Fire in My Heart
description: eddie reluctantly goes to the club with steve, robin, johnathan, and nancy. a couple of drinks in, and his experience goes from torturous to somewhat manageable. that is, until he sees you from across the room, and his whole facade comes to a screeching halt. he wants you back, hell, he needs you. and he's not letting you go for a second time.
pairing: eddie x ex!gf (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, unresolved tension, bad (previous) break-up, flirty arguing, mid-club confession, they're both still in love unfortunately, sexual tension as FUCK, elevator..., voyeurism-ish, "out of order", sex so good it fixes the relationship, push and pull dynamic, mean flirting, i'd cave too ngl
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!, PiV, unprotected (sorry im a raw dog WHORE), drinking
WC: 4.4k
A/N: heh...anywayyy enjoy! reblogs are always appreciated muah muah
The club was the absolute last place Eddie wanted to find himself on a Friday night. Shitty disco music, expensive drinks, and people pretending to be someone they're not all for a night of fake flirting and (maybe) getting laid.
When Club Skunk opened two towns over, Steve and Robin were practically foaming at the mouth to go. Nancy and Johnathan reluctantly agreed, solely on the principle that “Hawkins doesn’t have any nightlife.”
Eddie, on the other hand, was heavily peer-pressured to attend. He hasn’t been out to a real club, like, ever, let alone one that is packed on a nightly basis, unlike the Hideout. But, with enough liquid courage to put down a pack of horses, here he is.
Okay, in his defense, he’s not that drunk. Just enough to where he doesn’t want to crawl out of his skin the second he crosses the threshold, and the overwhelming boom of the bass doesn’t make his heart rip out of his chest.
When they walk in, Robin immediately pulls everyone to the bar, insisting she gets a Dirty Shirley “pronto.”
Eddie hangs back a step, leaning against the sticky edge of the bar while the others crowd in around Robin like she’s about to perform open-heart surgery instead of ordering a drink.
“Make it two!” Steve calls over her shoulder.
“You don’t even know what’s in it,” Nancy says, already regretting her life choices.
“I don’t need to,” Steve shoots back. “It’s pink. That’s enough for me.”
Eddie snorts softly into his cup, taking another sip of whatever mystery liquor someone shoved into his hand five minutes ago.
It burns going down, sits heavy in his stomach, but it’s doing its job; taking the edge off just enough that the room feels less like it’s closing in on him.
The bass is still too loud. The lights are still too much. People are still people.
He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as he scans the room. Mostly out of habit, partially out of boredom, and partially because if he focuses on something, anything, he won’t think about how out of place he feels.
That’s when he sees you. Or, no. He doesn’t see you at first; he sees movement.
A shift in the crowd. A ripple in the sea of bodies packed too close together, all grinding and laughing and shouting over music that no one’s really listening to anyway.
And then, you. It hits him all at once, like his brain short-circuits mid-thought.
You’re in the middle of it all, like you belong there in a way no one else does. Like the entire room rearranged itself just to make space for you. Dancing.
Not the awkward, forced kind everyone else is doing either, no. You’re actually dancing. Fluid, effortless, like the music is something you feel instead of just hear.
Your friends are around you, laughing, spinning, grabbing your hands, but you’re the center of it. The axis around which everything else spins.
Eddie forgets to breathe, like actually forgets. His fingers tighten around the cup in his hand, eyes narrowing just slightly, like that’ll somehow make you less real.
Because there’s no way. No way you’re here. No way he just randomly ends up in some overpriced club two towns over, and you’re...
And then it happens, like you can feel him looking. Your head turns, and your eyes lock with his.
It’s not surprise that crosses your face. It’s recognition, clear as day. Eddie’s heart kicks violently against his ribs, like it’s trying to get out, like it’s got somewhere else to be.
And you? You don’t stop dancing. If anything, you lean into it, just a little.
A subtle shift of your hips, a tilt of your head, your gaze still fixed on his like you’ve got him pinned in place from across the room.
Like you know exactly what you’re doing. Eddie swallows hard.
“…Dude?”
Steve’s voice cuts in from somewhere to his left, but it sounds far away. Muffled, like he’s underwater.
“Eddie,” Robin tries this time, snapping her fingers once in front of his face.
Nothing, he doesn’t even blink. Because you’re still looking at him. And then you smile.
Half happy, half evil, like you’re reveling in his torment. And then you turn back to your friends like nothing had happened.
Like you didn’t just flip his entire world on its head in the span of ten seconds.
