be good for her…and I’ll be bad for you. Would you like that?” The question is tainted by a moan, the unfamiliar cadence makes his brain whir with static. 

Your words are all registering as dirty promises to Eddie. With no thoughts in his head to stop him, he flips you over as you squeal, your back falling to the old couch—the one you’ve spent many nights sleeping on. He watches with hunger as your breasts jiggle from the sudden movement—he doesn’t remember when your shirt came off, but he’s been a little preoccupied with every near kiss you tease him with. 

The new angle and his unforgiving thrusts have you moaning uncontrollably, gyrating hips making a pitiful attempt to meet his movements. Mumbling curses and hitching breaths into your neck, he cages you in. Beside his ear, he hears a combination of what sounds like panting breaths and giggling laughs from you—the same laugh you’d let out when you won every arcade game against him. 

“Oh, I knew there was something about you,” you pant out, whining as he bites the junction of your neck. “You like to be all sweet and silly, but you’re a beast aren’t you? 

Just take what you want in bed, hm?”

Your sultry words have his hips stuttering, losing the rhythm he built up. Running a sweaty hand down your conjoined bodies, he rubs the little button he’s been dying to play with. Hearing your breath catch in your throat, he relishes the way you moan his name as your walls squeeze the life out of his cock, throbbing around him in fluttering pulses. 

“Mm, fuck, sweetheart. Cunt feels s’fucking good, pretty.” 

He feels your hot gaze on his face as his eyes roll back, stomach clenching, balls pulling taut to his body. For the life of him, he can’t remember what he’s supposed to do right now. Can’t remember if there's a formality he should partake in, a question he should ask you before the fiery feeling becomes too much. 

“Remember the rules, lover boy,” you warn with a moan.

“F–Fuck,” he drawls, languid hips carry him through his orgasm as rope after rope of his cum paints your warm walls. 

He drops onto your chest in exhaustion, and you smack the back of his shoulder blade. “Oh, naughty boy,” you chide, giving a punishing yank to his curls—only to earn a moan in response.

Drawing his head from your neck, you hold his hot cheek, looking into hazy eyes. “You wanna see your mess, pretty boy? Wanna see what you’ve done to me?” 

Struggling to catch his breath, Eddie nods tiredly, backing off of you. Right as he feels the squirming feeling of his soft cock sliding out of your wet hole—prepared to look at the oozing mess—he wakes with a start.

Face down into his sheets, the pillow shoved further up the bed than his body, he feels the most uncomfortable sensation he’s ever felt. He knows he was just humping the bed, he wouldn’t be in this position otherwise. Beneath his crotch, he feels a squelching wetness. Jumping up in a rush, he looks down, panting at the sight before him. 

His sheets are damp with a big, blotchy stain, and his boxers have a matching wetness. “Shit,” he mutters, scrambling off the bed and shoving the soiled underwear down his twitching legs. Grabbing a fresh pair of boxer briefs from the half-open dresser drawer against the wall, he glances back at the stain, tugging the fabric up before stripping the sheets off the lumpy, old mattress.

Eddie doesn’t remember anything, but it must’ve been some dream—this is the most he’s cum since he first discovered masturbation. Peeking out of his bedroom door, he notes Wayne’s absence. Sunday means diner day with his buddies from the plant, Sunday also means hang outs with you and the gang. You. He’s getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu having to do with you. Was he supposed to do something? Say something to you? 

Shaking off the confusing train of thought, he shuffles out of his room, shoves the dirty sheets into the wash with some detergent, and starts the cycle. Yanking open the refrigerator door, he grabs the orange juice, drinking right out of the carton—a habit you always yell at him for. 

He swipes away a stray drop of juice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, messy in his movements, as he considers the last time he had an 'accident' like that—couldn’t be any less than five years ago. Snorting at the memory, the day after his first prom night was a doozy, one he doesn’t often like to reflect on. 

The phone rings, shaking against the wall with the shrill noise. He checks the clock on the microwave, giving himself another bout of déjà vu. Ignoring the strange feeling, he sets the carton of juice down, heading to the phone. 

“Munson residence, how may I direct your call?” he asks with a hoity-toity accent. 

A smile grows on his face as he hears your familiar giggle through the phone, you always laugh at every new way he answers your calls. “Hi, Edward.”

Despite the clear smile in your voice, he cringes at the name you use. “Oo, gross, hate it.”

“Well, it seemed right with the way you answered the phone.” You laugh at his dramatic gagging. 

“Okay, noted. I’ll never use that voice again.” 

“The world will thank you. What are you up to?”

“Uhh,” he hesitates, eyes darting between the washer and the cum soaked underwear still on his bedroom floor—he doesn’t think you need to know every detail of his morning. “Just drinkin’ some orange juice.”

“Out of a glass?” 

“...Yeah.”

You’ve known him long enough to be able to hear the lie in his voice. “Egh, you big fibber! You’re drinking out of the carton again, aren’t you?” 

“Hey! I resent that very true accusation!” Eddie’s cheeks ache from the wild grin stretched across his face—he loves getting to talk to you first thing in the morning. It reminds him of all those school years when you’d meet up before classes and every moment in between.

“Ugh, you’re a beast. You should be taken out back and shot Old Yeller style.” 

Snorting at your words, he can’t help the furrow of his brows. Something about your sentence sounds familiar—like you’ve said that very same thing to him before. Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he scrambles for a response.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to see you catch me. It’d be like hunting wabbits,” he finishes in his best Elmer Fudd impression. 

“Whatever, weirdo. Hey, what are we doing tonight, by the way? Steve was asking me.” 

“Uhh, I dunno,” too hung up on the mention of Steve, he can’t think straight until he lets the question fly. “You talked to Steve?”

He didn’t know you talked to Steve. He thought you two were only connected via his joint friendship with you both—only conversing when the group was together. 

“Yeah, he was over at my place the other day. Came to ask for that ‘Dirty Dancing’ VHS.”

The frown never leaves Eddie's face as he hums into the phone. “Hm…Family Video does house calls now? What, did they increase their budget?” 

He hears crackling static and your giggle over the line. “I don’t know,” you muse, “I think it was an excuse to come look at my dad’s new car. I mentioned the luxurious purchase last week, and well, you know Steve.” 

He does know Steve. He knows Steve better than you. He knows that the guy loves cars, but he loves women even more, and that’s what concerns him.

“Right,” Eddie feels a weird prickling sensation in his chest, choosing to ignore it, he carries on the conversation. “Uh, what about the arcade tonight?” 

“Sounds good to me. I’ll let Rob know. I’m sure she’s at work with Harrington right now.” 

The line goes quiet for a second. He pauses, it doesn't sound like you were done speaking. Then your voice picks up again, a quiet tone—different from the light and teasing smile he heard through the receiver a second ago. 

“Is Chrissy coming?”

Eddie’s eyes widen, this is the first time today he’s thought about Chrissy. Usually he gives her a call right when he wakes up, but he was so distracted with the mess he made, then you called, and he can never resist joking around with you. Shit, he needs to call his girlfriend. 

“Uh, you know what? I’m gonna call her right now and ask.” He rushes out a quick, “See you soon, sweetheart,” before hanging up. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”

Dialling the number he knows by heart, he presses the yellow telephone to his ear, listening to the ring. 

“Hello?” The soft voice of his girlfriend pours through the static. 

“Oh, Chris! I’m so sorry, I forgot to call you when I woke up—it’s been a crazy morning.”

Muffled giggles preface her words, “It’s okay, Eddie. I was just about to go for a run. How’d you sleep?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with her question, he obfuscates, “Uh, I…it–slept fine. You?” 

Deeming less words better, he listens to her talk about the dream she had. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to divulge the events of his morning—cleaning up after his wet dream. It’s not like he hasn’t had sex with his girlfriend or that they abstain from talking about sex. It’s just that he doesn’t exactly remember the dream, so he’s not in the mood to flounder at her inevitable probing questions. 

He must’ve zoned out on her tale because he jumps when he hears a question directed at him. “Have you ever had a crazy dream where you’re like, ‘Woah, that felt so real’?”

Heart rate picking up, he doesn’t know why her question gives him so much anxiety all of a sudden. “Uh, not one I can remember—I don’t think… Hey, listen, I was wondering if you wanted to come to the arcade tonight with me and the group.” 

“Sure! Sounds fun! You’ll pick me up?”

“Yep, let’s do seven.”

After getting off the phone with her, he calls you back. He gets your machine but leaves a message confirming the time for tonight. With plans solidified, he goes about his day—making his bed with fresh sheets, writing down some notes for Hellfire, and doing more laundry. Seven approaches and he hasn’t thought about the mystery dream once. 

Arriving at the arcade with Chrissy, he greets you, Steve, and Robin. He notes that you look different than normal, but he can’t put his finger on it. Never exactly great with observations, he lets it slide—there’s been one too many times throughout the years where you’ve waited expectantly for him to notice your new haircut. Eventually you always have to tell him or it’ll be grown out again by the time he notices the change. 

The night is filled with fun and laughter—he watches contently as Steve and Robin argue over who will play Ms. Pac-Man first, and laughs at how Chrissy swoops in to play while they’re too busy bickering. You beat him at Joust like you always do, causing him to groan and complain and you to giggle maniacally. 

“Be good, Eddie,” you chide, telling him to behave like a man instead of a sore loser. 

The one time you lose to him is during a round of Ghosts ‘n Goblins—and only because he’s too busy sabotaging your gameplay. He constantly blows air in your ear, pinches your waist, and moans obnoxiously loud, drawing attention from those around you until you finally smack him.

When you don’t even make it past the stone hopping—instead sinking into the water—you slam your hands on the control board. Whipping around to Eddie, you angrily watch as he’s doubled over in laughter at his successful attempt to bring you down a peg. 

“You did that! That doesn’t count, it’s your fault I died! Look at what you’ve done to me!” You gesture to the pitiful end score, barely even making it off the first piece of land. 

His laughter dies down at the unsteady feeling in his body, he looks around at all of the young adults and kids in the bustling arcade. Déjà vu again, but he hasn’t been here in a while. Your words draw him back, his body feeling steady again.

“You owe me a game of Q*bert,” you threaten, marching off without looking back. 

Eddie moves to follow you, but Chrissy pops up in front of him. “Hey! Can I watch you play Dragon’s Lair? I really like when the princess is on screen, she’s so pretty.” 

Glancing down at his girlfriend’s big blue eyes, he realizes he hasn’t hung out with her much tonight. Looking around, he spots Steve and Robin bickering over a game of Punch Out—Robin laughing in Steve’s face while he complains about the machine being rigged. 

“Uhh, I was gonna–” his words catch in his throat. Telling his girlfriend ‘no’ to go hang out with his best friend who he’s been with all night sounds like a bad boyfriend move, so he doesn’t. 

Meeting your eyes from across the room, he sees you standing guard by the machine, keeping any annoying kids at bay while you wait for him. A faint smile lingers on your lips, but your eyes flick between Chrissy’s back and his wide brown ones.

He’s not sure if he saw what he thought he saw, but your smile seems to falter as he squeezes Chrissy’s hand. Glancing back down at his expectant girlfriend, he asks her to go wait by the Dragon’s Lair machine.

“I’ll be right there, I just need to go do something really quick.” 

Eddie feels awful when your smile brightens as he comes closer. “Ready to get pissed at the idiotic movements of a little ball of orange obsessed with geometry?” 

A rueful smile creeps across his face at your quip, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, he gestures vaguely to where Chrissy just was. “I would love to, sweetheart, but I think I–I should play a round with Chris. Don’t wan’ her to feel left out.”

The bright smile slowly falls off your face, a neutral look of understanding replaces it. “Yeah, of course! You should go–play with your–girlfriend.” 

He knows you're upset by the way you're overcompensating—being overly accommodating and offering stilted encouragement—and he wishes he could just play Q*bert with you. He’d much rather hear your evil laugh as you beat him yet again than play Dragon’s Lair, but he doesn’t want to upset Chrissy.

“How about this, we can come back here—just you and me—I’ll provide the change and you can bulldoze me all you want. I’ll even play Dig Dug with you.” He knows how much you love that game, especially because it’s your best one—and he has never won against you on that damn machine. 

The smile that pulls at your lips makes him want to run a mile in celebration—he’s got you. “Sure. But only if you get me pizza afterwards.”

“Deal,” he grins, shaking your hand.

All it took were a couple more dreams and wet sheets for Eddie to catch on. He couldn’t remember them at first, but then he started having weird reactions while around you or hearing your voice. Bit by bit, the dreams started to come back to him. 

Wandering hands, breathy sighs, your voice saying strings of words he never thought he’d hear come from your lips. It’s almost indiscernible. Dream you and you you. He’s known you for so long, you must have a whole room of files in his mind—information, memories, the way you speak, the cadence of your voice, the gait of your walk. 

Shock takes over his body, flooding his nervous system with unease every time he wakes up. Every single dream feels real. You feel real. He’s certain he knows the exact feel of your–

But then comes the guilt. The morose shame that threatens to drown him in the wet ashes of his morality. He’s tried everything—going to bed early, going to bed late, smoking weed before bed, drinking himself to sleep, not going to bed at all. 

You still worm your way into his unconscious mind. He’s so tired all the time, all he wants to do is sleep. At least in his dreams, everything is clear. You want him and he–

He won’t admit it. Admitting it would be the worst thing he could do. No. He loves his girlfriend. His sweet, kind, gentle girlfriend. He refuses to hurt her, she doesn’t deserve that. He can get better, he has to get better. 

This is just a weird perverted phase. Probably happens to every guy with a girl best friend as pretty as you–

No. 

Not pretty. 

Normal looking. 

A girl. 

With attractive qualities that most girls have. Nothing special and nothing new. 

He loves his girlfriend. He loves his girlfriend. He loves his girlfriend. 

And he’ll do anything to keep her. 

So he starts bailing on individual hangouts, making up excuses to avoid movie nights with you—barely answering the phone for fear he’ll hear your soothing voice right in his ear, just like–

Eddie’s refusal to pick up the telephone pisses Wayne off a lot, but he just can’t risk it. He can’t handle the shame that fills him every time he hears your giggle. 

He can’t cut you out of his life entirely—nor would he want to. He’d be lost without you. He just can’t be alone with you until this illness has surrendered its grip on his subconscious. Having the group as a buffer is fine, though—helpful, even—as it allows him to pretend he’s not cutting you off completely.

It’s four in the afternoon when he wakes up, drooling on his pillow and an uncomfortable hard-on pinned to the bed beneath restless hips. He’s learned to take what he can—at least he didn’t cum in his boxers this time. 

The time on the digital clock next to his mattress has him shooting out of bed, stumbling as the tangled sheets refuse to free his legs. Knocking into the bedside table, he scrambles to catch some knickknacks tumbling to the ground. “Shit, shit, shit!” 

Wayne must be close by in the kitchen because he hears his uncle’s gruff mumble. “Damn bull in a china shop.”

Throwing on whatever semi-clean clothes he can find, he tucks his unyielding erection into the waistband of his jeans before jogging into the kitchen for his keys. 

“Hey, Ed, that girlfrien’ o’ yours called. Said she was just gonna meet’ya there—wherever ‘there’ is. She wasn’t very specific.”

Eddie freezes at the relayed message from Chrissy, halting his attempt to pull on his dirty Reeboks. He straightens up to look at his uncle.

“What? Why didn’t you wake me up when she called? I was supposed to pick her up!”

Wayne shrugs, unfazed by Eddie’s admonishment, as he pulls a TV dinner from the tiny freezer and unwraps it. The lack of urgency in the man’s explanation is driving Eddie crazy—he’s already late, and now he knows his girlfriend had to drive herself because he couldn’t wake the hell up.

“Y’looked like you needed the sleep,” the old man grumbles, his eyes never leaving the task as he fiddles with the plastic wrapping.

Groaning, Eddie continues shoving his feet into his shoes before heading to the door. “That’s the last thing I need.” 

Wayne calls after him, asking about your whereabouts and why you haven’t been over lately. Eddie only gives a passive shrug, yelling out a half-assed, “Dunno,” before jumping in his van and tearing out of there.

Eddie’s running up to the group as they hover outside the Hideout, chains jingle as his heavy footsteps hit the gravel. “Hey, shit–sorry guys! I overslept.” Ignoring your wave, he stops right in front of a miffed Chrissy. 

“Dude, it’s 5:13…p.m.”

Scowling at Steve’s comment, Eddie wraps an arm around his girlfriend. “It was a nap,” he lies, leaning into the short blonde. 

“Sorry, baby, I overslept.”

Crossing her arms, she purses her lips at him, “I heard.”

Sparing a quick glance at you, his body jolts in surprise as he accidentally makes direct eye contact with you. You look upset at him—he hates that look. But guilt eats at him for even looking at you, so he turns back to his girlfriend. Grabbing her soft cheeks, he pulls her in for a messy kiss.

A shocked hum leaves Chrissy’s throat as she leans into him, arms unfolding and hands settling on his hips. He tries to ignore the discomfort her small, soft hands bring—that’s never something he’s felt when being touched by her before. Chalking it up to the unusual PDA, he breaks the wet kiss when Robin groans. 

“Egh! Get a room, guys. That’s so nasty.”

The group secures their usual booth once inside the busy bar. Typically, Chrissy doesn’t attend Thursday night drinks, so Eddie sits on one side of the booth with you while Steve and Robin take the other side. Today, when you slide into the seat opposite the already bickering knuckleheads, Eddie doesn’t follow. Instead, he hovers awkwardly at the end of the table with Chrissy, acutely aware of your expectant gaze on his face.

Biting the bullet, he avoids eye contact as he says, “Hey, uh…do you think you could let me and Chris sit there?” 

He’d rather walk over hot coals than sit next to you on that cracked leather seat. You’d be so close, there’d be no direct line of sight to your lower bodies under the table, he’d feel the dip of the cushion where your supple thighs splay–

He can’t sit next to you. Not until he’s better.

“Oh, Eddie, it’s fine. I can just pull up a chair.” 

The blonde moves to grab a nearby chair from a four-top, but his warm hand on her arm stops her. There’s a quarter-second lull—Steve and Robin falling silent at his request to you, your inability to move from your seat, his hand stopping Chrissy’s attempt to accommodate the usual seating chart. It’s only a fraction of a second, but it feels like ages when he catches sight of the hurt behind your eyes.

It’s like everything is transitioning from slow motion to regular speed when you scooch out of the booth, making room for the couple to sit down. 

Chrissy looks at you with wide eyes and pinched brows, “Are you sure? I’m fine sitting on the chair–”

“Sit down, Chris.” 

The girl’s attempt to check in with you is cut off by Eddie’s order, tension crackles in the air and nobody but Eddie understands why. 

Throwing a tight-lipped smile at the worried blonde, you pull a chair to the edge of the table. “It’s fine, Chrissy. Thank you, though.”

The rhythm of conversation wears down the tension—mostly thanks to the never-ending noise spilling from Steve and Robin. Something, something, Steve sucks at taking inventory and Robin is better—Eddie can’t really be bothered to keep up. The most he can offer are half-assed ‘yeahs’ and ‘uh-huhs’ to Chrissy as he toys with the condensation on his pint glass. Thankfully, you don’t have much to say tonight either.

Eddie knows you know he’s avoiding you—has been since Sunday. The two of you haven’t gone this long without talking or hanging out since before you even knew each other—which is saying something, considering he wasn’t exactly hitting the social scene before the age of five. 

Knowing you, you’re pissed at his ‘boyish’ ways—which is really just another way of calling him stupid for how he handles his emotions. That’s something you’ve always called him out on without hesitation. But he knows you won’t say a word in front of other people, so all he has to do is avoid being alone with you until his ailment passes. Then everything will go back to normal. He’ll be guilt-free with Chrissy, you’ll accept him back with open arms and a lecture, just like you always have, and everything will be as it should be.

There’s too much guilt in his body to feel shame over the way he’s leaning into his girlfriend, overcompensating with affection he wouldn’t otherwise display so publicly. This is his first real relationship, but even then, he’s never been the type to hang all over her like he is now, arm firmly around her shoulders, playing with her hair.

He touches you with no problem—well, he used to. He’d play with your hair, hug you, tug on your clothes, shove you when you’re being annoying—he’d do all of that in public and in private. But he’s never been very touchy with Chrissy, he’s not sure why. It’s not like she doesn’t touch him constantly. Maybe that’s why. She touches him so much already, he doesn’t feel the need to touch her. 

A lull in the conversation has you readjusting in your chair. You look like you’re about to say something and Eddie’s heart rate spikes. 

“Hey, Eds, I was able to secure a copy of Child’s Play if you wanna do movie night on Friday?” 

“Yeah, thanks to me reserving the first copy that came in,” Steve butts in, causing Robin to roll her eyes.  

“Sure, it was him—totally not me because he couldn’t remember what movie you wanted…” 

You laugh at her crossed arms and pinched brows. “Okay, thanks for the group effort, guys. You can share your kudos,” you placate.

Steve sits up at that, jaw dropped and tone resembling a petulant child. “I don’t wanna share with her, she’s a kudos hog!”

Robin cocks her head in consideration, “Kudos hog, huh. Odd way to refer to someone who’s always right.” 

Eddie watches as Steve looks at you, a hand gesturing to Robin’s face, “See what I mean?”

Chrissy's giggles echo around the table; unused to how annoying the bickering can get, she finds it hilarious. You lift a warning finger in their direction, eyebrows raised as you reprimand them. “Control yourselves before I muzzle you both.” 

Eddie moves to pick at the soggy label of the empty beer bottle from Steve’s previous drink—the condensation already wiped clean on his own pint glass. Hyper-focused on his fidgeting fingers, he doesn’t catch the way you turn back to him. 

“As I was saying,” the emphasis you put on the last word tells him you probably threw the two idiots a dirty look. “I got Child’s Play, so did you want me to come over Friday?” 

Chrissy has to elbow him to get his attention away from the way his blunt nails catch on the wet paper. “Eddie, she’s talking to you.”

Startled, he looks up, eyes darting around everyone’s faces—all attention on him. “Uh, yeah. I got work tomorrow, though. So just give it to Chris or something and we can watch it on Friday.” He turns to look at his girlfriend as he finishes the stuttering sentence. 

Robin frowns, catching sight of your resigned face—she’s pretty sure Eddie just pushed you out of your own plans. 

Chrissy’s head jerks back, face screwed up in disgust. “Ew, I don’t wanna see that movie. Dolls freak me out. Plus, I don’t do horror. Why don’t you two watch it, that’s what you usually do, right?”

Before you can answer, Eddie speaks up, “Well, I’m actually really booked up at the garage this week, so–”

“That’s fine, we can push it to next week–”

“Next week, too,” he hurries, cutting you off. “It’s a really busy month, actually.”

Robin eyes Steve, silently checking to make sure he’s hearing what she’s hearing. After Eddie’s obvious excuse, you don’t speak up for the rest of the evening—resigning yourself to silent sulking. 

Laying next to a sound asleep Chrissy, he stares aimlessly at the dark ceiling, listening to the hypnotic whirring sound of the box fan by his bed and the deep breaths coming from his girlfriend. Mentally shuffling through every D&D monster he can think of, he tries to train his brain to dream of something else for the night. 

Waking with a start, he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table—2:57 AM. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but luckily, he doesn’t recall any dreams his subconscious may have conjured in the short time he slept either.

Listening to the same old box fan, he lifts his head off the pillow, looking around the dark room. Everything is as it was when he laid down for the night and he can still hear the calming sound of his girlfriend’s deep breaths. Tired eyes fall on her sleeping form, watching the way her back moves with each expanding inhalation. 

Settling his gaze back on the ceiling—ready to count sheep back to sleep—he hears the rustle of sheets as she adjusts her position. 

“Eddie?”

He jolts upright onto his elbow, eyes snapping to the source of the voice—that’s definitely not his girlfriend. In the same spot he could’ve sworn Chrissy occupied only a second ago, you’re there, turned toward him, awake, and calling his name. Panicked breaths rush through his chest, and his eyes widen as they take in your soft, sleepy form.

He knows that look, he’s seen that look on every sleepover—every time you’d come into his room to check on him and end up staying over in his bed. But that hadn’t happened in almost a decade. Not since Wayne informed you two that boys and girls should sleep separate once they get to a certain age. 

He remembers how upset you were at the new rule change, not understanding what the big deal was—what the implication was. But Eddie knew. He understood what his uncle meant the moment he said it. He noticed the different feelings he experienced during that year, he had forcefully broken one too many longing glances during movie nights to confuse Wayne’s meaning. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, your head rests gently on the pillow. “I’m sleeping over…like you asked me to. What’s up with you?”

God, you sound so normal. You sound just like you. The plain tone, the straightforward answer—he has asked you to sleep over many times, but he definitely didn’t tonight. 

Eddie closes his eyes and shakes his head, hoping that maybe once he opens them, you’ll be gone and Chrissy will be back. But you’re still there when he looks down—still lying on his bed, in his sheets, your waiting eyes gazing up at him expectantly.

“Where’s Chrissy?”

Your eyebrows pinch together, “Who?”

He’s starting to get sick of these mind games. It wouldn’t shock him if he woke up in a padded room and the last few weeks were all just a very realistic hallucination. If that doesn’t happen, he’s considering looking into antipsychotics because this shit is driving him insane. 

Losing his patience, he bites out, “My girlfriend. Where is she? What did you do with her?”

Frowning, you sit up to level with him, leaning on your elbow to better address his concerns. “Eddie, I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Sitting up fully, his eyes never leave your very real looking figure. “She was just here…” he mutters.

He watches as your concerned frown melts into an annoyed eye roll. “Oh, please. You’re so guilty you can’t even properly write her out of your own dream without crying about it.” 

His eyebrows twitch, creasing in focus as he studies your face, noticing it’s almost like you broke character—as hard as that is to compute in his head. “Who are you?” He asks the question slowly and steadily; he doesn’t even know how to begin wondering who—or what—you are, or why you’ve attached yourself to him, plaguing him constantly.

Sighing, you readjust to sit up more. “Ugh, you know who I am, Teddie. Same old me since preschool,” you shrug breezily, glancing down at your body as if the sight will convince him you’re the same. 

The use of your childhood nickname for him sends him reeling. Looking down, matching the tilt of your head, he takes in your appearance—as you do the same. He hadn’t noticed until now, but you’re wearing a black silk teddy nightgown. The disheveled, flimsy triangular fabric barely covering your breasts makes him gulp.

“Except I’m all womanly now,” you shimmy with a smirk. 

The confused frown never leaves his face as he narrows his eyes at your exposed figure. Shaking his head, he pants out a dissenting, “No, you’re not her.”

Amusement flashes across your face before you mask it with a curious pout. “I’m not?” 

Brown eyes follow your hand with rapt attention as you daintily caress your body—starting at your soft, bare thighs and ending at your supple, immodestly covered breasts. Giving a light push to your bust, you lean in. “Feels real… Think you should check?”

Swallowing harshly, Eddie shakes his head ever so slightly. “No.”

“No? But you dreamt me up like this. I’m all pretty just for you and you don’t wanna cop a feel? You’re breakin’ my heart, baby.” 

Sanity slipping at your crooning tone, he almost feels shame for rejecting you—even when you’re not real. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, truly contrite. 

You coo at his sad, muddy eyes. “It’s okay, honey. I know what’ll make you feel better. Let’s play house,” you coax with a smile. “It’ll be just like old times.” 

Ignoring his silent rejection—frizzy curls moving with the shake of his head—you come nose-to-nose with him. “I’ll play mommy and you can be daddy.”

The voice, the tone, the inflection, the visage, the faint perfume—it’s so you. But you’re not here. There’s no way. Not looking like that and not offering to play childhood games. 

He feels like a sailor slowly succumbing to insanity, constantly rejecting the siren’s call. There’s no escape from you—you’re in his head. Unable to plug his ears or sing a disruptive tune, you whisper sweet nothings in his mind every time he tries. He should just let you drag him under—let you have your way with him. He’ll sleep forever, and you can keep him as yours.

It takes a little too long for guilt to trail after that thought—he really is slipping.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head fervently, wishing to wake up. “Stop,” he grits out, sounding far too pitiful. 

Feeling the breath of your words on his lips, you whisper, “But, daddy, I’m so confused. It doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.”

A stuttering exhale leaves parted lips as he feels the firm grip of your hand around his stiff cock. Placing his hand on yours, he means to remove your grasp, but his mind sends the wrong signal down his arm. Instead, he squeezes your grip tighter, moaning at the relief that shoots through him. Eyes closed in ecstasy, he pants out a useless, “S–Stop it.”

He can almost hear the smug smile in your voice. “I’ll stop once you let go of my hand…”

Ignoring your response, he keeps a pulsing rhythm of firm compression going—imitating the feel of your warm, tight walls around him. A vain attempt compared to the real thing—but what does he know about real? When his only point of reference is what unfolds behind closed eyes, in moments like these, he knows his mind is the last place to bear truth.

“Mm, but you’re not gonna, are you, daddy? You don’t want mommy to stop. You wanna play just as badly, I can feel it.”

The breathy, sultry tone of your voice has him heaving—shallow gasps of air bringing no relief in his search for oxygen.

“What are you doing?”

Falling back against his pillow with a shove of your hands, he watches you straddle his lap. Groaning at the sensation, he practically melts as you grind down onto him, your bare, slick pussy sliding along his throbbing length. Your brazen, annoyed tone from earlier comes back, reminding him this is all his fault. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” you bite. “Dating her, dreaming of me?” 

Eddie’s eyes roll back with a groan as you continue to drag your hips. The leaking head of his cock keeps catching your waiting entrance and it’s driving him up the wall. He’s so close to feeling you again, he’d do anything for it. The way your walls hug his thick length, the gush of your arousal every time you sink down onto him greedily—he’s so used to it now, he needs it like he needs air. But you won’t let him in. Not yet.

“Shamefully cleaning the sheets every morning. Pretending everything’s fine. Kissing her sweetly and bailing on dates in the next breath—all just to come hang out with little old imaginary me. You’re turning down your real girlfriend to go fuck a figment of your imagination, baby, and I’m what’s wrong?” 

Desperate, veiny hands grip the sheets beside his body, using every ounce of restraint to not grab you and pull you down onto his aching cock. “S–Sweetheart–”

You chuckle at his anguished voice, lining him up at your entrance, languid hips gyrating on his fat, ruddy tip. “Aht aht aht, be careful, Teddie. That ‘unwilling victim’ act is starting to slip,” you warn. “How will you justify such immoral actions then?”

You feel so real. The slick wetness seeping from your hole, drenching his cock, tosses him off the cliff of sanity, sending him barreling down, down, down into delusion. This is exactly how you’d feel in real life. It must be. You’re so…so wet. So warm. So tight. How could his mind conjure something so damningly sweet? Your greedy heat is a honey trap he’d gladly fall for—every single time. He’d bare his soul, reveal every last burning secret if you’d just allow him inside you—if you’d just relieve him of his fidelity.

“Bottom line?” You sink down on him fully, pussy swallowing him in one go. He watches the victorious look on your face as a loud, needy groan escapes him. Leaning down, lips hovering over desperate, panting ones, you grant him a quick peck. “This is all you, baby.”

“Please–” he breathes out—unsure what he’s begging for. Mercy? Movement? For you to stop your evil monologue long enough to let him go to hell—let him fuck you like he needs to? Probably the latter. But you’re not done with him yet—not ready to give in. 

“You know I’m sound asleep at my place. Probably dreaming of puppy dogs and little sheepies…” 

Eddie groans as you roll your hips experimentally, then slowly lift your core until just the tip remains inside. 

“Or maybe I’m not asleep.” Hips circling his tip again, your movements elicit a strangled whimper from deep within his throat. “...Maybe I’m with someone.” Slamming down on his hard cock, you drop so quickly the feeling of your walls fully encapsulating him again has his stomach jerking, another loud, scratchy groan tumbling past his lips. This time the groan is not just in pleasure, but annoyance too. He wants you to stop talking—needs you to. He doesn’t want to hear about you with someone else. 