“Earth to Munson,” Robin says, following his line of sight. “What are we—oh.”
A pause.
“…oh.”
Steve leans in. “What? What—” Then he sees you too.
“…oh, shit.”
Eddie finally exhales, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to pull himself back into his body.
“…I need another drink,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” Steve says immediately. “You actually might die if you don’t.”
Nancy crosses her arms, already smirking. “Who is she?”
Eddie doesn’t answer right away; he simply can’t.
He looks down at his drink, at the condensation dripping down the plastic cup, at the warped reflection of neon lights bleeding across the bar. Doesn’t work.
His eyes drag back to you like he’s got no say in it.
You’re still dancing, still laughing with your friends, but now that he’s seen you, he can’t unsee you. Your hair hits him first.
Jesus Christ.
It’s long. Longer than he thought from across the room. It spills down your back in thick waves, catching the colored lights every time you move, brushing just above your ass when you spin. It moves with you, not against you, like it’s part of the performance.
Eddie swallows hard. Because then there’s the dress.
Red. Of fucking course it’s red. Not soft, not subtle, but red.
The kind that demands attention, that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even if you wanted to.
It clings in all the right places, dips low at the front in a loose cowl that shifts every time you move, giving just enough to make his brain short out completely.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
“…you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.
It barely covers you, either.
Every turn, every step, every sway of your hips, it rides up just enough to be dangerous. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to make him aware of it. Hyperaware, really.
Like you know exactly where the line is, and you’re dancing right on it. Eddie’s grip tightens around his drink again, knuckles going pale.
This is insane. He shouldn’t be staring. He knows he shouldn’t be staring. But you? You make it impossible not to.
There’s something about the way you carry yourself. The way you move, like you don’t need the room’s approval, like you’re not performing for anyone, and somehow that makes it feel like it’s only for him.
Which is ridiculous. Delusional, even.
But then, you glance over again. Quick this time, like a check-in. And your eyes land right back on him. Eddie’s stomach drops.
You don’t smile this time, don’t have to. There’s something else there instead. Like you caught him looking and decided… you don’t mind. Maybe you even like it.
His breath stutters.
“…oh, he’s gone,” Robin says somewhere beside him.
“Fully gone,” Steve agrees.
Eddie doesn’t even react.
Because you turn back again. And this time, when your hands slide up your own arms as you move to the music, when your head tilts back just slightly, exposing the line of your throat…It feels intentional.
Not for the crowd. Not for your friends. For him.
After a while, your friend motions to the bar to get another drink, so you follow.
Eddie isn’t expecting this at all. He barely gets two steps off from the bar before the crowd shifts again, bodies pressing in, parting just enough, and suddenly, you’re there.
Not across the room. Not untouchable, but right at the bar. Eddie actually stalls mid-step, like someone hit pause on him.
You’re closer now. Close enough that the details hit harder, sharper. The red of your dress isn’t just eye-catching; it’s blinding. The low drape at your chest shifts as you lean forward slightly, resting your elbows against the bar, saying something to the bartender that gets lost under the music.
Your friend slides in beside you, loud, already trying to flag someone down.
Eddie forgets whatever plan he thought he had to try to talk to you. This is better. Wayy better.
He steps up beside you, casual in the way only slightly drunk confidence allows, forearms resting against the bar like he’s been there the whole time.
Up close, it’s worse. Or better.
Definitely worse.
Your hair falls down your back in waves, one strand slipping forward over your shoulder, catching on the curve of your collarbone.
The fabric of your dress shifts again when you move, and Eddie has to physically force his eyes back up before he makes an absolute idiot of himself.
“Y’know,” he starts, voice a little rough around the edges, “I was starting to think I imagined you.”
Your head turns slowly, and you take him in. From the rings on his fingers to the leather jacket, the messy hair, the fact that he’s very obviously been staring at you for the last however long.
Your lips curve, just slightly.
“Did you?” you say, voice smooth, just loud enough for him to hear. “That sounds like a you problem.”
Eddie huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I get that a lot, actually.”
Your friend, however, is not impressed. She looks him up and down like she’s already decided he’s not worth the oxygen.
“Do you always walk up to girls and say weird shit, or is this a special occasion?” she cuts in, sharp.
Eddie glances at her, unfazed. “Only when they’re worth it.”
Your friend snorts. “Right.”
You don’t say anything right away, just watch him.
“Mm,” you hum, turning slightly toward the bar as the bartender finally comes over. “Two vodka cranberries.”