“Stop,” he grits out, teeth bared as he struggles to maintain his calm demeanor. Both of his hands pull at the roots of his hair, desperately withholding any attempts to touch you. 

You lean down again, chest-to-chest as you drag your soft hands all over his body despite his refusal to do the same. Lifting your ass, you slide up and down his shaft—slowly, torturously. 

“You remember my crush on Steve in eighth grade?”

He grumbles as you toy with him—quickly losing his patience. 

“Maybe I’ve given him a chance,” you muse. “I mean, he’s only gotten more attractive with age. Plus, he’s all ‘good guy’ now.” 

Eddie can practically hear the teasing, wicked smile behind your whispered words. Your blasé attitude has him grinding his teeth, struggling not to let your—hopefully baseless—pondering get under his skin.

“Stop it.” 

He wants you to continue fucking yourself on his leaking cock, but he also wants you to leave his friend out of your dirty talk. The white-knuckled grip he’s got on his sanity is slipping with each word you let out, describing how you’re with Steve. Maybe. Maybe with him. And the ‘maybe’ is enough to drive a man mad. 

“Make me,” you challenge, your slow, languid pace keeping him hooked. 

“No, I’m not doing this again. This is wrong,” he tries, unhappy with being toyed with. Trying to convince himself to put a stop to this, the words are there, but the meaning is hollow. There’s no fire—no conviction—behind his demands. There’s barely any guilt, either. He finds himself just saying what should be said. 

Sitting up, you grab the hands that he’s been gnawing on—his hair no longer enough to stop the desperate need to touch you. Spreading his fingers, you guide rough palms up your abdomen, slowly bringing them to rest on your supple breasts.

You pout, cooing, “Oh, poor daddy. He’s all confused. You can touch me, baby, I’m here for you—use me.” 

Huffing out a frustrated breath, he shakes his head, but he leaves his hands where you placed them. “You’re not real.” 

Regretting the comment as soon as you perk up, he watches an excited grin spread across your face. His comment was meant to deter you and it seems to have reinvigorated you as you fuck yourself a little faster on him, moaning softly. 

“Exactly! That’s what’s great about me because if I were real, this would be wrong,” you lower your tone on the word, mocking his earlier sentiments. “You’d be a dirty cheater and do you think I’d wan’ a guy like that?” 

Your words swarm his mind with guilt, but it’s almost like his brain has tortured him so much that he’s come back around—no longer feeling shame in this moment. With a newly unburdened mind, he finally moves his hands, giving a groping squeeze to your breasts, tweaking the pert nipples, reveling in the moan you let out. You may not be you, but you sound exactly the same, and he’s never needed to cum so badly before. 

Breaking the trance your rolling hips put him in, he remembers you asked a question. “No.” 

He has the decency to sound ashamed, but he doesn’t feel it. He wouldn’t want you to be with a cheater. He doesn’t want to be a cheater for you. That’s the limit of his shame right now. You wouldn’t like him if he cheated, so he won’t. 

“You’re so sweet to worry about what I’d think…”

The pulsing of your warm heat, the soft, smooth skin on your chest—he’s so close to pure, fiery ecstasy. He’s nearly there, all he needs is for your wet cunt to continue gripping him like a daydream. One roll of your hips away from tipping over the edge, his stomach tightens at your words.

“But what would your girlfriend think?”

Sucking in a harsh breath, his eyes snap open. He’s exactly where he just was, but now his face is buried in strawberry-scented blonde hair. Chest moving with ragged breaths, he feels a small body in his arms. The sensation is almost unfamiliar. Almost. 

He’s held her so many times since they started dating, but he’s held you more. The sleepovers, the movie nights, the time he consoled you when Joey Humphry stood you up in tenth grade. He would know your body blindfolded and this is not you. The sharp corners and soft curves are not right.

Eddie is pulled from his consuming thoughts when he feels pressure on his erection. Moving his hips back away, he realizes Chrissy is awake and making a move. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. He usually wakes up with ‘morning wood’ and even sometimes in the middle of the night—like tonight. 

In the honeymoon stage of their relationship, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, they’d get up to no good during the wee hours of the morning. Messy kisses and wandering hands satisfying hormonal needs. 

It’s been a while since he’s been intimate with Chrissy, the honeymoon stage long since over, and the dreams keeping him busy and guilt-ridden. So when her hips follow his retreating pelvis, he cringes at the thought of the pressure not being the right kind—not the right hips, not the right ass, not the right girl. 

He tries to wipe that thought out of his mind like windshield wipers on a car, but it sticks—like a squashed bug that won’t wash away. Giggles pierce through the silence of the dark room—not the right giggles—as she turns around to face him. 

“Let me help you, Eds. ‘S been a while.” Her sultry voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard after such a dream—your moans playing like a hymn as he worshipped at your altar.

Gulping, he tries to back up again, avoiding her reaching hand. “No, it’s–it’s okay. Let’s just go back to sleep.”

Wandering hands run down his abdomen—not the right hands—closing in on the waistband of his underwear. “Baby, I can help you. Just wanna be close to you.”

Guilt overcomes his body and mind at her words. Not only has he not been intimate with his girlfriend in a month, but he’s blown off a few dates to sleep. He tried to tell himself it was because he keeps waking up so tired, constantly trying to avoid you in his mind. But that’s not the truth. 

He’s slowly succumbing to the siren in his mind, the woman who calls to him in his dreams. The girl he’s known forever needs him when he’s asleep and he’s always wanted to feel needed. 

This sleepover was supposed to be a compromise. He was supposed to hold her properly—like a boyfriend should. He was supposed to surround her with necessary affection and, maybe, if he could, guide that affection naturally into something more explicit. Make up for lost time.

But now he’s starting to think it’s not just you he needs to avoid—at least until he’s better. If you're going to permeate his waking mind, tainting every interaction with the woman he’s supposed to love, then he needs to step back and reconsider how best to burn you out of his head.

He’s already had to pull out of group get-togethers, the barrier of Steve and Robin no longer sufficient—not with the way his brain picks up a new quirk of yours every time he sees you, perfectly implementing it into his dreams with practiced ease.

A small, soft hand wraps around his cock, but it brings no relief. It’s not what he needs. 

Eddie’s thoughts are interrupted by her confused voice.

“Wha–you were just hard. I felt it.” Her hand squeezes his now flaccid penis. He’s as surprised as her. When he woke up a minute ago, he was on the verge of cumming in his underwear. And now he can’t get it up as his girlfriend tries to provide stimulation to his usually sensitive cock. 

Cringing at the way she sounds almost upset at the sudden disappearance of his erection, he gulps. “I’m sorry. I–I don’t know what happened, we–we can just go back to sleep.”

He can tell she’s trying so hard not to take it personally as she mumbles out a quiet, “Okay,” and turns back around—notably leaving a gap between two bodies. 

Staring at the ceiling, terrified of when sleep takes him, Eddie realizes he needs to try harder. He needs to fix this; he can’t keep going on like this. Something’s got to give, and he’s afraid to find out what.

When Eddie runs into you at Bradley’s Big Buy the next day, he nearly jumps out of his skin. You’re turning the corner with a shopping cart and he’s already been discovered as he crashes right into the front of the basket. It doesn’t help that he was just thinking about you—about how you felt last night, about what you said. 

“Oh my god! Eddie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“No–uh, th–that was my bad. I wasn’t…paying attention. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting around at all the other shoppers. Nobody’s batting an eye at the interaction, meanwhile this is his worst fear coming to fruition—you’re here looking at him, he can’t run away, and you look just like you did last night in his bed dream. 

He hates how awkward this interaction is—your shifting eyes, his stuttering formalities. You two have been friends since childhood, he shouldn’t be fumbling over every other word. It’s even worse because you seem resigned to the fact that he’s been avoiding you as you try to end the moment early. 

“Yeah, um–anyway, I should…go.” Maneuvering your cart around the blockade his body creates, you don’t get very far when his hurried question stops you. 

“Are you seeing someone?” 

Eddie’s suddenly craving the taste of gunpowder on his tongue when he hears what the hell just came out of his mouth. Your body goes rigid at the question—something that wouldn’t happen if he wasn’t actively pushing you away. Usually you’d tell each other everything, but that kind of honesty is reserved for best friends—something you’re not, apparently. 

He knows why he asked it. He knows the exact demon on his shoulder who whispered it to him just now—the one that looks eerily similar to you. Maybe I’m with someone. 

Wincing at the way you turn around, frown on your face, hurt and confusion flashing across your eyes, he watches as you consider him. It feels like hours before you respond. Like pristine windows into your soul, your eyes say so much—and nothing at all. He can’t even begin to translate them.

“Was trying to,” you sigh. Your defeated shrug and the plain answer shatters like glass in his ears—a sound he imagines a freeze-dried heart would make if slammed against the ground. “But I realized I’ve got some stuff to work through first. Things to get over.” You mutter the last part, avoiding his prying eyes. 

Eddie opens his mouth to probe for more information, your axis-tilting answer not enough to satiate his morbid curiosity—god forbid Dream You be correct about something. But before he can get a word out, you’re already bidding him a cryptic goodbye and practically fleeing the scene.

“See you tomorrow, Eds.” 

The familiar nickname evokes a sort of stabbing pain in his heart and he’s acutely aware of your thinly veiled dismissal as you flee the scene—you’d rather be anywhere but here, answering his strange questions. Watching your retreating figure, he can’t help but feel he should be the one running. It’s worse that it’s you who does it. It only reminds him that all of his actions of the past few weeks have actual repercussions—he can’t just ignore you in real life and be held by you inside his mind. 

A million thoughts fly through his head, one that continues to stick is the question of who you were trying to see. Nausea fills him at the chance that it could be Steve, just like you said. No, not you. 

His dream. 

Him. 

His mind. 

Correction: Just like what he dreamed you said. 

Though, it’s easier for him to pretend it’s really you saying these things, because he’d like to think he wouldn’t imagine such awful truths—if they could even be labeled as such. He’d also like to think he wouldn’t purposefully dream of cheating on his girlfriend, but the writing is on the wall. 

So dream or not—can he even trust a word you say when you’re on top of him? His insecurities scream yes, but the sliver of logic he’s been holding onto lately quietly tells him no.

The other thought that is sticking sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. Tomorrow. He forgot about tomorrow. He forgot he agreed to game night a month ago—a meager attempt to pretend he hasn’t been ditching plans. Now, the date has arrived, and he’s in the midst of avoiding you. He’s going to have to show up at Steve’s place, act as if he doesn’t feel a burning disdain for the guy based on conjecture from a dream, and exist in your presence for longer than five minutes. With no ability to cancel last minute, he hopes tomorrow never comes. Maybe if he wishes hard enough, the planet will get swallowed into a black hole and he’ll evade you once again.

Unfortunately, there were no world-ending emergencies today, so Eddie sits quietly on Steve’s couch, watching as you, Robin, and Steve gather around the coffee table to play Monopoly, all of you seated on the floor. He tried his best to give the world all the extra time it needed to end, even circling the block a few times before finally arriving at Steve’s door—forty-five minutes late. 

He can’t tell if it was his tardiness or his awful behavior lately—but you barely acknowledged his existence. Which, of course, made him feel worse. For some narcissistic reason, he finds himself capable of dealing with the fallout if he doesn’t have to…deal with it. When he first flaked out on Friday movie nights, he only had to hear you speak about it briefly at the Hideout. Then he didn’t hear anything else about it, not having to meet you face-to-face and turn you away at his door.

Now it’s you turning him away—directly to his face, and without so much as a word from him. He’s not even trying to talk, not handing you any easy reason to push him away, but you do it anyway—just like he’s been doing to you. 

You’re simply icing him out, ignoring his presence in the room. It doesn’t feel like you—it feels like high school. Like he could stand up on the lunch table, ranting about conformity and the stratified social food chain, and no one would give a fuck whether he lived or died, so long as it was entertaining. Although, even then, he’d get at least one quick glance.

But you offer him no such courtesy—and he knows he deserves it. So he sits there, watching, frozen out by your disinterest, wounded by your clear discomfort at being so close to him. At least he has a whole world in his head to retreat to. Though, last night’s dream was particularly unnerving. 

The things you said made his head spin—had him rethinking every moment he’s ever spent with you. Your harsh truths and revelations unlocked vaults in his mind he thought were securely locked and sunk deep in the ocean of his idle thoughts.

“I know why you asked if I’m seeing someone. I see the way you look at me…”

Like a lioness hunting, you approached him slowly. Your piercing gaze elicited a concerning amount of trepidation in his shaking body. He sat anxiously on his worn-down couch, the low lamplight of the trailer casting daunting shadows over your face. Your words struck fear in his heart—did you really know? Eddie’s wide eyes watched as your delicate fingers crept up his thighs, the muscles twitching wantonly.

“Does it make you jealous, baby? Does it make you feel prickly all over?” 

He sucked in a harsh breath as you danced the tips of your fingers across his upper thighs, coming dangerously close to his hardening cock. He felt prickly, but not with jealousy. Not at that moment. 

“You don’t wanna share your shiny new toy?” 

The questioning tilt of your head made him squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at you when you were like this—no matter how much he wanted to. Though, you didn’t let him hide for long. Your warm palm pressed into his bulge, causing his eyes to shoot open, instantly meeting yours. 

“No, that’s right…” you muttered, as if he had corrected you—despite his mouth being pressed tightly shut, willing any betraying sound to stay buried in his throat. “I’m not new. You’ve thought about it before.”

The raw warmth of your soft hand drew his attention. He looked down, helplessly watching as you granted slow, languid strokes to his now-leaking cock. A stuttering groan tumbled past his lips, brows drawn in desperation for just a little more. 

“You remember? Prom night? When I changed in your room, and you strategically positioned yourself right in front of the mirror?” You chuckled, recounting the memory, ridiculing the perversions of a young man. “Just dying to get a peek at me—your unassuming best friend. Naughty boy, Eds… Using a poor girl like that...” Shaking your head, you admonished him with a slow, mocking tsk, tsk, tsk.

The strained whimper that tore from his throat made your head tilt, eyes raking over his pitiful form before you seemingly decided he’d given enough of himself to earn a secret. “You know I changed right there for you. I wanted you to look—wanted you to touch yourself to the thought of me…”

Eddie’s head lolled back against the couch, groaning as you whispered in his ear, your deft fingers squeezing him so well. Your thumb brushed his leaking slit, drawing more precum out, earning another drawn groan as he succumbed to your touch. 

“Have you ever touched yourself to the thought of Chrissy?” 

The name was like a bucket of ice water, pulling his attention back to you in a split second. “D–Don’t say her name,” he grumbled, unintentionally bucking his hips at the responding squeeze you gave. 

“Oh, no… No, because talking about her would be bad…” a particularly mind-numbing twist of your wrist caused another involuntary reaction—his hips haphazardly thrusting into your slick palm. “You might hurt her…”

Regretfully, that hadn’t been the reason he didn’t want you to say her name. He hadn’t wanted to explore the real reason, but he needed you to know that specific string of letters was off-limits. “Don’t wanna think about ‘er.”

Puffs of air glided across his parted mouth. He felt trapped in your gravitational pull, lips aching to rest on yours. But you weren’t done—you seemed to take great pleasure in branding the truth into him, relishing the scent of his smoldering moral shortcomings.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? The guilt doesn’t feel very good, huh, baby?” Your sympathetic pout mocked him, filling his mind with hot, sticky shame, gluing him to his place as you spoke.

He whimpered in response, your slick fingers circling his cockhead, constricting the fat, ruddy tip. He felt your next words before he heard them—rhythmic growls against his panting mouth, charming him like a snake in a basket.

“Gnawing, festering, bubbling…corroding that sweet heart of yours, isn’t it? Bad boy,” you hissed, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. 

Clearly frustrated by his lack of response—his refusal to play your games—you gave his throbbing cock another harsh squeeze, making him jerk forward with a mewling whine, his forehead pressed to yours as he breathed through the burning desire.

Your saccharine tone bit at his heart and mind, taking chunks out of him—his will, his shame, his hunger, his sanity. “This isn’t a spectator sport, dearest,” you taunted.

Pleading eyes watched your gritted teeth as he tried to come up with any intelligible response, despite your hand teasing him—granting just enough pleasure to make him need more. 

Eddie nodded his head against yours, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced his feelings to the forefront. “Mhm, s’killing me, it’s–”

Your lips had soothed his hurried pants, pressing a chaste kiss to his pleasure-bitten mouth. The sweetness hadn’t lasted long, though—just enough to leave him wanting more, the way you always did.

“Or, maybe…you don’t wanna think about her because it’s not…arousing?” 

He choked on his breath when your warm, wet hand traveled down, down, down, cupping his swollen, sensitive sac. 

“Doesn’t do it for you, huh, baby?” 

Now he’s stuck watching his friends have fun, feeling like an outsider—as if you’ve pulled him to the dark side and don’t even know it. He has to hear you laugh, knowing he hasn’t been the cause of it in what feels like forever. He has to sit with the words you spoke to him, the revelations uncovered, the secrets thrust into daylight—shameful truths forced to be considered.

Every new dream is like a plague upon his sovereign lands. He was resolute before you shook him to his core, dismantling every belief he’s held since he met you. You didn’t even do anything. Nothing changed, nothing happened—then one day, he was cursed with the hope that you felt something.

No.

Not hope.

Worry.

A worry you felt something he had sorely missed. 

No.

Not sorely.

But that is it, isn’t it?

His mind fed him a scenario he only ever dreamed of when he was a hormonal teenager—a scenario he hadn’t thought of since. Then all of a sudden there was a possibility. A possibility in his heart. Wishful thinking, really. 

Shame, shame, shame. 

Wishful thinking to feel much guilt over. 

But his rotten mind and decaying heart seem to have gotten the better of him, because he struggles to feel guilt now. He struggles to remind himself of the pretty blonde girl yearning to spend time with him. It's only during the darkest nights he’s spent with you that he allows the creeping thought to take root—small, delicate roots like a lima bean surrounded by a wet paper towel in a plastic cup on the windowsill, a childish experiment—but digging into his mind nonetheless: he should break up with her.

The thought doesn’t last long—much like your sweetness in his dreams.

The moment he wakes up, he’s confronted with the lunacy of breaking up with his long-term girlfriend based on the sheer, unsubstantiated hope that his best friend might ever feel something for him—something he wouldn’t even know what to do with if he were given the chance.

Your words and actions in his head aren’t the same as your words and actions in reality. There’s a reason he ended up with Chrissy after prom—and not you.

That line of thinking always devolves into one clear point: he’s got a sickness of the mind—but it’s not permanent. It can’t be. He can become the good boyfriend he once was—the loving partner. Because you don’t love him in that way, and he knows that. He has something real with Chrissy. You’re not real—not the you he wants.

And yet, despite it all, he’d sleep forever just to feel your touch. 

Eddie’s dissociative state shatters when you turn around, kind eyes settling on him and a warm palm shaking his knee. 

Startled, his heavy eyes blink open as he realizes he’s fallen asleep—he wasn’t just thinking; his mind had painted the exact scenario, letting him stare at your back, watch your effervescent smile as you turned around, and remain entranced while sorting through the detritus of his thoughts.

It’s starting to get scarier—the way his mind creates vivid scenarios, passing them off as memories, and now, even as the present. But he’s grateful to be awake now, especially by your soft touch—something he’s been yearning for. Maybe through this crack in your walls, he can endear himself to you again, earn the affection he’s been entitled to for nearly two decades.

Eddie’s wide eyes dart from your hopeful gaze to Steve and Robin, both lazily wiping the board of any tokens and sorting the colorful money into organized piles while they look at him. He realizes you must have said something, given the way everyone seems to be waiting for him expectantly.

“Uh, w–what?”

“I said, ‘Do you wanna play?’” you repeat, a hint of amusement in your voice—he must look as dumb as he feels. “We’re starting a new game.”

A small look of realization passes over his features, his mouth parting slightly before he shakes his head, holding a placating hand out in front of him. “Oh, uh, n–no…thanks. I think I’ll just watch.”

At his answer, Robin slides the tokens back into place on the ‘Start’ tile, returning everyone’s original game pieces. You shrug, seemingly accepting his answer, and begin dishing out the money—two $500 bills, two $100 bills, and two $50 bills.

“You do like to do that,” you say breezily, earning a chuckle from Steve.

Confused at what that’s supposed to mean, Eddie frowns at you, your back to him as you continue sorting the money. “What?”

You glance over your shoulder, pinning him to the couch with a heavy-lidded gaze and sugared drawl. “I’m just saying—I know you like to watch me, baby.”

“Eddie!” 

Jumping at the loud shout and the kick to his leg, Eddie’s eyes shoot open as his body jerks into the couch, moving further away from you, despite your still form on the ground by the coffee table.

Frustrated impatience shifts to concern on your face. “Dude, are you okay?”

An incredulous frown overtakes his features as he glances between your worried eyes and the matching apprehension on Steve and Robin’s faces. Whipping his head back to you, his brain aches, struggling to piece together what the hell is happening. He’s losing his grip on reality—but this moment feels more real, despite his conviction that the last five minutes were real too. He needs to get out of here.

When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head, agitation furrowing your brow. “You’ve been out for the last half hour. Are you okay?”

Your repetitive concern finally jolts Eddie into action, he mumbles a quick, “Yeah, ‘m fine,” before grabbing his jacket and rushing out of the apartment.

Robin eyes his fleeing figure, sitting in shocked silence as the door slams shut. “Okay, did he seem a little–”

“Barely lucid?” Steve finishes, frowning at the exit Eddie just disappeared through.

“I was gonna say ‘under the weather,’ but yeah, that.”

He shoots you a questioning glance. “What’s going on with him? He’s been weirder than usual lately.”

“And he’s giving Sleeping Beauty a run for her money,” Robin quips, earning a snort from Steve, who scoops up the dice and gives them a shake, opting to continue despite Eddie’s blaze of retreat.

“I don’t know, but I’m just about over it… I feel like I should go after him.”

Robin watches you spare an uneasy glance at the closed door, as if you had X-ray vision and could see through it to figure out where Eddie had fled. She shrugs, taking $100 from a disgruntled Steve, playing the role of both the bank and her own token.

“Eh, leave it. At least until we finish this game. I wanna bankrupt dingus here.” You laugh as she cocks her head toward a now-affronted Steve. “Plus, it’ll give him a chance to make up another dumb excuse. Lord knows he’s been abusing that arsenal lately,” she sardonically mutters.

Eddie runs around his dimly lit trailer searching for his wallet, wet curls soaking the collar of his faded band tee. He could’ve sworn he had it on his person before he stripped down for a shower, now the stupid thing is nowhere to be seen. 

You always used to tell him his wallet chain was pointless if he didn’t consistently reattach the folded leather when changing pants—and he’s eating your words now. Just another reason to love you: you’re always right, both to his fortune and, sometimes, his chagrin. Right now, it’s the latter, because you’re not here to help him search. If you were, you’d annoyingly find it in the first place he looked—making him seem like an incapable idiot. He needs you.

When he catches sight of the radioactive green time glowing on the microwave—over two hours since he fled Steve’s place—he curses his past self for being so careless with his belongings. He’s late, and this is something he cannot afford to be late for.

After turning out the pockets of every pair of jeans in his overflowing laundry basket, he moves on to the stacks of papers scattered around his messy room. Your voice rings in his head—past admonitions from previous years bouncing back and forth like ping-pong balls of nagging truth—as he sorts through the pigsty he lives in.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, please clean your room—at least once in your life.” No, he likes it like this. It has to feel like a cave, so he can dwell.

“Seriously, Eds? Do you really need three copies of the June Playboy?” Yes, she looks like you—her similar features send butterflies fluttering through his stomach.

“Eddie, just say the word and I’ll go to that new Office Depot store and get you a ringed binder for all this loose-leaf—I’m not kidding, I’ll literally go right now if you just promise to organize this shit.” Silence.

A short but firm knock on the front door drags him out of his zone. An impatient groan slips from his lips as he straightens up, taking a quick glance around his room and noting which areas he’s already searched. The knock repeats as he continues to ignore it and wonders whether he might’ve accidentally tossed his wallet into the drawers of his nightstand—though that wouldn’t make much sense, since that space is usually reserved for things he wants to hide. Things like every polaroid he once had of you on display, a fruitless attempt to curb the dreams by removing any source material. At the third round of knocking, rage courses through him—doesn’t whoever’s out there understand that he’s late?

“Hold on! I’m coming, Jesus H. Christ!”

Barreling down the narrow hallway, Eddie whips open the door, only to be met with the one person he was running late for—standing there on his front stoop with her fist raised. Wide eyes meet wide eyes as he catches you off guard with his violent door swing. 

All anger melts from his body, replaced by a spark of hope as he watches you glance at the small gap between his body and the doorframe. You seem to decide it’s worth the risk, squeezing through the space, ignoring his refusal to make room for you and the way his gaze burns into the side of your face as you brush past him—his yearning eyes following your every movement. 

He didn’t mean to make you have to nearly shove him out of the way to get through—though he doesn’t quite want to admit it was because he wanted to feel you close to him either.

He can tell you’re extremely uncomfortable as you turn around, meeting his rapt attention in the middle of his messy living room. Déjà vu hits him like a comforting memory as he takes you in—your stiff posture and fidgeting fingers don’t deter the longing in his wet eyes. Unable to conjure the first sentence, he’s relieved when you beat him to it. Though, the relief is short-lived when your voice comes out strained and firm—eliciting an anxiety that only strikes when he knows he’s about to get in trouble.

Your hands are held out in front of you, warning him not to move—commanding him to just stand there and take what you have to give. “Don’t say anything. Just let me speak–”

Never one to behave—Eddie hurriedly cuts you off. 

“I can’t find my wallet.”

Your next words seem to die on your tongue as your brows pinch in confusion at his seemingly random comment. He watches as your eyes momentarily shift off of him, scanning the space around him. Then, opting to take a better look, you turn your head, taking in the torn-up state of his trailer.

The confusion lingers, quickly joined by shock. He can tell you understand now—his words weren’t just a comment on his current mess. You’ve always been able to discern his shy, pitiful requests—the quiet pleas for help he never wanted to voice.

After one hesitant glance in his direction, you sigh and take slow, measured steps toward the kitchen, eyes roving in search of the worn leather pad. Eddie’s meek demeanor shifts, though, when you curiously lift a tipped-over cereal box to reveal his wallet. You pick up the small item, turning to face him and holding it up next to your head.

His shoulders drop as he takes in your incredulous look—your lips pressed into a line, head tilted in that familiar, obnoxious way. He can already hear the lecture forming in your mind—the reminder that his wallet chain is pointless if he doesn’t use it.

An indignant expression takes over his face, jaw dropping at your uncanny ability to make him look like an idiot—it’s practically a superpower at this point. “What the fuck?”

If you asked, he’d swear up, down, and sideways that he already checked the kitchen counter. But apparently, the universe favors you. It makes sense, considering what an awful person he’s been these past couple of weeks.

You don’t ask, though. Instead, you just toss him the wallet, forcing him to scramble to catch it before you continue with your impending speech.

“Okay, now don’t speak. I have something I need to say to you.” You hesitate, Eddie’s assuming you’re making sure he stays silent this time—so he does.

“I don’t know what I did to…piss you off—god, I don’t even know if that’s it. I don’t know what emotion I elicit in you because you’ve well and truly iced me out, here.”

Your frustration is clear, and he has to fight the urge to defend himself as he watches you throw your arms out in exasperation, humorless amusement overtaking your face. Though, he doesn’t even know what he’d say in his defense. There is no defense—anything he came up with would be a lie or an excuse. He can’t claim he’s been busy, since he’s been conveniently un-busy for group hangouts—at least until he had to stop those too. And he definitely can’t say he hasn’t been avoiding you—because he has. So, he just lets you continue.

“I mean, seriously, Eddie—you haven’t been this stupid since whatever the hell happened on prom night.”

The mention of that night—the one he tries so hard to block out, all poor timing and failed attempts—makes his stomach churn, especially coming from you. He hadn’t realized you even noticed something was off afterward. He thought he’d masked his feelings well. Apparently not. Thankfully, you don’t linger on the memory, opting instead to play hardball.

“So I’m here now,” you say, and he gulps at the way you seem to batten down the hatches—planting your feet firmly on his carpet, crossing your arms defiantly over your chest, emphasizing your frustration. “And I’m not letting you shut me out any longer. You’re going to tell me everything right now or I’ll... I’ll tell Wayne you’re being mean to me.”

Having been waiting with bated breath for the end of your threat, Eddie lets out an amused huff. Your childish tone brings him back to a decade ago. Of course your go-to ultimatum is to sic his uncle on him—you’re so damn cute when you try to be intimidating. It’s not an empty threat either; he just feared you’d say something worse. Like you’d never speak to him again, or maybe that you’re tired of his wishy-washy friendship and you’ve moved on with Steve. The thought alone leaves an acidic taste on his tongue.

Come to think of it though, Wayne might be worse. That old man loves you through and through—he’d absolutely tear Eddie a new one if you actually told him how cold your supposed best friend has been. His uncle always did seem to like you more than him anyway, always picking your side in those childish fights years ago. Eventually, Eddie stopped relying on Wayne as a mediator—the no-bullshit man would just hit him with a gruff, “I don’t know what you did, but you definitely did it. Apologize to ‘er.” So he’s inclined to yield to your threat.

Tell you everything?

Where does he even start? 

First off, glad to see you, sweetheart, was just comin’ to find you. Second off, I left game night to go break up with my girlfriend because I couldn't stop having sex dreams about you. I know, crazy, right? Funny enough, they weren’t just sex dreams—they were things I thought I’d buried a long time ago. Wishes, wants...whatever. Just stuff I told myself I didn’t feel anymore. Ha! Get a load of this guy, huh? Sentimental bullshit—love so damning it’s turning me into a bleeding-heart poet or some shit.

See, I tried to hold them off for as long as I could—tried convincing myself it was a phase. But I don’t think this kind of love is a phase. Unfortunately.

And yeah, I said love. 

It’s not perversion. I know what perversion is. I’ve dealt with it. I’ve stared too long in the mirror while you changed behind me. I’ve stolen a peek or two down your top when you cleaned my room that one time—I know perversion.

This isn’t that.

Perversion doesn’t fester and corrode the way love does.

And I know you don’t love me back, and that’s fine. I can live with that. Or—I’ll try to.

But I can’t keep living with you in my head. I’m losin’ it here, sweetheart.

When I broke up with Chrissy, she asked if there was someone else. Probably because of how much of a dick I’ve been—avoiding her, and not to mention, you. But I couldn’t answer her question, because…yes.

No.

There is, but there’s not.

It’s not your fault. You’re not doing this to me. You’re not actually in my bed every night, whispering all the things I wanna hear.

You’re not tempting a taken man—you’d never. I know that.

I’ve placed you on this pedestal in my subconscious—something you never asked for.

I’ve prayed to you in idle worship. But now, I’m asking you to put me out of my misery.

Hear my plea. Absolve me of my sins—

So I can continue to live in your shadow. Happily. 

Alone. 

With you. 

Happily.

But that’s a bit much and just a tad crazy. He’s spiraling, sure. But you don’t need to know that. So Eddie starts simple.

“We broke up.” 

He can tell you’re taken off guard by his admission. You’re probably floundering for context, considering Chrissy was still somewhat part of the group—at least up until a bit ago.

Your brows furrow sympathetically, and he can feel your frustration melting—the tension in the air fizzling out. That inherent need to console overtakes any prior feelings.

“What? Oh my god, Eddie, I’m so sorry. You were into her for like…years, right? That’s awful.”

The reminder of his stupid schoolboy crush makes his skin crawl. It’s like a swarm of ants under his skin, crawling up his arms, his neck—itching with the memory of someone he no longer is.

That version of him—wide-eyed, hopeful, convinced longing was the same thing as love—feels like a ghost. A haunting echo of an almost-man, displaced from time and reality. Cursed to float through his mind like 2 a.m. regret. Sure, the crush led to a formative relationship. Two years. But those two years didn’t validate the fantasy. They dismantled it. 

Because through Chrissy, he finally saw it. He saw you.

And now, the girl he’s always wanted—but never let himself want—is standing in front of him, trying to console him over someone he no longer aches for. 

His bleeding heart doesn’t beat for her anymore.

If he had any shame left, he would feel like a horrible person for moving on so quickly. But he’s fresh out of shame. You drained every last drop from him with your whispered sighs and rocking hips. You’ve permanently changed the chemistry of his brain with every sweet, imaginary kiss to his greedy lips, every teasing quip about his confusing feelings over the years. He doesn’t struggle with the end of his long-term relationship because he never adjusted to it not being with you. He realizes that now. 

You’re ingrained in his DNA at this point—a golden thread weaving magic through every atom that makes up his being. He understands now, with perfect clarity, that you were always his. You’re supposed to be his.

So he’s sure the cosmic forces can forgive a love that was written on the wall the moment you shared your Goldfish crackers with him at five years old.

A stone-carved devotion, so tried and true, it manifested entire fantasy worlds where you were surely his.

Choosing not to respond to your ill-timed sympathy, Eddie’s eyes dart away from yours, restless, sweaty palms rub against his black jeans. 

“What happened?”

He curses his lack of response. Maybe if he had been proactive about his storytelling, he wouldn’t have to look you right in the eyes and tell you the truth. Maybe he could tell you a sliver of the truth. Maybe that would be enough.

Although, knowing you, it wouldn’t be. 

“I broke up with her,” he mumbles, barely maintaining eye contact when you shoot him a shocked look—clearly taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t the dumpee. 

“Why the hell would you do that? I mean…I thought you really liked her. And she was sweet. ” 

He winces at your initial outburst, but it’s your last statement that imbues him with unearned confidence. 

“Not like you,” he mutters with a slight shrug, voice low and resigned.

You shake your head as if trying to knock loose some semblance of understanding, eyeing him carefully like you’re trying to peer into the right spot, earning a momentary glance inside his mind. His words are too confusing, you need the source material. 

“What are you talking about? She was, like, perfect for you.”

Eddie doesn’t know why you’re trying to rewrite the story. Why you’re pushing this version where he and Chrissy made sense. They didn’t. Not really. Not like you and him. You know each other—every weird, wonderful part. That’s always been enough.

“She wasn’t you.”

Frustration ripples through you again, tension crackling in the air. He realizes he’s not exactly being forthcoming—with his feelings, or whatever it is he’s trying to say. He’s never been Mr. Exposition Guy, but something’s happening to him, something that keeps him from spitting it out—and it’s pissing you off. He can tell.

It’s like he’s trained his whole life for a marathon. Months of running it, mile after mile, pacing himself, pushing through the exhaustion, waiting for the end to come into view. And now that it has—now that he can see the finish line—his legs feel like they’re about to give out. Fatigued from the journey, he’s unsure if he can make it. Everything he’s ever trained for is right there in front of him, and now his body won’t cooperate. His words won’t come.

The daunting realization that this is it—that this is his chance to convey how detrimental and beautifully significant you’ve been to his mind, his life, his heart—has him stumbling. And the consequences of this confession, of his actions, rage through his mind like a category five hurricane.

Which he finds—humorlessly—kind of funny.

You’d be the one to bring a storm like that.

His hericane.

There’s a battle raging inside him. One side is certain that telling you the truth won’t change a thing—you’ll let him down easy, things will be weird for a while, and then you’ll both pretend it never happened, slipping right back into best-friend territory. The other side is cataloging every fidget, every flicker of raw emotion in your gaze, and whispering that only someone with something to hide acts like that.

Maybe your something is like his. Maybe if he shows you his, you’ll show him yours. Maybe, in your confusion, you’re trying to push him away. Maybe you think you’re taking him from Chrissy. He knows you’d hate to be the other woman, and he never meant to place you in that role. 

“Say, you didn’t happen to get really drunk and take copious amounts of drugs, did you?” 

You’re trying to pass your question off as a joke, but Eddie hears the bite behind it. He’s known that tone for years—knows it even better now, after hearing it echo through his dreams.

Shaking his head, he holds up three fingers on his right hand, giving you the Scout’s honor—despite never having been one. “Stone cold sober, sweetheart.”

A scoff leaves your smiling lips, you shake your head, incredulous. Heading over to the kitchen, you start cleaning up the mess Eddie made in his search for his wallet—your hands just needing something to do. 

He eyes you carefully, watching the way your movements are harsh and unrestrained as you close cabinets, crumple scrap papers, and pick up tipped-over cereal boxes. Despite his own inability to be straight with you, he finds himself getting frustrated at the way you refuse to believe him. He’s your best friend—he thinks he deserves the benefit of the doubt. Then again, he may have squandered all the goodwill he’s earned with you over the past few months.

Without looking up at him, you cup your hand to scoop the fallen cereal off the counter and into your other, waiting hand as you dismiss him again. “Okay, maybe the lack of sleep really is getting to you.”

Quick to shut that theory down, Eddie steps closer, squaring off with you across the counter. You still won’t look at him, focused instead on sweeping the rest of the cereal into the trash.

“Nah,” he says, quieter now, more certain. “I’ve never slept better in my life.”

And it’s not a complete lie.

There was a time the dreams drained him—left him wrung-out and raw, waking more tired than when he went to bed. But something shifted. Once he accepted that you weren’t leaving his mind until he did something about it—until he made a choice, ended what needed ending, and faced the truth—he found you again in those dreams.

And this time, you weren’t a ghost weighed down by the chains of his guilt—like some specter he’d cursed to carry the burden of his indecision.

You were a promise.

Permission to rest.

The confidence of his declaration seems to piss you off because you finally stop what you’re doing, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Then, Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Fuck it.

“I broke up with her for you,” he admits, imploring—wide, brown eyes wet with desperation, painted in truth.

You blanch at his words, eyeing him in horror. “I didn’t ask you to do that! You’ve wanted her since, like, forever. Why would you break up with someone you chased for years?” you shout.

Eddie’s heart pounds—you still don’t get it. Every second you don’t see it feels like you’re slipping further away.

“Because I’ve wanted you longer,” he says, the truth falling from his lips like it’s always been there.

The look of horror melts off your face, replaced by quiet calculation as you puzzle out what this new admission means. Eager to help you solve it, he continues. 

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Tell me…you never looked at me any other way than a friend, and I’ll never bring this up again.” 

Blood rushes in his ears as he stuns you into silence. If you say the words—if you reject him—he’ll go. He’ll be better. He’ll bury this thing between you and pretend it never existed. Not for himself, but for you. And it won’t be your fault. It never was.

“You can leave, I’ll try to stop these feelings, we’ll pretend nothing ever happened, and I’ll eventually be cured of this…thing.”

Disgust taints the word—thing—as he lays himself bare for you. Not disgust for you, but for the word itself, for the pitiful inadequacy of it. For the feelings he can’t name, for how he’s handled them, who he’s hurt in the process, and how long it took him to see them clearly.

His frustration is evident as he claws his way through the desperate, heart-felt pleas to you. Met with silence, a conniving, rotted kind of hope spreads through his veins like a viral infection. He can’t pin down one emotion in your shocked eyes—all he sees is a storm of confusion, surprise, petulance, and something else he won’t dare to name. 

The quiet of the trailer suffocates him—you won’t tell him no, but you’re not telling him yes. And the unfortunate truth is he’d let you string him along forever if you’d give him the bare minimum. If you chose not to answer him on this day, he’d take that crumb of hope and cut it up into a million little pieces to feast on from now until eternity. And that would be enough—just to be with you in any capacity.

But first, he has to push a little harder. He’s selfish that way.

The desperation in his tone multiplies tenfold as he tries again. The emotional turmoil of weeks upon weeks of you living in his head—showing him what he could have—is bubbling over, giving way to humorless amusement that makes him appear as if he’s gone mad. Festering, gnawing, corroding—just like you said. 

He gazes at your still form with rapt attention, hungry eyes devouring every minute movement you make. With a mad sort of tilt to his head, he leans over the counter slightly, attempting to close the distance despite the barrier.

“Please, just–just tell me. Put me out of my misery, ‘cause I can’t stand another second of dreaming about you and then seeing you like this–like none of it ever happened. Like you don’t know all the things we’ve done, all the ways I’ve held you.” 

“All the…” His voice falters, barely above a whisper. “All the ways I’ve loved you.”

You recoil, taking a step back, like his words were a blow you weren’t prepared for. He wants to scream at the way you break eye contact, the way you shut him down without a word. He’s trying his hardest to be clear, and you’re keeping him at arm’s length—or really, a kitchen counter’s length. 

“Eddie, you sound crazy,” you mutter, shaking your head and folding yourself into the comfort of your own arms.

“Maybe!” he shouts, threading his hands through the roots of his curls in exasperation. He’s going to have to spell it out for you. “Maybe I am crazy!” A humorless chuckle leaves his lips as he shakes his head, eyeing your questioning gaze. “I can’t go a night without dreaming about you—maybe that’s what’s driving me crazy. You, just living it up in my head!”

Eddie’s mocking, bitter voice makes you flinch. He can see tears well up in your eyes, causing his frustration to melt back into pathetic desperation.

“I–I don’t know what to say…”

He so badly wants to tell you what to say—to say you love him, to say you’ve just been waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass. But he doesn’t want to lead the witness…

He knows himself well enough to admit that selfishness runs through his veins like hot, life-giving blood. If he could lead you to that conclusion, and you accepted it—despite being shoehorned into the role of best-friend-turned-girlfriend—he’d selfishly take it. He’d live in yet another delusion that this was what you wanted all along.

But he also knows how that would end. He’s seen it already—in a dozen dreams, in every morning after. The illusion never survives daylight.

So, he won’t put words in your mouth. He won’t push you to decide. He won’t ask you to shatter what’s left between you just to spare him false hope. He’ll take what you give—if you choose to let him stay in your life after this disaster of a conversation and the immature way he’s been handling things lately.

Resigned, he graciously forfeits. He’s no stranger to rejection, even when it’s passive.

“Then don’t say anything,” he shrugs, lips curling inward, gaze falling to his hands, worrying the skin at his cuticles like it might distract him from the ache in his chest. “I get it. This was stupid anyway, I'm sorry. I…this was shitty of me.” A humorless snort escapes him, the understatement almost laughable. “Really shitty. Feel free to never speak to me again, by the way. I’d understand.”

Unable to meet your eyes for one last look, Eddie retreats to the couch, collapsing into a miserable slump. He’s not going to throw you out just because you rejected him—doesn’t feel like he has the right to tell you what to do. But he hopes you’ll spare him your pity and leave soon. He’d like to have at least one more good dream before they all shift into horror reruns of this conversation.

Unfortunately, he’s got hell to pay karmically, so the quiet pitter-patter of your feet approaching doesn’t surprise him. His dissociative state doesn’t break when he feels the couch shift one cushion away as you sit down, folding a leg beneath you. Eddie falls to his knees inside his own head, cursing everything in the sky above—because of course you’ve gotten comfortable. Looks like you’re staying for however long it takes to realize he’s an awful person and you should be rid of him.

Living in his peripheral vision—an ironic coincidence, given all the years he neglected to realize his feelings for you—he can vaguely make out your thoughtful expression as you stare at him for some time before taking a break to join him in his dissociation toward the turned-off TV. That trade-off continues for what feels like hours, but is probably only one. Maybe one and a half.

With time crawling by like the final mile of a race he was never meant to win, he loses track of you—too busy reliving every dream and the memories before. His mind flickers like Times Square, each screen lighting up with moments just for you.

If he’d been more aware, he would’ve noticed the way you crept closer to him every couple of minutes. Centimeters made the difference from the distance you originally kept. So deep down the rabbit hole you carved in his mind, he doesn’t realize until he feels heat bloom through his body, starting at his lips and traveling all the way to his toes.

Tears well up in his eyes, his chest tight with the unexpected flood of feelings your kiss stirs up. It's not just your lips—it's the overwhelming rush of something he didn’t see coming. Confusion clouds his mind—he thought you rejected him. The hesitation he saw in your eyes earlier, the way you fixated on Chrissy—it didn’t make sense. He thought he fucked up. You didn’t seem to accept his confession. But now, here you are, in front of him, close enough to make him question everything he thought he understood.

He can’t make sense of it. This doesn’t feel like rejection. No, this feels…like home. Like he’s finally come in from the cold. Like your sunny warmth is pouring through him, and he’s alive in a way he hasn’t been for a while.

But then, fear jolts through his veins—what if this is just another dream? What if this is the illusion of something real?

Déjà vu crashes over him like a second wave—but without the usual eerie discomfort. He’s been here before—this moment, this feeling—like it’s been lifted straight from a dream. Only now, he’s not fighting it. The warmth, the closeness, the way your lips feel against his—it’s all too familiar, too vivid. He swears he’s lived this before, seen it in his mind’s eye a hundred times. But now, it’s real, and it’s impossible to deny.

Your tongue glides along the seam of his lips, breaking him from his spiral—wordlessly begging him to reciprocate. He wants to, but his body refuses. The kiss is too real, too overwhelming, and he’s frozen in place, afraid that if he moves or speaks, it will all shatter. It’s only when he opens his eyes, feeling your warmth still lingering, that the doubt fades. There’s no escaping this. No denying it. You’re still there, close enough that he can feel the warmth of you, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you—proof that this was real. A messy, fragile reality he never expected.

His brain functions at a quarter of its usual speed as his wide eyes rove over your face—you’re real. You’re real, and you’re really close. Closer than friends should be.

Just like in every dream he’s ever had of you, he can feel the words before he hears them. “How long?” 

Struggling to focus through heavy lids and buzzing static in his head, Eddie’s brow furrows. “What?”

The sweetest smile he’s seen almost every single day of his life pulls at your wet lips, despite your attempt to temper it. He must sound like an idiot right now, but he’d put on a dunce cap and do a little dance just to make that smile widen—and maybe, just maybe, if he’s really good—hear your melodious laugh.

“How long have you felt this way? I mean, how long have you known?”

Oh. That. 

Anxiety spreads through his chest as he realizes he’s going to have to share his feelings again—right after the disaster that happened earlier. He has to hope it’ll end differently, or he’ll never get another word out. Your kiss certainly helped feed his delusion…or maybe it’s not a delusion. 

There’s that pesky hope again.

“I–I wanna say since I met you, but I don’t think that’s really true,” he mutters regretfully—as if unconsciously loving you for the better part of two decades isn’t enough. “Wasn’t exactly ruminating on the meaning behind how much I loved you more than my other friends at five years old. I didn’t unlock the power of introspection until high school, unfortunately.”

His attempt at a joke lands, and he revels in the puff of breath you let out—more heat to his lips, more hope to his heart. He watches as you study him closely, your eyes scanning his face. His heart skips a beat when your gaze drops back down to his lips. But the weak organ feels like it’s folding in on itself, crushed beneath the weight of your next words.

“Can we just go back to normal?”

Crestfallen, Eddie struggles not to show it. Your pleading whisper harpoons his weak heart, dragging it violently from his chest and landing it in your squeezing grip. Of course you’d want that. Of course you’d want to go back to normal—it’s the least he could do for you after the way he blew up everything around him. Who would want to be with someone so incapable? You certainly don’t deserve that.

But the kiss.

The kiss was just a pity kiss. A weird way to let him down easy, but he won’t fault you. He’s been doing a lot of weird shit lately. He has no room to judge.

Forcing what he hopes is an understanding smile onto his face, he casts one last, longing glance at your lips—the lips he'll never feel again. “Y–Yeah. Yeah, we can.”

Much to his chagrin, you don’t move away from him. You’re still hovering close to his face, torturing him with what he can’t have. What he ruined. 

“And that means…movie nights and hangouts again, right?”

Gulping, Eddie puts on a brave face, ignoring the way he can feel your gravitational pull—your lips calling to him like a siren in murky waters. But he can’t give in. That would be the worst of the worst. To kiss you without your consent? He’d send himself to hell for that. Here you are, trying to become his friend again, and he can’t stop thinking about your lips. He could kick himself.

He’s got a lot of work to do—burning this feeling out of chest.

“Yeah, of course.”

The burn comes sooner than he expects—but it’s not the right kind of burn. Flames of heat engulf his body at the feel of your warm palm on his chest. Now he has two points of searing desire to deal with. Great. First, it was your sinfully soft lips; now it’s your gentle hand, your rogue thumb caressing him while he punishes himself for mistaking innocent consolation.

Unable to stop himself, his eyes flutter shut, reveling in the affection—before he forces them open again.

“Can we have sleepovers again?”

The request sets off alarm bells in his head. But you’ve proven to be real this time, so it can’t be that. Luckily, he’s fantastic at ignoring warning signs, choosing to nod a silent yes to your question.

He wants to say no. Sleepovers again? Watching you sleep, seeing the way your face melts in contentment, how you inch toward him, seeking solace in his body heat—it would be torture. But he’ll take whatever he can get. Damn his selfishness.

Eddie’s breath hitches as your head bobs, chin jutting forward, almost as if you felt the same pull he did. As if you wanted to find solace in his lips too. Like it was home to you as well.

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

The weight of the request sinks in, dragging him back to the reality of what he’s already imagined—the closeness, the heat, the way his heart would race. He’s torn, but he’ll do anything just to have you back in his life. If that means endless nights of torture and tests of his will, so be it.

“Sure…”

Before he gets a chance to follow up with how he’ll take the couch and you can have his bed, you’re whispering another question—drilling a millionth of a centimeter closer to the root of his temptation.

“Will you hold me?”

His eyes search your face, a brow raised at your request. In his quest to find any hidden meaning, all he sees is innocent curiosity. It only makes him want to punish his mind more.

Bad, bad, bad Eddie. Bad. 

Shame, shame, shame. 

“If…if you want.”

“Will you show me what you dreamed of?”

If you weren’t so close to his face, Eddie might’ve blanched at your words. Instead, he settles for a shocked tilt of his head, unable to tear his gaze from yours as he struggles to understand how this could possibly be reality. Pinching his arm, he tries to wake himself from what must be the most meta dream he’s had to date. There’s no way you just said that. After everything? He’s so confused he could cry.

At the quiet movement below, you glance down, chuckling at the way he’s desperately trying to wake himself from reality.

He finally releases a heaving breath when you back away, giving him space for the first time in what feels like forever. The relief is short-lived, though, when his heart thumps wildly like a rabbit’s foot at the feel of your warm palm sliding down his chest, then his abdomen—almost mirroring the movement from a dream he once had. But you don’t settle there. Instead, you rest your hand on his, halting his assault on his forearm.

“It’s real,” you assure, almost making him cry from the clarity he’s been sorely missing. “Now, I’m still pissed at you for being so stupid, and I’m not happy with the way you handled everything—I don’t appreciate the secondhand guilt you so graciously gifted me, considering I’m the one who came between you and Chrissy—but it’s real.”

Eddie wants to cut you off, his mouth already open to assure you that it was more like Chrissy came between him and you, given all the history there—but he swallows the argument when you shoot him a pointed look.

You suck in a steadying breath, seemingly preparing yourself for something—and he’s dying to know what.

Glancing up at him through blackened lashes, you mumble a vague, “It’s you, Eddie.”

A soft, rueful laugh slips from your shy smile as you gaze intently at your hand atop his. “It’s real, and it’s always been you.”

He watches you with rapt attention—doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

You hesitate, as if gathering the right words to explain how you feel, and Eddie finds himself empathizing. It’s a lot—to be real, to be transparent, to place your bleeding heart in someone else’s hands and hope they don’t crush it.

“I didn’t know if you would ever feel…the same—the way I did. Y’know…” You shrug, passively opting out of a full confession, still unsure of everything that happened between him and Chrissy—and your place in it all.

Eddie’s heart feels weightless in his chest, just pondering the past tense you used. You didn’t know. How far back? How long ago did you realize you felt…something? And that cop-out—y’know.

He doesn’t know. But god, does he want to. He won’t push you tonight, but he’ll spend the rest of his life begging for your version of every shared moment. He wants to know everything you feel for him.

And he’ll gladly, excitedly tell you his—as long as you tell him yours. He wants to hear your dreams. He wants to know if he stars in them the way you shine so brightly in his.

His train of thought crashes, cut off by the sharp jab of your fist into his shoulder. He flinches back with a wince. “Ow!” Jaw agape in full offense, he meets your determined face, your features drawn tight in admonition.

“You still owe me a game of Q*bert, jackass. And you’re definitely paying.”

Eddie’s pain melts away at the memory of the deal he made with you—how he promised to take you to the arcade, just the two of you, and pay for all your games. Pay for you to beat him on every lousy machine.

He didn’t forget. He won’t forget how much he owes you for everything he’s put you through.

Rubbing the spot where your knuckles dug in, he nods, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Think I’ll be paying for a lot from now on.”

Another fist flies into the same sore shoulder as soon as he drops his hand.

“Damn right, you will.”

Before he can whine out a complaint, your lips are on his again, pulling him into a hypnotic trance of messy, wet tongues—one hesitant, one sure. When you pull away, his lips follow instinctively—resigned to his fate at the bottom of a darkened sea, forever drawn to the siren who led him there.

A smirk pulls at your mouth, a teasing glint dancing across your eyes—the same eyes he’s stared into every night for months. “That’s what boys do on dates, after all.”

A/N: This is just like when Lady Gaga said, “That girl in your head ain’t real. How bad do you want me, for real?” Anyway, I’ve been talking about this for so long. Tell me—did I deliver? Like, comment, reblog to help a writer out.

Dividers by: @/saradika

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[kingkatsuki]

Temptation | Eddie Munson x Reader

Hihihi! Please heed the warnings, and if its not for you please don’t read! Eddie’s a little bit of a perv in this, but honestly he just proper fancies reader (And reader proper fancies him!)💕

Summary: Your friend is determined to drag you to a basketball squad house party, hoping that you’ll finally score a date with a member of the team, but unfortunately for her you only have eyes for Eddie Munson. Spoiler free!

Warnings: 18+, non/dubcon (reader passes out for a bit, but wakes up), intoxication, drugs (weed), dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, tiny bit of degradation, multiple orgasms, praise praise praise, Eddie talks too much during sex, creampie, not proof-read! If I’m missing anything lemme know! 

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader.

Word Count: 8.3k.

The houses in this area of Hawkins were nice, too nice for such an unassuming town. A blatant display of wealth, showing clearly how the other half lived. Expensive enough it could probably send every senior in Hawkins High to college and fund their entire tuition. But there was one good thing about those houses on the nice side of Hawkins— they made the perfect location for those weekend parties when parents were away.

A loud thrum of bass reverberated in the background as you weaved your way through the crowds of people inside the huge house, careful not to trip over your own feet as you struggled in your heels. The baseball team commanded an audience as they huddled around the dining table to play beer pong, stray white ping pong balls soaring across the room as the girls they were playing with were completely off centre. A mixture of people swayed to the music in the middle of the room, right by the speakers, with a few couples cuddled together on plush leather couches. Your eyes scanned the room for the only reason you’d bothered coming to this stupid party in the first place, but you couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Come on, please?” Your best friend nudged your shoulder in the cafeteria as you picked at your lunch. Resting your head on one of your palms as you shook your head, glaring at her through the side of your eye.

“No.” This must be the twelfth? No thirteenth time she’d asked you to this party this week.

“Pretty please?” Fourteenth.

“Still no.”

“Oh come on, you never come to these parties with me.” There was a reason for that. Too many people crammed into the tightest of spaces, your friend would often ditch you in the first twenty minutes and you’d be left fending off the advances of Chance from the basketball team who for whatever reason decided to set his sights on you rather than the multiple cheerleaders he had to pick from. Cringing as you remember the last house party you agreed to go to, grateful that Nancy Wheeler had been able to get you out just in time before you had the chance to go insane.

“Hello- are you even listening to me?” Your friend followed your line of sight to see what you were staring at, seeing Eddie Munson sitting at the end of his table.

“Ugh, of course.” She shoved your shoulder to bring your attention back to her as your chin fell from your palm, “You’re disgusting, you know that right?”

“Why?” You turned to face your friend with a frown.

“I can’t believe you’re still crushing on the freak-”

“Don’t call him that,” You tried to cut her off but she was quick to continue.

“When Chance asked you out again the other day you said no, why the fuck would you do that? It would set you up here for the rest of the year. You’d be so popular, and I as your best friend would be right there with you.” She put her hand on her chest as she gave you a big smile.

You rolled your eyes as you chanced a final look over at Eddie who was laughing with his friends, throwing a piece of food across the table at the other members of his Hellfire club as you put your fork down. You had it bad.

“I don’t need to be popular, and I don’t want to date Chance. I’m pretty sure he’s slept with half the cheerleading squad.”

“So let’s find you someone you do want to date- at the party this weekend.”

You groaned as you shifted in your chair, dropping your water bottle back into your bag as you made to leave the room.

“You can’t spend the rest of your life alone.”

“There’s literally no one at that party I’d be interested in.” You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table.

“He’ll be there.” You stopped in your tracks as you looked at where your best friend was looking.

“Eddie?” You raised a brow, “Why would he be at a basketball game party?”

“Where do you think they get their drugs?”

You supposed she was right, it was no secret that Eddie Munson sold drugs and a big party had to be a lucrative evening for him. The irony that those same teenagers that bullied him were the same ones that were happy to give him money for drugs at these parties wasn’t lost on you as you slung your bag over your shoulder before grabbing your tray from the table to return it.

“Well?” Your friend called out to your retreating back.

“Fine, I’ll go.” You replied, tossing your trash before placing the tray back in place.

Her squeal was loud enough to disrupt the few tables in the surrounding area as you shook your head with a smile, waving her goodbye as you walked out of the cafeteria to make it to your next class.

Keep reading

[eddiernunson]

Master List

Master List of everything I've written

I'm gonna be honest, I'm proud of Trapped, it's something I spent a year on, but I have written so much better since then, especially since I've been writing so much lately.

The higher quality written project is Really Drives Me Mad, something I'm even more proud of.

All content is 18+

Long Form Stories (All Reader x Eddie)

Trapped Master List (Completed)

Summary: Story summary: Reader has had a crush on Eddie Munson for about three years when her friends have had enough of her mooning and find a way for them to be alone together. They do get together, and smut, firsts, and shenanigans ensue. (18+ for the smut in each chapter)

Found Again (Sequel)

Summary: The year is 2005. Vecna is defeated, Steve Harrington is finding grey hairs. Eddie has already been dead for 19 years. Unfortunately, you have too. Since 1989. In a new life, new state, new friends, new school, you find yourself drawn to the new kid, and he to you. Something tells you it had to do with the dreams of a man with long hair when you were small.

Part 1 | Part 2

Really Drives Me Mad (Completed)

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him (Completed)

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your Adam and him, young and dumb. You;re home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same Weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum lip gloss for the in of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/5 | Part 6

Blurbs

Face Riding Eddie

Cockwarming with Eddie

One Shots | 18+

Take My Anger | Mean Eddie

Summary: Eddie is pissed after a session from Hellfire and you offer for him to take his anger out on you.

The Taste of You | Rockstar!Eddie

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

The Splash of Rain on the Roof | Best friend!Eddie

Summary: you're best friends with Eddie Munson after moving to Hawkins, the new girl who ditches the cheerleaders for the Freaks. A year later, you've fallen head over heels for him, and you're convinced there's no way he has any interest in you. It finally seems confirmed when you find out (more or less) that he's into a fucking cheerleader. Your heart breaks.

Nice to Meet You, Where You Been?

Summary: your college roommate takes you to the annual Harrington Halloween Party, where you expect to do nothing but get drunk and dance for a night. That was...until you turn around to the person dancing against you to Eddie fucking Munson.

"Do You Want One?" | Corruption Kink

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him

Selfish | Steddie x Reader

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Waiting Room Problems

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves... difficult.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Best Friend!Eddie

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back

[littlexdeaths]

ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

below you will find a collection of my eddie munson works.

this will be updated as things are posted!

all works are intended for audiences 18 and up.

minors do not interact!

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ:

✘ opposites attract

✘ scotty doesn’t know

✘ it’s a recipe for disaster

✘ the eras of us

✘ let’s go, don’t wait

ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ:

✘ whiplash - eddie x fem reader

a cute metalhead helps pull you out of a mosh pit at a metallica concert.

✘ i called her on the phone… - ghostface eddie x fem reader

you get a phone call from a masked man and things get a little heated between you.

✘ i get off - perv eddie x perv fem reader

you catch your neighbor watching you masturbate, but you like it a little too much.

✘ sympathy for the devil - demon kas x human eddie x fem hunter

a supernatural au, you finally come face to face with the demon you’ve been hunting for months. but his new vessel is a little too close for comfort.

✘ pushing up daisies - kas eddie x fem reader

visiting eddie’s vandalized grave, you get more than you initially bargained for.

✘ what are friends for? - best friend eddie x fem reader

movie night with you best friend + raging horny period hormones. what could go wrong?

✘ wild horses - eddie x fem reader

your boyfriend helps you get over your fear of rollercoasters… in a special way.

✘ as long as you’re mine - eddie x fem reader

you make the last moments you might spend with eddie count.

✘ borrow the moonlight - eddie x fem reader

a direct follow up to as long as you’re mine…

✘ she fuckin’ hates me - enemy eddie x fem reader

who doesn’t love a little hate fuck on your crushes bed… with his best friend?

✘ run, alice, run - mad hatter eddie x fem reader

you have more tricks than treats up your sleeve for your boyfriend…

© littlexdeaths all rights reserved!

[eddiesghxst]

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part three

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, drug use and mentions of alcohol, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, tons of kissing, flirting, oral (f receiving), mentions of virginity, a hint of blasphemy, a sprinkle of angst, and eddie being an obsessed loverboy <3

word count: 16.3k (i sincerely apologize)

chapter song: hold me x fleetwood mac

| previous part I next part |

I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Cigarettes, artificial sugar, smoky cinnamon, light on your tongue and heavy on your knees— Eddie Munson tastes like a cool summer night on melted ice.

His lips are soft, pillowy, warm, and addictive. You get lost in them quickly, falling down an endless spiral of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Truthfully, you had been the one to jump.

And now you’re falling, quicker and longer than you had thought you would.

And nothing below you looks soft. Nothing is there to break your fall.

But Eddie feels good.

He feels good against your tongue, wet and hot and greedy— beneath your fingertips, warm, soft, and firm. 

Kissing Eddie feels like walking through a vortex tunnel.

There are colors exploding around you, shaky grounds beneath your feet, the promising end glimmering ahead of you— and you know your dizziness will end once you step out of it, but you don’t want it to end. The uncertainty of steady knees forces you to hold onto what’s there, hope, and pray you don’t fall on your ass. Blink and watch the world spin around you— Eddie takes every breath you give, hungry and needy.

He presses you against his van, cool metal against the slivers of bare skin, watery whimpers splashing onto his tongue.

God, you can’t breathe.

Your heart is thrumming in your chest, hot and heavy, fingers swelling up with blood as they curl into Eddie’s shirt. His fingers press against your waist, firm, grounding and steady, but you’re anything but steady.

What are you doing?

Your breath catches. The warmth, the weight, the sheer intensity of what’s happening slams into you all at once.

Eddie licks into you, tilts his head and kisses you deeper. You let him. You feed him back, kiss him harder, pull him closer. The thrumming noise of a summer night is drowned by the rushing of blood in your ears. You can feel his breath on your lip and hear your bated breathing.

His fingers trail over your sides, shivers splintering up your back as he cups your face. You lean into it, just a little, and let yourself melt into him for a moment before reality grasps you tight and mercilessly. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

What are you doing?

It settles in your gut like hot stones, thick coats of wool wrapping around your tongue as you make a pathetic noise.

How did you end up here? Alone? With him?

Your grip on him loosens. The blood turns murky in your veins. The storm of uncertainty and confusion crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Eddie feels it before you can even pull back, you know he can. Your body stiffens, a sharp inhale between kisses, and you’re gone.

Nothing to break your fall.

You pull away from him, wet mouth already tainted with him, tongue already familiar with his taste— too late to go back. 