Your friend leans in closer to you, muttering something Eddie definitely isn’t supposed to hear, but absolutely does. “Seriously? Him?”
Eddie raises his brows, taking a sip of his drink like he’s got all the time in the world.
You don’t even look at her when you respond. “He’s entertaining.”
Eddie smirks. “I’ll take that,” he says.
Your drinks land on the bar, and your friend grabs hers immediately, still side-eyeing him like she’s seconds away from calling security herself.
“Yeah, well, enjoy your… entertainment,” she says, the word dripping with judgment.
Eddie lifts his cup slightly toward her. “Big fan already.”
She rolls her eyes hard. You finally glance over, nudging her arm lightly.
“Go find Jess,” you say, casual but pointed. “She said something about the dance floor.”
“Five minutes,” she warns you.
“Sure,” you say, already turning back to the bar.
She walks off, not without one last look over her shoulder. Eddie watches her go, then glances back at you.
“…your security detail’s intense.”
You take a sip of your drink, unfazed. “She means well.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure she’d tackle me if I made one wrong move.”
You tilt your head, finally giving him your full attention again.
“Would you?”
Eddie grins, slow and crooked. “Depends. Is this a trap?”
“Maybe.”
“Then yeah,” he says easily. “I’d still risk it.”
Eddie exhales, tapping his fingers against the bar before glancing at you again.
“…so,” he says, quieter now, “red, huh?”
Your brows lift slightly. “What about it?”
He shrugs, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “Just, never seen you wear it before.”
Your gaze flickers, just for a second. “People change.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “…I noticed.”
“Then why are you still looking at me like that?” you ask.
Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. “Like what?”
“Like you forgot how this ends.”
That hits different. But he just tilts his head, stepping a fraction closer. Close enough that his voice doesn’t have to compete with the music anymore.
“Maybe I didn’t forget,” he says. “Maybe I just don’t care.”
Your breath hitches.
Eddie shifts, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. He’s still close, closer than he probably has any right to be.
“…you look good,” he says finally.
It slips out before he can stop it. Your expression doesn’t change, but your grip tightens slightly around your drink.
“Don’t,” you say.
Eddie exhales a small breath through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah. Okay. Fair.”
He glances down at the bar, then back at you, like he’s trying to figure out where the hell to even start.
“…I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he admits.
You let out a soft, humorless huff. “Didn’t think you’d see me at all, actually.”
Ouch.
Eddie winces a little, but he doesn’t argue it.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s… also fair.”
You finally turn your body more toward him, leaning back against the bar, putting just enough space between you that it feels intentional.
“And yet,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “here you are.”
“And here you are,” he shoots back, softer.
Your jaw ticks. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is mutual.”
Eddie nods slowly, looking down for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“…it’s not,” he says.
You don’t respond. But you don’t look away, either.
“I know it’s not,” he continues, quieter now, less of the usual Eddie edge and more… something real. “I know I—” he cuts himself off, shakes his head, starts again. “I know I screwed that up.”
You let out a short laugh. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“What do you want me to say?” he asks, a little more bite creeping in. “You want the whole list? ‘Cause I got one.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” you snap.
Eddie stills for a second, then nods once. “…right.”
He should stop. He knows he should stop.
But you’re right here, and you’re looking at him like that, and it’s been what, months? Longer? And he never actually said it, not really.
“…I was an asshole,” he says, more firmly this time. “To you. Specifically. Like, impressively so.”
You roll your eyes, looking away as you take a sip of your drink.
“Congratulations,” you mutter. “You want a medal?”
“No,” he says quickly. “No, I just—”
He stops again, frustrated, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t know how to…” he huffs a breath. “I didn’t handle it right. At all. And yeah, I was mean. I said shit I shouldn’t have said, and I—” his jaw tightens slightly, “I shouldn’t have ended it like that.”
You go still, just for a second. But then you shake your head, pushing off the bar slightly like you need the movement.
“Ended it?” you repeat, incredulous. “That’s what you think you did?”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
“You didn’t end anything, Eddie,” you say, emotions starting to crack through. “You blindsided me. One second we were fine, and the next you were acting like I was—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head again. “Like I meant nothing.”
“I never said that—”
“You didn’t have to,” you snap. “I could fucking feel it.”
Eddie’s expression shifts, something heavier settling in.
“…you didn’t mean nothing,” he says, quieter now. “You still don’t.”
You let out another laugh, but it’s weaker this time, less convincing.