There’s barely a whisper of space between you, but it feels like miles. Your world pans out, and you’re staring at Eddie, watching him witness your descent.

Your hands fall from his body, trembling and clenching once, twice.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Watches you like he’s studying you, trying to pick you apart.

Horror.

It drags through you like a snake. 

What did you do? What door has just opened, and how do you close it before it’s too late?

His eyes shift, something dark behind the curtain of golden earth you’ve started to dream about. 

It’s brief, a flicker, a small flash across your face, but he sees it. That wide-eyed, gut-punched, what have I done? look. His face settles with a look that makes your insides churn.

The air shifts. The warmth drains. And the moment is over.

Eddie swallows, your breaths still uneven, his lips wet as he drags his tongue over them, tasting you.

Fuck, you can taste him too. So clearly. Like you’ve split an orange over your mouth, drained it of its juice, let the acid burn you from the inside out.

You take a breath, shifting, memorizing the feeling of his hands on your waist when you speak, “Can you—” you clear your throat, “—I need to get home…”

Silence. Heavy. Overwhelming— It settles over you, the sound of cicadas in the trees plays like a symphony to the wind of thoughts in your mind. 

Eddie stares for a long beat, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he can see right through you. Like he’s hoping. But you don’t.

He nods. Sniffs, wipes a thumb across your nose to distract himself from the storm, eyes glancing away as he kicks at the dirt.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” his jaw flexes, and he steps back, rings clinking against the metal door when he holds it open for you again.

This time, you don’t look at him, and you don’t dare to touch him.

The van is deadly silent. 

A sharp contrast to the vibrant atmosphere you had carefully curated throughout the night. Most times you have been around Eddie, he’s a fountain of nonstop noise. He’s constantly saying or doing something— and the times that he’s not, it’s usually because he’s just being an ass.

But Eddie’s silence tonight isn’t a part of some joke he has. No, Eddie’s silence is just that. Silence. And it’s unnerving.

You don’t know what to say.

And this time, it’s not because you’re scared or have nothing to say to Eddie. This time, it’s because nothing you say or do can erase what you didn’t say or do.

You did the complete opposite of what you know, truly, deep down in your chest, you wanted to do. Instead of pulling Eddie closer, pressing your lips to his again and telling him he tasted like shitty cotton candy and smoke, you pulled away and acted like he’d spit poison in your mouth.

You curled away from him, retreated into whatever stupid little hole you’d dug for yourself, and resumed your facade of ‘don’t speak, never happened’.

But this happened.

You kissed Eddie.

And no amount of silence can deafen the buzzing ghost of his lips on yours. 

Your hands rest in your lap, fingers picking at the skin around your nails as you avoid looking over at Eddie, scared he’ll be looking. But of course he isn’t. Because he’s driving, eyes locked on the road ahead, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clenched against his thigh. 

His rings catch an occasional flash beneath passing streetlights. Just minutes ago, they had cooled your hot skin and played like an anchor to your dizzying mind. You’d thought they were cool, so incredibly and undeniably him. Now, they just look like armor. 

The weight of the night fogs the air like smoke that won’t clear.

You wish there were noise. A cracked window to hear the wheels or Eddie’s usual loud music— but there’s nothing but the silent hum of the van beneath you. 

You debate asking for a song— anything to kill the silence. But you think it’d do more damage than good. Like cheating. Like throwing a rug over the bloodstain.

You glance at Eddie again, dragging in a breath, words dancing on your tongue before you exhale, silent, letting it go unsaid. 

You wish he’d say something. Anything. You wish he would just… be Eddie.

Call you some stupid pet name, say you’re dumb, make fun of you for running from a kiss. You nearly want to beg for it.

But he’s done being Eddie tonight.

He gave you Eddie, and you took it, chewed it to bits, and spat it right back in his face.

Now, he’s just a boy, driving you back home, holding pieces of something you almost gave him. And you feel it in the way he won’t look at you.

He’s close to your neighborhood, worn-out tires pulling you closer and closer to the end of what could’ve been a perfect night. 

You hate to break the silence, hate that you have even to say the words bubbling in you, but you know it’s for your own good— both you and Eddie’s. 

“Could you maybe… drop me off a block away?…”

You glance at him, notice the clench in his jaw, the way he rolls a shoulder, seemingly decompressing himself. “Sure.”

It’s short. Clipped. Not the usual teasing lilt Eddie carries when he addresses you. 

You take it anyway— grovel with it.

You don’t try again. You’re not one to beg, and you have no reason to plead for his forgiveness— your hesitation about whatever this is was not ill-natured. He knows that. You know that. 

You think he knew it before you did. 

He turns into your neighborhood, takes a few turns, and gets you as close as possible before he rolls to a stop, just below a streetlight. 

He doesn’t turn the car off, the soft hum of the van filling in the silence. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound or do anything to indicate the end of the night. But you know it is either way.

You don’t unbuckle right away. Your fingers fidget with the strap, teeth chewing at the fleshy part of your lip. Your heart is loud in your chest, begging you just to open your mouth and say something, but all the words taste like cotton. 

You look at him.

He still won’t look at you.

And when you think he won’t speak, he swipes a thumb across his nose and clears his throat, voice low and hoarse, “Uh… get home safe.”

Not what you wanted to hear, but better than nothing.

You nod. A ghost of a movement, a thank you caught in your throat. 

And then the belt clicks when you unbuckle, your fingers curling around the handle to gently open the door as if anything more will shatter you into something worse.

You step into the cool breeze, the silent summer wrapping around you again, this time not as comforting as before. 

You hesitate for a moment. Hope he’ll say something, your name, anything. But he doesn’t. 

So, you take his silence, close the door, and turn around. Back to your home, back to your room where you’ll toss around in bed and think about tonight until it eats you alive. 

You walk, silent sounds of nature enveloping you with each step you take. You can still feel him everywhere around you. Your lips still tingle, your hips still burn. 

God, what did you do?

You don’t dare to glance back because you can hear Eddie’s van still running. Sitting there, watching as you walk down the street, his protection being the loudest thing he’s said since that kiss.

Finally, when you reach the end of the block, the van rumbles back into motion and disappears down the street, taking with it a version of the night that could’ve ended differently.

The house is quiet when you eventually slip inside. 

The lights are off, a soft glow of the moon peeking through the windows as you sneak your way up to your room. You pass by Steve’s room, wonder if he’s awake, wonder if he could sense his friend’s presence practically drenched over you. Your stomach twists at the thought. 

He’d chew you to bits if he ever found out. Tell you that you’re being selfish. That you know summer will come to an end. 

You walk past his door, straight to your room, not bothering to turn the lights on. 

Your clothes feel like an echo of the night, a reminder of what you’d tasted. What you’d felt. Who you tasted. Who you felt.

You peel them off slowly, tired from your day, but hoping that, maybe, if you move gently enough, the regret won’t sting as much.

You drop onto your bed, the spin of the ceiling fan painting a vivid image of what your stomach feels like.

You kissed him.

And then you left him.

Your fingers dance across your stomach and ribs, clasping around the small necklace on your chest. You twirl the small pendant between your fingers, replaying the night over and over in your mind, trying to figure out how it could’ve gone differently.

But it never changes.

It ends the same, with him driving away and you walking in the dark. 

Eddie makes it halfway home before he pulls over.

The road is empty, the van ticks and cools as it idles under a broken billboard, and Eddie’s mind is a whirlwind.

His body is still buzzing, still high from the good parts of the night, but the way it’s clashing with his mind as it plummets to that dark space he’s uncomfortably familiar with— it makes him feel like an exposed nerve.

You kissed him.

And then you ran. 

And Eddie doesn’t know what the hell to make of that. Doesn’t know if that means something, or if it meant too much, and that’s why you shut down. Maybe he pushed too hard, too quickly— it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. Because it’s not like he hasn’t been here before— people pulling back once they realize he’s not worth the mess.

Still, it felt different. You felt different.

Until you didn’t.

No. She still does. She is different. 

He wrestles with his thoughts for a moment. Hates that he’s always quick to want a final word, a solution, something. He’s not patient. Never has been. And his mind spins like a fucking metal sphere in a pinball machine— Eddie’s not cut out for this. He gives and gives and gives, and when he’s inevitably left wondering why no one will take it, he spins out.

“Get home safe.”

The most pathetic thing he could come up with. He should’ve said more. Should’ve said, Hey, I liked that. I wanted more of that. I wanted you.

But he didn’t.

Because you didn’t. 

And because he’s a coward.

He leans back against his seat and sparks up a cigarette before peeling back onto the road.

It doesn’t matter. You made your choice, and Eddie will respect it, even though he thinks it is stupid.

No matter how badly he wants to turn around and go back to you. No matter how badly he wants to shake you and yell out, This is okay. This is good— we’re good.

Kiss me again and stop fighting this.

Be good with me.

A week passes with a long stretch of silence between you and Eddie.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the lazy, late-summer kind that curls around you like a cozy blanket. Not the kind that’s mutual in a sense where you both know once you’re face-to-face again, it’ll be like zero time has passed. No, this one crackles. Burns. It hums, like static, loud and noisy in your ears, itchy beneath your skin— because all you can do is relive that kiss— over and over— like it’s stuck on a loop. Trapped behind your ribs like a lingering cold, refusing to let go.

And it’s not the good part that clings. Not the taste of cotton candy and cigarettes, or the warm, roughened fingertips on your skin. No, what clings is what you did after— you ran.

No explanation, no call, nothing. And every day that passes just makes you feel worse. 

That plummeting look in Eddie’s eyes when you caved into yourself— it follows you in every dream. It’s worse than guilt. It’s a tether— a burn.

The silence sticks to you in every room— on your skin, behind your eyes, between every thought— and in the quiet moments you find, it grows deafeningly loud.

You do things to distract yourself. Rearrange your room. Color-code your closet. Plan for the next school semester, even though your schedule is already solidified. Run useless errands with your stepmother, feign interest in countertop samples and paint swatches, just to keep your mind busy. 

But none of it works.

Because Eddie’s there.

In every passing car with loud music, in every corner of a room that feels too hot, too still.

He’s folded into the silence and the noise, in the little breath you take between words and the way your stomach clenches when you let your mind drift.

Eddie’s thoroughly infiltrated your system whether you like it or not— and fuck, you’re a fool to say he didn’t.

He’s bright. Searing like the summer sun at its zenith, the kind of heat that saps your strength and leaves you dizzy, thirsty for more. 

But he’s cold, too— ice in the root of your chest when you remember how his face shifted the second you shifted. How quickly his warmth cooled when you didn’t stay.

Eddie is everything you’ve ever run from— loud, frayed, rough, unpredictable in a way that makes your skin buzz. 

Guys like him were never an option. Too much, too raw, too real. You don’t touch things that burn like that. You weren’t supposed to.

But now you’ve touched him. And it’s already too late.

You’re singed. Marked in ways you can’t see but you feel. 

You should be thinking about how to let it go— how to shake it loose, bury it, re-stitch the part of yourself that unraveled in his hands.

But instead, you keep remembering. His hands. The way he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. The way he tasted— cigarettes, artificial sugar, smokey cinnamon— a summer storm, and the brightest crack of light— Eddie Munson is out to ruin you.

His eyes wanted more. His hands wanted more. 

And the worst part was, you do too. You don’t know what exactly you want from him. 

But it’s him. 

It’s his crooked grin, his smoke-rough laugh, the way he touches you like he knows you better than you know yourself. 

It’s the pull— that stupid, reckless pull— and the part of you that craves chaos a little more than you ever admitted. 

You don’t know why, you just know you want it. And maybe, deep down, you’re terrified of what that says about you. What it says about the lack of control you thought you had, so carefully crafted all your life.

One kiss from a leather-bound boy and it shattered. 

It feels like a beginning. One you slammed the door on way too fast. 

And now? You have no idea if it’s too late to open it again. 

You want to think he’s fine, that this wasn’t some huge thing for him. That he’s used to girls coming and going. That maybe you’re making a bigger deal of it than it was. 

But then you remember the way he looked at you afterward. Like you’d given him the goddamn moon and snatched it back before he could get a grip on it.

It feels rotten in your gut. A spinning wheel of regret, slow like molasses, scraping at your insides with each turn. You don’t know if you crushed something good before it had a chance, and you really don’t know how to clarify that. 

You could just ask him. Call. Show up at the bar on one of the nights he performs. What would you say? Would he even want to talk to you? Or is your cowardly rejection still simmering in his chest the way it is in yours?

Fortunately, and maybe unluckily, you’re not left wondering for long. 

The answer comes in the form of your father's car. Eddie spent the week fixing it, and now you’ve been tasked with picking it up from Eddie’s place. 

You let it sit for two days. You can’t even bring yourself to slip on a pair of shoes to head over to Eddie’s place, because once you’re there, you can’t hide anymore. 

Because what happens when you step into Eddie’s home and you’re slapped with the truth of what your week-long spiral was really all about? What happens if it destroys what was left in your satchel of perseverance? What happens when Eddie looks at you and there’s no longer that stupid glint dancing in his eyes?

You’d live on. Obviously. But not without a bruised ego. And maybe a little bit of a growing distaste for cinnamon and sugar.

And you think you hate that.

Steve forces you to go on the third day. If he notices your reluctance, he doesn’t mention it— just impatiently waits in the driveway and curls his nose when you slip into his passenger seat— “…Are you wearing perfume?”

“Shut up, Steve, just drive.”

And you try to focus on the drive or the music, anything but Eddie, but your mind lands on him every time you try to flip it. So you give up. Two minutes left anyway. And then you’ll be forced to face the man who’s been haunting your mouth for the past week. 

It’s the peak of the day when you find yourself in front of Eddie’s door— the time when the sun turns the distance into rippling waves of heat. Steve didn’t waste a second to drive off, leaving you behind in a cloud of dust and nerves.

The trailer park is a different kind of solace. Not soft, not serene— just stretched. There’s a hum beneath your skin, something slow and buzzing, itchy like you’d just walked through a field of tall grass. Everything feels slowed down here, strung out, like the air itself is holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just you.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes like it’s daring you to keep going. The road twists and curves around sun-bleached trailers; a box fan lowly hums in the window of one, a dog barking before settling down in the shade of another. 

You should’ve worn something else. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, slipping down your spine, and your heart’s beating faster than it should be for a simple car pickup. You tell yourself it’s just the heat, but you know better. You’re two steps away from the door that makes you want to bolt back to California.

You climb the creaky but sturdy steps, like they’ve been there for years of time and weather. There are scuffs along the door, worn and loved, a sense of a thoroughly used home that oddly stirs your insides. You hesitate for only a second, bite the bullet before you raise a fist and knock twice on the door, sharp and quick. 

Cicadas hum in the distance, the dog barks, the fan hums. You debate stealing the bike off to the side and high-tailing it home.

You stare at it long enough to imagine it before the door swings open. 

Eddie. Barefoot. Wet hair with sweats hung low on his hips like he wasn’t expecting anybody for the rest of the day. His skin is still dewy from a shower, ink dark and slithering across the expanse of his skin. You swear you don’t watch the bead of water that drips from his hair and rolls down the side of his neck but you can damn near feel it.

Eddie’s eyes slightly widen when he sees you, shifting and opening the door more so he can fully see you. 

“Hey.” He plainly says.

You draw in a breath and hold his eyes, “Hey.”

A silence simmers, not loud, but there. For a moment, neither of you moves. And now that you’re looking at Eddie again, face-to-face, if you think hard enough, you can remember how his lips feel.

Eddie blinks like he remembers why you’re here, “Car’s out back. Keys are here somewhere.”

He lets you in, holds the door, and lets it swing shut behind you as you enter his home. The air is cool inside, tinged with whatever soap he used and the sharp note of twine from the fan spinning on the ceiling. 

Eddie walks a few steps ahead, taking a hand through his damp curls as he heads for the kitchen counter. “You know, uh…” he says without looking back, digging into a catch-all bowl full of keys, change, and mismatched guitar picks, “it’s nice to see you’re, like, alive. Didn’t die on the walk home, or something.”

You glance around his trailer—guitar leaning in the corner, a record sleeve half-tucked under the couch, light bleeding golden through the dusty blinds, a shit ton of mugs lined on the shelves with baseball caps lined above them.

“You watched me.” You remind him.

As you watch him, he pauses for a beat before he shrugs, “I did. And then I drove home thinking, ‘should I have popped a mint before I kissed her?’”

When he turns around, keys in hand, he’s grinning—eyes soft, a little nervous under all that casual. And there he is. Eddie peeking out from behind the boy you left beneath the streetlamp. 

The tiny voice in your head sings as if he’s risen from the dead.

You take the keys from him, slowly. “You tasted like cotton candy,” you say, fingers brushing his, “and cigarettes.”

And cinnamon. Sugar-coated wet dreams and the end of summer— you won’t tell him, you’ll let it toss around in your brain like a mantra until you’re sick of it.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, eyes slightly narrowing in question, “Bad combo?”

You hum, clutching the keys as you pull your hand back, “For some, maybe…” You tip your head, holding his gaze.

Something grows in Eddie’s eyes. Something small yet true. 

It’s quiet, then, where nothing really needs to be said, but you’re both aching to say something anyway. 

You take a silent breath, a calm settling over you that hadn’t been there all week— something that clarifies you know what you should say.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t… I didn't handle it well.”

Eddie straightens with a deep breath and makes a face, playful and easy. “No worries, princess. Had plenty of hit-and-runs before. I’m a connoisseur.”

You roll your eyes, even as something in your chest tugs, “I’m trying to be sincere, Eddie.” You deadpan.

The grin on Eddie’s face makes your hands hot. “I know,” he leans in, voice a little lower, like the moment has shifted. “It’s cute.”

He steps back, nods towards the back door with a gaze dancing in his eyes, making your chest thrum, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Gotta show off my mechanical skills.”

You follow him out. Try not to eye the expanse of his back through the shirt he’s wearing, try not to remember the way his arms felt beneath your fingers, even though you’d been remembering it since then. His scent wafts behind him like a taunting train of ‘remember this? Remember how close you were to that?’. 

It puts you in a daze.

The screen door snaps shut behind you when you step out, the light’s softened, everything golden, and long shadows. 

Eddie runs a hand along the hood of your father's car and taps it, “Changed the oil. Transmission put you out on the road, so I fixed that, too. And I tightened your brake line— it was loose enough to make me nervous, and I’m already high-strung as it is.”

“You’re so modest.” You hum as you walk up to the car. 

He smirks and shrugs, watching as you approach the driver’s side, “I try.”

You open the door, gazing at him as he props it open for you. A callback to memory, vivid and true. 

“Thanks…” You softly say.

Eddie nods, “Don’t mention it.” He glances away, squints at the setting sun, and shifts in his spot, “You uh…” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck, you tilt your head, “You ever been to the drive-in? The one out past the fairgrounds?”

You crack a smile, gazing at him as he turns back to you. You tilt your head, the sun gleaming over him. Somewhere in his eyes, there’s a fairy, swirling the pools of brown and making magic under the sun.

It’s working. Annoyingly so.

“The one that shut down like four years ago?” You huff out a laugh.

Eddie smiles, “Did it?”

“Definitely. Yeah.”

Eddie quirks a brow like he’s questioning your knowledge. You could’ve sworn you saw them breaking the screen down last time you passed it all those years ago. You shift in your spot, leaning against the door, “This your way of asking me out?”

Eddie grins then, sun peeking out in his cheeks, deep enough to make the beast in your chest purr like she’s been asleep for years. Whether she hates the sun or craves it, you’re not sure. 

Eddie shrugs, “Just asking if you wanna sit in a car with me for three hours and make fun of bad dialogue.” he gazes at you for a moment before leaning in, voice low and convincing, “Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

You look at him, rolling the idea in your mind, tasting it behind your teeth. You hum, fingers twitching against the car door before you speak, “No. And you said that at the fair.”

Eddie’s smug demeanor falters, disbelief in his voice when he responds, “No?”

“No.”

“You wound me,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face, “I’m a wounded soldier here, honeybee. Bleeding out. Throw me a bone at least.” He dramatically pleads.

You roll your eyes, already turning to get in the car. “I’m romantic as hell, by the way. I’ll bring you flowers and kiss you at the door, the whole nine.”

It’s cute— his marketing skills— and maybe if you stayed a little longer, you’ll cave. You glance at him, strapping the belt across your torso and holding back the smile in your cheeks as he gazes down at you. You reach for the door and shake your head, “Goodbye, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at you like he always does, with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve, “Bye, Malibu.”

You don’t ask why he’s still smiling at you like that, and you don’t let yourself wonder what it means. You just shut the door and let the warmth in your cheeks settle on the drive home.

He doesn’t let up for nearly two weeks.

Eddie’s on a running campaign to get you to agree to this magical drive-in movie date he’s proposed, and he’s relentless about it, too. He keeps his appearances up at the house, wasting away in Steve’s room until he finds a moment to slip away and find you.

The first time he finds you in the kitchen, cutting a bowl of fruit for yourself when he rounds the corner. He’s got a lovesick grin on his face and a mouth full of smug, flirtatious words waiting to come out at a moment's notice.

“Movie’s still on the table.” He hums, walking around you like an animal taunting its prey.

You don’t bother looking at him, slicing through thick blocks of pineapple as you hum, “No.”

“Free drinks.” He offers.

“Still no.”

The second time he asks comes a day later while you’re lying by the pool, sunglasses perched on your face, a book in your lap. Eddie leans over you, wet hair dripping chlorine and sun, dampening your pages, “Name the candy, I’ll get it.”

“Eddie—” You grimace, pressing a hand to his chest and shaking your book off with the other. You ignore the warmth beneath your fingertips, glaring up at him through the dark shades as he continues to ramble.

“Popcorn? Gummy worms? Licorice? Gross, but I’ll look the other way. I’ll even let you hold the remote.”

You look at him, deadpanned as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“There is no remote.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and waves a hand, “You’re missing the point.”

You lift your glasses just enough to give him a look, “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face twists in mild confusion. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Exactly.”

You lose count of how many times he asks. He gets creative with it, though. Will pass by your room and slip an index card under your door with a single Dum-Dum taped to it and the words— MOVIE’S THIS WEEKEND?— scribbled in shitty handwriting with two check boxes beneath it. Both of the boxes say yes.

You draw a third box, write ‘no’ beside it, and check the box before sliding it back under the door.

The Dum-Dum was strawberry flavored and painted your tongue red.

You now have a stash of Dum-Dums piling up on your dresser.

Nothing is holding you back from saying yes to Eddie. Aside from the fact that he’s Eddie, and every time you’re left alone with him for a prolonged amount of time, your brain starts glitching out like a jumbled tape until you start thinking stupid things. Stupid things that land you pressed against his van with his tongue down your throat— not like you’re still thinking about it or anything. 

By the start of the second week, Eddie’s purely asking for the bit. He likes the chase, says it all in his grin and the twinkle in his eye every time you shut him down, and he throws a hand over his chest like a lovesick dog.

So by the time he leans against the doorframe of your room and asks again on a random Wednesday night, he’s moving off muscle memory.

“Drive-in’s still on the table. So are the snacks. And the cuddles. Just say the word, I’ll heat up the van and cue up the mood lighting.”

You’re perched in front of your vanity, smoothing cool moisturizer beneath your eyes, not bothering to look back when you respond, “You got mood lighting in your van now?”

“Princess, please,” Eddie scoffs, waltzing in like he knows his way around the place. “I’ve had mood lighting. That lava lamp has been through everything with me.”

You snort, and he plops on your bed, splaying out like a cat that’s getting comfortable, his feet still planted on the ground as he talks to your ceiling, “Anyway, no pressure. Just sayin’ I can get ready in five. Six if you want me to shave.”

You glance at him through the mirror, blink once, and consider that he’s still there, draped over your sheets like a lovelorn teenage boy. 

“Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t move. And honestly, if you looked close enough, you might think he might have stopped breathing.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, sitting up with a fist over his mouth as he coughs a few times. “Was that— sorry— that was a yes?”

You suppress the grin that threatens to split across your lips. You close the containers on your vanity and stand, pushing the chair in, “Yes. Now get out. Before I change my mind.”

“Oh shit, you’re serious? Like— like this Saturday?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Friday. And I need to be home by midnight, no later.” You demand.

Eddie nods, like a child getting scolded and trying to regain trust. “Midnight, no later, got it.”

You nod, standing before him, arms crossed over your chest. A silence falls over the room for a moment. You blink once, eyeing Eddie as he sits on your bed, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

“I totally cracked you—”

“Get out.”

“Got it. See you Saturday, Malibu.”

You don’t care to wipe off the smile on your face when the door shuts behind him.

You don’t tell anyone. 

Not Mia, not Steve— not even the bathroom mirror you’ve been avoiding all day. 

You spun a lie at dinner, something short and simple about having a movie night, and when your dad asked who with, you shrugged and said “Mia,” like it wasn’t a sin. Technically true. Mia exists. You could be with Mia. You’re just… not. 

Instead, you’re going to be with Eddie. Steve’s friend.

Eight o’clock. That’s when you’re meeting him. A block away, under the streetlamp, just like you’d agreed. 

The house simmers to a quiet state as you get ready. You pace a little, change your outfit twice before going back to the original skirt and top you’d picked out. You apply your lip gloss once, hate the shade, and wipe it off before applying a clear one. You smell an array of perfumes until they all smell the same, and you’re forced to just spray something random, biting your tongue as you repeat to yourself, it’s just a movie. Not a date. Stop acting like this is something because it’s not.

It’s getting dark when you slip out the back gate, your purse in one hand with your pride in the other, perfume clinging to your skin like a secret. And maybe that’s what this is. A secret mission. Something stolen and sweet. Something reckless.

Or maybe it’s a mistake.

Somewhere along the way, between the gate and the driveway, your pride slips and falls to the pavement. 

Just a movie. Not a date. This is nothing. 

You tell yourself that once more as you walk down the block, holding onto your purse like a lifeline. The air is cooling with leftover heat from the day, a slight breeze that instantly cools it, and reminds you of the season. The sky has dimmed to a navy, the kind of dusk that makes the street lights flicker like they’re nervous too. You should be nervous.

You are.

But you don’t let it show. Because you don’t get nervous over boys. Not even boys that kiss you like you’re not breakable. Not even boys that hold your gaze like they’re daring you to run.

But the closer you get to the street corner, the more your stomach knots. The more you start to second-guess whether this is a good idea, which it’s definitely not. But you keep walking anyway. Like your common sense has just magically disappeared, and you’re moving on a whim.

Because this isn’t just a drive-in movie. It’s another step into a story you didn’t plan to write. And planning is how you survive. Lipstick, posture, perfectly-timed smiles, perfectly aligned future— armor. That's always been enough.

And then Eddie came. And you don’t typically feel sorry for turning away from a boy; you never had to feel sorry. Because none of them has been him. And now you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you when you said sorry. Like he didn’t want to hear it, but needed it anyway. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something real, and now that you had, he didn’t know what to do with it.

And it didn’t feel like a game.

That’s the part that’s unraveling you. It didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a surrender.

You pause before you turn the corner, allow yourself one more moment of quiet nerves as you breathe, smooth your sweaty hands over your skirt, and crack a smirk that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

And then you walk.

You can already hear Eddie’s music booming from the radio of his van, and it does little to ease your nerves. Because, of course. Of course, Eddie Munson announces his arrival to the entire neighborhood. 

As you get closer, you spot him near the van, leaning against the passenger door like he’s posed for some photo he doesn’t know about. His jeans are cuffed, scuffed boots toeing the gravel with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The faintest smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you. Something in you settles.

“Hey, runaway,” he calls out, flicking the cigarette to the curb and grinding it beneath his heel, “Nice of you to show.”

“I had to slip out past Steve and a dad who breathes like a dragon,” you say, lifting a brow as you approach, arms crossed. “You, meanwhile, are trying to alert the entire neighborhood with this volume. Jesus, Munson.”

Eddie grins, wide and unapologetic, as he swings the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “Apologies, princess. Good habit. Makes for a great entrance.”

You hum as you climb into the passenger seat, the scent of smoke and old leather filling your nose, “I’ll give it a five out of ten.”

Eddie makes a wounded expression, “Harsh— and rude— rough way to start the night, honeybee.”

You halfheartedly shrug as he closes the door and jogs to the driver's seat. Another moment of quiet nerves. And then he slips in, “I’ll change it for you. Just say the word. I don’t change it for many people, so take that shit seriously.”

You smirk, watching as he turns the key in the ignition, “A sacred honor?”

“An elite one,” he solemnly nods, “Most people? They get Motörhead or nothing. But for you, honeybee?” He looks at you and cracks a stupid, heartfelt look, “I’d play Madonna for you.”

You glare at him, fighting the smile on your lips as you roll your eyes, “Alright, loverboy,” you nod towards the road, “start driving. You’re burning up your cool points every time you talk.”

Eddie scoffs and waves you off, peeling the van onto the road with a shake of his head, “Rude. Again. Shouldn’t have fixed your car.” 

You can’t help the laugh that rolls off your lips.

You drive in silence for a moment. The city is asleep, everyone home with their families, tucking their kids in for a night’s sleep. Every light is green, the sun still dropping, flickering through the line of trees along the winding backroads. Fields roll out beside them like a running scene to match the radio as it swiftly shifts into the next song. This one is slower. Something you doubt Eddie listens to in his free time.

You glance at him, the way the light hits his jaw, his fingers tapping to the rhythm. You crack, “Fine. You get, like… maybe a point for the mixtape.”

Eddie smirks without looking, like he knew it was coming, “A point? Out of?”

“Five.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh, “Tough grader.”

You shrug, shifting in your seat, eyes drifting back to the road, “Earn the rest.”

Eddie glances at you, tilts his head back and forth like he’s thinking before he speaks, “What if I bought you gummy worms?”

You turn back to him, “Do you have gummy worms?” You ask in a faux uninterested tone.

Eddie’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he reaches blindly toward the backseat. He shuffles around momentarily, eyes never leaving the road, one hand on the wheel. You watch in amusement as he pulls out a crinkled gas station bag, holding it up like a trophy. “I come prepared.”

You pause, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “How long have those been back there?”

“Like a day.” He shrugs. You raise a brow, and he rolls his eyes. “Maybe three. They’re still good. Little stiff. Builds jaw strength— y’know artificial sugar never rots, inspector.”

“Rots your teeth.”

Eddie smiles, “So do you. Sweet as honey. I’m still diggin’ in.”

You shake your head, glancing away as a smile cracks across your lips, so wide you nearly feel embarrassed. You sigh, leaning back into the seat, “I’m not chewing stale gummy worms just to impress you.”

“Fine,” he rips the bag open with his teeth, “More for me.” He pops one into his mouth and chews dramatically, loudly, and obnoxiously. He hums as if it’s the best candy he’s ever tasted, “Best ones in the state, baby. Sure, you don’t want me to momma bird you?” He asks, popping another one in as he glances at you.

You grimace, looking at him, tone drenched in all seriousness and play, “You better not spit that at me,” you warn.

Eddie turns to you slowly, lips full of threat, chewed-up sugar bullets ready to fire. “I could. I’ve got perfect aim.”

You gape in disgust, blinking in disbelief, “You’re disgusting.” You exclaim. His lips purse, and your hand clamps over his mouth, startled but still smiling. “Chew, Munson. And swallow. I’ll sit here all night.”

His eyes sparkle, darting between the road and you, lips pressed into a smile against your palm. One brow lifts, smug, like he’s silently saying that’s not as much of a threat as you think it is.

You tap your finger against his cheek, unrelenting in your demand. He laughs, swallows, then nips at your palm, smiling when you squeal and pull away with a curse of his name. You roll your eyes, dragging your hand against the material of your skirt as you glare at him, though your glare does nothing to extinguish the pure joy on his face.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“It’s my best quality.”

The tension in your shoulders has unraveled, just a little. Enough to let you enjoy the rest of the ride and not freeze when Eddie reaches out and flicks his fingers softly against your knee when he says something else—something dumb and playful.

It makes you feel warm and fuzzy around the edges, like the last time you’ve smiled this much for this long was in a dream.

The drive-in is past the fairgrounds, just like Eddie had said, but it’s not the one you remember. This one is a lot more… handmade. It’s behind an old, rusted warehouse surrounded by a field and a gravel parking lot where cars are lined up— some parked like they’ve been here all day, and others parked without a care in the world, crooked and taking up space.

It looks like something out of a dream, if the dream were hazardous and a little bit illegal. There are fraying extension cords snaking on the gravel, and dented trucks are parked parallel to hold up a white sheet that sways in the wind. The projector flickers every so often on the sheet, casting a light against it like it’s fighting to stay alive. Warm lights are lit across the lot, lawn chairs are scattered around cracked open coolers, and a faint hum of music from a van that looks just as run-down as Eddie’s. It’s the kind of scene that looks warm and feels exactly so.

Eddie parks the van with the back facing the movie. He greets a guy when he steps out, someone named Mickey with rowdy hair, stoned eyes, and a blunt. Mickey supposedly makes the best gas station nachos, and for some reason, you absolutely believe that.

You both climb in, Eddie first because he swears he’s a gentleman that’s not grabbing for a chance to look at your ass even though you caught him doing so just moments before. Inside, Eddie has tossed in a nest of mismatched pillows and blankets, thrown around in a cozy manner yet somehow chaotically organized. Snacks and drinks are stashed in a bag, snuggled into the blankets like it’ll keep them cool. 

You fail to suppress a smirk as you settle with your back resting against the seats, raising a brow as you glance at him, “So, this is your thing? Lure unsuspecting girls into your van with snacks, blankets, and a movie?”

Eddie scoffs, feigning a wounded expression as he crashes in next to you, already grabbing a drink and passing one to you, “You think I do this for just anyone?”

You take the canned drink, cracking it open with a hiss and sipping with a hum, “Absolutely.”

Eddie gasps dramatically, clutching the drink to his chest. “I’m wounded, princess. Truly. I fought hard for this, by the way. And I thought we had something special.”

You shoot him a dry look over the rim of your can. “You said that after I let you steal one of my fries.”

“Because we do,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You just don’t recognize the depth of our cosmic bond yet. I mean, remember that kiss? Knocked the wind outta me. Could’ve sworn I saw your eyes roll.”

Your face warms. It’s faint, but unmistakable, like a match sparking beneath your skin. You try to hide it with a scoff, nudging his shin with your foot as he giggles.

“My eyes didn’t roll. How would you even know? Your eyes were supposed to be closed.”

Eddie hums, unbothered, ripping a bag of sour candies open. “I’ve got a third eye. The bangs aren’t just an accessory.” He digs a piece of candy out, popping it in his mouth before offering the bag to you. You pick one, toss it in, and immediately regret it. The taste is sharp and mean, catching in your throat and pulling a wince from your chest. 

You cough through it, taking a sip of your drink to ease the stress, “Jesus. Is that candy or chemical warfare?” You cringe.

Eddie grins around his chew, popping another in like it’s nothing, “Little from column A, little from column B.”

You swallow the candy, shaking your head as you lean back on your hands, stretching your legs out, “Your taste in candy is criminal.”

“Funny. That’s what they said about my music, too.” He drums his fingers against his drink like it’s a snare, mock-riffing. “I’m a menace across multiple industries.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug upward despite yourself. The movie flickers on the sheet in front of you, voices murmuring from the speaker someone set up between the trucks. The air smells like weed and sunscreen, someone’s smoking close enough to catch the faint buzz of it.

Eddie shifts beside you, closer without fully touching, like he’s testing the air between you. You don’t move away; somehow, the closeness relaxes you more than you’d imagined. Your laughs become loose around the edges, Eddie’s limbs soften, and your eyes meet more.

The van warms in a summery haze with quiet laughter, hushed jokes behind mouthfuls of candy, and the occasional moment when either of you pretends to care about the movie. And somewhere between that, your ankle passes Eddie’s, like a ghost, a memory of the diner, and a nudge into something more.

Eddie is warm beside you, and his thigh presses against yours each time he shifts, which, unfairly, seems to happen more often than not. Your bodies are pressed close, your arms touching, a film of sugar forming over your tongues.

“So,” He speaks softly, warm breath dusting over your temple, a smile trickling around the edges, a nervous undertone so quiet you almost miss it. “Give me the verdict. What’s my rating now?”

You glance at him. His eyes are on you, not the movie. Your eyes dart back to the movie, a small smirk easing across your lips.

“Four stars.”

Eddie scoffs, dramatically offended, “Four?! Out of five?”

“Mhm.” You nod your head, still pretending to watch the movie.

“Why? What did I do?” He stresses.

You shrug, “You forgot my flowers.”

Eddie pauses, only the hum of the movie filtering through the van. He sits up a little, “Who said I forgot ‘em?”

You glance at him, just in time to see him turn around and reach over the middle console, rummaging through bags and the empty soda cans he keeps tossing back. You watch, listen to him mutter to himself, toss aside a hoodie before— “Aha!”

He plops back beside you, triumphantly smiling as he extends a hand to you, clutching something, “I’m a man of my word.”

A single rose.

Well— it was a rose. At one point. Now it’s a little mangled, missing a few leaves, petals slightly crushed, stem bent in the middle like it gave up halfway through standing tall.

Your hand flies to your mouth.

“You let it die before it got to me?”

“I was freaking the fuck out!” Eddie exclaims, absolutley not ashamed, “I got it two hours before I picked you up. And then I forgot it. But then I remembered during the drive and panicked and tried to hide it in the snack bag—”

You burst out with laughter. The sad, wilted rose hangs between you as a testament to Eddie’s story. It makes your ribs ache with lack of air, and your cheeks warm as Eddie tries to explain why his gift is now fit for a compost pile. And then— to your horror— your breath hitches and you snort. A real, startled, uncontrolled snort, right from your lips. And you immediately clap a hand over your mouth like you can shove it back in.

Eddie goes stock still, eyes wide as he looks at you.

“...Oh my god,” he whispers, “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” you groan, face burning as you shove the rose against his chest,

Eddie places a hand over yours, grasping it like a lifeline as he laughs in awestruck disbelief. “No, no— jesus christ. What was that? Do that again.”

“Eddie—”

“Please,” he begs around a laugh, clutching the rose like a microphone, “Do it again. I think I hear angels.”

You groan again, laughing harder now as you collapse sideways, not even thinking when you bury your face in Eddie’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. His body shakes with laughter, both you warm and full of it. His free arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you close, and when he glances down at you—your nose tucked against his shirt, his rose wilting between you—he softens.

Warmth radiates from him like a furnace, and for a second, you just stay there, trying to catch your breath, your cheeks aching from smiling. And in the quiet stretch of time, you feel it shift.

The buzzing, the teasing, the fizzy high laughter— it all slows, softens. His thumb rubs an absent-minded circle over your side. You tilt your head, nose brushing over his collarbone, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s trying to memorize something. Like he’s caught off guard by how much he likes you in this moment. And you can’t exactly laugh about it because, well, you feel it too. You feel how good this is, how real it feels, tangible and soft and bright.

He shifts, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey,” He softly says, voice low, reverent. 

You blink up at him. “Hey.”

His fingers, rough and calloused, dust across your jaw.

And then, quieter: “You gonna let me kiss you again?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He kisses exactly how you’d been dreaming of since the first kiss. This time, he tastes like the night's warmth, laughter sprinkled over his tongue, and sugar behind his teeth. You fall into it like muscle memory. Like your body had been prepping for it all this time.

You pull away first. Barely. Just enough to breathe. Though you can’t breathe much when your bodies are still pressed so close like this— Eddie’s arm holding you, you practically draped over him.

Your eyes flicker to the side, a nearly unbearable heat creeping up your chest, lips tingling like they’re still pressed to his. You feel him watching you, still, drafting the aftermath— quietly smug, fond in that boyish way that makes you want to kiss him all over again just to shut him up.

He lifts the rose—pathetic, crushed thing—and sniffs it theatrically before murmuring, “Still smells like a rose.”

You laugh— can’t help it— and the softest little snort escapes. You don’t care to hide it this time. And Eddie lights up like a kid on Christmas.

“Again!” He whispers, scandalized and delighted. You roll your eyes as he tugs you closer, “I’m two for two!”

“You’re annoying.” You weakly push at him as he grins. 

“How many people have gotten you to laugh like that, hm? Come on.” He leans in, nuzzles your cheek like it’s muscle memory, smiling when you squirm away from him. “Tell me I’m the one and only. Say it. Say, ‘Eddie Munson is my laughter lord and chaos prince.’”

You bat away at him, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “You’re so stupid.”

“And you snort when you laugh. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes, settled against his shoulder, snuggled like you belong there. “I’m regretting kissing you.” You halfheartedly murmur.

“No, you’re not,” he grins. He twists the rose between his fingers, eyes gently flickering over your face. Then, gently, he runs the soft rose petals over the bridge of your nose. The brittle petals whisper across your skin, light and teasing, until they dust the tip of your nose. Your nose crinkles on instinct.

Eddie freezes, dragging in a breath. “Don’t move.” He whispers like he’s trying not to spook a deer. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.”

You laugh, batting the rose away as you giggle, “You’re a sap.”

“And you’re a shitfaced liar,” he mumbles lowly, leaning forward, eyes dancing across your face. His eyes flicker to your lips like magnets pulled to steel. Your breath stutters, eyes stuck on his. “You totally wanna kiss me again.”

You fight the smile on your lips as you shake your head, “No.”

Eddie’s already leaning closer, eyes flickering to your smile as one approaches his lips, “Yeah, you do.”

Your false protest dies on his lips. It’s softer this time. Slower. Deeper. More curious, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out. 

The rose falls to the ground somewhere, wilted and pathetic. Eddie pulls you close, lips twitching against yours like he’s quietly reminding you that he won. His fingers splay wide across your back, knuckles curling into your top as you press against him, his other hand coming up to cup your face. 

Your fingers curl against his chest, holding on like you need it to anchor yourself. Your legs shift between his, and you’re nearly draped over him when you tilt your head, lips parting in an invitation that he takes like it’s sacred. 

His tongue slides against yours— slow, careful, sweet— and your body reacts before your mind catches up. 

Heat licks up your spine, curling in your belly, and you melt into him. Everything else fades— the movie, the night air, the mess of candy wrappers and pillows around you. It all collapses beneath his lips, the sinful flick of his tongue against yours, his fingers curling around your waist, the tremble in your thighs. 

You make a sound you don’t mean to. A soft, involuntary moan caught between a hitch in your breath, featherlight and aching. 

Eddie pulls away. Quick and abrupt. Like he’s just touched something electric.

His breathing’s uneven, lips pink and bruised, pupils blown wide in disbelief. “Yeah,” he shakily breathes, eyes darting like he can’t afford to look at you. He peels his body from yours, “Yeah. Okay. That’s enough. No more.”

You blink, wide-eyed and dazed, “What—?”

“I’m gonna jizz my pants.” He says, completely deadpan. He presses a palm to his crotch as he sits up, eyes blown as they dart around the floor of the van, like somewhere in the rubble, he’ll find his dignity. “Like. Seriously. I’m gonna blow a load in my pants— you can’t just… you can’t make sounds like that.”

You laugh, sharp and bright, your face flushing all over again. Eddie looks at you like you’re insane and groans, “Unbelievable. You’re laughing? At a time like this?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say, halfheartedly and amused.

“You moaned, babe. Into my mouth. Like we’re in some kind of fucked up romance novel.”

“I barely did.” You argue.

“I felt it vibrate in my soul.”

You drop your face into your hands, hiding your warm cheeks, ignoring your mind as it replays the scene over and over again, but Eddie’s already tugging your wrists down, grinning like a menace, one thumb brushing over your pulse as the other brushes your cheek. 

“Don’t hide,” he says, a little gentler this time, “It was hot. You’re hot. That’s the whole problem.”

You groan, rolling your eyes as Eddie grins. “I’m never kissing you again.”

Eddie flops beside you with a contented sigh, stretching out like a happy cat, folding one arm behind his head. “In your dreams, honeybee.” He grins, crossing one ankle over the other. 

“You’ve kissed me— thrice now. Nearly killed me with that last one, too, so,” he shrugs, “I know your secrets. I own your laugh. It’s mine.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him, fighting to keep your gaze from wandering back to his lips. “You don’t own anything.”

“Wrong,” Eddie loudly claims. He cracks a can of soda open, taking a sip before speaking, “I own your laugh. That snort? That’s legally binding.”

And for some reason, you decide not to fight him on that.

Eddie starts the van back up exactly fifteen minutes before midnight.

You both climb out, dusting off crumbs and straightening your clothes to at least try and look like you didn’t spend the last twenty minutes of the movie chasing each other's lips. You can barely pay any mind to the commotion of other cars around you as you waltz to the passenger side because you’re still buzzing with the feeling of Eddie’s body pressed to yours.

The drive is quiet, but much different than the last time you’d spent in the silence of his van. This time, there’s a content lull in the air. Your head leans against the window, your skin warm and flushed in the places his hands had been. Your lips still tingle. Eddie hums to an old cassette, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s trying to burn off the leftover energy. 

Familiar trees pass in a blur, softer this time, like the night has smudged a yellow glow over your eyes. You feel it in your chest. In the way your fingers twist in your lap, thrumming with a need to touch something. You don’t look at Eddie, too afraid of what you’ll do if you catch a glimpse of him.

The streetlight buzzes overhead when he stops below it, the same one he picked you up from. Somewhere in your purse, the crushed-up rose sits, folded up and full of the night. Later, you’ll pull it out and stare at it like it might summon the curly-headed boy into your room. You think you might already miss this night, as if you’re not still sitting in it. And that shakes something loose behind your ribs. Fear, hope, dread. It all mixes together and pumps through you like a drug.

Eddie drags in a dramatic breath, tapping the wheel a few times, “Five minutes to midnight, Cinderella.”

You glance at him, fingers curling around the strap of your purse. “So,” he hums, glancing away for a moment, “You gonna kiss me goodbye?”

You lift a brow, watching as pearly white canines peek out from Eddie’s smile. “Do you know how dramatic you are?”

Eddie scoffs, “Of course I do.”

“And you watch way too many romance films.”

Eddie presses a hand over his heart, “I’m a hopeless romantic. Sue me for having a hobby— you know what I’m not hearing though?”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you hum.

“I’m not hearing a no.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the door handle, your smile finally cracking when Eddie leans across the console and tugs at your arm. “C’mon, baby,” he purrs, “One for the road.”

You turn to him, looking at him draped over the console like some stupid, dramatic Renaissance painting. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes, and something soft and warm. His thumb drags over your elbow, gentle and kind.

You turn more to him, lean down, and kiss him. It’s light. Slow and sure, like something you’d tuck in your pocket and keep.

You pull away, your nose dusting over his, not quite fully pulling away just yet, when your eyes dance for a moment. Eddie’s lips twitch into a smirk, his voice gentle when he speaks, “Maybe you watch too many romance films.”

You roll your eyes, pulling back and turning to open the door.

“Same time tomorrow?” Eddie pathetically calls as you step down from his van.

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You shut the door before he can say anything else, but not quickly enough to hide the smile that lingers on your lips.

And you don’t look back, but you know Eddie doesn’t start the van back up until you disappear behind the next block.

Eddie weasels his way in like a professional con artist.

It’s not much different from before— Eddie was always somewhere lounging around your house from the beginning, but now, it’s different. Now, it’s loud. Big. Because now you know what his hands feel like on your skin. You know how he sounds when he’s breathless. You know his laugh, his smile, and the way he downs a can of soda like he’s just crawled out of the desert.

You know his favorite color is blood red. He likes sour candies even though they make his entire body shiver “like he’s dying”. He names inanimate objects and talks about them like they’re real people. He hates window shopping, but he doesn’t mind that you enjoy it.

You don’t know all of him, but the parts that you do? It feels like everything. And it suffocates your days like wet heat.

And it makes your insides churn whenever you see him, relaxed on your couch, bickering with Steve about something you don’t even care to listen to because you’re stuck thinking about how you were under him. Just two days ago.

You busy yourself, like before, only this time, it doesn’t work at all. The last time you tried to occupy yourself to forget about whatever is unfolding between you and Eddie, it at least worked until the silence crept in. But now, Eddie runs through your mind as if he were made to be there. And again, it doesn’t help that he’s constantly in front of you, cracking sly grins like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he can tell you’ve been pacing holes into the carpet of your room and clenching your thighs every time you get a whiff of him. 

It’s mental and physical torture. 

And now, you’re fidgeting in your room, listening to the low rumble of his voice through the walls like some yearning lunatic.

You shift against the cool comforter of your bed, tapping your fingers against your stomach as the fan whirs above you. You swallow and shift your gaze to the wall, attempting to fool yourself into believing you’re not phased by any of this. That you’re not listening to the music humming from Steve’s stereo, and remembering the way Eddie had played that same song and sang off-key to it, stealing kisses between each purposely cracked high note. You shouldn’t remember the way his tongue moved. You shouldn’t still feel it.

You rise from your bed with a huff, padding your way out and down the stairs, on a mission to grab a drink you don’t need. You open the fridge and stare at it for some time, letting the cool breeze drip over you like a breath of fresh air. 

You don’t hear his steps until he’s beside you, arm brushing against yours when he speaks, “You’re gonna get cold standing there like that.”

You don’t bother looking away from the fridge's contents when you respond, “I’m hot.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “You are.”

You grab a bottle of water and shut the fridge with a roll of your eyes, “Do you usually haunt every house in Hawkins, or is this just the lucky one?”

Eddie snorts, leaning against the counter as he grabs an orange from the bowl of fruits on the island. He shrugs, “I make my rounds. Got a thing for the houses with cute girls that walk around in tiny shorts.” His eyes glance down at your bare thighs. 

You ignore the warmth that spreads up your neck and don’t bother tugging down your shorts. You shift in your spot, tilting your head, “You sound like a creep, you realize that, right?”

Eddie grins, leaning into your space, orange forgotten on the counter, “Kiss me again. Before I forget what it feels like.”

You don’t bother moving away from his proximity. Or maybe you just don’t want to. Either way, you stay put, breathing in his air like it’s not fogging up the senses in your brain. “It’s not healthy to be this clingy.”

“God, tell me about it. I cry myself to sleep. Kiss me— give me somethin’ new to sob about tonight.”

You look at him, deadpanned, trying—and failing— to suppress that fond look spreading across your face. 

Upstairs, Steve calls out for Eddie and tells him to hurry the fuck up.

Eddie lifts a brow, tilting his head, “Time’s a tickin’, honeybee.”

So you kiss him. There, in the kitchen, with Steve just upstairs, not knowing that his best friend has his tongue shoved down your throat. And… you don’t care. At least not at the moment.

You let him kiss you breathless, one hand on your face, the other squeezing your hip, spilling a whispered moan on your lips like a prayer. 

He groans low in his throat, hand sliding down until his fingers dance across the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping beneath the thin cotton to brush at the bare skin of your hip. The counter digs into your spine, but you barely notice it. You’re too busy chasing the heat of his mouth, too dazed by the way he kisses you like he’s starving.

Your fingers thread into his hair, his tongue licking across the ridges of your teeth. One of your legs lifts, hooking around his hip like it’s instinct, and you swear he gasps into your mouth, like he wasn’t expecting that. 

“Jesus,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between each word like he can’t afford to spend a second without tasting you, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna—”

“EDDIE!” Steve yells again, angrier this time, “We’re fucking losing, man, hurry up!”

Eddie breaks the kiss with a groan, one last squeeze to your waist, “Shit,” he grumbles. One last kiss, and then he pulls away. He looks pained. A little guilty. Hair roused, cheeks flushed. “Gotta jet, sweetfang. Duty calls.”

“Sweetfa—?”

“Good stuff, by the way. Almost tops when you moaned my name.” He winks. You blink, dazed and confused, watching as he grabs the orange and backs away towards the stairs.

“I never moaned your name.” You argue. 

“Really?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with that usual glint that says he’s definitely being annoying on purpose, “Could’ve sworn you did.”

He disappears up the stairs with a grin and a bounce in his step, leaving you flushed and spinning in the middle of the kitchen.

You stay there a moment longer than necessary, still clutching the unopened bottle of water, still trying to catch your breath. The fridge hums behind you. The fan in the living room clicks softly. And Eddie’s voice echoes somewhere in your skull — really? Could’ve sworn you did.

He’s infuriating. He’s relentless. He’s everywhere.

And god help you, he’s starting to taste like a habit.

It festers slowly and thick at first.

One morning, you’re telling yourself that this is careless and you should stop whatever thing is going on between you and Eddie. Then, by the afternoon, you’re sitting on top of Steve’s car in the garage, eyeing Eddie as he lights a cigarette and says— “You ever think about how your left eye sparkles more than your right?”

And it’s so stupid. He’s stupid. And it makes you smile as you shove him away like you don’t want him to be closer, like he’s not already crawling under your skin and carving out a space between the grooves of your brain. 

And then it’s like a flicker in your periphery. Like a dream where you had been in one place and then you blinked and you’re suddenly in a completely different setting with entirely different people. 

Eddie finds his way to you like he’s a dog with a keen nose for your scent. He slips into your room like a man on a mission, spreads a palm over your mouth, and smiles when he feels your mistaken giggle against his skin, pressing you into your bed with hot, slow kisses that make your insides twist. He’s reckless and aware, always pulling away when the clock ticks, and he remembers where you are and whose house you’re in.

He takes you to the lake one night and drags you in despite your protests— and that little Eddie-shaped hole in your brain quivers to life when he grins at you, wet hair plastered across his cheeks, droplets of water melting beneath your lips when you kiss them away. 

He pulls you into his favorite record store— two towns over, an elderly man at the counter, and a thin fog of dust hanging between each shelf— and Eddie’s waltzing through like it’s his home. He shows you his favorite albums, which records he’s yet to put on his shelf, which ones he thinks you’d like, and he loops a finger through the belt loop of your shorts like touching you is second nature— and by then your body is fully tethered to the drug that goes by the name of Eddie Munson.

And when you think about it— when you really sit down and think about it— between Eddie’s loud way of attracting and your quiet way of obsessing, you never stood a chance.

“You nervous?”

Eddie’s fingertips are warm against the skin of your temple, gentle as they poke like he can pluck the thoughts straight from your mind and see them for himself.

His home is warm and humming with that summer afternoon daze that seeps through when you part the blinds to let the sun drip in like a hazy memory. You’re perched on his couch, legs tucked beneath your body, a cozy sweater loose around your arms.

Eddie’s beside you, dressed in sweats and a wrinkled shirt, curls pulled into an abomination of a bun. He’s got a record spinning— Black Sabbath: Master of Reality— which he claimed to be the best way to feel the high and be high. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but you don’t exactly know what he means a lot of the time because Eddie just kind of spits out the first things that come to his mind until they make a complete sentence. 

He pokes at you again, his other hand hovering over the coffee table, a blunt curled between his fingers, waiting to be sealed. You bat at him, pulling a face when he jabs a gentle finger at your lips. 

“No.”

“You totally are.” He grins, turning back to his task. You watch as he twists and turns the paper around crushed nuggets of weed, expertly moving around like it’s a mindless craft. He licks the edge, smoothing it beneath his thumb before grabbing the lighter and settling back into the couch.

He lifts the blunt, glancing at you with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, “This right here,” he broadly gestures to the room, the music, the muted TV flickering forgotten images, the glow of the setting sun, and you perched next to him, watching him like gospel, “This is God’s gift, baby.”

You raise a brow, and his grin widens, thumb flicking the lighter to life once.

“This,” he continues, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper, reverent and teasing, “is how we get closer to God.”

You snort, rolling your eyes when you respond, “You’re making it sound like a ritual.”

He sighs, satisfied in his dramatics as he wriggles against the couch and sticks the blunt between his lips, “It is,” he pauses, flickering the lighter once again, burning the end of the thick paper. He sucks it in like second nature, the burnt smell already dancing up your nose when he exhales, slow and dreamy, speaking through a cloud of smoke, “Holy communion, but with way better music.”

He offers it to you, holding it delicately between his fingers, the end burns soft and orange. You hesitate, just for a beat, eyeing it like it might bite you. His eyes are already on you, half-lidded and slow and warm.

“You don’t have to,” he softly reminds you. “I can snuff it out. We can get high on sugar, and you can kiss me until my head blows… Both heads.”

You grimace, taking the blunt, knuckles brushing against his, and he doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

“You’re gross.” You mumble, ignoring Eddie’s snickers as you bring the blunt to your lips. You take your time to inhale, let it drip down the sides of your body, and lick the sticky spots of your brain. You cough, once, then twice, and Eddie’s chuckling before you say anything.

“Oh yeah,” he grins, watching as you cough a few more times, “That’s the good shit. Your soul’s already half-floatin' outta your body.”

You glare, but it’s weak. Your lungs sting a bit, and your chest feels a tinge warmer than before. “Again,” he encourages, “Let it sit, get your brain fuzzy.”

So you do. You trust him with it. 

You take another hit, eyes dancing with his as you drag it slowly, holding it in longer. It burns sweet and low and slips down your throat like a secret. Somewhere beneath the layers of your skin, the pink hollows out to a nice, warm buzz. 

Eddie watches as the cloud of smoke drifts from your mouth, slipping his knuckles next to yours when you hand him the blunt, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ hot. You’re a goddamn pro. Lay it on me, baby.”

You don’t think twice, leaning forward and meeting him halfway into a kiss. It’s short and sweet, like it’s muscle memory now, and you both just want it like a deep breath. 

Eddie kisses you again, deeper this time, slow and sultry, until he’s forced to pull away from the burn in his lungs. He blinks, low and lazy, a loose grin on his lips when he looks at you.

“How’s your brain?”

You smile, leaning back into the couch, closer to him, goosebumps rising over your knee when he touches it. “Fuzzy. Like I’m… dreaming but awake.”

He smiles something devious, twisting the blunt between his knuckles as he lifts it back to his mouth, “That’s good weed. That’s Master of Reality weed. Straight from the stars.”

You snort, leaning back further as the music hums around you, thick and dark, like the room itself is humming in tune. You pass the blunt a few more times, careful not to inhale too deeply. You’re already floating. You feel it in your spine, in the heavy, molten drag of your limbs.

You wave your hand in surrender on the fifth offer, melting down into his couch as you groan, “No more. I’ll become smoke myself if I take any more.” 

Eddie smokes it down to an inch, rambling on about this and that and getting distracted when his favorite verse from “Lord of This World” plays from the stereo. 

“Oh— oh, shh. This part is—this part is holy.”

He closes his eyes, socked feet planted in the carpet, knees spread as he drops his head back, throat bared and soft like he’s in the middle of a sermon, and air-guitars the bassline with a reverence that borders on offensive. You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, and he throws his head around, curls bouncing with every exaggerated nod. 

He opens one eye and peeks at you, throwing one thumb your way when he speaks, “That’s gonna be me in hell, by the way.”

You huff a laugh, and he grins, “Like, you think it’s gonna be flames and pitchforks, but no— I’m just down there rockin’ out with Satan, doing solos while he adjusts the EQ.”

You finally lose it. You wheeze out a laugh so hard your body curls and your head hits the pillow in your lap, uncontrollable giggles slipping from your lips. The weed makes the room feel light, more vivid, more real, and less timed.

“You think I’d look good in little red horns?” Eddie asks. He gazes off in front of him, squinting to find the picture. “I feel like I could make it work. Add some flair. Punk rock prince of darkness.”

You lift your head, gasping around a fit of laughter, “You sound ridiculous.”

Eddie scoffs, “Get real, babe,” he starts, “You meet me in a club and I’ve got tiny horns and glitter eyeliner? I’m like a haunted cupid— don’t act like you wouldn’t make a mistake.”

You’re nearly crying at the image, Eddie joining in on the laughter until you’re left breathless and aching, your legs draped over his, leaning into his shoulder like it’s natural for you.

Eddie’s tracing lazy patterns on your knee by the time the record shifts into the next song, slower and thick with a steady bass, layered with occasional drops of naked strings and a haunting flute. 

You’re reminded then, with Eddie’s warmth sticking to you and his scent filling your lungs, that this—whatever this is—is getting harder and harder to dance around. You’re reminded that it’s getting difficult to keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.

Eddie’s hand drifts toward yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. “Tell me something real.”

You blink. Then hum, soft and sticky, “Like what?”

Eddie shrugs, his chest rumbles beneath your cheek when he speaks, “I dunno,” he lifts your pointer finger and drops it, playful, accepting when you curl it around his thumb, cool silver kissing your skin. “First thing that comes to mind.”

You hum again, watching as your fingers dance. Your heart races. You shove away the voice of reason in your head, hesitating momentarily before you reply, “I wanted to hold your hand at that stupid bonfire.”

Eddie huffs a sharp laugh, “I fuckin’ knew it.”

You groan with a roll of your eyes, shifting to move away, only to be caught by his hold. He kisses you. Cups your face and hums like you’re a sweet drink.

“I did too,” he says, as if you didn’t already know. “But I thought I’d get punched.”

You snort, not bothering to deny yourself another kiss before you mumble, “You would’ve.”

He smiles, his mouth still pressed against yours, his fingers spreading and wandering over your thighs, waist, dipping beneath your sweater. You get tangled, shifting over him until your knees are pressed into the couch on either side of him, and he’s letting out a low groan in the back of his throat, fingers squeezing at your lower back like he needs to remind himself where he is in the space of reality. 

You don’t know how you stray down the path; things move slowly and fast simultaneously, and his touch is warm and greedy. Rough hands anywhere he can freely reach, lips losing composure against yours before they drag over your jaw and down your neck.

You gasp a wet breath, every pass of his mouth over your skin sends shivers ricocheting down your spine. You tilt your head, hungry for more, chasing the sensation.

Eddie groans, nuzzles against you, and drags in a breath like you can cure him from the inside out. He mumbles something— your name or maybe a curse— and lets his hands drag up against your bare sides and back down to the base of your spine. He pulls you close, moaning when you shift over him, nipping at the skin of your neck when your breath hitches. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna explode.”

You smile, sinking a hand into his hair, gently directing his mouth back to yours. You shift against him again, tasting his moan just as you’d planned, drinking it down like wine. He kisses you breathless, open-mouthed and slow, dragging his tongue through your mouth until you’re gasping. It’s easy to drown in him. Easy not to think.

He shifts, holds you against him, and places you beneath him on the couch, holding himself up with a hand beside your head. You follow each of his kisses, chasing him when he threatens to wander, fingers curled against his shirt. 

His kisses are sloppy and greedy, trailing down your jaw and neck, hands pushing up your sweater to mouth at your tummy as he slinks his way down your body. His hair is messy, barely held with a hair tie, spilling around his face in soft, dark waves. It’s soft beneath your fingertips as you glance down at him, goosebumps rising over your skin when he kisses just below your navel. 

You want to look away, the heat crawling up your neck wants you to look away— laugh it off, pretend it’s not serious. But you can’t. You’re caught in it. In him.

Your mind is floaty and warm, neurons misfiring when his rough hands drag over your bare hips, knuckles leaving sparks behind when they curl over the waistband of your shorts to pull them down your thighs.

They’re dropped somewhere off to the side, useless and out of mind, when he smears his lips over the inside of your knee. 

He spreads you out, gazing over your clothed core like it holds the answers to life, death, and everything in between.

You’ve never been looked at like this. 

Not like you’re just pretty—not like you’re some girl a guy wants to mess around with and forget about. No, Eddie looks at you like you’re his first and last sin, like he’s been wandering through the world with a hunger and only just now figured out what it was for.

And it’s you. You, spread out on his couch, still flushed and buzzing from the slow burn of weed, and his fingers tracing over your thighs like a prelude. You, half naked in panties and a sweater, and nervous beneath the low lamp glow of his bedroom, heart thrumming so hard it makes your breath catch.

His gaze flickers up to yours, brown eyes gleaming with something soft and lustful. He kisses somewhere on your inner thigh, fingers giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“You okay?” He asks, voice lower now. Gravely, quieter. Like it’d be a sin to break the hush of the room.

You nod too fast, then slow yourself. “Yeah…” You breathe. Your fingers curl against the couch, elbows digging into the velvet material. “Just… you're looking at me like that.”

His lips twitch into a grin, eyes dropping to your stomach where his hand splays out, anchoring you to the moment. “Can’t help it,” he says, “You’re looking at me like no one’s ever touched you before.”

“Because no one has.”

You don’t realize what you’ve said until the words are already out, barely louder than the low hum of Sabbath still playing in the background. 

It’s not like you weren’t planning to tell him. Honestly, you were sure it'd never even get this far. And you’re not ashamed about it. Especially not when all Eddie does is pause, eyes flickering between yours, like he’s tasting the truth of your words. 

And then he softens. 

His lips curl against your knee, a hand dragging over your other thigh as he murmurs, “Thanks for telling me, honeybee.”

It’s the name— the way it drips from his mouth with a different thickness than all those other times he calls you that— it tugs something loose in your chest.

He drags a finger over your cotton-covered center, just one, barely even applying pressure over the softest part of you. You clench around nothing, throbbing like a heartbeat. And Eddie feels it beneath his thumb.

“Already?” He murmurs, amused, voice a little wicked, a little worshipful. You let out something like a strangled whine hidden in a shaky breath. “That’s cute.”

You shift, lips parted like you want to say something but can’t quite find the words. Eddie leans down and noses at the seam of your thigh, letting his curls tickle your skin.

“Open up for me, baby.”

And you do. Just like that. Without hesitation. Like your brains completely gone and all that’s left thinking for you is your pussy.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and drags them down slowly, like unwrapping a gift. They join your shorts in a forgotten land somewhere.

Eddie settles between your thighs with a look of wonder. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You’re squirming now. Cheeks burning, legs wanting to close like you can hide your arousal as if it’s not dripping onto his couch, but he holds your thighs open with steady hands. 

“Nuh-uh,” he gently says, “C’mon, let me look at you. You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Eddie doesn’t look the least bit ashamed of how he’s ogling you. In fact, he seems quite pleased with himself when he dusts a thumb over your clit just to make you clench again, like he wanted to see it for himself this time. 

He slides a finger down your pussy, all the way down to the stream of wet, sticky arousal leaking from you. He drags it back up to your clit and introduces a second finger to part your folds, exposing you for all your worth. You squirm, heart racing, something devious and hot settling in your gut. 

He hums, hooking a hand around your thigh and pressing a kiss to the inside of it. His lips trail wet kisses along the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed and unhurried. Your breath snags when he lingers, a thumb caressing your hip, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. He looks like he’s waiting for something— permission maybe. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

You tilt your hips in invitation.

Eddie moves like a man on a mission.

His mouth brushes over you so gently at first, more thought than touch. His breath is warm against you, cooling the heat of your cunt like ice on hot skin. You gasp, your hips twitching, and he pulls back slightly, murmuring something you can’t quite catch— something that sounds like so sensitive, laced with laughter and awe. He kisses you, lips pursed over your clit like something holy.

Then his tongue moves— slow, deliberate. Laving through your folds, dipping lower to catch the wetness dripping from your hole, tasting it—tasting you. You can feel him learning you. Not fumbling or nervous, but curious— measured. Every flick, every kiss, every drag of his mouth is purposeful, like he’s sorting the puzzle pieces out before placing them down, twisting them this way and that to figure out what makes your legs shake.

And it’s new. So new. You’ve touched yourself before, obviously. But this— Eddie— his tongue, his mouth, his hands? It’s something else entirely. It’s like being rewritten.

“God, you’re sweet,” he groans, voice low and rough against your skin. One hand is firm on your thigh, holding you open, his thumb tracing over the quiver in your muscle. The other drags slowly up your belly, fingers spreading wide, feeling your breath stutter under your palm. A needy breath slips from your lips. You can no longer hold yourself up, the back of your head hitting the couch with a soft thud when your eyes flutter shut, a shaky hand finding his on your tummy, fingers lacing together.

His lips close around your clit, suckling soft and pointed with intention. You moan— unfiltered and raw— and that’s all he needs.

Eddie doubles down, patience out the window, full throttle greed and lust— firm, hungry, focused. The kind of pressure that makes your hips lift, your fingers tight around his, a litany of oh fuck ohfuckohfuck spinning through your mind so fast it barely registers. 

You feel full of sensation. The heat curls in you tighter and tighter, unbearable, blinding— and he won’t stop humming and moaning like every drop of you fills him with pleasure too— it makes your toes curl and the coil in your belly tenses.

“C’mon, let go for me,” he mumbles, lips dragging against your center. He licks your clit, suckles, hums. “Don’t hold back on me, baby, just— fuck, give it to me.”

Your eyes fly open. You don’t even remember them squeezing shut. He looks up at you from between your thighs like he’s found religion. Like you’re god and he’s your loyal disciple. And the way you’re unraveling, crying out, legs trembling, stomach contracting under his hand, you think maybe you have to.

Another pass of his tongue, another suck at your clit, and you’re done. You come with a sharp, choked sound, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure bursts white-hot behind your eyes.

And he doesn’t stop. He keeps drinking you in, licking and nuzzling into your wet heat like a man starved. He doesn’t even seem like he has intentions to ever stop— not until your hips twitch away from overstimulation, not until you’re whining out his name in a voice you’ve never heard yourself use before.

He parts from you with a gasp, wet sticky strings of arousal bowing and snapping against his lips. He drags his mouth over the inside of your thigh, sticky pleasure smearing over your skin. His lips are pink and shiny, his grin wicked and proud. He looks wrecked. Happy.

He kisses the fold between your core and your thigh. Mouths his way up over your hip, breathes you in like a drug. “Shit, honeybee,” he pants, nips at your rising tummy before he crawls up your body. “Best meal to date.”

You blink at him, dazed.

He taps your hip when you squirm. You mirror the lazy smile on his face. “Twenty out of ten,” he adds, smug. “Can’t wait for the next visit.”

You laugh, breathless, shy, and boneless. You can’t even be embarrassed.

Eddie kisses you with raw need, humming as he presses his body over you. “I saw heaven. She had your mouth. And your thighs.”

You huff out a laugh, lazy and spent, “You’re gross.”

Eddie doesn’t disagree.

Somewhere between the start of the night and 4 AM, you realize you have to go home.

It’s with a dramatic groan from Eddie and the shameful event of grabbing your panties off his floor that you finally find enough life in your limbs to shove your feet into your shoes and make him grab his keys. 

Eddie’s got a shit eating grin on his face the entire drive to your place. He’s humming to the radio like a drunk idiot, drumming made-up rhythms against the skin of your thigh and acting like he can’t tell how often you’re shifting in your seat like you’re sitting on hot rocks. The hot rocks being the constant flicker of mental images of Eddie between your thighs.

You don’t want to leave.

You decided to admit that when he turns the corner onto your street. You wanted to stay there, in the Munson trailer, curled against Eddie and feeling weightless.

But you know you have to. It’s late, and the world is waking up soon, and you’re supposed to be in your room by the time your father passes by your room to say goodbye for the day.

Eddie pulls up just far enough down the street to avoid the headlights hitting your windows. He puts the van in park but doesn’t let go of your hand. When did you even start holding hands?

“Same time tomorrow?”

You glare at him, fingers twisting between his. “That gonna be your signature line all summer?”

Eddie grins, “You love it. Gets you giddy and smiley inside.”

You roll your eyes, failing to suppress the smile on your lips. You lean over to kiss him, just once, quick, before he can make another dumb joke, and you can think too hard about what it means now that you’ve started to kiss him goodbye.

He kisses you back like he means it. Like he always does.

“Go,” he whispers against your lips, one thumb nudging your chin, “Before I change my mind and lock the doors.”

One last kiss through a smile, and you hop out. 

You walk the short distance, same as always, cringing at the soft creak of the front door when you open it. The house is still asleep. The faint hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock. You move up the stairs like a ghost, slow and careful.

You pass Steve’s room, but the echoes of hesitation are nearly gone this time. You’re too happy to stress over the implications. And not at this hour. Not after the night you’ve had.

But then— “…Where the fuck have you been?”

Steve is standing in the bathroom doorway, looking like he’s just stumbled out of a bar fight. His shirt is all twisted, his hair is mussed, and you think you see a bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re quick— too quick, maybe, “I was with Mia.”

He stares, eyes squinted in that sleepy glare people get when they barely notice they exist. His jaw ticks once, he blinks, and he nods like he’s decided he’s not awake enough to interrogate that.

You nod, let the tension slide just a little before you move on. 

You make it two steps past him— “Since when do you smoke weed?”

You stop. A ghost of Eddie’s fingers pressed against your sides ripples across your skin. “Huh?”

“…You reek.”

You blink and debate whether or not to respond. You glance at Steve, consider the fact that he’s barely standing straight, and then you realize— he probably won’t know if this was real or a dream by the time he wakes up again.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you shut your bedroom door. You press your back against it, hold your breath, listen for footsteps. Nothing.

Just the hum of your fan, the buzz of leftover weed, the phantom feeling of Eddie all around you, and the one thought left spinning in your head—

You can’t wait to see him again.

There's nobody in the future

So baby let me hand you my love

Oh, there's no step for you to dance to

So slip your hand inside of my glove

- hold me x fleetwood mac

part four.

cutie lil taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson @mrsjellymunson

————

a/n: WOWOWOW GUYS IM SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG CHAPPY OMG!!! i also formerly apologize for how LONG this took me to put out, but i hope i did it justice and you'll forgive me hehe

anyway, as always, thank you for riding along, i hope ur enjoying their gross lovesick era, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

[russianblush]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

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summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[andvys]

Secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought)E.M.

⭐︎ Warnings: 18+, mdni! idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers, smut smut smut, lots of pining, mentions of unrequited feelings (they're not), slight angst, unprotected sex, breeding kink? kinda. alcohol and weed consumption. high sex?

⭐︎ Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

⭐︎ Word count: 20.4k

⭐︎ Summary: A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever.

⭐︎ Author's note: I've been meaning to write a best friends to lovers with Eddie for a while now (especially after writing ikyllatk, if you know you know. this is Cheer and Eddie to me in a different universe hehe). @hellfire--cult and I went feral over this idea and we've been talking about this since foreverrrrr and here we are finally! thank you for inspiring me, love ♡

⭐︎ the library

divider made by @cafekitsune

The sun is beating down on your skin, kissing it with warmth as the cold water from the lake is still clinging to your body, making goosebumps appear as you shiver the slightest bit. Your eyes are closed, a content smile rests on your face, despite the way your blue lips tremble. Birds are chirping all around you, the trees rustle whenever the wind blows, the water splashes when your best friend makes his way out of the lake, cursing a few times when he steps over the sharp rocks on the ground. 

You don’t open your eyes just yet but you listen to him moving closer and closer to where you’re laying on the pink towel you threw on the grass earlier. You don’t have to take a look to know that he is staring at you, he always is. Like a weight on your body, his stare always feels like a warm blanket, heating up your insides and making you feel something you shouldn’t.

Eddie’s eyes are roaming your body, your glistening bare skin, the skimpy bikini bottoms that are only held together by the strings on the sides, the little bow coming undone slowly. He kneels down before you, making a gasp fall from your lips when the water from his hair drips on your belly and his cold hands touch your hip, fingers reaching for the strings so he can fix the little bow. 

You open your eyes to find him looking down with a smug smile as he plays with the strings on your bottoms, re-tying it for you. Your breath hitches in your throat from the touch of his hand and the closeness of him, if you were to sit up, your noses would bump together but you stay in place, only pushing yourself up on your elbows. 

“I’m sorry, sweets,” he chuckles softly, taking his sweet time as his fingertips graze your bare hip, “didn’t mean to get you wet,” he smirks, a look of mischief flashes in his eyes as water continues to drip from his body onto yours. 

“Are you sure?” You challenge him the way you always do, blinking at him innocently as you bring your knees up higher and bite your lip, making him gulp and blush instantly. 

You always know how to break him. 

Eddie is oh so confident and flirty, throwing looks and comments your way that are a little too suggestive for someone who is considered a best friend, but the moment you join in on his game, even if only subtly, he turns into a blushing mess, no longer the confident, cocky guy he wishes to be. 

But even when he turns into this, blushing and nervous, you can still feel that one certain energy radiating off him and it makes you squirm, it fills you with curiosity and the urge to cross that invisible line, your deepest desires, the ones that are locked away begging to be released. You never let them, you never even looked or paid attention to what you really wanted or craved. You played his game, you flirted back, you teased him but you never admitted to yourself that there was… something. 

“Hm, no,” Eddie murmurs, suggestively. He ties the knot, strongly and then, he hooks his finger around the strap, he pulls it back and lets it snap against your skin, making you jolt in your place, a tiny gasp falling from your lips once more as a bigger smirk appears on his face. His eyes roam your body, he takes you in fully before he leans back and plops down on his own towel, laying down, he places his arm behind his head, closing his eyes to the sun, he lets out a sigh of contentment, acting as though he didn’t just touch you the way best friends normally don’t do. Asshole. 

“This is nice, I’m glad we came out here.” 

You hum in agreement, taking advantage of the fact that his eyes are closed, you allow yourself to take a closer, better look at the man who had become your best and closest friend. He is attractive, very handsome, you aren’t blind, you never have been but he is your friend, you never allowed yourself to look at him a certain way but lately it’s become harder to stay so… blind, to not let his lingering touches make you weak in the knees, to not let his comments fill you with giddiness, to not feel something when he holds you in his arms, when he plays with your hair or places his hand on your thigh when you’re in his passenger seat. 

You don’t know where this sudden change has come from, it’s always been that way with him, from the very beginning, he’s been touchy and affectionate with you but it didn’t always make you so excited, it’s been a recent development, something that Nancy and Robin teased you about, they saw your reactions whenever he kissed your cheek and called you pet names, whenever he walked into a room only smiling the moment his eyes would meet yours. 

You never noticed it before, the feelings he left you with after all his sweet gestures and touches, only when your friends had brought it up to you, leaving you a blushing and a confused mess, did you start to open your eyes… a little, and suddenly things started to change, your reactions to his comments, no matter if they are flirty or sweet, your reactions to his lingering touches, the way his fingers would play with yours, the way they would drum against your skin, so very close to the hem of your skirt or your shirt, the way he would tuck your hair behind your ear or wipe the foam off your upper lip after taking the first sip of your morning latte before taking his thumb into his mouth and licking it off, moaning while doing so – what was normal before, suddenly wasn’t anymore, everything he did, everything he does now drives you crazy and leaves you yearning for more but you never dared to be the one to take another step forward, to cross that daring line, to make the first real move. 

He is still Eddie, your best friend, your soulmate, the person you don’t want to lose, especially over something like this, over reading into something that might not be there, over losing control of your own feelings. After all, this could all just be a part of… him. Maybe it’s just who he is, affectionate, teasing, flirty, daring. Maybe he is like that with everybody, not just you. 

But maybe not, maybe you are the only one and maybe, just maybe he is waiting for you to be the one to make another move, to take another step, maybe he has been waiting, maybe he has been waiting for a while now. 

You bite your lips so hard, you almost rip the skin open, your eyes are glued to his form, to the way his chest rises up and down, his wet hair a mess around him, lashes fluttering as his eyes are squeezed shut, your fingers itch to touch the ink on his pale skin, you lick your lips as your eyes follow his happy trail, mouth watering at the way his swim trunks are so low on his hips, his bulge so… god, you need to stop – but how can you? Your best friend is just so pretty. And his hands are so big, fingers so long and you have felt them on your skin before but you would be a goddamn liar if you said you didn’t think about them in other places. 

Your cheeks heat up at your own thoughts, though it doesn’t stop you from daydreaming some more and the longer you do, the more you start to lose yourself in them, wondering about all the different what if’s, wondering what would happen if you just made the move your friends have begged you to make, to be more daring, to be more teasing, to break him enough for him to do something you both clearly want. 

A bravery you don’t usually have, surges through your body, taking over completely. The urge to tease him back the way he teases you is so strong, so before you chicken out, before you think too much and too long, you reach behind you, undoing the bow he tied on your bikini top, you turn away from him and take the skimpy black thing off, throwing it down next to you, the cool breeze kisses your skin and if Eddie opened his eyes right now, he’d be met with the sight of your bare chest. 

You press your lips together and turn around, flipping your hair over your shoulder, you lay down on your stomach, stretching your arms out and letting out a sigh of contentment. You turn your head into his direction but close your eyes, even though you’re dying to see his reaction to you being topless but you are trying to play it cool, like it’s nothing. 

Eddie peeks one eye open after listening to all your movement and he almost chokes on his spit when he does, jaw falling slack, both eyes shoot open as he takes in the sight of you, of the skin that wasn’t bare only seconds ago – how, when, what?

He blinks, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted as he is gawking at you, at the way your boobs are pressed against the towel beneath you, at the softness of your skin, at the single drops of water still clinging to your body that he wants to touch oh so badly, your hair looks so shiny and soft, your face so content as you lay half naked next to him. 

Eddie’s cheeks heat up when he realizes that he would have seen you bare if only he opened his eyes a few seconds sooner. He licks his lips, nearly drooling over the sight of you. Suddenly, his trunks feel tighter than before when his mind takes him to places he only reserves for late nights when he is all alone and not afraid to risk to pop a boner. 

He tries to look away, he really does but he can’t, not when you look this hot. He allows his eyes to roam again and it only makes his case worse, his breathing quickens, his skin heats up, his hands itch to touch your soft skin, his lips long to trail kisses down your body, to have a little taste of you. 

If you were his, he would, he would start on your neck and he would kiss down to your shoulder and then your back, and he’d take it lower and lower until his lips would reach those skimpy panties, he’d take them off and taste you the way he always dreamed of, he’d lick a stripe up your pussy, suck on your clit, eat you out like the starved man that he is and he would get lost in your moans and your whines, in the pleasure that only he could make you feel. 

Eddie clears his throat, he nearly curses when he feels his dick twitching in need of you. He clenches his jaw, even more so when he sees your lips twitching into a smirk. Oh… Oh. 

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, his breath halting for a moment when he realizes what you did, you did this on purpose, you aimed to tease him. 

It’s not exactly something new, you being a tease but you have never taken things this far, you have never stepped up to his level. 

But now that you did… he can take things further as well, right?

If you decide to tease him like this, then he will tease right back. 

He pushes himself up, adjusting his trunks, he nearly lets out a groan when you wiggle your butt a little, pretending to get more comfortable. 

He bites his lip as he looks around in search for the sunscreen you have brought with you, he finds the bottle peeking out of your bag. He presses his palm on the grass beneath him, leaning over your body to reach for the yellow bottle. 

“What’re you doing, Eds?” You murmur, rather seductively

A smirk tugs at Eddie’s lips, the tone in your voice tells him that you believe you are in charge here and… maybe you are, right now, but he won’t let you win so easily. 

He chuckles lowly when a gasp tears from your pretty lips after he squirts the cold cream on your back. 

“Don’t want you to get burned, sweetheart,” he whispers, closing the cap of the bottle, he throws it on the ground before he lays his palms flat against your hot skin, spreading the white cream all over your back. 

You grow flustered and you start blushing, your breathing gets heavier and you visibly gulp when he starts massaging the sunscreen into your skin. You suck in a sharp breath when his hands move up to your shoulders, gripping you there for a moment before he moves back down, the coldness of his rings making you shudder a little. 

Eddie can’t even hide the smug look on his face after feeling your reaction, pride swelling in his chest when you sigh so beautifully because of his touch. 

You easily get lost in this, eyelashes fluttering, soft breaths and sighs falling from your lips as his strong hands move up and down your skin, touching you in ways that make you squirm beneath him. 

“Feels good,” you whisper as you arch your back a little, not knowing that just a small movement like this is enough to drive him insane, once again. 

“Fuck,” he curses softly under his breath, he swallows harshly. 

“What was that?” You ask, not hiding the smugness in your voice, very well. 

“Nothing,” he lies, “nothing, sweets.” 

“You sure?” 

He hums, shaking his head at your teasing, at the way you think that you will win the game that he started. 

Eddie moves his hands down to your sides, making sure to get the cream everywhere, so you won’t get burned, of course. His fingers dip dangerously low to the side of your boobs, and while it was only meant to tease you, to get a reaction out of you, he realizes that it was a mistake, only a little too late – it only makes his case worse when he feels just how soft and smooth your skin is that is usually hidden under all your clothes, when he feels himself craving to touch a little lower, to feel more of you, to make you feel–

“Mmmh.” 

Eddie freezes, hands halting at your sides, his big brown eyes widen and his lips part once again, he stares at the back of your head, stunned. 

You moaned at his touch, whimpered even, making those butterflies in his stomach feel stronger than ever. 

“Why’d you stop?” You mumble, wiggling your butt as though to tell him to keep going. 

Do you even know the power you hold over him? 

Do you even understand what you do to him? 

Eddie bites his lip, he bites hard, hard enough to taste iron. He sucks in a sharp breath, biting back the growl that threatens to fall from his mouth when he adjusts behind you, the rough material of his swim trunks rubbing against his dick. He is fucking rock hard and if you only turned around to take a look at him, you would see it. 

“I’m sorry, got a little distracted,” he says lowly, voice getting a little shaky. 

He feels so hot, and it’s not the sun that is making him sweat, it’s all you. 

He can see the way your lip twitches, the way your dimple shows when you smirk at his words. 

“Oh? By what, the birds?” You giggle. 

He chuckles, shaking his head at your question even though your eyes are still closed. He takes a moment to look at your surroundings, at the beautiful scenery, the trees and the big lake in front of Steve’s cabin – well, his parents cabin. 

God, he wonders where this weekend will take him, you and him. 

A weekend you were both supposed to spend with your friends, turned into this. Just you and him, and no one else. 

It’s only day one, and you are already close to making him cum in his swim trunks, like some pathetic teenage boy who couldn’t handle his crush’s teasing or touching. 

This will either be the best weekend of his life, or this might kill him – if you are only teasing, then this will surely kill him but if you are not, then he owes your friends a lot, for pretending to be sick or busy. He knows that they were lying when Robin fake coughed on the phone after telling him that she couldn’t make it, that she and Steve couldn’t make it, cause he got sick too… apparently. 

And Nancy forgot that she promised to help her mom with something, and if Nancy couldn’t come, then Jonathan couldn’t either of course – which led to Argyle staying back as well, cause where would he ever go without his best buddy? 

Eddie looks back down at you, at his best friend, who is laying half naked before him so comfortably, teasing him so freely. Another sigh escapes your lips and you squirm beneath him once again. 

Yeah, no matter how this will end, you will be the death of him. 

“Yeah, the birds,” he mumbles, snorting at his own words. 

He leans down closer to you, squeezing your sides which makes you jolt a little, a giggle falling from your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, eyes lighting up at the sweet sound, “I forgot how ticklish you are,” he teases, as if. 

“Mhmm sure you did, Eddie.” 

With a mischievous smile, he decides to take his teasing further, playfully digging his fingers into your waist, he begins to tickle you, making you yelp and jolt in surprise as you start squirming beneath his touch, giggles now falling freely from your mouth as his name rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, awakening those butterflies in his stomach. God, he wishes he could make you call out his name in different ways. 

You jump up, with your arms covering your front, one hand pressing against your boobs, hiding only just a little as you turn to face your best friend. You watch the way his eyes widen as they instantly fall to your chest, lust flashing in them, jaw dropping as his cheeks redden right this second, his expression makes you giggle even harder, even more so when you push him back and he falls onto the grass, flat on his butt, wet curls hanging in front of his hair. 

Eddie is so stunned by you, he can barely move as he stares at you, at your half naked form. God, you are so beautiful it hurts. 

The afternoon sun begins to turn golden, kissing your glowy skin and all your curves, your hair cascades down your shoulders, your hand that barely hides anything pressing against your boobs, he wishes it was his own. Licking his lips, he pushes himself up on his elbows, letting his eyes roam your body, shamelessly, dreaming about the way he would love to get between those delicious looking thighs of yours, the way he’d kiss every inch of your body, leaving no trace unmarked, the way he would nuzzle his nose into your neck and inhale your sweet scent, not playfully the way he usually does, but with a trail of kisses that he would leave behind. 

He would worship you in ways he can’t even begin to describe. Oh, how often Eddie finds himself up at night, working on yet another song about you, thinking of words that haven’t been created yet, strong enough to describe you. 

He feels uncomfortable in his swim trunks that are getting a little too tight, his skin feels on fire, not from the sun but from you. He lusts after you, yes, but there is also more than that, so much more. It isn’t just the lust that makes these feelings so intense, it’s all his deepest feelings for you, feelings that only his notebook filled with song texts know about… and maybe your friends, who aren’t as oblivious as you are. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, and you should too,” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. 

Eddie clears his throat, watching you get up, not bothering to pick up your top or your dress that you wore earlier, you simply keep your chest hidden by your right arm. 

“You’re helping me cook dinner,” you give him a pointed look before you turn around and begin to walk back to the house. 

Eddie smiles cheekily as he pushes himself up further, eyes glued to your butt now. 

“Are you telling me to get into the shower with you?” He calls after you, unaware of the butterflies that he caused in your stomach now. 

You don’t turn around, you keep walking, hiding the flustered expression on your face from him. You flip him off without looking back, biting back your smile when he laughs loudly. 

Eddie watches, craning his neck to see more of you, the way your butt jiggles as you skip up the stairs. He bites his lip, groaning at the sight of it. 

“Goddamn.” 

You will be the death of him.

-

It’s dark outside by the time Eddie comes out of the steamy bathroom, the cabin is mostly dark too, candles illuminate the living room and the sound of music fills the space. A smile lingers on his face as he makes his way down the hallway, his wet curls bouncing with each step that he takes, he throws on a clean shirt, his gray sweatpants hang low on his hips. 

A groan almost falls from his lips when he walks into the kitchen to you standing there in nothing but one of his shirts, now that sight is nothing new to him but it never fails to take his breath away, though usually you have on more than just the shirt. Your bare legs are glowy beneath the dim lights, from hours in the sun and that delicious smelling cream you always put on your skin after showering, you sway your hips to the music, shirt riding up in the process. Eddie can’t help but wonder if you are wearing any panties at all beneath his shirt. Fuck. He shouldn’t let his mind go there, you have done enough teasing for the day, he almost jerked off in the shower and maybe he should have, maybe that would have released some of the tension in him but he wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet, he never is. 

God, this really will be a long weekend filled with torture and teasing. He knows he should probably stop playing this dangerous game but he just can’t help but play into it. 

He slowly makes his way to you, you’re humming to the music, knife held in your hand as you cut up vegetables, an opened bottle of beer on the counter before you, your damp hair is braided loosely, falling down your back. He can smell your body wash from here, the sweetness of it – of you is so intoxicating to him, he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around your waist, pull you into him and bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhale your scent and kissing your soft skin, he craves it so very badly, even more so, he craves for it to be something normal. 

Eddie wants you to be more than just his best friend. 

Everybody knows it, everybody but you. 

And maybe it’s better this way, maybe he would lose you if you did find out. 

You might be a tease, you might let him touch you in ways no one else is allowed to, you might give him hope sometimes, the hope that you could feel more than just something platonic for him but at the end of the day you are still best friends and he can’t lose that, especially not because he can’t control his feelings. 

Because what happens when you do find out and you don’t feel the same? 

What happens then? 

What happens if it drives you away? 

What happens if he loses you? 

And he can’t allow that to happen, he can’t lose you, not you, anyone but you. 

Eddie knows he should do himself a favor and stop being so touchy and affectionate with you, it does him no good, if anything, it makes him want you even more but he can’t help it, he has to take what he can get… right? 

He comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist, he breathes in your sweetness, chuckling when you tense up for a second before a cute giggle falls from your lips. 

“You scared me,” you whisper, tilting your head back, you look up at him as you ease into his touch. 

“Sorry sweets, didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, teasing you with that pretty smile of his as he snatches a piece of the cucumber you’ve been cutting and bites into it, winking at you as he steps away again and takes a look into the large pot on the stove. 

“Pasta?”

“Pasta Arrabiata,” you say, imitating the Italian accent that Steve always makes whenever he is cooking. 

Eddie chuckles, “wow that was horrible.” 

“Shut up,” you giggle, scrunching your nose at him. 

If you knew how his heart flutters at your laughter and at your cute nose scrunches. 

“Since when do we put cucumber in pasta?”

The disgusted look on your face makes him laugh again, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you up and down. 

“I’m also making a salad, it’s for you, you need to eat more veggies.”

His lips curl into yet another smile, warmth blooms in his chest. 

You take care of him, you always do. From making sure that he eats enough when he gets a little too lost in writing songs or working on campaigns to making sure that he wears a hat and a scarf when it’s cold outside, whether it’s something small or big, you are always there to look after him, you’ve always been there. 

“Alright, I’m eating the greens just for you, sweets.” 

He licks his lips as he eyes every inch of your exposed skin, tracing your soft features with the longing look in his brown eyes. The way his shirt looks on your body, the way your hair falls in front of your eyes despite you tucking it behind your ear just moments ago, the way you bite your lower up as you give him a disapproving look. 

“No,” you shake your head, pointing your knife at him, “you gotta eat them for yourself.”

“Are you threatening me?” He smirks, closing the gap between you both again, you instantly lower the knife and place it on the counter. 

You shrug, teasing him with a sweet smile, “what if I am?”

Eddie licks his lips, inching closer and closer to you, a smile tugs at his mouth, he hums as he raises his hand up to your face, combing his fingers through your wet hair before he tucks the fallen pieces behind your ear again. 

He is unaware of the effect he has on you, of the fluttering in your chest, of the burning in your skin, of the shaky breaths you suck in. 

“Then I think that’s really hot,” he winks at you as he moves his hand down your neck and then your shoulder, sliding it down along your spine, lower and lower until he’s holding your hip and pressing himself against you as he moves onto your other side, slower than necessary. 

Your lips part in surprise, every trace that he has touched starts to burn, your knees grow weak and your heart starts beating faster – how much longer can you deny the emotions he causes inside you?

“So, how can I help?” 

He is teasing you, you can hear it in his voice, and you don’t have to turn around to face him to know that there is a smirk on his face. 

“Set the table, pick a movie to watch later, dinner is almost ready.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs into your ear before he walks away without another word, giving you a moment to take a few deep breaths. 

You take a sip of your cold beer, closing your eyes for a moment, you listen to your beating heart, you feel the goosebumps on your skin, you feel the rush of blood to your cheeks, the weakness you feel for your best friend. 

How much longer can you deny what is really inside of you, that it’s not just physical attraction? 

Your heart flutters when his deep voice sounds through the dining room as he sings along to the music, your lips curl into an adoring smile. You can hear him rummaging through the drawers, trying to find the table cloth you assume. 

Picking up the knife again, you continue chopping your vegetables, finishing up on your salad, though you quickly get lost in this… domestic energy you both have created. It feels so warm, so safe, so familiar. A feeling you can’t imagine sharing with anyone other than your Eddie. 

He comes back into the kitchen, humming, he grabs two plates and cutlery and places them on the counter before he passes by you, without a teasing smile or comment, he places his hand on your lower back, he reaches over your shoulder to retrieve two wine glasses from the shelf and steps away again, leaving the kitchen once more. 

It all feels so natural, so normal and yet, it makes you struggle to breathe because the butterflies in your stomach go wild – just the way they always do, but now it becomes harder and harder to not pay attention to them. 

You take another deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, to push aside your feelings, to keep doing what you did before… be unaware of what is buried deep within your heart. So, you move along and distract yourself with finishing cooking dinner, not allowing your mind to take you further into this pit of hell as you call it, because that’s what love and feelings are, hell. 

There is no good in love, there is no peace in having feelings.

It’s a rollercoaster ride that ends no matter how long it lasts, pleasant or not, it ends. 

And you refuse to let feelings get in the way of yours and Eddie’s friendship, he means too much to you to risk taking a step further into something that your stupid heart desires, you love him too much to let your lingering feelings ruin what you both have, besides… who is to say that he could feel something for you? 

You are his best friend and he is yours, that’s all you’ve ever been and it’s all you’ll ever be, best friends, nothing more or less, best friends who are affectionate with one another, who tease each other, who sleep in each other’s arms and do things that other best friend’s might not do… Though when you step into the dining room with the heavy pot in your hands, you halt in your tracks, freezing at the sight before you. 

The table is set but not like usual, it makes you struggle to keep pushing away those feelings that have been sneaking their way to the surface because why did he place the plates so close to each other when the table is so big? And why did he place candles on the table and light them up instead of keeping the lights on? And why did he change the channel on the radio? Why is slow music playing instead of the rock channel he usually settles for when there is no better option for him? 

You can handle his teasing, you can handle his touching, his flirting, his suggestive comments and looks he gives you so often. 

But this is something else, this is something that would have normally made you run, a table set up so romantically, a dinner that seems to become something intimate. Yeah, if someone else had set this up, you would’ve definitely ran, you would’ve felt anxious, suffocated. 

Those feelings don’t exist with him though, it’s quite the opposite, even with the lingering fear inside of you for what you feel for him. You feel giddy. 

“Picked the movie, sweets,” Eddie calls from the living room, snapping you out of your troubled thoughts. He enters the room with a grin on his face. 

You clear your throat and finally take the final steps to the table, putting down the pot in the middle, you glance at your best friend. 

“Yeah? What’d you pick?” 

“Something neither of us have seen yet,” he winks at you, moving closer and closer until he is right in front of you again. He grabs the chair and pulls it back, gazing down at you with his dark eyes, “sit.”

“I gotta get the rest of the food–”

“I’ll get it, now sit down, princess,” he murmurs. 

Whenever his voice gets so low, your knees feel like they’ll buckle at any moment, shivers run down your spine and your cheeks grow hot. 

“Alright,” you chuckle, plopping down on the wooden chair, you gaze up at your best friend, batting your eyelashes at him. 

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, there is not much you have to do to drive him crazy. 

“Smells really good in here,” he comments, the mouth watering smell of pasta sauce and garlic bread makes his stomach growl. 

“Thanks Eds, now get the rest of the food before it gets cold.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks at you, squeezing your shoulder before he turns around and makes his way out of the room and into the kitchen. 

You take a deep breath when he’s gone, rolling your shoulders and trying to calm your nerves, your heart is racing and it makes you feel ridiculous. You are here with Eddie, your best friend, Eddie. You got nothing to feel nervous about, you’ve been here plenty of times before, at dinner alone with him… though, it was never like this, you never had candle light dinners with slow music playing in the back. And his touches, his smiles, his voice never drove you this crazy before, he never made your heart flutter, his hands never made your skin feel hot, he never made you feel like you’d fall to the ground because your knees felt like jelly, he never made you feel those things before until recently… or did he? 

“I’m starving,” Eddie says dramatically as he places the salad bowl and the garlic bread on the table. Before he takes a seat, he opens the wine bottle and reaches for your glass, he glances at you as he starts pouring it in your glass, he notices your flushed cheeks and how fidgety you are in your seat as you eye him up and down, it makes his heart flutter. 

“We can’t have that,” you chuckle, reaching for his plate, you start filling it with salad first to which he protests, claiming that it will only make him starve even more. “You need some healthy food!”

“Not too much of it though,” he shakes his head as he lifts the lid of the pot, inhaling with a smile on his face, “I need that.” 

Your giggle makes his smile widen. 

“Alright.”

“You know I love your pasta,” he grins as he watches you fill the plate. 

“That’s Steve’s pasta,” you chuckle. 

“Nah, that’s his recipe, you cooked it,” he retorts, tilting his head to the side, “besides, you do it better.”

Warmth fills your chest and your cheeks, your smile gets even bigger now. 

“Don’t tell him that! He’ll be distraught!” 

“Don’t worry, it’s our secret,” he mumbles with a grin on his face as he finally takes the seat across from you, taking the plate from your hands when you hand it to him with a soft ‘thank you’. 

He waits for you to fill your own plate before he picks up the fork or even takes a sip of the wine you picked when you went grocery shopping together this morning. He leans back and takes a look around, your surroundings are so different than usual, so unlike the small apartment he recently moved into where you eat your dinners at his tiny kitchen table. He appreciates the home cooked meals you always bless him with and the way you always want to take care of him, it makes him feel warm, it makes him feel safe. 

Eddie wants to do the same for you, he wants to make you feel the way you make him feel but he believes that he can’t measure up, that he can’t give you what you give him, that he can’t provide you the same feeling of safety or warmth and maybe that is the sole reason why he hasn’t made a move on you yet, not because he is scared of ruining your friendship – god, he wants to ruin it so bad. But because you deserve more than he can give you, you deserve this, a big house with a stupid fireplace, a big garden, stability, someone who can take care of you, someone who can give you more than a small, shitty apartment, someone who can give you more than just the flowers he gives you or the pastries he brings you when you’re taking your lunch breaks at work. 

Yeah, your friendship is very precious to him, he is scared of losing you, every goddamn day he wonders if this will be the day where you don’t show up for him but it isn’t the reason for his lack of effort in fighting for what he actually wants, it’s the fact that he believes that you deserve better than him, someone less like him, someone more like… Steve. 

So he settles for loving you from afar, he tries to spoil you, he tries as best as he can. He teases you whenever he gets the chance to, he becomes giddy when you react to it, when you blush and giggle or even tease him back the way you did today, it sparks something in him, maybe it’s confidence or maybe just an illusion that you could feel the same, whatever it is, he basks in the feeling in those moments. 

His eyes soften and the beating of his heart becomes stronger as he watches you, the way you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, the way your beautiful eyes shine in the dim light, the light flush in your cheeks making you look so damn cute, the way your smile only widens when you glance at him, a small huff falling from your mouth. 

“What are you looking at?” You tease, putting down your plate before you. 

You. 

He always looks at you. 

Eddie knows he won’t have this forever, someday you will meet someone who will give you everything that he wishes he could, someday he won’t be the one sitting across from you enjoying your dinner, someday he won’t be the one in your life. 

“At your shirt, is it new… or?” He teases, acting like he didn’t just get lost in his head, thinking of your future that he might not be a part of. 

You look down at his shirt, smiling proudly, you stole it from him the last time you stayed over,  “mhm got it from this store called the drawer.”

Eddie snorts, though he adores the look on your face, “you’re so lame, the drawer? Really?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, picking up the fork you start eating happily. 

“Who sold it to you?” Eddie asks, squinting his eyes at you. 

“Oh, this uh… really handsome guy, said he’s in a band, corroded coffin?” You raise your brow, pretending to think. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Eddie’s stomach flips in excitement at the compliment. You’ve called him handsome plenty of times before, but it never fails to make him blush. 

“Damn, he sounds really cool,” Eddie says, laughing. 

You nod, a serious and adoring look now flashing in your features, no hint of amusement behind those eyes, no teasing, just pure adoration for him, “he is, he is the coolest actually.”

He gets flustered easily when he’s with you but when you look at him like this, with that sweet smile and those soft eyes, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to say or how to act, so he hides his face by looking down at the delicious food in front of him, a sheepish smile resting on his face, one that makes your own even bigger. He finally takes a bite of the pasta and his eyes instantly close as he moans at the taste of it, making you giggle yet again. 

“Fuck me, yeah I’m sorry sweets, but I ain’t letting you get married, you’re stuck with me,” he jokes as he takes another bite, completely forgetting about all the anxious thoughts that swirled in his mind just moments ago. 

“Oh, you mean I’m stuck being your private chef?” 

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, chewing on the garlic bread slowly, you try to ignore the heat building up in your stomach as you look into his chocolate eyes, waiting for him to say that word.

“Oh, then what would you call it?”

Eddie looks at you through hooded eyes, a teasing smirk tugging at his plump lips.

“Housewife.”

A surprised giggle falls from your lips, though your cheeks start burning, especially under his gaze. Something tugs at your chest, something strong, something warm. Housewife. You never craved to be that, you never had such desires. Sure, you always dreamed of finding the one, finding true love, finding someone who will love you the way you can love, the way you always wished to love but that’s it, you never imagined yourself past the dating stage, you never daydreamed of weddings and a husband, you never thought of becoming a wife, a housewife at that but… when you think of yourself as that with Eddie by your side, with your best friend, with the one who had always been by your side through thick and thin, something in you beats a little stronger. 

You clear your throat, lowering your gaze to his ringed fingers, you can’t help but let your mind take you to sacred places. 

Eddie watches you intensely, eyes lighting up at the flustered state you are suddenly in, a state he only ever sees you in when he teases you with touches, with pick up lines, with his flirtations but never this. There is a little spark in him now, the sparkle of hope. 

“Well that would make you my husband.” Your voice is shaky, filled with nerves and something else that he can’t decipher at this moment. 

Oh, Eddie would put a ring on your fingers right this second. 

He never really planned his future, he never really saw one, especially not one in which he would be happy with a wife and kids by his side but he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t want these things with you. You make him crave things that were never even a thought of his before he met you, you make him want to be that for you, a husband. 

He doesn’t believe that he can give you what you want, what you need, what you deserve but he knows one thing for sure, if he was given the chance, he would make you so damn happy. 

“Would that be so bad?” 

You look up again and into his eyes, something in them is different now, something in the way he looks at you is so… intense and raw, there is a softness in them, one stronger than usual. 

Would that be bad?

You shake your head before you can even come up with the right words to say, or with words you should say. Something has changed, perhaps a long time ago or just now, but you know one thing for sure, your heart never beat this strongly before and your hands never itched to touch his so badly. 

You know the truth is hidden behind the walls you have put up, but that wall started crumbling a long time ago, long before you had the chance to even notice. 

The energy in the room has shifted into something more… intimate and it’s not the candles or the music, it adds to it, but those aren’t the main reasons, it’s the energy you both have created, it’s the lingering touches, it’s his foot touching yours under the table, not playfully like usual, it’s different, it’s all so different but it’s good. A comfortable silence takes over the room as you continue eating and as the seconds and the minutes pass, and you both sip on your wines, pouring a second glass, you both get a little bolder when the alcohol hits you. 

Your hands inch closer and closer to each other, your eye contact becomes a little more intense, making your breathing stutter and your heart skip several beats. 

And when he is done with his food, he pushes his plate aside and leans his elbows on the table, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath and then, he brushes his fingertips against your own before he envelopes your hand fully, taking it into his large one. 

You can’t describe the feelings rushing through you, he held your hand plenty of times before but until now, you never let yourself feel the rush of it, you never allowed yourself to pay attention to the electric feeling cursing through your veins but you allow it now, slowly… you allow it. 

“They’re really missing out, aren’t they?” You speak the first words that come to your mind as you stare into your best friend's beautiful eyes. 

Eddie looks around the dining room, shrugging when he looks back at you, his eyes roaming your face, his lips curl into a smile. 

“I don’t know, I kinda like it just being the two of us, we never really get the chance to be alone like this.”

You nod in agreement, “that’s true, I like it too,” you murmur before you reach for your glass and take a big sip of wine. 

“More wine and weed for us,” Eddie jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You roll your eyes playfully, setting the glass back down, you tilt your head to the side, “speaking of weed, wanna roll us a joint?” 

Eddie doesn’t want to let go of your hand just yet but he nods, he could use that relaxation anyways, maybe it will calm his nerves around you before he does something that he might end up regretting later on. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna clean this up first.”

You shake your head, “no, I can do it–”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says sternly, glaring at you, “I know I said housewife, I hope you know that doesn’t mean slave.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the seriousness on his face or in his voice, “Eddie, I hope you know that that’s exactly what most men think of when they want a housewife.” 

He frowns in disgust, scoffing at that, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and pushes his chair back. 

“Well, most men are pigs who don’t even deserve a wife in the first place,” he says, getting up, he glares at you and points at you to stay seated. “You don’t have to do all the work, you cook, I clean up, it’s simple.”

A smile graces your features, you tap the table before you reach for the wine bottle, pouring yourself a third glass, “well then, whatever you say, husband,” you giggle and get up as well, holding your hands up in surrender when he gives you a warning glance, “don’t worry, I won’t lift a finger, I’m gonna grab my wine and wait for you in the living room.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs as he gathers the dirty plates, “sit your pretty ass down.” 

You definitely feel the wine in your system now, that fuzzy feeling and the slight dizziness feels so welcoming though. 

“Yes, sir.”

Before Eddie can stop his mouth from running, those words tumble out of his mouth just like that. 

“Good girl.” 

You nearly choke on your spit and trip over nothing, his words rush right to your core, your cheeks start burning hotter than before. 

Good girl. 

He called you a good girl, with that raspy, deep voice of his that never fails to make your insides crawl with need, that never fails to ring through your head when you’re in your bed with your hand between your thighs, imagining him and his voice calling you just that. 

You don’t know how you manage to keep your composure but you do, only allowing a soft giggle to leave your lips as you continue your way out of the dining room and into the living room, you round the corner and rush to the big couch where he luckily can’t see you, your knees almost buckle before you can even take a seat. 

You close your eyes and sigh out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Pressing a hand to your chest, you nearly gasp at the beating of your heart. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself. 

Eddie will be the death of you, you are sure of it, if not tonight then tomorrow, and if not then, then on the last day of your trip. 

The veil that was hiding all your truths was already being lifted when you were still in Hawkins, slowly everything was coming out, all the feelings you were denying, all the things you were so afraid of admitting, you lost control and power a long time ago. The moment Robin opened her eyes to what was there this whole time, the moment she confronted you about your feelings for him was the moment you could no longer hide. The veil is no longer there, it’s long gone and lost with the wind. 

You run your fingers through your hair and lean back into the soft cushions, taking a big gulp of the red wine that will surely give you a headache tomorrow morning, you keep your eyes closed for a moment, you begin to curse her out in your head because all your reactions to his words and touches just now only confirmed all her beliefs. 

Fuck Robin for saying all that shit to you that changed your feelings and opened your eyes completely, a month ago. Fuck her for telling you that you indeed have feelings for Eddie, for your best friend. Fuck her for making you start realizing it and be self conscious for it. Fuck her for making you feel scared of losing Eddie because of it. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, you open your eyes and look around the lightly dimmed room, you take in the sound of Eddie’s voice, of his humming to the music, of the way your heart flutters more and more. 

You are so fucked. 

You will ruin the friendship, you are sure of it. 

If only you knew that this is exactly what he wants. 

You keep yourself busy with your wine glass, staring into blank space as you continue letting your thoughts eat at you, letting the insecurities and the doubts creep in, when all you want to do is get lost in the feeling of what he gave to you at the dinner table, just moments ago. 

You are so lost in your head, you don’t even notice the music being turned off, you don’t even hear his footsteps or his voice until he is standing right before you after throwing a bunch of different snacks on the coffee table. 

“I know the munchies are gonna hit you,” your best friend chuckles as he finally sits down beside you, joint already between his fingers, lighter on the coffee table. He turns to you, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he offers you the joint. 

Yeah, maybe this will help, maybe this will relax you enough to get a grip on yourself again, maybe this will stop you from doing something that will make you regret. 

Your heart, your body, everything in you seems to be sick of living in denial though because before your mind can kill this moment, you are already moving forward, looking into his eyes, you lean down, closer and closer, you wrap your lips around the joint that is still snug between his fingers. 

The widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, snaps you out of whatever had possessed you, though not enough, not even in the slightest. 

You raise your brows at him expectedly, waiting for him to light up the joint for you. 

The flush in his cheeks, the rosy color taking over his face, his squirming makes satisfaction rush you. 

You were teasing him all morning, all afternoon and every time you added one more, you wanted to risk more, but now things just have gotten out of hand, you got lost in your own little game and you let your feelings, your desires take full control of you. 

Poor Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself as he looks down at you, if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system, he would lose all composure and stutter like a little kid around his crush. He manages to reach for the lighter and he never looks away from your pretty eyes or your lips, or the shirt that keeps riding up on your thighs, a little more and more. 

He lights the joint and he is surprised when you don’t look away, when your eyes stay locked with his and a satisfied moan escapes you – only worsening his case. You inhale deeply and furrow your eyebrows in concentration, a lazy smile spreads on your kissable lips and you lean back further after blowing out the smoke. You bring your knees up to your chest and hand him the joint. “That’s nice,” you sigh out in pleasure, “I needed that.” 

“You’re starting to sound like an addict,” Eddie smirks, hiding his blushing cheeks behind his curls as he takes the joint from your fingers and places it between his lips, unaware of the way you follow his every movement as he gets comfortable beside you, resting his feet on the table, he stretches his arm out and wraps it around the headrest behind you. 

“What… movie did you pick out?” You ask him and he doesn’t even notice your stuttering or the way your eyes are glued to his exposed skin as his shirt rides up, exposing his happy trail. 

Eddie shrugs, reaching for the remote, he glances at you, “I dunno, one of the movies Steve recommended we should watch.” 

“Oh?”

“Mhmm,” He nods and presses play before he throws the remote on the coffee table, “let’s see how good his taste is.”

“You already know he loves the cheesy shit,” you laugh and scoot closer to him with your wine glass still in your hand, you’re searching for his warmth. 

“Yeah, he does,” Eddie chuckles. 

He lowers his gaze to your thighs, noticing the goosebumps on your skin, he puts the joint into the ashtray and he reaches for the knitted blanket thrown over the couch, he spreads it open and covers your legs with it, “don’t want you freezing, sweets,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes soften for him, a smile spreading on your lips. You lean forward and place your wine glass on the coffee table and then you scoot closer to him and throw the blanket over his lap as well before you place your head on his chest, snuggling up against him with a content look on your face… beside the blushing on your cheeks. 

Eddie wraps his arm around you without a second thought – this is nothing unusual for you, neither is the hand holding, or the sharing of clothes or the intimate touches but everything you do today, that you usually do as well, feels so different, it makes him nervous, it makes you nervous, it feels like the first time. 

And when you place your hand above his heart, he grows anxious that you might feel just how strongly it’s beating for you, he is scared that you will figure out his feelings and that that will make you run, run from him. 

“Your heart is racing,” you whisper softly, causing him to tense up a little but when you press your chin against his chest and you gaze up into his eyes, he feels a sense of calmness bleed through him, safety. 

Eddie blinks, not knowing what to say without giving away the truth, without giving away just how much he wants to kiss you right now, how much he wants to make you his, how badly he wants to confess and get it off his chest. 

“Is everything okay?” Your angelic voice makes him feel weak, the candle light makes you look so soft, your scent makes him feel drunk, his lips yearn to touch yours, his heart screams for you. 

God, he really wants to kiss you so bad. 

And he wants to kiss you even more when he sees the way your own eyes flicker between his lips, his neck and his eyes. He tightens his hold on you, prompting you to scoot even closer as you lean your warm body into his as your hand slips down to his stomach, your nails grazing the sliver of exposed skin on his stomach, he nearly whimpers at the feeling. You truly know how to drive him crazy. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips curling into a smile, “everything is perfect.” 

Almost perfect. 

It would be perfect if he could just grab your face and smash his lips against yours, kissing you breathless. 

You bite your lower lip as you keep staring up at him, you look as though you want to say something, your eyebrows pull together whenever you hold something back, whenever you desire to speak up about something – he doesn’t pressure you to talk though, he never does, he gives you time, as always. 

His eyelashes flutter, his lips part in surprise when he watches you move closer to him, closer and closer until your lips are pressed against his jaw, you peck him once before you shyly pull away and bury your face in his chest, turning your attention back to the TV right as the movie begins to play and he is glad that you do, because his eyes widen the way they probably never did before and blood rushes to his cheeks, no doubt making him look like a tomato right now, his heart feels as though it will beat out of his chest at any moment. 

You were teasing him this morning, you were very clear about that, the smirk and the smugness on your face gave it away every time but you are no longer teasing now, this is different, this is something else, this is something new. 

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly and shakily. 

He wonders if you know the effect you have on him, he wonders if you know how he feels for you, he wonders if you know just what he would do for you. 

“Pass me the joint?” He whispers, not recognizing his own voice due to how shaky it is. 

You do as he asks, pulling away for just a second, you reach for the joint and hand it to him before you settle back comfortably against his chest, pressing your cheek tightly against it. 

Despite the nervousness in him, he keeps his arm wrapped around you tightly, and he even takes it a little further, becoming a little bolder, he sneaks his hand under your shirt and lays his plat flatly against your warm back.

You sigh in contentment and curl further into him, welcoming the touch of his hand, especially when he starts rubbing up and down. 

“That feels so nice,” you murmur, moaning softly, “don’t stop, Eddie.” 

Of course it wasn’t the greatest move to make, of course it would backfire, of course he would be the one with the problem. It’s already not helping that you’re almost fully on top of him, hand underneath his shirt as your nails scratch against his skin and now you are moaning because of him. 

He places the joint between his lips and takes a long drag, needing it desperately. 

“Your hands always feel so nice, Eds.” The words tumble fall from your lips just like that, like you no longer find yourself caring about the consequences of your words or your actions, maybe it’s the alcohol and the weed in your system that makes you so careless and bold, or maybe it’s the reassuring touch of your best friend that gives you the confidence to let you say what’s on your mind. 

Eddie freezes, shocked he stares at the movie playing on the screen, his hand stops moving as well for a moment, he wonders if he really heard you right. You press against his hand again, wanting more. 

“And you don’t know what they can do, sweets,” he rasps into your ear, confidently and like he isn’t losing his mind over you. 

A whimper sounds through the room, your whimper. You try to conceal it by coughing into your hand but he heard it, and he felt how you tensed up at his words.

He swallows harshly, squirming beneath you, he tries his hardest to hold back that growl. His hand slips from under your shirt and down to your thigh when you lean forward to reach for the joint in the ashtray. 

“Rolling good joints?” You murmur, trying to hide your nervousness and how flustered you really are. 

Eddie can’t help but snort, mumbling a soft ‘sure’ to your question. 

Despite the tension in the room and your unwanted awkwardness, time keeps passing and the night goes on, the movie continues playing, moving into a direction that neither of you expected at the start of it – what begins with an innocent scene of the beautiful lead getting ready for her date with the guy she is keeping a secret, develops into something different, something more, something that should not have the effect on you that it does right now but when they start kissing in his car, slowly and sensually at first, her fingers buried in his long hair as his slip under her shirt, you can’t help but bite your lip. Your skin grows hot, your thighs clench together, your grip on his shirt tightens as your mind flips this scene into you kissing Eddie in his car. 

The wine was supposed to help, the weed too, but neither of them did, neither of them managed to give you the calming effect that you were hoping for, if anything both only heightened your senses and intensified absolutely everything in you, because suddenly, his body feels so much closer, his cologne so much more intoxicating than usual, his touch heating your skin on fire, his breath on your skin tickles you and those evil thoughts in your head make you wonder what it would feel like to feel his breath elsewhere, to feel his lips on your skin and his hands holding you tightly, keeping you in place as his lips touch parts of you only your hands did before. 

Your heart starts beating faster and you begin to lose composure, the rational voice in your head is gone for good, desire and need taking over now, a confidence you didn’t know you had rushing through you as you move your leg, pressing the heel of your foot against his shin. 

And while you are getting bolder, Eddie is trying his best to stay calm, to not act upon his feelings and ruin the one good thing in his life, despite the clear signs you are currently giving, he makes no move, even when he wants nothing more but to bury his face in your neck and suck on your skin until you are marked up by him. The smell of your perfume drives him insane, the feeling of your skin pressed against his makes his stomach flutter with no end near in sight, his heart hasn’t stopped racing yet. 

The blanket slips from your lower half, his shirt has ridden up on your body, revealing the panties you are wearing, the black lace resting so perfectly on your soft skin. He clenches his jaw at the sight of it, biting back the moan that wants to fall off his lips so badly. 

Something else flutters now, not just his heart or those butterflies in his stomach and it makes him so uncomfortable because he won’t be able to hide it, not right now. 

Soft moans fill the living room, along with the sounds of lips smacking together. You bite your lip even harder, hold onto him even tighter as your eyes stay glued to the screen, watching intently as the couple undresses each other slowly, their hands becoming more and more desperate on each other, whimpers getting louder. 

You are so lost in it, you let your body move on its own, your foot continues to slide up his shin and his knee, hip angling as you twist your body further into him. As the scene gets more and more intense, the thoughts in your head do too. 

The coil in your stomach grows, burning hotly, you are throbbing between your legs, growing wetter and wetter each passing second as you imagine yourself moaning like the girl on the TV – moaning for him, with him. 

Eddie is frozen in place, stunned at everything that is happening this very moment, not only is the scene very erotic but the moves you are pulling now are just about enough for him to get hard – and he can’t exactly conceal anything, not when he is wearing grey sweatpants and you are tightly pressed against him. 

Do you even know what you are doing to him? 

When Eddie shifts beneath you and his fingers dig deeper into your skin, you lower your head and tear your eyes from the screen to his lap and your mouth waters in an instant, eyes growing wide and the burning in your stomach only worsens. 

“Got a problem there, Eds?” You blurt out as you stare at the very prominent bulge.

He wants to crawl under the blanket and hide his flustered face but instead he rolls his eyes, trying to act cool, averting his gaze from you and back to the screen, pretending that it’s the girl in the movie that caused this. 

“I am just a man, leave me alone…”

A giggle escapes you, and you look up at your best friend to find him blushing furiously. His long lashes kissing his skin every time he blinks, his dark eyes shine so prettily, his lips are just so… so kissable. His neck is so perfect to be marked up by you. His dark hair cascading down to his shoulders so perfectly, but you want to make a mess of him. 

“Aw, poor man,” you tease him before you finally let go of any doubts, of any fears or anxious thoughts, you grab the joint from between his fingers and put it back on the ashtray and then, you lean back to him and do something that you always craved to do, you press your lips against his jaw, kissing him. 

His lips part in surprise, heart stopping for a moment, he stares into blank space now as you repeat the motion, pressing your lips against his skin again and again, humming in contentment. 

His legs feel like jelly and if he wasn’t sitting down already, he surely would’ve felt his knees buckle at this electric touch. Words can’t describe the feeling of this, of you. He imagined this so many times, your lips on his skin, just the imagination of it had him feeling giddy but this, he can’t even function. 

You move closer and closer, your hand finding the chain around his neck, your breath kissing his skin, you gaze up at him with those pretty eyes that could make him do anything you would ask for. 

“Sweetheart, what are you doing…?” He finds his voice again. 

You shrug, looking at him innocently, “I don’t know, I just want to kiss your face, is that so bad?” You ask before you lean in again, not waiting for an answer from him, you press your lips back against his jaw, finger hooked around his chain and your other hand moving from his chest and up to his hair, giving it a slight pull. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, the soft smile that rested on his features before slowly falling now. He clenches his jaw when you kiss it again and again, his heart races like crazy now, the feelings in him, the love he feels for you bursting in him as he finally gets a taste of what things could be like if you were his girl. 

You light up a fire in him, but make him weak at the same time, you make him feel safe but he also burns for you, he desires you in ways he wasn’t even aware existed, only a taste of this, of you, could kill him because if he can’t have you again after having you once, he surely will die slowly and torturously as he forever will be reminded of this, of what could be. 

He breathes in shakily as his hands fall to your waist, gripping you tighter than ever before, it takes everything in him not to grab your face and kiss you senseless but it takes even more to stop you. 

He wants this, he wants you so bad, he wants to keep feeling your lips, your touch, you. 

But what is this to you? 

His hand moves up to the back of your neck, he wraps his fingers around it, pulling you away softly with a deep inhale.

“Don’t do this to me now, darling,” he whispers weakly, not caring about how vulnerable he sounds, how vulnerable he must look right now. 

You ignore his pleading, and you move closer again, straddling his thigh as you wrap your arms around his neck, you look into his eyes as you inch closer and closer to him, no longer caring about anything. You kiss his cheek softly and then the other, noting the soft sigh falling from his lips, the grip of his hand on you becoming tighter and stronger. 

Eddie is breathing heavily now, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself as your lips are so close to his own. 

“You’re killing me here, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

You pull back to look at him, taking in the intense emotions flashing in his eyes as he stares at you with nothing but hunger, his eyes flicking back and forth between your lips and your neck. 

“Why?” You whisper innocently as you lean in again and without thinking, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, a curse word falls from his lips as he clenches his jaw again. 

“Because I’m trying to hold back.” 

“Who says I want you to?” You ask softly and he opens his eyes again, tilting his head to the side, he furrows his brows at you. 

“Don’t do this to me, baby, you know how bad I–” 

The brush of your knee against his bulge as you throw your leg over his thigh completely leaves the words stuck in his throat, you straddle him the way you only ever did in his dreams. 

“How bad you what?” You whisper as you slowly lean your forehead against his, letting your lips brush against his own as you gaze into his eyes. 

You can see the way he is holding back from doing what he wants, what you both want, so you give him a little push. You nuzzle your nose against his, giving him that soft look that gets you anything you want, that makes him weak. 

If only you knew just the feelings you cause inside of him. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, he shuts down all the racing thoughts in his head and finally, he cups your cheeks, holding your face gently. 

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispers and smashes his lips against yours, kissing you finally. He pushes all his fears and his insecurities aside, not wanting to dwell on them any longer, not wanting to think of them now when he gets the chance to do this and your whimper, that needy little sound that comes from you when you kiss him back only fuels his need to kiss you harder and deeper. 

You press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around him tightly, you bury your fingers into his curls, taking a fistful of his hair as you move your lips against his, slowly at first. You get so lost in it, loving the way it feels to kiss his lips, to kiss your best friend. It’s everything and more than you imagined it to feel like, it feels so perfect, so right, so safe. You let yourself fall into him, melting into his embrace as his hands move down to your waist, holding you tightly the way you do to him. 

The sound of your sighs and moans, lips smacking and the movie still playing in the back, whimpers coming from the girl on the TV makes it all a little more intense, because the burning in your thighs becomes unbearable, the feeling of his tongue brushing against your lower lip as he pushes you down against his bulge has you aching and yearning. 

To Eddie this feels like a dream, like it’s something not real, not even close to being real because this is something that only ever lived in his mind, whether he was just thinking about you at work, while writing songs, while sitting next to you or while getting off in the middle of the night, this was only ever a dream but now it isn’t. The kiss is real, your moans are real, your body is truly pressed against his, you are sitting right on top of him, slowly dragging your hips along his aching dick and it feels so fucking good, better than he could ever even dream of. 

Everything in him burns for you, his heart, his soul, every cell, every organ, you are like a drug to him that he was already addicted to before he even tried it, but now? He is gone forever. A kiss that could lead to nothing, that could only stay this, a kiss, perhaps a mistake for you that you will regret come morning, enough to break him. 

What is it gonna be? The kiss that will lead to the start of something his heart screamed for since the very beginning? Or will this be his kiss of death? 

He has to be sure, he needs to be sure so he pulls away, begrudgingly so, he pulls away from the kiss that he never wants to stop, breathlessly, he opens his eyes to look at you for the first time after this change between you both but you are not having it, leaning in with a whine, you peck his lips again, making his heart flutter. 

“Baby–” You cut him off by kissing him again, desperately and he once again has to pull away reluctantly. 

“Baby, hear me out first, fuck–” he groans when you peck his lips again, whining at him in a way that has him clenching his jaw but this time, he cups your cheeks and pulls you away from him and you finally open your eyes and look at him, pouting at him with a needy look on your face. Fuck. “Fucking hell, wait– you need to tell me if you really want this or if its the alcohol and the weed talking.” 

You shake your head wildly, grabbing his wrists as you lean closer again, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin and finally his lips again, the way you always desired to, the way you always dreamed of, the way you always denied yourself of it when it’s all you ever wanted. 

“Is it the alcohol and the weed talking for you?” You murmur against his lips, looking at him through hooded eyes. 

With a frown he shakes his head, “fuck no, I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart, you have no idea for how long.” He admits openly, not caring about being vulnerable right now, about admitting his feelings for you – the friendship is ruined now. 

Your lips twitch, eyes shining with nothing but love for him, for your best friend, your heart bursts in your chest, everything in you calms down yet screams in joy. You can see the anxiety in his eyes, the fear that lingers within him, you want to take it. 

“Good, then we’re on the same page,” you whisper happily, nuzzling your nose against his. 

Eddie blinks, staring at you, stunned. A shaky breath falls from his lips, his heart has stopped beating for a moment, the world has stopped moving, time has stopped. He had dreamed of this for so long, fantasized about what it would feel like to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you, to love on you but he had never thought of this, simply because he never thought it would happen, that it would be a possibility, you feeling the same. He thought he was doomed, cursed to spend his life loving you from afar and watching you slip through his fingers as the years would pass, he would love you while you would love someone else, while you would build a life with someone else, he would stay your best friend, the obsessed, lovesick best friend who would never move on, the best friend who would choose you over and over again even if he was given the chance to be loved by someone else, he would never love anyone the way he loves you, his heart belongs to you, fully. He is yours, he had always been yours but he never thought that you could be his, no matter how many nights he spent wishing for it. Life had never been kind to him so why would it grant him the highest wish he has? And yet, here you are, looking at him as though he hung the stars and the moon, as though he is the best thing that was ever created, like he is something pure, something beautiful, something worth loving. Have you always looked at him this way? 

His eyes start burning as his heart starts beating again, the warmth he felt because of you, turning into burning desire, the desire to claim you like he had always wanted to, to rip his heart from his chest and give it to you. 

You whisper his name sweetly, grabbing his hand softly, you move it down your shoulder, your chest and finally placing it above your beating heart. 

“All for you, baby.” 

His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes flicker between your face and his hand, feeling the racing of your heart that matches the beat of his own. His eyes soften, love taking over the lust that was flashing in them just moments ago. He doesn’t know what to say, the words are stuck in his throat, he is speechless. 

You can see it, you can see the shock in his eyes, he stares at you like he wonders if this is real or not. He is breathing heavily, blinking slowly, his lips part, cheeks flushing. 

“Eddie–”

Suddenly, he moves forward and grabs your cheeks again, slamming his lips against yours roughly, desperately. He kisses you hotly, strongly, more intensely than he did before, like he is scared that you might slip away if he doesn’t do it this way. 

You throw your arms around his neck again, whining needily into the kiss, you part his lips with your tongue and slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further as you grind your hips against him, making him moan against your lips as he holds you stronger, gripping you tightly as though he is scared that you will slip away if he doesn’t. 

This kiss is much hungrier than the first, so much deeper and intense, it’s filled with a desperation that was pent up for a long, long time – not weeks or even months, but years. He waited for years for this, you can feel it and your heart races wildly for him. The need to show him just how much you want him too, how you reciprocate his love burns so deeply within you. 

You grind your hips against his, feeling just how hard he is for you, the ache between your legs becomes worse, unbearable, and he can tell, he can feel by the way you move your hips, by the sounds of your needy whines. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself, never had he felt such desperation before, such an overwhelming amount of love. He feels stuck between wanting to cry out of pure happiness while making love to you and devouring you vigorously as he shows you just how much he needs, wants you. 

His ringed fingers dig into your waist and he begins to push you off of him, guiding you down against the soft cushions without breaking the kiss, he groans against your lips when you spread your legs for him, tugging him on top of you before he can even do it himself. God, you truly want him just as much.

Eddie slides his hand up your body, cupping your cheek once more, he continues kissing you, clashing his tongue against yours, making you mewl as he takes control and grinds against you, a movement that tears out a different kind of sound in you, a whine so needy that it sends shockwaves through his body. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes against your lips heavily as he pulls away from the kiss and opens his eyes to reveal just how dark they are now. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, causing your shirt to ride up in the process, your panties exposed to him now. 

He clenches his jaw, trying to control himself but it’s becoming so hard when you are under him like this, looking up at him with those needy eyes as you grab each side of his neck, leaning up to kiss him, again and again, pecking his cheeks and his lips before you trail the kisses down to his jawline. 

“I need you so bad, Eds,” you whisper into his skin, moving your hand down his shoulder and his arm, fingernails grazing his goosebump covered skin, you take his hand in yours and bring it back down to your body, placing it on your chest, “please?” You ask in desperation. 

He takes a deep breath, making his heart flutter and his body burn when he grabs at your boobs for the very first time. 

“Please what?” He murmurs as he presses you down again so he can latch his lips onto your jawline. “Tell me what you need, sweet girl. My fingers, my tongue… or my cock?” He surprises himself when those words fall off his lips when he doesn’t even know how to function at this moment. 

You shut your eyes and bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, finding your sweet spot with no struggle, he starts sucking. 

“Mmm, y-your fingers,” you whimper as you take his other free hand and guide it down your stomach slowly, “want your fingers, Eddie and then your cock.”

He could cum right here and there, he had dreamed of this too many times. 

“Yeah?” He rasps against you, still kissing your neck, “you want me to fuck you with my fingers first?”

You nod wildly, bringing his hand down to your laced panties, you spread your legs further, grinding against him needily. You are so wet, having soaked through your panties already. 

“I-I always think about you when I touch myself, I imagine it’s your fingers instead of mine,” you admit with burning cheeks. 

Eddie opens his eyes widely, leaning back from your neck after marking it up, he looks at your blushing face. 

“R-Really?” He stutters, though with a satisfied look on his face. 

Through hooded eyes, you look at your best friend as you nod shyly, humming. 

“Guess we got something in common then,” Eddie smirks as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, he pecks your lips as he slips his fingers down between your legs, finally, cupping your pussy, he presses against your wetness, growling at the feeling. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.”

“I always am for you!” You whine, desperately grinding against the heel of his hand. 

His cock twitches at your words, stomach tensing up. 

The thought that you might’ve been sitting next to him during movie nights, squirming because of him, waiting to go home so you could touch yourself while thinking of him drives him insane. If he had known… he could’ve done this way sooner. 

Eddie pushes your panties aside, dipping his fingers through your folds, he makes both you and himself moan. 

“Don’t tease,” you whimper, bucking your hips and pressing yourself against him as he teases your entrance. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Eddie says as he brings his digits up to your clit, “can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

While the shocked look on his face and the disbelief is cute, you can tell what is going on – what went on in his head all this time that he thought that his feelings would never be reciprocated. 

You grab his face and smash your lips against his again, kissing him just as roughly as he kissed you the second time, you try to show him, to make him feel what had been there all this time, and he welcomes it so happily, kissing you back right away while his fingers continue to move against your clit, teasingly at first, intensifying the aching inside of you. He licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours as he moans needily, getting lost in the feeling he had craved for so long.

His stomach flutters when you wrap one leg around his waist while rolling your hips, wanting and needing more, he can feel you getting wetter and wetter, moans getting louder, lips moving sloppier. He slips his fingers lower, dipping his middle finger into you slowly, inching it inside of you, pulling the neediest sounds out of you as you clench around him already. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your mouth, “you’re so tight.”

“More!” You demand with a whine, making him chuckle. 

“More huh? One finger not enough for you, sweets?” He asks to which you shake your head, furrowing your brows when he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside of you as he opens you up. 

“No, I-I want more,” you whimper at the feeling of him splitting you open, preparing you for his dick, just the thought of it has you drooling already. “I need–” the words die on your tongue and you quickly forget what you even wanted to say when he starts fucking you in slow but deep movements. 

“You need what, hmm?” He taunts you, unable to hide the satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you fall apart beneath him, losing your mind over just his fingers as your jaw falls slack and those sweet sounds begin to fill the room along with the squelching of your pussy. “God… You’re so fucking wet.” Eddie doesn’t even know what to do with himself, his heart is beating like crazy, his cock is aching in his grey sweats that feel way too tight by now, pre cum already leaking through the thick material, something he should feel embarrassed about, but he can’t, not when you look him up and down like you’re some hungry and feral animal in heat. 

“All because of you, I’ve been wet all day!” You whine as you grab at his hair when he buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your skin as he covers you in love bites. He growls against you, loving those words a little too much. 

His wrist starts moving faster, fingers splitting you open, he fucks them in and out of you. 

“Do you fuck your tight little pussy like this too?” 

Your brows are scrunched together so tightly, eyes rolling back when he curls them inside of you, hitting just the right spot to make you cry out. 

“N-No! Not t-this good!” 

You roll your hips against his hand, craving to feel him deeper. Your hands are all over him, his hair, his shoulders, his back, gripping at his shirt as you hold on for dear life while he sucks on your neck and fingerfucks your sopping pussy. The room is filled with such dirty sounds, something that should leave you a blushing mess, something that should leave your cheeks burning in embarrassment but you cannot bother to care, it just feels so good and Eddie fucking loves it. 

He pulls back to look at you, to admire your face and those marks he left on you, proudly he looks down at you, a look of love, a look of lust flashing in his eyes. He watches the way you bite your lip, eyes open widely again, you admire him too. And then, you push yourself up on your elbow, pecking his lips before you look down at his hand, wanting to see, wanting to watch his fingers moving in and out of you. 

“You like that, huh?” He mumbles as he presses his forehead against yours, “you like being fucked by your best friend like this?” 

You whimper again, louder this time as you nod, clenching around his fingers so tightly that he can’t help but growl – how is he going to last? How will he be able to control himself not to cum the second he enters you? 

Everything becomes so much hotter, the air around you, the energy in this room, his body against yours, his fingers inside of you, the coil in your stomach, everything starts burning and somehow, it only fuels the need in you. 

You grab at the hem of your shirt and push it up to your collarbones, exposing your chest to him, your boobs bounce as you throw your head back against the pillow to see him better and his reaction does not disappoint, if you weren’t so lost in pleasure you would have giggled at the awestruck look on his face, at the wide eyes and the parted lips. 

“Baby,” he whispers as he presses his large hand to your now bare waist, slipping it upwards slowly, “you’re unreal, fuck… you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as though in disbelief, staring down at you as though you are something that came straight out of his imagination. He grabs your boob roughly, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he leans down and wraps his lips against the other, wasting no time to suck on it, making you arch your back against him as you throw your hand into his curls, fingers grazing his scalp as you give it a harsh tug, something that he fucking loves. 

“I-I… oh my god!” You whimper as tears begin to pull in your eyes when he presses his thumb to your clit, teasing you. “D-Don’t stop! Don’t stop, Eddie! That feels so good!” You nearly scream as he starts moving his fingers faster than before, fucking them in and out of you roughly. You are clenching around him, digging your heel into his ass as you move along to his thrusts. 

He looks up at you, loving the sight of you coming undone before him, it’s the prettiest sight to him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart beneath him when he actually fucks you. He licks around your nipple, adding more pleasure to your body. 

“Eddie!” You writhe beneath him, blinking the tears away as you look down at him. Your stomach tenses up, burning as the pleasure builds up more and more, almost becoming unbearable, everything inside of you is lit on fire, absolutely every part of you. Your toes curl, your knuckles turn white from how rough you are grabbing at his curls, the sounds that fall from your mouth are almost not recognizable, sounding too pornographic but you have never felt anything like this before, especially not from just being finger fucked. 

Eddie pushes himself back up, straightening his back, he slides his hand further up your chest, passing your collarbones and settling around your throat, he tests the waters at first, needing you to be okay with this – he watches the way your eyes darken at this, lips parting as you push yourself up on your elbows, you bring your hand up to his wrist, wrapping your fingers tightly around it, you press it harder against your throat, asking him to choke you. 

Eddie laughs darkly, lips curling into a satisfied grin, he shakes his head at you, “of course you’re into that shit. You’re a naughty girl aren’t you?” 

It takes you a moment to answer his question because the view before you is just a little too distracting. Eddie hovers over you with one hand between your thighs, knuckle deep buried inside of you while his other hand is now wrapped around your throat, rings on, veins popping out of his tattooed forearm, dark curls falling in front of his face as he looks down at you like he wants to devour you but make love to you at the same time. 

God, he is beautiful. 

Your eyes move down his body, the wet patch on his sweatpants, the bulge making you drool, making you want to drop to your knees for him, worship him, choke on him, suck the soul out of him. You can’t help yourself, moving your hand down his stomach, you grab his dick, wiping the smirk off his face completely as he moans loudly. 

“F-Fuck, sweetheart.”

You palm him through his sweats, teasing him the way he teased you, though Eddie is less patient than you are. His hips stutter, a whimper falls off his lips so prettily and you almost tease him for it but he curls his fingers so deeply inside of you, presses his thumb against your clit so strongly that your vision blurs for a second. 

“Eddie… Eddie!” You say his name twice, pressing your hand stronger against him, you hook your fingers around the band of his pants. 

“D-Don’t tease me or else I’ll cum right this second,” he growls as his cheeks start burning at his words. 

“Don’t do that,” you warn as you push his pants down just enough, his dick slaps against his stomach, precum leaking out and rolling down his length, his tip an angry red, thick veins so prominent. Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him, of his size, his length. 

Eddie looks down at you with burning cheeks and begging eyes, he feels the way you clench around his fingers, feels how you soak his digits. 

You look at him intensely, watching him fall apart at nothing but the touch of your hand, his eyelashes flutter, a content sigh falling from his lips when you wrap your fingers around his length, “your cock is so pretty, Eds,” you purr, jerking him off slowly, you tease him a little, “I want to choke on it.”

His hips stutter, cock twitching in your hand as he whimpers at your words, “fuck… you can’t just say that to me.”

You pull your hand away from him, holding it up to him, “spit.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, eyes darkening further but he complies, right away, he spits into your hand and watches the way you bring it back down to his dick, wrapping your fingers around him again, you grip him just perfectly, jerking him off in a way that he only ever dreamed off. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he moans, clenching his jaw in concentration, his eyes moving back and forth between your glistening pussy and your hand getting him off. “I-I won’t last long,” he warns you, wanting to get lost in the pleasure, but even more so, he wants to feel you wrapped around him. 

With your free hand, you tug at his wrist, needing to feel his lips on yours again and without wasting a second, he slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly as he takes full control, parting your lips with his tongue, he moans into your mouth when you clench around his fingers again. 

The room is now filled with heavy moans, no longer coming from the TV but from you and him, desperation so clear in both your voices, lips smacking against one another so needily and the alcohol, the weed in your systems only makes it all a tad bit more intense. 

As much as Eddie is enjoying the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, he has to stop you or else he will cum before getting what he actually wants. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, lips twitching when you already whine in protest, “baby, I-I fuck… I need you stop or else I’ll cum too fucking soon.”

You pull away begrudgingly, wanting to pout at him but he quickly distracts you by speeding up his fingers inside of you. Letting go of your throat, he brings his now free hand down to your clit, wasting no second to play with your sensitive nub while he curls and slams his fingers in and out of you. 

A gasp falls from your lips as he repeatedly brushes your sweet spot, the one that allows you to see stars. A single tear slips down your cheek, one that he instantly kisses away. You want to look at him, you want to watch your best friend but the pleasure becomes too much and you can’t help but shut your eyes tightly. Your stomach burns in a way that has you whimpering and when you try to close your legs to relieve that pleasurable pain, he grabs your knee and stops you. 

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers, baby,” he murmurs hotly against your lips, “I know you want to cum, so let go for me,” he whispers, “let go.” One more swipe against your clit, one last thrust, one more kiss to your neck and you come undone for your Eddie, leaking around his fingers as your body trembles beneath his. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper. 

He slows down his movements, looking down at your legs to see them shaking, just from this. He lets you ride out your orgasm, giving you a moment to catch your breath. He kisses your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your jawline and your lips. And then, he pulls his fingers out of you, his mouth waters at the sight of your slick, wasting no time to bring his digits up to his lips, he dips them on his tongue, closing his eyes at your taste, he moans loudly. 

You open your eyes at the sound, stunned, you stare at him in hunger and lust, watching the way he laps at his fingers that were inside of you just seconds ago. His eyes are closed and he looks content. If you hadn’t been so feral already, you definitely would have been by now. 

“You’re even sweeter than I thought,” he mewls after releasing his fingers with a pop, opening his eyes to look down at you with a smirk. “I can’t wait to take my time and eat your pussy.” 

You grab him by the chain around his neck, tugging at it harshly, you’re surprised it doesn’t break by the force, you pull him back down against you and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

Eddie smiles against your lips, loving the way you moan at your own taste. He feels your hands sliding down his back, tugging at his shirt, demanding him to take it off and he does so instantly, only breaking the kiss for a second so he can tear it off his skin before his lips are back on yours, his pants are next to go as you push them down further, with your help he kicks them off, not caring where they land. 

He hooks his finger around your ruined panties, he begins to tug at them and you push your hips up so he can take them off, dragging them down your legs, he throws them to the ground beside his clothes before you both pull away from the kiss to take off the shirt that is still bunched up over your chest. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, looking at you in awe and then, his lips return to you and he places his elbows on either side of your head, pressing his chest against yours as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer and closer until nothing separates you any longer, until he feels your heat against his aching dick and he is so close, so close to getting what he wanted, until he remembers. 

“Fuck,” he curses in annoyance, clenching his jaw already as he breaks the kiss, “wait…” But you don’t listen, cupping his cheeks, you make it even harder for him when you keep kissing him, pleading for more. 

Frustration bubbles up inside of him and he almost wants to cry. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, shakily. “Wait, wait, wait…”

Finally, you pull away, eyes filled with curiosity, “what?”

“I don’t–” he cuts himself off, rolling his eyes as he clenches his fists and closes his eyes for a moment, “I don’t have a condom,” he says through gritted teeth, feeling dejected but then he feels you pull him closer again, cupping the back of his neck, you press your lips back against his.

“It’s okay, I’m on birth control and I’m clean,” you whisper, pressing your heel against his bum, “I waited too long for this, so don’t stop… please, Eddie.” 

A growl threatens to spill from his lips, the feeling of frustration is suddenly replaced by something else, not only the need he had felt for so long but something else, something much stronger, something that has him fighting his inner demons. 

He opens his eyes, staring at you as though you had gone crazy. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, sweets?” 

You giggle so cutely at that, in a way that makes him want to pound you into this couch until you are nothing but a screaming mess. 

“I have an idea,” you admit smugly, batting your eyelashes at him as your eyes flicker back and forth between his tattoos and his lips, hand already moving down his stomach, fingers reaching for him, you bite your lip as you look into his eyes, he is staring at you so intensely that it makes you blush. You wrap your fingers around his length again, mewling when you guide him through your wet folds, teasing both you and himself. 

Eddie grips the pillow beneath your head, cursing at the feeling. You can tell that he is trying to control himself, trying to keep his composure but he is losing it quickly when he feels your heat, your wetness. 

With your free hand, you hold onto his bicep, looking up at him with begging eyes, “please, fuck me, Eddie,” you whisper as you tilt your head up to kiss his lips, “show me how bad you want me, don’t hold back… please–” 

With a growl, he lets your words die on your tongue, replacing your hand with his own, he guides himself to your entrance, nudging it with the leaking tip of his cock, he presses his forehead and his lips to yours as he thrusts inside of you, torturously, splitting you open around his length. 

His heart could burst for feeling you so close, so intimately, his love for you burning stronger than ever, the immortal flame getting bigger and bigger, his body feels on fire, his soul feels at home and now he knows you feel the same, when you hold him close and you kiss him so passionately, tightening your legs around his waist in order to feel him closer, whimpering into him in such a needy way while you keep grabbing at him like he isn’t close enough despite being pressed against you, he knows you feel the same, in every way. 

He pushes into you deeper and deeper, scrunching his eyebrows in concentration as he feels you fully, working you open with nothing between you. He feels your warmth, feels your heat around him, your wetness dripping down onto the couch beneath you as fills you up completely. He never felt anything like this before, he never thought he would but god, he is already addicted, he had always been to you but now even worse, he will never be the same again, he will come back to Hawkins a changed man. 

“Fucking hell, darling,” he growls against your lips as he stills inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and himself a moment to concentrate so he doesn’t ruin this by coming too soon, though the thought of filling you up with his seed drives everything in him crazy, he wants it, craves it so bad. “You feel so… so perfect.”

You’re wailing, squirming beneath him, already looking down, wanting to see your bodies connected as sensitive whimpers escape your mouth. 

“Y-You’re so big, Eddie,” you say, eyes blurred with tears, words leaving your mouth breathlessly, “hurts so good.”

Your words don’t exactly do him a favor, especially when he opens his eyes and he looks down at you, watching the way your chest rises up and down heavily, the way you look down between your legs in desperation before your big eyes look up at him, glassy. Your lips are so puffy from all the kissing, your forehead glistening with sweat, your cheeks flushed. 

Your walls flutter around him, making it harder and harder for him. 

Eddie grabs your chin, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, baby, so fucking sweet and good for me but you’re driving me crazy, right now.”

“Fuck me,” you whimper, pouting at him as you hold his bicep harder, “please, fuck me, Eddie. I need it, I need you so bad– ah!” You scream out when he pulls out and slams back inside of you again. 

“Shh, I got you, I got you, baby,” he shushes your words, “can’t believe you are so desperate for my cock.” 

Your nails dig into his skin, your free hand gets lost in his hair, tugging at his curls as you roll your hips against his, going crazy at the feeling of him inside of you. 

“Please, please, please!” 

Eddie groans at your pleading, at the obvious desperation, at the need that you feel for him, and only him. His left knee digs into the soft cushions on the couch and he places his right foot against the floor, watching your face intently as he starts rolling his hips, making you gasp out loudly. 

“Oh my–” He pants, eyes rolling back as your name falls from his lips. 

“You… I…” You stutter, unable to find the right words, to even come up with anything as you lose yourself in this feeling. Your mouth waters and so do your eyes, his chain dangles before your face as he thrusts into you, faster and faster, deeper and rougher. You can’t help but clench around him, he fills you up so perfectly, his tip brushes against that one spot so rightly. 

You throw your arms around him as he cups the top of your head, holding eye contact with you as he rolls his hips harder. 

“I’m so fucking obsessed with you, do you even know that?” He kisses your lips, smacking them loudly against yours. 

“Mmm, I’m obsessed with you too, baby,” you whimper as you meet his thrusts, rolling your hips as well. 

“I never thought I’d get to have this, to have you.” 

You only hold onto him tighter in response, leaning into his neck, you brush your nose against it and latch your lips onto his neck, pecking along until you find that one spot that makes him whine, you start sucking, marking him up the way he did to you, not knowing just how feral that makes him. 

To wear your marks on his skin, to be claimed as yours makes his heart burst but it awakens something in him, because suddenly, he feels the need to pound you into this couch and he does so, he snaps his hips into yours, thrusting roughly. 

“Eddie!” You scream out in a choked sob, digging your nails into his skin as you cling to his body. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans loudly, not bothering to hide just how desperate you make him feel. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you back down, wanting and needing to see your face, he wastes no second before his lips are back on yours and his hips strike roughly into you, cock slamming in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your pussy filling the room, along with your moans and the slapping sounds as he fucks you. 

Neither of you want to pull away from the kiss, no matter how sloppy it gets, you don’t want to break the kiss and neither does he, not even when you grow breathless. You cling to each like you never did before, welcoming the pleasure that becomes almost too much. There is soreness in your thighs, burning in your lower back and an overwhelming sensation inside of you, an itch that only he can mend. 

And Eddie, he feels as though he is losing his mind, getting to feel this, to feel you, to kiss you and swallow your moans as your dripping walls cling to his cock, twitching around him and begging to be filled. Your arms and legs are so tight around him, you beneath him like he had only seen you in his dreams and in his imagination, you’re shaking, whining and trembling and you are close, he can feel it by the way you are getting tighter and tighter after each of his thrusts. 

Reaching down, he hooks his forearm around the back of your knee and he brings it up, pushing it higher until he can thrust into you from a different angle, one that makes you scream out with a high pitched moan and the neediest look he had ever seen on your face. 

“Fuck… just like that, baby, scream for me,” he rasps out. 

“Y-You’re so good, fuck me… Eds! Your cock feels so nice, please don’t stop, don’t ever stop!” You sputter, not knowing just how those words make him feel. 

You don’t know where to look, his pretty face, how he looks as he fucks you like you only ever dreamed of, how pretty his face is when he moans your name so sexily or how his glistening cock pounds in and out of you. 

And Eddie struggles just the same, though he settles on watching your beautiful face, wanting to see you fall apart more and more. 

And though you don’t want this moment to end, and neither does he, you both drag it out for as long as you can, not caring about anything anymore, not caring about the mess you are making on the couch. You are both sweaty, you are leaking down onto the cushions and Eddie is sure that he ripped a hole into the pillow beneath you earlier from how roughly he held it. 

A strangled whine leaves your lips and he knows you can’t hold on any longer, so he brings his hand down your stomach, pressing his fingers against your clit, causing you to jerk and whimper against him. 

“You’re close, baby, I can feel it,” he whispers against your neck, not slowing down his movements in the slightest, if anything, he starts fucking you even deeper, making you scream louder now as your fingernails rip through his skin from how hard you’re grabbing him and he welcome that pleasuring burn, “cum around my cock, do it for me, sweetheart. I know you want to be my good girl.” 

With another loud whine, you finally let go of him, arching your back and shutting your eyes tightly, you cum around your best friend's cock, for the first but definitely not the last time. You tighten around him so strongly that his hips stutter and his knees almost buckle, heat spreads through his skin and his stomach tightens as his own body screams for release. 

He can’t wait any longer either and panic ripples through him when you hold him tighter than before, locking him in as you refuse to let go. It makes his heart flutter and it does make him want to release but–

“I need to pull out, sweetheart,” he says shakily, knowing all too well that he doesn’t actually want it and apparently, you don’t either because you start shaking your head at him, opening your needy eyes. 

“No, no, don’t make a mess– cum inside of me, please!” 

His hips stutter once more, his dick twitches achingly inside of you, “you can’t just fucking say that–” he whimpers, unable to finish the sentence, one more thrust and he spills inside of you, coating your walls with his seed as your name falls from his lips before he smashes his lips to yours for the hundredth time tonight, swallowing your cry. 

Tears of pleasure run down your cheeks, your leg starts slipping from his waist and his thrusts slow down, though his grip doesn’t loosen on you, he continues to hold you close, the way you do as well as you grab his shoulder and his bicep, squeezing him tightly while your tongue clashes against his. 

Your walls spasm and contract around his length, sending shockwaves and an unbearable amount of pleasure through his sensitive body. 

Slowly, he removes his hand from between your legs, sliding it up your hot body until he is cupping your cheek again, he makes you both whimper when he pulls his softening cock out of you. 

Your name rolls off his tongue when you both pull away from the kiss, he says it like it’s a blessing, like a prayer. Your eyes make contact again and you stare at each other for a moment, lovingly, adoringly, and then, you both smile and giggle and press your lips back against each other, pecking one another again and again. 

“My Eddie,” you whisper as you admire the marks you left on him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers when he realizes that this isn’t just a moment, that this isn’t just for now, for tonight, that you waited for it just like he has. He looks down at you, brushing away and tucking your hair behind your ear as he caresses your cheek, his heart soaring in his chest. “I can’t believe this happened.”

You giggle at him, “I’m glad it happened.”

“Yeah?” He grins lazily, eyes dropping to your chest as he leans down and presses his lips to your jaw, “I’m fucking on top of the world right now.”

You brush your fingers through his curls, giggling yet again. 

“You’re a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork, right?” He asks with a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that questions more than just this. He wants to be yours, he wants it so badly. 

You nod happily, eyes flashing with happiness. 

“Mhmm, you’re mine, all mine.”

“Fuck,” he whispers as he feels his sensitive dick twitching at your words, heart bursting inside of him, “I’m yours, all yours.” 

You tug him closer and closer, breathing against his lips as you eye him hungrily again, you feel him leaking out of you and it only makes your thighs burn again, “and I’m yours.” 

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps as his fingers dip inside of you, he groans at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, he pushes it back into you with a moan, “you’re mine, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, Eddie,” you mewl, pushing your hips up and chasing for more already. 

“You want more?” 

You nod, “yes… more, please!”

Not needing to be told twice, he slowly pushes his fingers and his cum back into you, making you both moan at that. 

“You know what, I'm glad we did this today,” Eddie mumbles against your lips. 

“Yeah?” You moan, arching your back in pleasure when he curls his fingers inside of you. 

“Mhmm, that means I get to fuck you over and over and over for the whole weekend,” he smirks before he slams his lips against yours again, kissing you passionately and sensually while his fingers move and in out of you, creating a mess with his cum leaking out of you and your own wetness sticking to your thighs and his. 

You both fill the room with filthy noises, needy and desperately you touch each other, grabbing and pulling at each others hair as the night goes on, continuing to mark each other up, to taste one another, to fuck like animals in heat, the movie long forgotten as his tongue laps at your pussy when he is kneeled on the ground with your legs dangling of his shoulders and your fingers pull at his hair roughly. 

This night never ends, the pleasure continuing until the early morning hours, until you can no longer take it, until you both get too sensitive, until you’re both nothing but a panting, sweaty mess and even then, you still kiss and cling to one another. 

The night was filled with desperation, with pent up emotions, with filthiness yet with love and adoration, and this night has changed you both forever, for good. 

-

“So… What you’re telling me is–…” Steve begins, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched as he stands before you and Eddie with a stern look on his face. You are both on his couch, looking up at him like scolded children. “You need to buy me a new… bed?” 

You are blushing furiously, embarrassment written all over your face. You glare at Robin who is standing in the corner, sipping on her soda with an amused look on her face. 

“Uh… yeah.”

You know how badly Eddie wants to laugh, he is smug, you can see it on his face but he stays quiet, for a second at least. 

“And a new arm chair?” Steve mumbles, looking between you both. 

“Yeah.” Eddie snorts to which you elbow him, shushing him. 

“Don’t forget the flower vase,” Robin snickers. 

Steve throws his hands up, “and a fucking flower vase, thanks Robin!”

You put your finger up and straighten your back, “actually, the flower vase fell by itself–”

“Because you were fucking on top of the table!” Steve retorts to which your boyfriend chuckles in satisfaction, not being embarrassed by anything in the slightest. 

You turn to look at him, he only smirks at you and shrugs, holding your thigh tighter than before. 

“I’d buy a new couch too–”

“Eddie!” 

Robin moves closer and eyes you both, eyeing the matching marks on your necks. 

“I hope you used protection, at least.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, looking at you both expectedly, your flustered face gives you away completely as you sink deeper into the couch, wanting nothing more than to bury your face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Great, now I might be a fucking uncle.”

“Godfather,” Eddie corrects him, making you giggle. 

“Go to hell,” Steve shakes his head, though he can’t hide the look on his face and how delighted he is to hear that he would be considered a godfather if it were to happen. And despite the clear distaste on his face after hearing what you did at his cabin, he can’t help but feel happy for you both. 

Robin looks down with a smile on her face when Eddie wraps his arm around you and kisses your cheek softly and Steve’s eyes soften as well. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes as he finally takes a seat, he reaches for his beer and takes a sip. 

“I’m happy my plan worked but you both will go back, replace the furniture and clean everything up before I lose my shit and I kill you before my parents kill me.”

You nod at him with wide eyes, while Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “clean up? Oh, we did clean up and besides, we didn’t waste a single drop.” 

“Eddie,” you whine as you bury your face in your hands while Robin groans in disgust. 

Steve only sighs but his lips twitch slightly, curling into a smirk as he nods at Eddie. 

“At least I know your children aren’t running around my cabin.” 

You give Eddie a warning glance but he is already smirking at you, gripping your thigh harder, slipping under your skirt. 

“They’re somewhere else.” 

“Oh, gross!” Robin coughs and turns away with a frown on her face. 

“Eddie!” You whine and slap his chest to which he pulls you closer and kisses your cheek, chuckling in amusement. 

Steve shakes his head, sighing. 

“I’m never inviting you both to that summer house ever again.”

[munsonhoneybaby]

WHEN IS IT MY TURN???

jokes aside this fic was absolutely amazing thank you so much for posting babes <3

[toadtoru-deactivated20260517]

i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.