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Don’t,” you say again, looking back at him. “Don’t do that now. You don’t get to say that now.”
Eddie steps a fraction closer before he can stop himself.
“I should’ve said it then,” he admits. “I know that.”
“Yeah,” you say, your voice dropping just slightly. “You should have.”
Eddie studies your face for a second, like he’s trying to read something he used to know by heart.
“…I didn’t stop caring,” he says, softer now. “I just handled it like an idiot.”
“Good for you,” you say. “Really. Growth.” There’s bite there again.
Eddie almost smiles, because yeah, that’s familiar too.
“Yeah,” he says. “Workin’ on it.”
You shake your head, looking down into your drink.
“…you don’t get to just show up and say sorry and think that fixes it.”
“I’m not asking for that,” he adds.
You glance up at him again, searching his face.
“…then what are you asking for?”
Eddie holds your gaze. “…five minutes,” he says.
The words hang between you like a live wire. Five minutes.
You stare at him, chest rising and falling a little faster under that sinful red dress, lips parted like you’re about to tell him to fuck off.
Instead, you finish your drink in one long swallow, set the empty glass on the bar with a decisive clink, and look him dead in the eye.
“Five minutes,” you say. “Then I’m done with you.”
Eddie doesn’t waste a second. He grabs your hand, your fingers still cool from the glass, and tugs you through the crowd before either of you can think better of it.
The bass thumps against his ribs as he shoulders past bodies, your heels clicking fast behind him. His pulse is hammering.
He spots the elevator bank near the back hallway, the one that leads down to the main floor and the side exit. Perfect. Private enough.
He jams the button. The doors slide open immediately, thank fuck, and he pulls you inside. The second they close, he crowds you against the mirrored wall.
“Eddie—” you start, but he cuts you off with his mouth.
It’s not soft. It’s months of frustration and want crashing together. His hand fists in your long hair, tilting your head back so he can lick into your mouth like he owns it.
You make this sharp, surprised sound that melts into a moan, and then you’re kissing him back just as hard, nails digging into his shoulders through his leather jacket.
Your tongues slide, teeth nip, breath hot and messy. The elevator starts its slow descent, and he presses his thigh between yours, grinding up against the heat of you through that tiny dress.
“Fuck, you taste the same,” he growls against your lips, biting the bottom one and tugging. “Missed this mouth. Missed how fucking greedy you get.”
Your hips roll against his thigh, chasing friction, and he laughs low and dark into the kiss; half moan, half triumph.
One of his hands drops to your ass, squeezing hard, yanking you tighter against him so you can feel exactly how hard he already is.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your throat, sucking a mark right where your pulse is racing. “You missed this, dick, didn’t you, baby? Bet you’ve been thinking about it every time you touch yourself.”
You whimper, head tipping back against the mirror, and the sound goes straight to his cock. Your hand slides down his chest, palming him through his jeans, squeezing just right.
“Shut up,” you breathe, but there’s no heat in it, strictly want.
He grins against your neck. “Make me.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. You’re both breathing hard, lips swollen, your hair wrecked from his fingers.
He doesn’t let you go, just grabs your hand again and pulls you down the dimly lit hallway toward the single-stall bathroom tucked away near the emergency exit.
The sign says “Out of Order,” but the door opens when he tries it. Thank every god in existence.
He locks it behind you, and then he’s on you again.
This time there’s no pretense. He spins you around, pressing your front against the cool tile wall, chest to your back. One hand braces beside your head, the other yanks the hem of your dress up over your hips. No panties. Jesus Christ.
“Dirty girl,” he groans, sliding two fingers through your slick folds. “You came out tonight hoping someone would fuck you in a bathroom, huh? Or were you hoping it’d be me?”
You push back against his hand, desperate. “Eddie. Stop talking and fuck me.”
He chuckles, dark and mean, and unzips his jeans. “Nah. You’re gonna beg first.” He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, coating himself in how wet you are. “Tell me you missed it. Tell me this pussy’s been empty without me.”
You’re panting, forehead against the tile, hips twitching back. “I hate you.”
“Yeah?” He pushes in just the tip, then stops. “Say it anyway.”
A broken sound leaves you. “I missed your dick, okay? Fuck—Eddie, please—”
He slams home in one thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You both moan loud enough that anyone outside probably heard.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust; he just sets a brutal pace, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip harshly.
“That’s it,” he growls, lips at your ear. “Take it like you used to. Fuck, you’re still so tight. Still mine, aren’t you?”
You’re pushing back to meet every thrust, one hand reaching back to claw at his thigh. The slap of skin echoes off the bathroom walls, wet and filthy.
He angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your legs shake, and you cry out.
“Say it,” he demands, slowing just enough to torture you. “Say you’re still mine.”
“I’m—fuck—Eddie—” Your voice cracks as he grinds deep. “I’m yours. Don’t stop.”
He rewards you by fucking you harder, reaching around to rub tight circles over your clit. Your whole body tightens, thighs trembling, and he feels you start to flutter around him.
“Come on, baby. Come on my cock like the desperate little slut you are for me. Let me feel it.”
You shatter with a choked moan, clenching so hard he sees stars. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, hips stuttering.
“Where do you want it?” he rasps.
“Inside,” you gasp. “Fill me up, Eddie—please—”
He buries himself deep and comes with a guttural groan, pulsing inside you, hips grinding like he can push it even deeper.
For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the muffled thump of bass from the club.
He stays inside you, forehead pressed to the back of your neck, arms caging you in.
“Five minutes are up,” he murmurs, voice rough.
You let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. “Yeah… they are.”
The bathroom is still spinning around you, your legs shaky, his come slowly dripping down your thighs.
Eddie’s chest is plastered to your back, both of you breathing like you just ran a marathon. He presses a surprisingly soft kiss to the side of your neck, then nips it.
“But I’m not done with you yet.”
Before you can answer, he spins you around, lifts you up, and sets your ass on the edge of the sink.
Your dress is still bunched around your waist, heels dangling. He drops to his knees on the dirty tile like it’s nothing, spreading your thighs wide with both hands.
“Eddie—” you start, but he cuts you off by licking a long, filthy stripe up your soaked pussy, tasting both of you.
“Shh. This one’s for you,” he says against your cunt, eyes flicking up to yours. Dark, hungry, and focused. “Gonna make you come on my tongue until you forget every shitty thing I ever did.”
He doesn’t tease this time, just devours. Mouth hot and relentless, sucking your clit, fucking you with his tongue, two thick fingers curling deep inside you, and stroking that spot that makes your vision go white.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight, hips grinding against his face. He groans like he’s the one getting off on this, the vibration shooting straight through you.
“Fuck—Eddie, right there—” Your voice cracks.
He pulls back just enough to smirk, lips shiny with you. “Yeah? You gonna be a good girl and come for me again?”
Then he dives back in, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster. His free hand slides up your body, shoving the cowl of your dress aside so he can pinch and roll your nipple.
It hits you fast and brutally. You come with a broken cry, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking against his mouth while he licks you through every pulse. He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, and trembling.
Only then does he stand up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s the best meal he’s had in months.
His cock is hard again, flushed dark and leaking. He lines up and pushes back inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at how wet and warm you still are.
This round is slower. Deeper. He fucks you like he’s trying to memorize every inch, hips rolling in these devastating circles that keep grinding against your clit.
One arm is wrapped around your lower back, holding you tight against him. The other hand cradles the back of your neck so you’re forced to look at him; foreheads almost touching, breaths mingling.
“Look at me,” he rasps when your eyes flutter shut. “Want you to see who’s making you feel this good.”
You do, because you can’t look away. Every thrust drags a helpless moan out of you. He’s hitting so deep, so perfect, you’re already climbing again.
“That’s it, baby. One more. Give me one more,” he coaxes, voice low and filthy-sweet. “Want to feel this pretty pussy come all over my cock again. Missed making you fall apart like this.”
You shatter a third time, clenching around him so hard he curses, burying his face in your neck as he follows right after you, coming deep with a long, guttural groan, hips stuttering.
For a minute, there’s just heavy breathing and the distant thump of music. He stays inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, your legs locked behind his back.
You’re both a sweaty, wrecked mess.
Finally, Eddie pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy, crooked grin spreading across his face.
“Well, shit,” he says, voice hoarse. “I think I just fucked us back into a relationship.”
You stare at him for half a second, then laugh, breathless and a little dazed.
You lean in and kiss him slowly, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“Yeah,” you murmur against his lips, smiling. “You kinda did.”
Eddie’s grin turns stupidly bright. He kisses you again, softer this time, thumbs brushing your jaw like he still can’t believe you’re letting him.
“Guess I owe you a real date now,” he says. “And a lot more of this.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling as you tighten your legs around him.
“Shut up and get me cleaned up before my friends send a search party, Munson.”
heh.....
taglist:
@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm
