GloomWeed

25 | ♓️ | currently obsessed with Eddie Munson 💜

[gloomweed]

Scars - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie feels a little insecure about his scars. You kiss it better.

WC: 2.2k

Eddie stands in the cramped bathroom, staring at his reflection in the fogged mirror. He’s yet to put his shirt on after his shower, leaving him in a pair of dark grey sweatpants. His fingers trail over his bare torso, tracing the permanent marks that hold no ink. There’s a grimace on his face not from pain - not physical pain, that is - but from the grief of losing something he never realized he had until it was gone. 

If you were to ask Eddie if he thought he was attractive before bats from an alternative dimension ate his flesh, he’d probably make a joke. “Oh yeah. Nothing's hotter than denim and leather, baby,” he’d say with a charming little wink and devilish smile. It would be something that would give the impression he thought he was the hottest man on the planet in an effort to hide how insecure he truly was. Something that would make you laugh and change the subject altogether. But now? After? He doesn’t even have it in him to make the joke anymore. 

Because the truth is Eddie never saw himself as someone attractive. His hair was always a frizzy mess no matter what he did with it. He wasn’t especially tall. His limbs were thin and lanky. Half his clothes were older than he was and smelled like weed. Hell, he didn’t even have a proper clasping belt! As far as Eddie was concerned, there was nothing on him that screamed ‘boyfriend material.’

Of course that didn’t stop the animalistic part of his brain - the part with the innate desire to feel loved - from finding the next best thing to physical attractiveness; charisma. If he couldn’t look good, he could always act good. Obviously not in the follow-the-rules kind of act good, but the put-on-a-show-and-dazzle-the-audience act good. Feigning confidence, control, nonchalance, being funny, being unapologetically himself; that’s what made him attractive.

But as Eddie stares at the horrendous scars that mar his once untainted sides, he feels a sense of regret for not appreciating his body for what it was. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his. Now his body serves as a constant reminder of a time he only wishes to forget. It may fade eventually after several years or so, but it will never truly be gone. This is going to be a part of him for the rest of his life.

“What’re you doing?”

Eddie startles at the sound of your question. Your brow furrows apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” You murmur from where you peek at him behind the doorframe.

He breathes a soft chuckle of relief, wet tendrils dangling  as he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, really. Just thinking, I guess,” he shrugs before quickly putting his old Black Sabbath shirt on. The lights turn off with a quiet clack of the cheap light switch Eddie hits on his way to the bedroom. You follow behind him tentatively, unsure if he was wanting to be alone or not. It was obvious something was bothering him, and you hate to see that quiet sadness in his face. It rests in his eyes and the dark circles under them. His gaze seems confined to the lower half of his field of vision, his big doe eyes no longer so big.

When he doesn’t close the door, you take that as an open invitation. He sprawls out on his bed with a quiet huff, wet hair be damned. You sit on the edge beside him, wiping the damp bangs from his forehead. “What’re you thinking about?”

The softness in your voice betrays your concern. His eyes flutter open to take in your doting worry pinched between your brows. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath before he answers. “It’s stupid,” he mutters as he brings a thumb up to smooth out the tiny fold between your brows with a tender touch. “But I know you’re not gonna take that for an answer, so…” There’s a fondness in his voice along with his distant smile that has you smiling with him.

“Smart boy,” you praise before poking his side playfully, hoping for a laugh. “So, spill it.”

Eddie does chuckle despite his best effort to be brooding. He can’t help it when he’s around you. You bring out the best of what’s left of him. He sighs once more before telling you the truth. “I don’t like the way I look,” he says with a tinge of embarrassment soaking his words. “How the bites make me look,” he clarifies when he sees your confusion. The clarification doesn’t seem to do much though because you’re still staring at him with the same amount of understanding.

“How do they make you look?” 

“Like,” Eddie looks at the ceiling and tightly crosses his arms over his chest. “Like a freak,” he shrugs, like there’s no other way to put it. Despite his best attempt at trying to look like he barely cares about it, you can see right through it with a small frown.

Your hand runs over his arm soothingly. “You’re not a freak, Eddie,” you reassured softly. Eddie can’t seem to meet your eyes as he stubbornly refuses your comfort. He is too focused on the cobwebs in the corner, it seems. Your soft hand on his jaw pulls his focus back to you as you shake your head resolutely. “You’re not a freak.” 

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a subtle pout, his eyes watering as your words seem to cut deeper than you probably intended. He forces a wet chuckle, “but I am a freak though.” He moves to sit up, and it breaks your heart a little to see him scoot away from you. “That’s what everyone calls me. A freak. And they’re right! I don’t fit in. I can’t fit in. I’m not-“ he shakes his head. “I’m not normal.” He says it with the weight of something carried for too long. 

You let his words sink into the silence as you try to understand him. You’ve never seen him so torn up about something like this. He always wore a brave face, always acted so confident and sure of himself, but ever since he came back from the upside down, he’s been… dimmer.

It could be the exhaustion of his body stitching itself back together after nearly being ripped apart or the trauma that comes with witnessing a friend being brutally mutilated, but Eddie doesn’t have that same high energy demeanor anymore. Of course he’s still himself. He still makes jokes and plays DnD with his little hellions and plays guitar for his band and gets high to watch sci-fi movies, but he’s just a little more… real. He doesn’t hide behind a mask so much anymore.

 If someone suggests watching a horror movie, he’ll turn them down nonchalantly, telling them it’s too scary for him. The fake blood looks too real and the screams are too familiar. When the intrusive thoughts get too loud and his brain is telling him all the most horrible ways you could be dying at that very moment, he’s unafraid to call you at odd hours of the night to be sure you’re safe and at home. Instead of trying to fill the silence with empty words, or adding to the already chaotic atmosphere of his found family, he’ll simply enjoy the present moment from his spot in the corner with a grateful smile on his face. 

And you like that about him! You like that he’s more honest with how he’s feeling and he’s not performing for you to like him, but part of you can’t help but worry he’s falling into a darker place when he seems so unlike himself. 

“I love that you aren’t normal,” you say earnestly. “And I love your scars.” You scoot closer to him, putting a hand on the knee he has pulled up to his chest. His dark brown eyes meet yours, still looking unconvinced. “I love that you were so willing to risk everything to save a shitty town that would never know your sacrifice. You earned those scars, Eddie. In the most heroic way possible.”

Eddie looks at you from beneath his lashes, a subtle hint of a smile on his face. You inch closer to him to hold his face between your hands. “I love you, Eddie. You and your scars.” His eyes sweep back and forth over your face, admiring your determination. “Take your shirt off,” you hear yourself say.

Despite having taken his shirt off in front of you before, Eddie feels his face flush from the intensity with which you make your request. It’s more of a command really, and he’s never heard you use that tone. When he’s too slow to take action, you realize how that might have come off. “Please?” You tack on with an apologetic look, effectively making it a choice for him rather than a demand.

Eddie huffs a soft chuckle before reaching backward to tug his shirt over his head. The movement causes his damp curls to cover his face, but he isn’t in a rush to fix it. It makes it a little easier if he can’t see your reaction, but you make it clear that that’s not the point. Your delicate fingers part his hair like a curtain and the way you smile at him so warmly has him relaxing just a bit.

You tuck hair behind both of his ears with two deft fingers before giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you for indulging me,” you murmur before continuing to kiss down his neck.

Eddie’s chuckle reverberates against your mouth as you continue. “Is that what this is? Me indulging you?” You hum your affirmative response against the column of his throat. He sighs contentedly, a soft hum coming in response. “Because it feels more like you kissing me while I wallow in my own self-pity,” he grumbles, only half joking.

Eddie can feel the way your lips upturn against his chest. You pull back enough to look up at him through your long, pretty lashes. “Give me time to work my magic, baby. You won’t be wallowing for long. Promise.” Your soft hand pushes him by the chest to relax and lie down. He’s slow to comply, but settles just the same.

He feels his heart stutter just looking at you like this. You have a hand braced by his side, the other trails down his abdomen. Your nails scrape his skin just enough to tease as you move from the light dusting of chest hair between his pecs to the coarser hair that makes up his treasure trail. His stomach instinctively flexes from the ticklish sensation before your hand makes a B line to his waist. 

You kiss the soft skin of his stomach as you go along, tender little love stamps left in appreciation of his body. Eddie is sat up on his elbows, watching you curiously as you go. He loves seeing the focus in your eyes despite the subtle discomfort of being your focus. 

Your thumb at his waist brushes over a patch of his newly formed skin, the color pinker than the rest of him. You can feel the way it dips, like a layer of him is missing. The kisses you leave there are softer, Eddie realizes. You're spending more time there, worshipping his very existence. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you murmur between kisses. “Your eyes, your hair, your dimples when you smile. So handsome. More than that, you’re so funny and sweet.” Eddie can feel the way his face flushes from your praise. He can feel the heat in the back of his neck and the very tips of his ears. “And these scars,” you whisper reverently before looking up at him again. “So hot, baby.”

Eddie feels his pulse quickens, but can’t help but to be suspicious. “Hot? Really?” He asks incredulously. Because there is absolutely no way this is hot.

Your grin widens as you sit back on your haunches, amused by his inability to comprehend the simple fact. “Yes! So fucking hot, Eddie!” Your hands slide from his waist down to his thin hips as you give him a sultry, half lidded look. “What do I gotta do to convince you that I’m being 110% honest with you?”

He doesn’t have an answer, really. When you huff a disappointed sigh, there’s a split second of panic before he realizes you’re only messing with him. “Guess I’ll have to make this a nightly thing,” you say like it’s a chore. “I gotta make sure I tell you every day how handsome and beautiful and funny and sweet you are.” Your delicate fingers run up and down his sides, making him shiver. “Hopefully you’ll start to believe me after I’ve thoroughly kissed you stupid.” Your mischievous grin has Eddie grinning back. He leans in for a kiss that you happily reciprocate. 

You giggle when he shifts to swap your positions. Now he hovers over you as you lay on your back. Your arms are wrapped around his neck as you hold him close. He peppers kisses over your face, along your jaw and down your neck. “I’ll show you stupid,” his voice rumbles against you.

You can’t help the confused giggle you let out. “Wait, what?”

Eddie lifts his head from your neck with an embarrassed look. “Shut up, you know what I meant,” he grumbles before diving back in.

[scarlet-bitch]

All Your Pretty Clothes In A Perfect Pile

1.5 wc, 18+ mdni, Eddie X fem!reader - switch dynamics! Can totally be read standalone but I wrote this as the continuation of "Pretty When You Cry" Inspired by Kate - Sean Kennedy, and Cinema - Harry Styles Thanks for reading & as always, I hope you enjoy! XO, Scarlet 💋

One night with you and Eddie was questioning his own tastes — fully surrendering to the idea that being set in his ways had only meant he’d been missing out. He wasn’t even ashamed to share the story of dropping to his knees. He even went on to tell Jeff that if you continued seeing him, he wouldn’t be surprised if eventually the day would come where he’d be down on a knee asking for your hand. 

Despite your offer to let him have you at his mercy, the first month continued much like that first night — only somehow more reverent. He wanted it all the fucking time, barely making it 48 hours before calling you back to his apartment, letting you ruin him all over again.

There was just something in the way you moved. He constantly found himself craving the slow torture before overstimulation, your praises and the way your fingers trailed through his hair afterwards.

But eventually, after one particularly overstimulated night, where his cock was sore and leaking and already on his fourth orgasm, he was begging to be inside you. You were cooing and teasing all soft laughs and a smug little “not yet, baby” whispered against his skin and finally, the last button had been pressed, he flipped you over pinning you to the mattress.  

“Been good all fucking night,” he rasped. “You’ve had your fun.” 

“Oh?” you hummed, trying to sound unaffected though the shock was evident on your face. 

“Think it’s my turn.”

With a sly smirk you replied, “Do your worst.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. And fuck, did it feel like coming home.

More specifically, like returning after some grand trip. The type where you truly feel your life has been changed and it could never go back to exactly as it was before. And before you, he’d gotten off on being ruthless for the sake of it. Now that didn’t appeal to him the same way. Instead, he was pulling moans from you with a practiced control he only learned by being on your receiving end.

So even if it was filthy and rough, spanking the fat of your ass with his ring clad hand, hard enough to leave welts — he offered reprieve. He thrived off the sound of your screams melting into whimpers, every time he licked your hot stinging flesh. And when you were all sticky and sopping wet, he rewarded you both, licking it all up like a man starved, until you writhed on his tongue. 

Even through it all, he always remained your good boy. No matter what the roles were for the night.

The new dynamic wasn’t some competition for power, it was just cooperation. A mutual understanding that the two of you did something so volatile to each other, it insisted on being reciprocated. 

Tonight, you’ve been teasing and not with the grace you so often gave.

Not only had he not come yet, but you were still fully clothed while he laid in his boxers as you tantalized him through the fabric for the better part of an hour.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, hands flexing at his sides in annoyance. 

Your hands retreat from his body back to your lap, lashes fluttering up at him, with a smirk. “I know, baby,” you whisper. “Was just getting myself wet for you.” 

There it is, the pass of the baton. 

Eddie sighs softly as you move to strip at the end of the bed. He watches in awe at the way your pretty clothes slip off, landing in a perfect pile — such a contrast to the mess he’s about to make of you. 

No time is wasted the moment you climb on the bed next to him. He cages you beneath him as his lips crash against yours. You hum against his mouth, your hands immediately finding him, and Eddie moans into you the second your hands claw at his back. 

Once upon a time, he had his partners restrained — handcuffs, rope, zip ties, whatever kept wandering hands at bay. But never with you. He loves the sting of your nails dragging across his skin, reminding him exactly who he belongs to.

His hands leave the mattress, settling at your waist before sliding slowly up your sides. His lips moving from your mouth to your neck as you sigh beneath him. He can’t help but smile against your skin, your name falling from his lips as your hands tug gently at his hair as he works his way down peppering kisses along your abdomen.

You keep shifting beneath him, hips lifting off the bed, and a quiet laugh slips from his throat.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t think so,” he murmurs, flattening his hands over your hips with a firm press. 

“Please, baby. I need it so bad,” you whine. 

Eddie tsks softly, shifting quickly to grab the vibrator from the nightstand, and placing it beside him on the bed. “You’ll get everything you need and then some. I promise.” 

Eddie notices the way your breath hitches. He knows that you know he never breaks a promise.

A low moan escapes him as he slides his index finger between your folds — so wet and inviting. He slowly circlesyour clit, adding extra pressure, and instantly you’re whimpering. 

He’s selfish about this. He can’t help it. Eddie loves the way you sound too much — the noises you’re making like a symphony made only for him. So he lets it happen again, and again just to hear you like that, to push you further each time — all breathless and frustrated because you’re so fucking needy. 

“Please,” you whine.

“Soon. You know it feels better this way,” he coos, watching the way tears slip down your face after another edge.

He’s not sure you’ve ever spoken truer words than when you said you were pretty when you cried. Fuck, what a sight. It truly never gets old to see your eyes glassy as your mascara runs down to your trembling lips — all fucked out before you’ve even gotten off.

Just as the tears start to really stream, does he give you what you deserve.

He removes his fingers only to grab the vibrator, turning it on high and pressing it against your clit until your breath breaks into a scream. 

“Atta girl,” he groans. "Give me all you've got."

Taking a page out of your book, he doesn't let up, rolling one orgasm into the next, keeping the vibrator firm against you as your body shakes, his left hand gripping your thigh to keep you steady as you unravel beneath him in. 

And when you look like you can’t take it anymore, he removes that hand steadying you, and without warning, he sinks two ring clad fingers into you, pumping them as you scream.

“Eddie, yes, oh fuck, baby— yes!” 

A greedy chuckle slips past his lips, gravelly in his throat as he ruts his hips into the bed for some friction against his strained boxers.

You clamp your thighs tight — the telltale sign it’s becoming too much. Your cries break, breath morphing into sharp gasps, and only then does he begin to slow. He clicks the vibrator down to low, easing the pace of his fingers, letting them move inside you softer and more controlled. 

“Breathe me for me, sweetheart.” 

“Too much, it’s too much,” you gasp. 

“Hey,” he murmurs immediately, slowing his movements. “That’s not what we say if we need to stop. What do you say?” 

Death star loops in his head as he waits for you to say it — though it's only ever fallen from your mouth the night you agreed on it. 

You shake your head, and fist your hands into the sheets. “More.”

Another laugh slips past his lips as he continues, speeding his fingers back up until you’re convulsing around them with a cry of his name. Quickly, he shuts off the vibrator, leaning down to lap at your overworked pussy.

He licks a path up your body, as you shudder softly, your hands finding their way right back to his skin, nails taking their hold as he shimmies out of his boxers, and settles between your legs. You wrap them lazily around his waste as he pushes into you and a gasp tears from his throat at the feeling of your walls gripping his cock so tightly.  A stream of curses fall from his mouth as you gaze up at him, your hands scratching up his back until your left hand is hot against his cheek, thumb toying with his bottom lip - pulling it down and releasing it. 

“Obnoxiously good lips,” you sigh, kissing him and biting down so rough, he can’t help but growl — deep and guttural, as his eyes begin to water. 

And just like that, the baton is back in play.

[bambimunson]

𝔀et hot american summer .ᐟ ᢉ𐭩

1. ᰔ chronicles of counseling with eddie / 1k wc

You’ve grown used to the sticky slather of bug spray on skin.

Every summer for the past three years, you’d spent weeks of your time counseling at Indiana’s Mystic Meadows Summer Camp. You admittedly had a soft spot for kids— even though some of them could be pretty difficult.

The routine was set in stone: help tie shoelaces, rub sunscreen into chubby cheeks, make sure nobody tipped over their canoes, and run the Arts and Crafts area like the Navy.

Eddie Munson always put a tick in your plans.

The boy in question was dressed in band shirts and ripped jeans more often than shorts. He’d became the unanimous ‘favorite’ amongst the campers since he started last summer (for what you were pretty sure was meant to simmer down his apparent delinquent status).

You couldn’t blame them. His personality was one that was clearly meant to entertain in one way or another.

Speaking of which, in the midst of supervising some kickball with your hands on your hips, you feel the sudden press of fingers on your shoulders. It pulls a jolt from you, and when you glance over your shoulder, you’re met with Eddie’s dimpled grin.

“Are you meant to be keeping tally or what?” He steps to be by your side instead, crossing tattooed arms over his chest.

You send him a brief, unamused look before turning back to the field again, “Nope. ‘M only here in case someone breaks a bone.”

Eddie snorts, pushing wild hair out of his eyes as he squints at the game, “So you're basically a first-aid kit with legs," he said, nudging your shoulder with his. "Cool gig."

One of the younger campers— a tiny girl named Lily— comes sprinting over, clutching her elbow dramatically. She skids to a halt in front of you, lip quivering. Her elbow isn’t even red.

“I fell,” she announces, voice wobbling.

Eddie drops into a crouch beside her, all theatrical concern and wide eyes, “Whoa. Full-on tumble? That’s brutal.”

He turns his head slightly toward you without breaking character. "Doctor. We’ve got an emergency here." You might’ve scoffed out a laugh if not for the pouty girl in front of you.

The kid sniffles hard, holding out her arm like it was evidence in court. One of the other counselors on the field, Justin from across town, gives Eddie a dry look.

You lean down so you’re more at the girls height, expression softening. Your touch is gentle as you brush some of her hair back, holding up her arm with your other hand to see how she reacts to touch.

“Is it a sharp pain or just tingling— like it feels a little funny?”

Lily scrunches her nose in deep thought, “…Tingly?” she said finally. “Yeah. Like when my foot falls asleep.”

Eddie solemnly presses a hand to his chest, “Not broken then.” He says it with authority that definitely didn’t come from medical training.

He stands again with a grunt before nudging the little girls shoulder, “You’re good, kiddo. Go reclaim your kingdom.”

She blinks at you for approval, but you just give her head a pat, sending her off with a soft “Go on.”

She shuffles off, casting one last suspicious glance at the ball as she pads back across the field.

Eddie watches her go before letting his attention shift back to you, a lopsided grin creeping up. He rocks on his heels a little, always messing with something: his rings, the zipper of his jacket, your patience.

“You’re good with kids,” he says suddenly. Not teasing. Just observing. Then he added: “I mean, not in a lame way! In a cool way.”

He scratches the side of his jaw— black nail polish chipped and done by the campers— then looks toward the Mess Hall where dirty hands and full bellies awaited.

You glance to the side, carefully studying his profile. You admittedly appreciated his compliments, “Why d’you think I do this every summer?” You cross your arms, slowly looking back out at the sea of kids, “..But thank you.”

His smile softens at the edges. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, shoulders rolling under the camp tee he finally put on.

“Huh,” he said simply. “Kinda thought you were doing it ‘cause your parents made you or whatever.”

A beat passes, honest and awkward in a way Eddie rarely let himself be. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the surrounding trees as giggles and shouts from children filled the air. One boy suddenly trips over his own feet, face-planting into the dirt.

You wince slightly, only relaxing when he yells his reassurance of being okay.

“Uh.. yeah, no,” you shake your head, “I started just because. I didn’t have any summer plans the year I first started. So.”

Eddie nods, following the kids movements as he brushed dirt off his knees to scramble back into the game like nothing happened.

“Cool.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you fully, really look, and for a second it felt heavier than usual. Not in a bad way, just… present. Then he shrugs a shoulder, “I’m only here ‘cause my uncle said he’d make me start selling encyclopedias door-to-door if I didn’t get a summer job.”

The comment pulls a sudden giggle from you— total boost to his ego.

A grin pulls at his lips, a short laugh huffing out of him. His nose crinkles along with it; his faint freckles were more prominent in the sun, “You think I’m lying?”

You make a noise of acknowledgment before biting at your inner cheek, “‘Course not.. I’m sure moms would’ve loved having you knock all day long.”

His cheeks pinken and he ducks his head as if he’s very interested in a pebble on the ground. “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no bite. You can still hear the smile in his voice.

He kicks the small rock before looking at you through messy bangs. He always made your heart beat a smidge too fast.

Then, because he can’t stand silence for more than five seconds: “I would’ve been an amazing salesman, though. Charismatic as hell.”

“Would’ve worn a tie.. like, really commit to the bit.”

A group of kids nearby start giggling before one boy shouts, “Eddie! You gotta teach me how to kick the ball right!”

He snaps back into counselor mode instantly— the one every camper loved.

“On my way, champ!”

Your eyes follow him all the way out to the gaggle of kids and then some, smiling when he shoots one last glance at you over his shoulder.

You can’t help the way you trace the line of his shoulders on instinct and the way his hair frames them. His back looked good in that shirt. His eyes were more orange than brown when hit with light— did he know that?

You come back to yourself just as he claps, telling the boy to try it again.

You were in too deep.

i haven’t posted any type of normal fic before lol idk if this counts as a drabble or what

[rebelfell]

hold your peace in pieces┃e.m.

engaged!rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

All your life, all you’ve ever wanted is for your best friend to be happy. For all of his wildest dreams to come true. Now that they have, you should be happy too…right?

3.8k┃18+, MDNI

cw: we’ve got an angsty one, cap’n. childhood friends to ??? modern-ish au, no upside down, alcohol, drinking to excess, semi self-destructive behavior, feelings denial.

cliffhanger? I hardly know her!

The Save the Dates had definitely gone out. 

Hardly anyone who received one could talk about anything else—making plans to take off of work, securing sitters for pets and babies months in advance, joking about selling organs on the black market to be able to afford the trip.

It was huge news, after all. Like, the biggest news to hit Hawkins since…ever.

Eddie Munson was getting married.

Hometown zero turned mega-rockstar, Dungeon Master turned guitar god, formerly ridiculed and believed-to-be-devil-worshipping town pariah Edward Phillip Munson was getting married.

TMZ had broken news of the engagement long before Eddie had gotten the chance to make any of the long-distance calls required to tell anybody himself. Which wasn’t terribly surprising, truth be told. It had been months, close to a year in some cases, since anyone from your small hometown had been in regular contact with Eddie.

The cost of fame, you all supposed.

But no one seemed to mind it so much once they had that envelope in their hands.

Robin had called immediately upon opening the one that was delivered to her and Nancy’s place, talking rapid fire as usual, asking if you wanted to fly out early with them to sightsee, if you wanted to go in on the AirBnb with them, if you thought rock stars still registered at Bed, Bath & Beyond or was there some other super-exclusive place they got their linens and dishware?

You forced out a laugh, trying to sound as good-natured as you could when you said you’d have to let her know. Normally, you probably would have accepted without a second thought. 

Normally, you might have been joking with her about how celebrities slept on sheets with thread counts higher than your income. Normally, you’d be over the moon to see a Save the Date for the wedding of your oldest and closest friend.

Except you had yet to receive yours.

It was surprising, to say the least, to come home on the day everyone had been showing theirs off, waving them in the faces of anyone who had eyes to see, to find your mailbox barren—not so much as a catalog or a predatory credit card offer.

Still, you told yourself to keep calm. And actually managed to do so, for the most part.

There were a million and a half possibilities for why it hadn’t arrived. Maybe they had been sent out in batches. Maybe the ink smudged and it had to be returned when the post office couldn’t decipher your address. Maybe Eddie had forgot to put your new address and sent it to the trailer park where you no longer lived instead of your apartment on the other side of town.

You told yourself all these things and more, over and over again like a bedtime story. Trying to reassure yourself that nothing was amiss.

Because why would it be?

And yet your mailbox remained empty. Cluttered with the typical assortment of drab bills and junk mail, with no sign of the weighted, cream-colored cardstock bearing Eddie’s full government name written in a script so elegant you’d think he was a Duke or an Earl of some sprawling English estate rather than a gangly metalhead who hailed from the humble beginnings of Forest Hills.

Anyone you mentioned it to tried to soothe you in the same ways you tried to soothe yourself.

It has to be a mistake, they all said. Lost in the mail, delivered to the wrong address, insufficient postage—they gave endless explanations for the inexplicable. Of course you’re invited. You have to be. He wouldn’t dream of getting married without having his best friend there!

Eventually you resolved to just call him, knowing it would likely go straight to voicemail; knowing it would take a few days for him to get back to you as it always did. But just as you sat down in your living room to dial, your phone buzzed in your hand as a call from him came through.

“Hey!” you said brightly, all the hurt you had been plagued by the past few weeks having evaporated the second his name flashed on your caller ID. “That’s so weird, I was about to call you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

His voice was rougher than expected, raspy and haggard. It sounded the way it did when he’d just gotten off stage, after he’d finished screaming his own lyrics to thousands. Except there was no joy behind his exhaustion, no exhilaration or elation cracking through the way it always had whether he was singing for a sold-out crowd at MSG or the same five drunks at the Hideout.

“You okay?” you asked. “You sound funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, just ahhhh…we were in the studio all day. I’m really beat.”

It wasn’t a lie—he was a shit liar, you could always tell when he was—but there was most definitely something he wasn’t telling you.

Your spine instantly went rigid, panic spiking with a sharp pinch to your nose, and you tried to sound as normal as possible while you picked at a piece of loose skin hanging around your thumbnail.

“So…what’s up? To what do I owe the pleasure?” The teasing edge to your voice came out hollow and phony, lacking all the natural ease that normally came along with talking to him.

It had been years now since he moved out to Los Angeles but you never really felt the distance until his music career took off. When he first got there, he still called you nearly every night. And as you laid in your bed with the phone pressed to your ear, it was easy to imagine he was just a few trailers down stretched on his own lumpy mattress instead of 2000 miles away.

Secretly, you sort of longed for those days—for the nights he poured himself into bed after a shift bartending or caterwaiting or whatever other odd job he had fallen into that week. And still the one call he always made, even if he was bordering on passing out from pure exhaustion, was to you.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained solemnly. “About the wedding.”

“Um…me too, actually.”

“Yeah?”

There it was again—that crack, that fissure, that slight waver in his voice so unfamiliar it made him sound like a stranger. Too serious. Too stoic. Too unlike the boisterous boy you’d always known.

“Yeah, uh…this is kind of awkward,” you chuckled again, the sound of it riddled with nerves, and you wondered if he could tell how much you hated to ask, how long you’d waited, trying to put it all off. “But I was wondering about your Save the Dates? Because everyone else got theirs and I—”

“I didn’t send yours.”

The words are maudlin. Almost pained, like he’d just told you someone died. And your reaction is more or less the same as if he had.

“…Oh.”

“I’m—I’m looking at it right now.”

You tried to imagine him in California, sitting in his fancy penthouse the record label had helped him secure just as the paparazzi began to swarm his humble fourth floor walk-up. You’d only seen it in pictures, and not even ones he had sent you—Architectural Digest had done a piece on it that came out around the same time the news broke that he had started dating Carli West.

Was he stretched out on his massive leather sofa looking out those floor-to-ceiling windows at the twinkling metropolis laid out at his feet?

Holding the phone to his ear with one hand while the other clutched an envelope with your name and address stamped on the front? 

Or maybe he wasn’t even there. 

Maybe he had finally moved into his girlfriend’s—fiancée’s—mansion in Westlake Village.

“She, um…” his voice cracked again. “She asked me not to invite you.”

The ancient springs in your plaid recliner squeaked in protest as you sank into it, wobbly legs threatening to give out underneath you. Your mind was a blank, eyes staring unfocused at the walls, totally dumbfounded. A low buzz began to drone in your ears, steadily getting louder until it was all you could hear, like a deafening static drowning out every sound in existence.

“I’m so sorry. I swear, I tried. We’ve been having it out for weeks and she won’t budge.”

“B-but…why? I’ve never even met her! What could I have possibly done to—”

“It’s not you,” he insisted firmly. “Seriously, it has nothing to do with you. She just thinks—”

Whatever explanation he was about to sputter, you didn’t hear. The simple press of a button with a red icon is not nearly satisfying enough, though. You desperately miss the harsh clang of a landline being slammed back into its cradle, its metallic reverb echoing in the emptiness and silence.

As it is, all you can do is toss your phone away and blink back tears as it bounces off the couch cushion and thumps to the floor. You opt to leave it there, reaching instead for your keys where they sit in the middle of the coffee table.

You’re not even sure where you’re headed as you follow the same roads you’ve driven most of your life, tires swerving on asphalt that’s still wet with melted snow from the barrage of winter storms you’ve had over the past couple weeks. The night is pitch black in front of you, the air stinging and harsh, threatening yet another cold snap.

It’s not until you’re halfway downtown that you realize you left your wallet at home and have to head for The Hideout. You certainly would prefer not to spend an evening surrounded by countless memories of listening to Eddie’s band play, sitting at the end of the bar watching him bob and weave in and around stumbling patrons to clear empties and wipe down tables—all while razzing Peg with his ineffable, nigh insufferable, Munson charm.

But its the only place you know will serve you with nothing more than lint in your pocket.

You posted up at the near-deserted bar, downing two beers in half as many hours, staring into the middle distance contemplating the impossible.

A movie star hated you. A movie star you’d never met, who had sucked face with half of Hollywood—professionally or otherwise—and who lived in a mansion with nine bedrooms, and who pulled in millions of dollars at the box office…hated you.

That was the only conclusion you could draw from this information, right? It couldn't possibly be an issue of space. They were inviting the entire goddamn universe as far as you could tell. 

So it had to be you. Unless…

Distantly, you register the song on the jukebox changing and the opening chords of melancholy piano playing over Bonnie Tyler’s gritty voice, making you reach for your beer and chug.

“Hey there, Bright Eyes.”

The voice of Steve Harrington might have been the last one you wanted to hear right now, and yet it’s exactly what filled in your ears. You rolled your eyes purely out of instinct as he walked over, and it caused a single traitorous tear to roll down your cheek. You swiped at it, praying he didn’t see.

“Whoa, whoa. What’s with the water works?”

He slotted into the stool next to you and a wave of his scent washed over you, the aroma made up of something gourmand and surely expensive. A few stray pieces of chestnut hair fall forward into his shining eyes as he leans his elbows on the bar and tilts his head to get a look at you.

“Just allergic to your cheap cologne,” you sniffed, the bitterness of your insult undercut by the creak of your voice. Steve’s lips quirked in a small smile. 

You knew well as he did, he never wore anything cheap.

With an overdramatic sigh, he clutched his hand to his heart and wobbled in his seat as he leaned far back like he’d been struck there. It made your chest pang, thinking how that was one of Eddie’s bits—except he probably would have fallen right to the sticky floor just to make you smile.

“She wounds me, Peg,” Steve lamented when he caught the bartender’s eye. “Can we get another round over here, please? And a couple shots?”

Steve might have been the only person on the planet who could charm a smile out of ever-surly Peg. It was a small one, barely eking out, but it was there. She retrieved another beer for each of you and then placed down two shot glasses, which she filled with brown liquor that sloshed over their rims as she slid them over. Pretending not to be pleased when Steve winked at her.

“Alright. Come on, now. Out with it,” he said, pushing one of the shots in front of you.

Reluctantly, you picked up the glass and stared down it for a second like it was the barrel of a gun before knocking it back. The liquor burned down the center of your chest, like a knife slicing you down the middle. It made your throat spasm with the need to cough, but you forced it back.

“It’s not a mistake,” you said gravely after a long pause. Steve’s lips automatically pursed.

“What’s not?” he asked.

“My Save the Date isn’t lost,” you sighed heavily and pushed your empty glass away. “They didn’t send one, because I’m not invited. Because he doesn’t want me there.”

For once in his life, Steve was silent. Speechless. He stared at the side of your face until he made a sucking sound with his tongue behind his teeth.

“Nope. There’s no way that’s true.” He shook his head. “He actually said that?”

“Not in so many words,” you muttered.

Steve’s strong brow pinched, his handsome features furrowed, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek and then slipping out past his lips as he tussled with that bit of information.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, shaking his head again. You rolled your eyes.

“He said she doesn’t want me there. Except I’ve never even met her, so clearly it must be him.”

Your words started to wobble the longer you spoke, and you had to swallow the rest before they came spewing out of you like that shot nearly did. Steve picked up his beer and stared at it, his lips still pursed as he thought. It was the most pensive you’d ever seen him.

“Well…maybe she’s intimidated,” he offered after a long pause, punctuated by a swig of beer.

“She’s got a fucking Oscar, Steve,” you snapped. “In what universe would I intimidate her?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you and he were like conjoined twins your entire lives? If he’s told her anything about his life before California, you can be damn sure your name came up.”

You scoffed, rapidly blinking your eyes as more tears stung behind them, threatening to spill over. Most of the town, much like Steve, thought if they ever saw a Save the Date with Eddie’s name on it, yours would be the one written alongside it. 

But you and Eddie were just friends.

Nothing more.

“He’s not—”

“Right, right,” Steve sighed, waving his beer back and forth, his eyes rolling back, “he’s not, you’re not, there’s nothing going on, yadda yadda.”

“Well, there’s not,” you snarled sourly. Never had been, never would be. “We’re just friends.”

Steve’s brow arched. “You and I are friends, and you wouldn’t be sitting here cutting your whiskey with tears if you weren’t invited to my wedding.”

“Like anyone would ever marry you,” you sniped.

The skin around Steve’s hazel eyes crinkled with a smile, seemingly pleased he managed to draw out that little attitude you always saved just for him.

“Well, then it sounds to me like there’s only one thing left to do,” Steve said.

You turned your head with a questioning glance and watched as he pushed his own shot in front of you. With a resigned sigh, you wrapped your hand around it and knocked it back. 

Another slice right down the middle.

“C’mon, champ. Time to get you home,” Steve said, lifting one of your limp arms and draping it over his stupid broad shoulder to help you to your feet, bracing you against him as you swayed.

Last call had long since come and gone. And between Steve’s credit card and Peg’s soft spot for you, you had most definitely been over served. The formerly near-empty bar was now completely deserted—tabs all closed, stools all placed on top of tables, drunks all carted away for the night.

With one notable exception.

“No,” you whined weakly against Steve’s chest as he hoisted you up. “Don’wannagohome.”

“Well, you can’t stay here,” he said, shooting Peg a grateful smile en route to the door.

You grumbled some more as you tried to get your feet to cooperate in spite of your brain’s decision to abandon them. “Steve, really—please, not home. Anywhere else. Anywhere.”

Even in your current state, you knew you couldn’t be trusted within dialing distance of your phone. You would almost certainly say something you regretted, and maybe even moreso, you were terrified to see whether or not Eddie called.

Honestly, it was tough to say which would be worse—returning home to a slew of missed calls and texts you didn’t trust yourself to answer; or the just as unbearable absence of them.

Steve helped you walk across the gravel parking lot to his car and opened up the rear door. With what little control you had left of your limbs, you climbed into the backseat and tried not to think too much about how many girls he’d had back here in much more compromising positions. 

The world went horizontal as you slumped over on your side and you pinched your eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop it from spinning like a merry-go-round. The car jostled as Steve climbed into the driver’s seat up front and cranked the engine, revving it to get heat flowing through the vents.

“Steve?”

Your voice is tiny. Quiet as a pin dropping in the dark as snow began to fall outside the windows. Steve’s head swiveled to look back at you and his jaw clenched at the sight. Your head hung off the edge of his backseat, your neck barely able to hold it up. Your face was lit only by the lone streetlight overhead that reflected off the wet trails of tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he asked.

You inhaled a stilted breath, bottom lip quivering. It’s the smallest you’ve ever felt. 

Smaller even than when you were a little kid and fell off of the shoddily constructed “treehouse” you and Eddie made together, thinking it was the worst pain you’d ever feel in your whole life.

More tears leaked out of your eyes, dripping off your chin. With a shaky exhale, you finally asked the question that had been running rampant around the inside of your head all night.

Longer, actually. If you were really being honest with yourself.

“Is he really gonna marry her?”

Steve made as little noise as possible as he shuffled down the hallway, passing the guest room after stopping at the door to listen for the sound of your gentle snoring on the other side. 

You’d agreed to sleep at his house without nearly as much cajoling Steve anticipated, even going so far as to whisper a quiet thank you to him as you pulled the comforter up to your neck.

To say you were in a rare state last night would be putting it lightly.

He had never seen you so upset in all the time he’d known you and he could count the number of times he’d seen you cry on one hand, with four fingers left over. If there was a list of people you would have chosen to confide in about all this, Steve wouldn’t have made the alternates.

And yet it was his shoulder you cried on as he helped you inside his parent’s house. His was the name you gurgled out as you tried desperately not to vomit up everything you had drunk on an empty stomach. His was the hand that rubbed your back when you finally curled up in bed.

How things would go this morning, though, Steve didn’t have the faintest idea.

He’d just put the coffee on to brew when his parent’s landline started to ring and he sprinted into the living room to snatch up the receiver. No one ever called that number anymore except for a few former clients and colleagues of his father’s who hadn’t got the memo the Harringtons had       long since relocated to the city, leaving both Hawkins and their son in the rearview.

“Harrington residence,” Steve chirped.

“Hey, man. It’s Eddie.”

“Oh. Hey. How, um…how are you?”

“I’m, uh…I’m okay. Listen,” he sighed, “I have kind of a weird favor.”

Eddie promptly launched into his rendition of what happened, giving Steve an abridged version of the events he had heard your side of last night. Eddie hit most of the same points as you, but he didn’t give much more than a vague explanation of what exactly had upset you to begin with.

And he ended it all with a heavy, labored sigh.

“I’ve been calling all night trying to reach her, but she isn’t picking up. I just need to know she’s ok. Can you…I mean, would you mind going over there and checking on her?”

Steve’s tongue pushed against his teeth. “Ahhh…so, here’s the thing. She’s actually here.”

“Here?” Eddie echoed. “Here where?”

“At my place. With me.”

The line crackled as Eddie fell silent on the other end. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard. Like Steve had suddenly started speaking a foreign language.

“She’s with you?” he said finally. “She’s there?”

Before Steve could answer, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. He zeroed in on your form as you shuffled down the hallway into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You actually looked a lot more cognizant than he expected. There was still some mascara smudged beneath your eyes, but the black trails left on your cheeks had been washed away. A curious look on your face, you held up the coffee pot and raised a brow, wordlessly asking if he wanted a cup.

Steve’s thumb came up to his lip and he took the nail between his teeth, gnawing on it.

He was positive you had no idea who was currently on the phone. You would have run over and yanked the receiver out of the wall if you did. As it is, you just stared back at Steve blankly.

The plan forms rapidly in his head—not really a plan, per se, more like a nebulous outline of one. And before he knows it, or before he can think better of it, he’s inhaling sharply into the phone.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, eyes still locked on yours. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

letting this one out of the vault because a) I like it and I can do what I want, and b) idk, I guess it’s sort of my goodbye. I don’t feel particularly inspired to write anything new, and I haven’t in quite some time. I originally saw this as a series, but I’m going to say there won’t be any more of this coming.

i'm not leaving leaving, i'll still be scrolling and reading when I can, but I feel like it would be disingenuous to act like any day now I'm gonna be cranking out a new series or updates.

I truly love everything i’ve got to make on here, and I'll never forget the feeling of creating them, the words flying out of my fingers, scenes taking shape in my head faster than I could get it down on the page. I'll never not miss it, I think. And I'm so grateful for all the people I've gotten to know through our writing and all the stupid, silly fun we've had <3

Again, I'm not going anywhere, I just felt like it was something I needed to say. Love-love-love-love you, mean it.

[beasbrain]

My Game

description: your plan was simple: learn how to play pool from steve, beat eddie, collect your hundred bucks. you forgot to account for eddie's ego, or what happens when you make him jealous.

pairing: jealous!eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: jealous!eddie, bestfriend!reader, friends to lovers, possessive!eddie, smut with plot, competitive flirting, jealousy as foreplay, reader actually beats him and he takes it serious, he takes you out back to pay, pool game to back-alley sex pipeline, voyeurism (ish), public smut, condescending praise, dom!eddie, sorry i'm ovulating

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected

WC: 3.6k

A/N: requested by @eddiemunsonspantschain HOPE YOU LOOOOOVE IT :D here's a quick smutty bedtime story for all of my lovely freaks. i have something super exciting cooking up after this one...so stay tuned ;) reblogs are always appreciated <33 as always, love you all! muah muah

You relied on Eddie in many ways. Guy problems? He was the first one you'd call if a date went sour. Work drama? The second you got off, you'd pace around his trailer, explaining the usual bullshit as he sat on the couch, chiming in when necessary.

Somewhere along the way, the line between "best friends" and... whatever this was had gotten a little blurry. You couldn't remember exactly when it happened. Maybe it was the fact that you had a drawer at Eddie's trailer for spare clothes, or that he never knocked before walking into your apartment. 

Hell, even the rest of your friends had long since given up trying to figure it out. Robin had stopped correcting strangers when they assumed you two were dating, Dustin had started referring to you as "Eddie's girl" just to watch the two of you sputter, and Steve swore you were both "the dumbest almost-couple" he'd ever met.

The funny part was, neither of you ever denied liking the other. You just... never actually admitted it, either.

So life carried on in that weird in-between, where lingering touches lasted a little too long, late-night drives felt suspiciously like dates, and neither of you was brave enough to ask what any of it meant.

In many ways, Eddie was the best friend you could ask for. But the one thing you hated? He was a cocky bastard when it came to anything competitive. 

Any game night, whether that's something as simple as Uno or arcade games, he thought he was the best. Though, to be fair, he was. Which is why, after one fateful 1v1 of pool at the Hideout, when he conned your ass like a fool and beat you out of a hundred bucks, you needed revenge.

So, naturally, your pride wouldn't let him teach you how to play, oh no. Instead, you decided to ask Steve. Steve wasn't someone in the group you were particularly close to.

But, beyond him, your options to teach you how to win at stupid bar games were Robin, who was as agile as a baby deer, or Nancy, who could care less about you and Eddie's billiard feud.

Steve looked up from where he was wiping down the windshield of his BMW in his driveway, rag slung over one shoulder. "You want me to do what?"

"Teach me pool."

He blinked. "...Pool."

"Yes, Steve. The game. With the sticks."

"I know what pool is."

"Good. Then we're making progress."

He laughed, tossing the rag over the hood. "Since when have you been interested in pool?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm interested in beating Eddie."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

A grin slowly spread across his face. "...I'm in."

The Hideout wasn't open yet, save for a handful of regulars nursing beers before the evening crowd rolled in.

Music crackled quietly through the speakers while Eddie hauled cases of liquor behind the bar, already halfway through complaining to Gareth about a distributor screwing up another order.

"You know what they gave us?" Eddie scoffed. "Light beer. We don't even sell the shit."

Gareth shrugged. "People drink it."

"No, they most certainly do not."

Then the front door opened, so Eddie glanced over automatically. You walked in first with Steve following close behind.

His eyebrows pinched together. "...What the hell?"

Steve waved toward the bar. "Yo."

Eddie nodded slowly. "Harrington."

Then his eyes landed back on you. "What're you doing here? Thought you worked today."

"I did."

"And now?"

You smiled sweetly. "I'm learning."

"...Learning what?"

Steve answered before you could. "Pool."

Eddie glanced between the two of you, raising one finger accusingly. "...From you?"

Steve looked genuinely confused by the question. "...Yeah?"

"You know how to play?"

Steve frowned. "Dude."

"What?"

"I've been playing forever."

Eddie stared for another second before scoffing to himself.

"...Whatever." Then, he disappeared into the back, huffing something under his breath.

For the next forty-five minutes, Steve proved to be a surprisingly patient teacher.

"No, loosen your grip."

"I'm trying."

"I know, but you're choking the cue."

"I'm not choking it."

"You absolutely are."

He stepped behind you. "Here."

His hands lightly adjusted yours on the cue. "Relax your shoulders."

You exhaled.

"There."

You lined up another shot and missed. "Oh, come on!"

"You looked better."

"I looked better?"

"That's half the battle."

Across the room, Eddie slammed a rack of glasses onto the shelf harder than necessary, causing Gareth to look over.

"...Everything alright?"

"Fantastic."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

He dared another glance; Steve had crouched beside you now, pointing toward one of the corner pockets.

"If you bank it off this rail—"

Eddie shook his head and continued polishing the same glass he'd already finished.

"He's practically climbing inside her personal bubble."

Gareth followed his gaze to Steve's arm, which reached across yours to point toward the angle.

"...Looks like he's just showing her."

"Mhm."

"You jealous?"

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Of Steve? ...No."

"Exactly."

Gareth watched him continue scrubbing the spotless glass.

"...You're polishing air."

"I know."

"...You wanna go interrupt them?"

"No."

"...Looks like she's laughing."

"I can see."

Steve said something that made you laugh again, a little louder than the last time.

Eddie's jaw ticked. "He's not even that funny."

Gareth snorted. "You realize you've been watching them for like twenty minutes?"

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I've been working."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"...You've poured the same guy three refills without him asking."

Eddie froze and slowly looked toward the older regular sitting at the bar. The man raised his fourth full beer.

"Thanks, Munson!"

"...Shit."

By the end of the lesson, you actually sank three balls in a row.

Steve pointed at the table dramatically. "There it is!"

"I did that."

"You did."

"I actually did that."

"Told you."

You grinned. "You are officially my favorite Harrington."

"There aren't exactly many of us."

Still smiling, you turned toward the bar. "Eddie!"

He looked up immediately. "What?"

Your grin somehow got even bigger. "Rematch."

The entire bar seemed to perk up. Eddie leaned against the counter, folding his arms.

"...You sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive."

"You just spent an hour getting coached."

"So?"

"I don't know..." A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. "Sounds a little desperate."

"It sounds like I got tired of losing to someone whose entire personality revolves around a pool table."

A chorus of quiet "oohs" erupted from the regulars. Eddie placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

"That's hurtful."

"You'll survive."

He pushed off the bar, grabbing a cue from behind the counter. "Same bet?"

You scoffed. "I'm not giving you another hundred dollars."

"Coward."

"I'm being financially responsible."

"Chicken."

"I'm smarter than you."

"Doubtful."

Steve quietly stepped backward. "Yeah…I'm gonna head out."

"You probably should," Gareth agreed.

"You created this monster."

"I absolutely did."

Eddie twirled the cue once in his hand before pointing it at you. "You've got one shot, sweetheart."

You stepped closer until only the pool table separated the two of you. "I only need one."

His grin faltered for just a second. Not because of the challenge, lord knows he loves a challenging woman. But because you'd wandered close enough that he could smell your perfume.

You caught the slight pause in his usual bravado, eyes quickly darting across his face. Then Eddie recovered first, spinning the cue between his fingers with that infuriatingly cocky grin.

"Ladies first."

"Oh," you smiled, taking the cue from his hand just slowly enough for your fingers to brush against his, "I'm gonna enjoy wiping that smug look off your face."

His eyebrow quirked up then. "...We'll see."

The first break went to you.

You leaned over the table, tongue poking against the inside of your cheek the way Steve had told you not to do because it apparently made you overthink your shot. The cue cracked against the rack, sending the balls scattering across the felt.

One dropped, then another, causing a grin to spread across your face.

"Oh, that's gotta sting."

Eddie clicked his tongue. "Beginner's luck."

"You've been saying that for the last three games."

"And eventually I'll be right."

"I've won one."

"You've won almost one."

"I was one ball away."

"You still lost."

You rolled your eyes, circling the table as you looked for your next shot. "God, you're insufferable."

"And yet, here you are."

"Only because watching you lose is going to heal something in me."

Eddie laughed under his breath, leaning his hip against the edge of the table while you lined up your cue.

"Careful," he mused. "Harrington tell you to keep your elbow up?"

You didn't look at him. "He did, actually."

"Hm."

"And to follow through."

"Mhm."

"And to stop gripping the cue like I was trying to strangle it."

Eddie made a face. "...That sounds like something he'd say."

"It worked."

"So did cheating."

You looked up. "I wasn't aware lessons counted as cheating."

"They do when they're from the enemy."

"The enemy?" You snorted. "Steve?"

"He knows what he is."

"Oh, does he?"

"Mhm."

You laughed quietly, taking your shot. The cue ball kissed the side of yours just enough to send it into the corner pocket, causing it to disappear with a satisfying clack.

Your jaw dropped. "I meant to do that."

"No, you didn't."

"I absolutely did."

"You looked surprised."

"I was surprised by how well I did it."

"Sure."

You pointed the cue at him. "Don't ruin this for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The game continued like that, each shot somehow accompanied by another jab, another smug remark, another excuse for the two of you to drift closer as you circled opposite ends of the table.

"You scratched."

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

"You talking."

"I wasn't talking."

"You exist loudly."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder as you squeezed past him. He didn't move, not even an inch.

"You know," you muttered, looking up at him, "most people would step out of the way."

"I'm not most people."

"So I've noticed."

Instead, he leaned down just enough that his shoulder bumped yours back.

"Figure it out."

"Oh, you're the worst."

"Sure I am.”

You huffed dramatically before ducking around him, though not without your arm brushing against his on the way by.

A few turns later, you found yourself stuck behind him as he leaned over the table, studying an angle that frankly looked impossible.

You waited, but he simply didn't move. "Eddie."

"Mhm?"

"I can't see."

"I'm thinking."

"You've been thinking for like two minutes."

"It's called strategy."

"It's called stalling."

He looked over his shoulder. "I don't stall."

"You absolutely stall."

"I am visualizing."

"You are making shit up."

Finally, he straightened, only to find you standing much closer than he'd expected. For a second, neither of you stepped back.

Then you smiled. "My turn."

He cleared his throat and took a step aside. "Be my guest."

You bent over the table, carefully lining up your shot. The cue slid forward, clack, and another ball dropped.

Behind you, Eddie let out an exaggerated sigh. "I knew Harrington was a bad influence."

You glanced over your shoulder. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You are unbelievable."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're not."

"He spent one afternoon with you and suddenly you're running tables."

"I'm hardly running the table."

"You're certainly trying."

You rested both hands on the cue, smiling to yourself. "You know..."

"What?"

"...If I didn't know any better..."

Eddie lifted an eyebrow.

"...I'd say you're jealous of Steve."

Eddie's smile stayed exactly where it was. Only this time, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Jealous?"

"Mhm."

"Of Steve."

"You've mentioned him..." You pretended to think for a moment. "...What? Eight times since we started?"

"I have not."

"You've called him the enemy."

"He is."

"You accused him of cheating."

"He was."

"You've insulted his teaching."

"It wasn't that good."

"I've made more shots tonight than I have in the last six months."

He clicked his tongue. "Coincidence."

You laughed. "You're jealous."

He held your gaze for a long moment, twirling the cue lazily between his fingers before shrugging one shoulder. "...Maybe I was."

Eddie looked almost as surprised by his own answer as you were. He scratched the back of his neck, looking away with a quiet scoff.

"I mean..." he muttered, trying and failing to sound casual, "guy's got his hands all over you. Kinda weird."

Your heart did a slow, traitorous little flip. "So that's what this is about?"

He looked back at you. "I don't like people assuming they can get all cozy with you."

"Steve was teaching me."

"I know."

"You've practically climbed all over me trying to fix my stance before."

"That's different."

"How?"

"'Cause..." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "...It's me."

You couldn't help it when a grin spread across your face. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

"You really don't hear yourself, do you?"

"Oh, shut up."

You laughed outright this time, and Eddie couldn't stop himself from smiling back, shaking his head as he pointed the cue toward the table.

"Take your shot before I remember why I like beating you so much."

You stepped up beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you passed.

"I'm starting to think you don't like beating me nearly as much as you pretend you do."

For the first time all night, Eddie didn't have a smartass comeback. He just watched you lean over the table, trying very hard not to notice how unfairly pretty you looked when you were concentrating.

The game stretched on longer than it should have, every shot laced with your growing confidence and Eddie's sharpening edges.

But in the end, you sank the eight-ball clean, right into the corner pocket with a decisive thunk that echoed through the bar like a victory bell.

The regulars let out a low chorus of approval. Eddie stared at the table for a moment too long, cue still gripped tight in one hand, before his gaze lifted to yours.

That cocky smirk was still plastered on his face, but it had gone tight at the corners.

You leaned on your cue, flushed with triumph and just enough adrenaline to push. "Hmph. Steve must be a good teacher after all," you said sweetly, tilting your head. 

Something dark flickered in Eddie's eyes. He set the cue down with deliberate calm, then crossed the space between you in two strides. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, lifting it with a gentle yet firm grip. 

"Alright," he said, voice low, "that's enough."

He tugged you toward the back hallway, past the storage room and out the rear door into the narrow alley behind the Hideout. The door slammed shut behind you, cutting off the muffled sounds of the bar. 

"Eddie—" you started, but he spun you around, pressing your back to the rough brick before you could finish. His body crowded yours instantly, one thigh slotting between your legs as his free hand braced beside your head.

"You think this is funny?" he growled, mouth hovering inches from yours. His breath was ragged. "Parading Harrington in here, letting him put his hands all over you while I watch?"

"He was teaching me," you breathed, even as heat pooled low in your belly. God, he was jealous. Really jealous. It shouldn't turn you on this much, but the way his grip tightened on your wrist sent a shiver straight through you.

"Sure, doll. Teaching." Eddie's other hand slid down your side, bunching your shirt up roughly until his palm met bare skin. "Laughed at his shitty jokes. Let him stand that close." He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, sweetheart."

You arched into him. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into his curls and tugging hard enough to make him groan against your lips. 

He tasted like cheap beer and that stupid cinnamon gum he always chewed, and underneath it all, that unmistakable Eddie scent that always made your head spin.

His hand shoved under your waistband without preamble, fingers dipping between your thighs to find you already slick. A low, satisfied rumble vibrated in his chest.

"Fuck. This wet for me, or were you thinking about his hands the whole time?"

"Yours," you gasped as he circled your clit with two rough fingertips, pressing just right. "Always yours, you idiot."

"Good answer." He nipped at your bottom lip, then spun you again; face toward the wall this time.

Your palms braced against the cool brick as he yanked your jeans and underwear down in one impatient motion, just enough to bare you to the night air. The sound of his belt buckle and zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet alley.

He pressed against your back, hard and hot, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around your throat.

"You don't get to tease me like that and walk away," he murmured, lips against the shell of your ear. His cock nudged at your entrance, thick and insistent. "Gonna fuck the thought of him right out of you."

Then he thrusted in deep, one smooth stroke that punched the air from your lungs. You moaned, the sound echoing off the bricks as he filled you completely. He didn't give you time to adjust. Just pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing rhythm that had your toes curling in your shoes.

" Eddie—fuck—"

"Yeah, say my name." His grip on your hip tightened, rings digging in as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made sparks explode behind your eyes. "Louder. Let the whole damn alley hear who you belong to."

You did. Gasping it out between thrusts, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in tight, relentless circles while his hips snapped against your ass.

"Such a brat," he panted, teeth grazing your shoulder through your shirt. "You were so cocky before. What happened, huh baby?" He punctuated each word with a thrust, grinding deep on the last one until you were trembling.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train. You clenched around him, crying out as waves of heat crashed through you. Eddie followed right behind with a choked groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot inside you, hips stuttering as he rode it out.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic. Then he eased out slowly, careful despite the raw edge still humming between you. He tucked himself away, then turned you gently, pulling your clothes back into place with surprisingly tender hands.

Eddie rested his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. "You okay?" he asked. 

You smiled, still catching your breath, and tugged lightly at one of his curls. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

He searched your face for another second anyway, like he wasn't entirely convinced until he saw the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Only then did his shoulders finally loosen.

"There you are," he murmured.

"There I am?"

"You disappeared for a minute."

"I think I had a good reason."

He snorted, ducking his head with an embarrassed grin. It was strange seeing him like this.

Five minutes ago, he'd been all confidence and smart remarks, and now he suddenly looked like the same guy who got flustered whenever Wayne asked if the two of you were dating.

You brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulder of his jacket. "So..."

"So?"

"...Does this mean I finally get to stop pretending we're just friends?"

His eyes met yours again. "I'd really appreciate that."

You laughed quietly. "I've gotta admit, Munson. I was starting to think you were hopeless."

"Oh, I was."

"You were."

"I mean it." He leaned back against the brick wall, slipping one hand into yours.

"I don't think I realized just how bad I had it until today."

"The pool lessons pissed you off that bad?"

He nodded. "When I saw Harrington behind you..." He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself. "God, I was so irrationally pissed."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? I couldn’t tell."

“Shut up.”

"He was just teaching me pool so I could beat you and get on your nerves." You bumped his shoulder. "Which, by the way, worked beautifully."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You were glaring at him like he keyed your van."

"He was standing way too close."

"He was showing me how to bank a shot."

"Didn't need to be all..." Eddie gestured vaguely with his free hand. "...Harrington about it."

You laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"You know."

"No, I actually don't."

"All..." He sighed dramatically. "Perfect hair. Nice smile. Hands everywhere."

"His hands were on the cue."

Eddie gave you a look. "Mostly."

You couldn't help laughing. "You're unbelievable."

"I know that now."

"You knew it then."

"...I did."

"So why were you so grumpy?"

He was quiet for a second, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Because I kept thinking..." He shrugged, almost embarrassed by himself. "'What if she realizes she likes him better?'"

You blinked. "...Steve?"

"Sounds stupid out loud, doesn't it?"

"A little."

"Thanks."

"Eddie." You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze. "You really thought I was gonna fall for Steve Harrington because he showed me how to hold a pool cue?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking rationally."

"Clearly."

He groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Can we pretend I never admitted any of this?"

"Absolutely not."

"Figured."

love me a good dom!eddie what can i say

also, the taglist is being really funky. i'm sorry if it's not tagging everyone pasted, i've been messing with the tags every time but tumblr likes to play games sooooooo

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[chaostraumasworld]

The Munson Way of Caring

01. Wayne's blanket

summary: sometimes home is made of little things. a borrowed sweatshirt, a cup of hot chocolate, wayne’s blanket, and the strange comfort of eddie munson’s beautiful mess of a world. ☕🖤

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: soft!eddie x you, no y/n, slow burn, friends to lovers, oblivious!eddie, mutual pining, the munson way of caring, protective!eddie, caring!eddie, teasing!eddie, dramatic!eddie, sweet!eddie, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, comfort after a bad day, sharing clothes, wearing eddie’s clothes, rainy night, cozy vibes, found family, wayne munson being wayne, eddie munson being eddie munson, acts of service, playful banter, soft moments, fluff, romantic tension, critical frost damage avoided ♡

warning: excessive fluff, dangerously high levels of domestic comfort, may cause sudden cravings for hot chocolate and a place on wayne’s couch

words: ~11k (not sorry)

notes: damn, i'm a curl girl ☆ next chapter not that long ☆ no promise ☆

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By the time Eddie finally admitted defeat, the two of you were long past the point of pretending you weren't freezing.

The rain showed no mercy. In cold, heavy sheets it had soaked clean through your jacket, your shirt, your jeans, until every step sent water sloshing inside your shoes.

"That," Eddie announced solemnly, lifting one foot for emphasis, "is the sound of my dignity leaving my body." The demonstration came with a squelch so horrific it deserved its own eulogy.

Water trickled down the back of your neck no matter how tightly you hunched your shoulders against the wind.

"I swear," Eddie muttered, shoving a handful of dripping curls out of his face. They flopped immediately back into place, as if the gesture had never happened. "That van picked the absolute worst possible moment to die on us."

"Honestly," you said, glancing out at the downpour surrounding you, "it really committed to the bit."

Eddie barked out a laugh.

"Yeah. Couldn't just break down Tuesday morning. Saving me from Mr. Kaminski."

Thunder rolled across the sky, low and rumbling, followed by another gust of wind that drove the rain sideways. Instinct made you turn your face away, though it barely made a difference anymore — there wasn't a single dry inch left on you to protect.

"This doesn't even count as rain anymore," you called out over the wind.

Eddie tipped his head back, blinking up at the vast, churning sky.

"This is personal. Whoever's in charge today clearly has a grudge."

The trailer finally emerged through the curtain of rain, its porch light glowing, a tiny beacon against the dark evening.

"Welcome to paradise," Eddie joked, relief bleeding through, plain and impossible to miss.

He took the steps two at a time and fished his keys from his pocket. You followed him up the creaking wooden steps, your soaked sneakers slipping slightly against the damp wood. Eddie's fingers were numb from the cold, and it took him two tries before he managed to get the key into the lock.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Work with me."

The key finally turned.

Warmth hit you the moment Eddie opened the door. Soft carpet replaced splintered porch boards beneath your feet. The old couch sat exactly where it always had, its faded fabric still carrying the faint smell of cigarette smoke. A stack of cassette cases leaned beside it, old newspaper forgotten on the coffee table, Eddie's clothes thrown over the backrest. After the cold and the rain, seeing the familiar mess of the trailer felt strangely comforting.

Eddie pushed the door open and stepped aside with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

"After you."

"Wow," you laughed, brushing past him into the warmth, grateful for the sudden absence of wind and rain, "an actual gentleman."

"Don't get used to it," he called after you, already following close behind, the door swinging shut against the storm at his back.

"Figured I'd let the prettier one go first."

Looking down at yourself, soaked through, hair plastered to your face, you glanced back at him, equally drenched, a stray drop of rain still clinging to the tip of his nose.

"Pretty sure," you countered, fighting a grin, "neither of us is winning that title right now."

Wayne looked up from the kitchen sink, a dish towel slung over one shoulder, and let out a low chuckle at the sight of you.

"Well, don't you two look like a couple of drowned raccoons."

"Hi, Mr. Munson," you greeted, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face.

"Evening." Wayne's gaze swept over the two of you, amusement written plainly across his face.

"We definitely feel like it," you admitted, and that only seemed to deepen it.

Eddie looked at you, smiling slightly, before glancing down at himself. Apparently deciding the situation was still salvageable, he ran a hand through his hair, giving the curls one final adjustment before looking back at you.

"I think we pulled it off."

Wayne's mouth twitched, clearly unconvinced.

"Sure you did." Wayne returned his attention to the dishes.

"So, what happened?"

"Van died at the corner of Birch," Eddie grunted, wrestling himself out of his leather jacket, which protested with an unmistakable squeak.

"Real dramatic exit." Eddie threw his hands up, miming an explosion. "Smoke and everything."

Slipping out of your soaked sneakers, you lined them up neatly beside the door. Even so, droplets of rain escaped your clothes, gathering in tiny puddles across the floor.

"Sorry," you apologized, looking down at your feet. "We're making such a mess."

Wayne glanced at the puddle for all of half a second before looking back at you.

"I'd rather have wet floors than you two still out there." He nodded toward the stools at the kitchen counter and grabbed another towel from the rack.

"Here."

The moment it touched your hands, you let out an embarrassingly happy sigh.

"Oh my god, this is so good. Thank you!"

The towel had officially become the only thing standing between you and looking completely miserable, so you claimed a spot at the counter and pressed it over your face for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of laundry soap.

Eddie caught himself looking at you again. When you noticed, he didn't flinch. He just smiled to himself.

"You got the van off the road?" The mug was the next victim of the soapy water, disappearing beneath the bubbles as Wayne continued the cleanup.

"Yeah!" Eddie held his arms out, presenting the full disaster of his outfit, a fresh black smear now added to the wreckage.

"Such a drama queen till the very end."

"Locked it?" The mug received its final rinse, earned its place on the drying rack, and joined the others in pretending the cleanup was almost over.

"Mm-hm," Eddie hummed, wringing out the hem of his shirt with a grimace. "Though I'm not entirely convinced the thing is alive enough to care."

A small nod from Wayne.

"Good."

Outside, thunder rolled low across the sky again, deep enough to make the windows tremble, followed almost immediately by rain hammering even harder against the roof.

"Callin' Wade in the morning, see if he can tow it. No sense sending anyone out in this."

A last few crumbs met their inevitable end as Wayne cleared the plate, his gaze drifting toward the rain outside.

Eddie followed his gaze to the window and rubbed a hand through his still-dripping curls. A few drops of water fell onto the floor between his feet.

"Yeah... figured."

Judging by the amount of water Eddie was still shedding, Wayne clearly decided reinforcements were necessary. He grabbed another towel and tossed it toward him.

Catching it with a small nod of thanks, Eddie immediately started rubbing it through his hair, trying to get some of the water out. It didn't do much. His curls only seemed to grow more unruly, sticking up in every direction as he dragged the towel through them.

"...Fixed it," he grinned.

Looking at him for a beat, you smiled.

"Your curls beg to differ."

One look at the two of you was enough to notice something was off. Wayne's attention stayed on you a moment longer, quietly assessing.

"Doesn't look like you're warming up much. You're turning blue."

Glancing down, you found your hands trembling, a tremor you hadn't noticed until now.

"I'm fine," you said, the words coming out before you'd even thought them through.

Wayne's expression eased. "I know. Still, those wet clothes aren't helping." He tilted his head toward the hallway. "There's something dry in there. You two should get out of those."

The towel found its new home around Eddie's neck.

"Yeah, let's not turn into human icicles today."

The matter was apparently settled. The mugs waiting on the drying rack had already claimed Wayne's attention.

Eddie shook his head, a fond smile crossing his face at how quickly Wayne had moved on.

"Come on," he said, already heading toward his room and flicking on the light as he stepped inside.

The familiar chaos greeted you — band posters curling at the edges, cassette tapes scattered across every surface, the faint smell of candle wax and old paper.

Idle curiosity led your eyes over the room, taking in what Eddie would generously call "organized," until something on his desk caught your attention.

Your black marker.

It had quite obviously made itself at home beside his paints. Rolling it once between your fingers, you decided it had apparently chosen its new owner.

Honestly, you couldn't blame it.

"Alright..." Eddie announced, giving the drawer a good yank and a rattle until it finally gave in with a squeak. "You've got quite the selection here. Black, black, or..." He paused, his fingers moving through the pile with an almost adorable amount of concentration. "...premium black."

Suddenly you were all ears. Your whole body ached for something warm and dry.

"Ooh, premium is in stock?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie flashed a wide, almost boyish grin.

"Oh, absolutely."

The clothes rustled beneath his hands, the soft clink of his rings filling the quiet room before he suddenly stopped.

"Actually... scratch that," he said, pulling out a faded black sweatshirt with a soft, stretched-out collar that had clearly seen better days. He held it up with exaggerated care, giving it an approving nod before presenting it to you.

"This is premium cozy black."

"...oh wow," you breathed, running your fingers over the worn fabric.

"Pretty sure this one comes with a comfort bonus," you hummed, giving the sleeve another squeeze.

Honestly, you understood the temptation of keeping someone else's stuff now — and you weren't sure you'd give this back either.

Eddie caught your reaction, and the look on his face made it painfully obvious he considered this a personal victory.

The clothes were arranged with the seriousness of a royal offering, the sweater and sweatpants presented like priceless family heirlooms before an unnecessarily elegant bow completed the performance.

"My lady," he announced with all the drama of a royal decree.

Not one to be outdone, you pressed a hand to your chest and inclined your head in return, accepting the bundle with matching gravity.

"A most generous offering," you declared, voice as regal as you could manage.

Clearly delighted that you were playing along, Eddie's grin stretched wider.

Tightening your grip on the pile, you felt the sweater's warmth seeping into your cold hands, a small, unexpected act of mercy. You'd barely taken a step when Eddie froze.

"Hold on..." He turned around so fast his wet curls sent droplets flying. "The ceremony isn't complete."

The drawer was immediately searched for the next essential item, and after a moment of dramatic rummaging, another treasure emerged with the same theatrical care as before.

"This is of great importance!" The final piece of the ensemble made its appearance, completing the royal collection before he gave you a quick wink. "Protection against frostbite... a devastating weakness of your toes."

"Socks!" you gasped, your eyes widening with perfectly feigned astonishment. "A rare item. I thought these were only a legend."

Eddie just stared at you. A crooked, pleased look crossed his face, warm and immediate.

"Okay," he said, his nose scrunching the way it did when he was trying not to smile too hard. "See, this is why you're dangerous."

You laughed. "Oh! Dangerous?"

"Yeah." He nodded seriously. "Encouraging me."

His expression shifted as your fingers brushed against his while you adjusted the stack of clothes between you, and just like that, the teasing dropped from his face.

Neither of you moved at first.

Then Eddie seemed to remember he was still holding onto the socks, and his fingers loosened with a small, almost embarrassed laugh.

"Uh... I'll let you get changed."

He lingered for just a second longer before backing toward the door.

"Eddie?"

He paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Thanks," you said, lifting the stack of clothes slightly between you.

Another grin, smaller this time but no less genuine, and then he slipped out into the hallway, pulling the door gently shut behind him.

His footsteps continued on to the bathroom, followed by the soft click of that door too, and the faint rustle of him getting out of his own wet clothes.

The trailer creaked softly around you, settling beneath the weight of the storm. Rain battered the roof like it was trying to break in, but inside, everything felt strangely safe. Warm. The world outside could do whatever it wanted, and it didn't matter quite as much in here.

The sweatshirt was a little too big, the sleeves falling over your hands no matter how many times you pushed them back. The sweatpants sat loose around your ankles, soft and warm, swallowing up the last bit of cold the rain had left behind.

Surprised by how quickly something unfamiliar had started to feel comfortable, you padded out of Eddie's room sock-footed. The overly dramatic sock ceremony had, unfortunately, been justified. They were really good socks.

Wayne was still waging war on the last of the dishes while Eddie gathered up mugs and plates, dressed and looking suspiciously put-together for someone who'd needed a small eternity just to find matching socks. The second Eddie turned and caught sight of you, a grin spread across his face.

Since a proper reveal lost some of its impact while still holding a bundle of soggy clothes, you draped them over the back of one of the kitchen stools.

"Well?" you asked, turning around with amused patience, arms held out as if giving him time to properly assess the situation.

Eddie set the dishes down and gave you a slow once-over, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin as though he were considering a life-altering decision.

"Give it five minutes."

"Until what, exactly?" you asked, eyes widening in exaggerated concern.

"Until you're quoting Sabbath, arguing about guitar solos, and informing innocent strangers their taste in music is objectively wrong."

Your straight face didn't survive that. Eddie's dramatic prediction was ridiculous enough to make you laugh, mostly because there was a little too much truth in it.

Eddie blinked, like he'd expected to tease you, not actually catch you off guard.

"Oh," you said, drawing yourself up, chin lifting as you slipped into the performance, "I think I'm already there. Just missing the curls, though."

Reaching up, you gave your hair a dramatic, tousled fluff in a poor imitation of his curls.

The accusation clearly required a response. His eyebrows lifted, and whatever amusement had been there was quickly replaced by the need to defend his reputation.

"My lady," you intoned in your best imitation of Eddie's voice — low, gravelly and just a touch too dramatic.

"Okay, that's slander," Eddie scoffed, stepping toward you with a look of mock offense, one finger already raised in protest. "I don't sound like that!"

"You absolutely do," you teased, tugging one sleeve back without really looking, already so used to the oversized sweatshirt it barely seemed to register anymore. "All the time!"

Still shaking his head, Eddie caught the end of one sleeve between his fingers, lifting it like an exhibit in a courtroom.

"The sweatshirt?" he declared. "Convincing."

His gaze flicked to you.

"The impression? Criminal."

"You hear yourself, right?" you mocked, trying to pull your arm free.

A playful nudge of your shoulder was your next attempt to escape, but Eddie only tightened his hold, clearly far too entertained to let you go. Instead, he only laughed, reached around you, and caught you in an easy hug from behind, his chin nearly brushing your shoulder.

"Eddieee—" you protested playfully, trying to pry one of his arms loose.

It accomplished absolutely nothing except making him laugh harder.

Eddie had seen you soaked through, freezing, trying not to make a fuss about it. Now you were standing there wearing his clothes, arguing with him over a fake accent. Somehow, that got to him more than it should have.

The microwave beeped, apparently confident it had done its job. A quick stir proved otherwise. After a moment of silent judgment, Wayne sent the pot back in for another minute.

"You two planning on eating tonight, or should I just leave you to the fashion show?"

Eddie's arms stayed exactly where they were, making it perfectly clear he had no intention of letting go. Defeat, apparently, came with remarkably comfortable conditions. Settling back against him, you decided fighting it was wildly overrated.

"We're conducting a highly scientific evaluation," Eddie declared.

"Of?" Wayne asked, already setting slices of toast onto waiting plates.

You pretended to give the question careful consideration. "My commitment to premium cozy."

Wayne looked over then. His eyes moved from the sweatshirt to the easy way Eddie still had you tucked against him before settling on your face. The sight seemed to please him.

"Looks committed."

Catching your smile, Wayne gave the toast another look before deciding a little extra butter couldn't hurt.

Tipping your head back against Eddie, you couldn't resist the quiet triumph in your grin.

"Heard that?"

With a small click of his tongue, Eddie leaned closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.

"You're clearly working together."

Apparently deciding the toast hadn't suffered enough, Wayne added another generous helping of butter before his attention shifted to the stool.

"Probably oughta hang 'em up before we forget."

Only then did Eddie seem to notice he was still holding onto you. He blinked, almost surprised by the fact that he hadn't wanted to let go, before easing his arms away.

For a second, you missed the easy comfort of his arms before reminding yourself that he had only been messing around.

"Got it." Before you could even move, the bundle was already being taken. Eddie shifted it into both hands, then paused, looking down at the pile.

"Oh." His brows lifted. "That's... all..."

Heat crept up your neck. "...Maybe."

"Even—" He stopped himself, catching the word before it could fully leave him. "Never mind."

"What?" You laughed. "You know rain doesn't magically stop at your jeans, right?"

A small shake of his head followed, apparently realizing the flaw in his own logic.

"Yeah. Just... Didn't really think that through."

The microwave beeped again, clearly done negotiating. Wayne rescued the pot from the microwave, gave the stew one last stir like he was personally responsible for its survival, and glanced toward the bathroom.

"Ed. The rack in the bathroom folds out."

"I know."

"Last time you said that, you put a wet towel over the shower curtain."

Looking offended, Eddie adjusted the bundle in his arms.

"That was one time," he said, already heading to the bathroom.

The cupboard opened with a quiet creak. Wayne paused for a moment, then took down the bowls stacked inside.

"Need a hand?" you asked, drumming your fingertips lightly against the edge of the counter.

He glanced back at you, a little surprised by the offer.

"That's kind of you. Think I can manage," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

A mug of hot chocolate appeared in front of you a moment later, courtesy of Wayne, who had clearly decided you needed warming up more than you needed another argument.

"Careful, though. Made it the way Ed likes it. Might rot your teeth."

Steam curled up carrying the rich scent of melted chocolate and something faintly like cinnamon. A few marshmallows floated on top, their edges softened into pale, gooey ribbons.

Warmth sank into your fingers the moment you wrapped both hands around the mug. The first sip was almost too hot, way too sweet, and somehow exactly right.

"Okay," you said, "this explains so much about him."

Wayne huffed, already reaching for the ladle. "Told you. Kid's got a sweet tooth. Always has."

"I would've guessed coffee." The second sip was just as reckless as the first, sugar be damned, and the warmth kept spreading from the inside out.

"Oh, that too. Mostly when he's got a paper due at two in the morning." Wayne tapped the ladle against the pot rim, stew flicking across the counter. "But given the choice? Hot chocolate wins every time."

"So that's his secret weakness." Clearly enjoying this far too much, you cradled the mug a little closer, already plotting a marshmallow stockpile. "Good to know. I'll keep a bag of marshmallows around for emergencies."

That actually got a proper laugh out of Wayne, low and warm. "Don't you give him ideas. He'll start negotiating a marshmallow allowance."

As Wayne cleared some space on the counter, something underneath the magazines caught your attention. Clint Eastwood stared back at you, looking deeply offended by his temporary imprisonment. You pulled the VHS case free.

"Pale Rider," you read off the cover. "Huh."

"Been sitting there since last week." The last bowl joined the others on the counter, and Wayne gave the VHS case a quick look.

"Was gonna watch it myself one of these nights, but—" he gestured vaguely at the general chaos of the trailer, of life, "—never got around to it."

The sun-bleached cover art was doing a surprisingly good job of selling the idea of a quiet movie night, right in the middle of the storm.

"I've heard of it. Never actually watched it, though."

"It's a good one. Saw it last year when it came out. Wasn't expecting much, but it surprised me," Wayne recalled, setting down another plate with a clink, already reaching for the cutlery.

"Ed'll tell you westerns ain't his thing." Wayne snorted, clearly more amused than he was willing to admit, and collected the last of the spoons.

"Still sits through every one of 'em, though."

Leaning an elbow on the counter, you said, "Yeah... He has a habit of accidentally getting invested."

Next to the slices of toast, the bowls of stew found their place, a knowing look crossing Wayne's face.

"You've noticed."

A small detail caught your attention, three plates instead of two. The extra plate sat there like it had always belonged — Wayne had just included you.

Right on cue, Eddie wandered back into the kitchen, drying his damp hands against the sides of his sweatpants. One curl had escaped whatever battle he'd fought within the bathroom and now hung stubbornly across his forehead.

"Mission accomplished. Your clothes are officially hanging in a way that suggests I know what I'm doing."

Dropping onto the stool beside you, Eddie immediately leaned over and stole a marshmallow straight from your mug before you could react.

"Hey!"

The stolen marshmallow disappeared into his mouth, completely unapologetic as he ignored your look of betrayal. The second mug on the counter offered the perfect opportunity for revenge. You plucked one of his marshmallows, popped it into your own mouth, then handed it over with your sweetest smile.

"Here."

Eddie chewed for a second before flashing you a thoroughly unrepentant grin.

"Worth it!"

With the mug now in hand, the entire exchange seemed to have gone exactly according to Eddie's plan, followed by a long, satisfied sip.

"So, what did I miss?" He asked, completely unaware of the chocolate mustache he was sporting.

"Since Zeus had other plans for us, we figured we'd let Clint Eastwood save the day."

You held up the cover, the grim-faced gunslinger staring back like he'd personally taken offense at the weather.

Without missing a beat, Eddie lifted his spoon toward you and Wayne.

"I knew it! I leave for one minute and you two start plotting."

"Sorry," you managed between laughs, "can't take you seriously with that mustache."

Noticing where you were looking, Eddie dragged his tongue deliberately slowly across his upper lip without breaking eye contact, taking the chocolate with it.

The smug grin stayed.

With hunger clearly winning the argument, Wayne made his way back toward the living room, the movie secured under one arm and his plate in the other hand.

"Movie's starting either way," he said. "You can hide out in Ed's room if you want, or come keep an old man company."

Apparently, everything had been successfully handled: dinner was ready, the movie was saved, and Eddie hadn't managed to ruin either one.

Three feet of carpet became an obstacle course the moment you and Eddie decided to cross it, arms full of plates, bowls, and mugs, exaggerated concentration written all over both your faces like you were crossing a tightrope instead.

"Corner or middle?" Eddie asked, tilting his head toward the couch while Wayne crouched by the TV, the worn VHS case already in hand.

You didn't even have to think about it.

"Middle," you decided. "Better view."

With the kind of clunk that meant the VCR was either working or pretending to, the old machine accepted the tape, and a second later the television dissolved into a brief shimmer of static.

"Careful," Eddie warned as he eased himself down beside you, balancing the bowl carefully on one thigh. "This couch was not built for personal space."

Fair warning, apparently. The cushions dipped beneath his weight, nudging him effortlessly against you until his knee bumped yours.

"Noted." You shifted just enough to make room, though it hardly made a difference. "Too late now."

Something about your answer clearly pleased him.

"Way too late."

A blanket settled over your lap, soft and worn thin in places from years of use. You blinked down at it, then up at Wayne, who was already halfway back to his armchair like he hadn't just quietly made sure you were both comfortable.

"Wayne." Eddie eyed the blanket with exaggerated offense. "It's not cold anymore."

"Didn't say it was for the cold."

Already lowering himself into the armchair, Wayne didn't so much as glance in your direction.

For a moment, it looked like Eddie was searching for a comeback worthy of the occasion. Whatever he'd come up with apparently wasn't convincing enough. A quiet huff escaped him instead as he tugged one side of the blanket a little farther over both of you.

Static melted into the opening notes of Pale Rider, crackling softly through the old speakers while the storm outside continued throwing itself against the trailer roof like it still had something left to prove.

With a warm bowl in your hands and Eddie's shoulder resting comfortably against yours, you couldn't help thinking the van really could've chosen far worse places to give up.

"This is dangerously close to a family movie night, Wayne."

Wayne didn't even look away from the television.

"Eat your food, Ed."

──────────────────────────────

[beasbrain]

eddie is always being written as the dominant type but istg this is how i see him

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTScbsEd6/

WAIT YOU ARE SO RIGHT…eddie is so eric forman coded

[chapterswritten]

Description: High school sweethearts typically eloped straight after graduation, but as you’re off to experience the big college pond Eddie unfortunately has to stay behind another year at Hawkins High. Little do his friends know that one of his many many rings is actually a wedding band.

Request here! Hope you enjoy this.. 🥀 w/c: 2.3k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Goth!Reader.

Tags: Lovers to lovers (lol), romance.

⚠️: cuteness that’ll make you gag, fluff (I think that’s it...)

Fluff and a few kisses. My blog is 18+ MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Authors note: This one is short and sweet. I am currently using Ellipsus to write and oh my god trying to transfer my work over is a nightmare! Anyways, rant over... Re-blogs and comments are ALWAYS welcome in this house and I thank you for your time xoxox

—

This love affair began beneath the bleachers on the football field. Come rain or shine, Eddie met you there every time. It's difficult to recall which of you fell first, was it Eddie when he would start showing up with little trinkets in his pockets and fresh flowers plucked from the wild? Or was it you, when you’d start following his scent down the hallway and sleeping with his jacket to your chest that you’d borrowed for weeks at a time?

None of you knew and none of you seemed to mind.

He was yours and you were His, and as Spring bled into Summer Eddie knew exactly what he had to do. A hot Summer night, mid July, he took you out on a date that he had planned a week or two in advance. He was uncomfortably aware of your college life fast approaching, hurling at him like a brick being thrown and he refused to lose you to the distance. His Queen. His little Batsy.

The only issue he faced was that Eddie was broke, well, close to broke and of course he understood that you were worth more than anything money could buy, but he couldn't possibly propose to you empty handed. Could he?

You weren't materialistic in any sense of the word, but you did find joy in the things labelled strange and unusual. Perhaps that’s what originally drew you to Eddie, he didn’t conform and he also didn't flinch away from your loudness. He saw the leather and the spikes and the black around your eyes, Hell even the holes in your tights and immediately he was sold on you. You were the coolest fucking chick he had ever met. Especially when he got to know you beneath all of that. When you saw you bare.

So, during a spontaneous late night supermarket visit after hours of lingering touches and stolen kisses, Eddie popped 20¢ into the small vending machine outside the store as you went in searching for a band aid. Eddie had snagged his finger on a can of Mountain Dew so naturally you had to swoop in and save him. Like always.

During that alone time he took advantage of the gumball machines stuffed with kids toys, one was filled with cheap costume jewellery and before he knew it the machine had stole a whole dollar from him before he even managed to get a lousy ring.

His pockets were stuffed with tiny bracelets and questionable necklaces but in his hand he held a small transparent plastic ball that contained a lone ring, thankfully adjustable in size, which was adorned with a tacky dark blue jewel shaped as an upside down teardrop.

It was perfect, and even you thought so too when he presented it to you on not one, but both knees. As if he were begging you at your feet to spend the rest of your life with him.

Giddily, you said yes and Eddie slid the ring onto your finger. The wrong finger at first, but you corrected that later without him taking too much noticed.

After that night Eddie spent weeks hustling to scrape money together for a small ceremony. Dealing all sorts of narcotics to anxious teens until he had nearly enough. You told him not to worry, that you’d chip in and meet the odds, but of course to Eddie that was ludicrous and the last thing he wanted you to do. So he had you spend your savings on altering your Mom’s old wedding dress from the 60’s. It was white, of course, and it was pretty. The only thing you weren't fond of was the sleeveless shoulders. So, you took the garment and made it your own. You added sheer lace sleeves and a high slit to the side.

Eddie was going to be your husband, after all, he deserved to see a bit of thigh during the reception. Paired with your favourite huge bracelets and your voluptuous hair sprayed hair, it was everything you had dreamed it would be.

Truth be told, the cake was where most of the budget went to. It was huge, three tier and enough to feed a small village. But the cherry on top was the custom cake toppers Eddie had designed specifically for you and him.

“Oh… my god, Baby… look, that's literally a mini me!” You pointed at the small figurine draped in black, “They even managed to fit my eyeliner on there. Holy crap…” That was what shocked you most because you liked your eyeliner BIG and bold. It blew your mind to smithereens.

“I uh… I actually made them.” Thanks to countless D&D campaigns, Eddie had developed a sharp eye for detail and skilled woodcarving fingers.

You gaped at him, “These are incredible. You did so good, Ed’s. Thank you…” You could’ve sobbed tears of pure joy.

“Anything for you, Sweetness. I think I actually did a pretty good job on my hair…” Eddie leaned down with you to inspect the characters further, taking pride in his work as he did. A soft lovesick smile slithered its way onto his face as his gaze found his way over to you, his blushing bride, “I love you, Beautiful. So much.”

“I love you too, Handsome. Can’t believe I’m officially Mrs. Munson…” You wiggle your ring finger up at him, the once cheap jewellery now replaced with something nicer. Not expensive but nice and clean. Your giggle warmed his chest to a blaze comparable to the rays of the sun and Eddie chuckled too, part disbelief and part relief.

“I have to say, I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Mrs. Munson… It’s got a ring to it.” He purred, his fingertips stroking the exposed skin of your neck softly before he plants a delicate kiss to your pulse.

“Your puns are terrible.”

“You love them.”

“I must.” Attentively your palms smooth down the shoulders of his suit, it was the one he had bought for prom last year but never really got a chance to use it. He had gave up on all that normie nonsense years ago. Thankfully, he got to put it to good use after all.

“You shape up nicely. If you weren’t my husband I may not recognise you…” Eddie groans, his heart leaping every time you reminded him that he was yours now, forever. Officially.

“Driving me insane, Baby…” The tip of his nose brushed yours.

“Ugh, just kiss me, loser.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The getaway car was rented by Wayne as a wedding gift to you both. It was a cream Rolls Royce Spirit and it sent you and Eddie sailing smoothly onto your Honeymoon which you spent laid up in bed, nude and tangled in one another’s arms for days. Totally, rottenly smitten and higher than Cloud Nine.

An entanglement you were sure would withstand the trials and tribulations of time with a smug as fuck ease.

August 3rd, 1985. The day you were married to the love of your life.

—

The hardest part wasn’t trying to recover financially from the wedding, but trying to say goodbye as you parted ways for school. You swore, crossed you heart and hoped to die that you would visit Eddie every single weekend. And you did. As Eddie went back to high school you tried your best to adapt to your new life away from everything you once knew. Daunting at first college soon became pleasant when you met more people and even made some friends. You weren’t seen as the odd ‘Goth Girl’ anymore because you were now surrounded by a pool of people all totally separate from one another and that was okay. It was accepted.

You made the effort to call Eddie each night where you’d debrief one another on what had happened that day. Eddie was doing well in class, he always reassured, and he was hopeful that soon he would be joining you there.

“Have you told anyone yet?” He asked, his voice slightly muffled through the phone.

“A bunch of people. I can’t stop talking about you, apparently,” When his laugh met your ears you felt your body relax away from a tension you hadn’t noticed you were holding, “What about you? Has anyone clocked in yet?”

“Honestly, I’m waiting for someone to notice the new ring I’m currently rocking.” He studied his hand then, his eyes skimming over his many rings until he settled on thee ring.

“You wear so many, though,” You jabbed playfully, “How do you expect anyone to see that it’s there?” You twirl the phone cord around your index finger.

“It’s funny! Seeing how oblivious they are. No one even questioned where the cake came from when I brought them all a piece. They just scarfed it down like wolves.” You threw your head back, laughing into the speaker as you paint the picture in your head.

“Okay, yes, that is funny,” After regaining composure you chew your bottom lip mischievously , “Let’s make a bet?”

“I’m listening.”

“The next time I come to visit, if still no one has noticed, I’ll buy you those denim patches you’ve been wanting.” He goes quiet, his mind processing.

“…Okay. What’s the catch?”

“If they figure it out, you need to let me Goth-ify you for a day.” To Eddie this was a win-win situation.

“Oh you're on, Munson. I’m getting those patches.” You pouted at his confidence, finding it adorable.

“We’ll see about that, Baby boy.”

—

The long awaited weekend came rolling around and you couldn't contain your excitement as you walk through your old stomping ground, Hawkins High, and towards the drama department where even from far away you could hear the kids squealing and Eddie cackling like a maniac.

You had compiled a plan, something so hard to ignore that you even polished your wedding band the night before. Confidence radiating in each step as you bound your way into the room.

Immediately the party take notice and you are met with endless warm welcomes from each member. Eddie studies you from his throne, his lips pulled into a smirk and his eyebrow raised.

“What’cha got there, Batsy?” His eyes shimmered and you shrugged, smiling down at the box in your hand.

“Oh, nothing… I just thought you warriors could use a tasty snack,” The white box thumps down onto the table and when you open the lid Eddie’s jaw feels as though it’s been unhinged, “Bon appétit.”

“Cupcakes—”

“Not just any cupcakes. These are special, Eddie Bear, remember?” Jeff freezes mid frosting bite and Erica slowly pulls her hand away from one of the decorated treats.

“Are these poisoned?” Erica pops her hip sassily to the side and you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Course not! You guys! You’ve tried this flavour before! Eddie gave you some not long ago…” Right now you’re doing a WHOLE lot of talking with your hands and within mere seconds Eddie knew that this battle had been lost to a fucking cupcake.

“Uh, yeah… but that was slices. What the hell is happening—”

“Oh… my god—” Dustin stares at your hand before he whips his head around to Eddie, his eyes lingering low, “Show ‘em. Eddie, show your hands right now—”

“Why?”

“Now, Eddie!” Dustin, the little bossy fucker he is.

“Okay, Jesus!” He throws his hands up in surrender with a pout as he slumps down into his chair, a defeated man.

“Shut the fuck up—”

“You’re engaged?” Without asking Erica takes your hand into hers, admiring the the metal band closely.

“Married—” You start.

“Married?!” A choir of voices scream and you instinctively reach for your ears.

“When did this happen? How did this happen—”

“Beginning of August.” Eddie quips, all Bambi eyed and innocent.

“Eddie, why didn’t you tell us?” Gareth asks and to his left Jeff has a mouthful of cake sponge unable to comment.

“I thought you guys would’ve known!”

“Literally, how? Explain to me how we could have possibly known?” Dustin’s investment has you giggling to yourself at the end of the table.

“Uhhhh, the ring, duh?” He displays his hands once again and simultaneously everyone’s faces drop.

“Look at your hands, Eddie. How the fuck were we meant to spot a wedding ring? Your fingers are full of rings!”

“Like a need in a haystack.” Erica murmurs, now more trusting of the baked goods on the table as she slips one in front of her.

“Is this the wedding cake, then?” Mike asks with a head tilt.

“A replica, you guys had the wedding cake last time. The rest is frozen at Wayne’s.” Together the party were in bits and pieces, confused and hungry all at once.

“Number one, fuck you for not inviting me,” Dustin flips Eddie the bird, “And number two… are there pictures?”

“Only a bucket of them—”

“Lemme see, you have them with you?”

Of course you did.

Reaching into your purse Eddie watches with amused eyes and an adoring smile. As shit as it was to lose, he’d always rather it be to you than to anyone else. You spread the Polaroids onto the table and while the kids snacked and rummaged you made your way over to sit on Eddie’s lap.

“Touché.” He mumbles through a kiss to your neck and you dip down to lock lips with him, your pierced tongue skimming along his bottom lip teasingly.

“I hope you're ready for your make-over.” Eddie groans, his fingers squeezing the plush of your fishnet covered thighs.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Sweetness.”

“Good, because I have my make-up with me—” You jump up faster than it takes Eddie to blink and all too quickly he feels everyone’s eyes on him.

“Wait, What? Here—”

“Oh, this’ll be good.” Gareth snickers to himself and you straddle Eddie again, keeping him where he’s sat.

“Buckle up, Buttercup. Oh, and guys?” You swivel your head to meet them briefly, “I’m taking requests…” the smirk on your face is Devilish and Eddie couldn’t decide if he was terrified or aroused.

Possibly both.

Definitely both.

"Now, hold still.”

[glassbxttless]

Street Fighter

eddie munson x bats (fem!reader), gareth emerson

word count: 800+

summary: Corroded Coffin Fest Day 13: Atari | Bats is off work in time to see her favorite boy— and his best friend— at the arcade.

warnings: none that i can think of!

notes: submission for @corrodedcoffinfest! This is vaguely inspired by the prompt lmao. I hope you enjoy!

The mall's winding down by the time you finally push through the employee’s only door into the corridor with your bag slung over your shoulder. Your feet hurt, your back hurts, and if you have to fold one more pile of neon windbreakers this week, you might actually lose your damn mind.

You tug off your hat and drag a hand through your hair with a frown, sighing. The paycheck better be worth this misery. You let out another breath as you pass the arcade, catching a glimpse of a pair of white Reeboks sticking out from behind one of the games. You take a few steps over, peeking around the arcade doors to look in at them. Eddie’s leaning over a game cabinet hitting every button imaginable while Gareth stands beside him actually playing said game. 

Gareth notices you first, "Oh, thank God." He says flatly, eyes flicking up to you with amusement. "Your boyfriend sucks." 

Eddie whips around fast and the second he sees you his whole face lights up. "Baaaats!" He grins, loud enough that the two kids at the pinball machine look over. "Holy shit, babe. You're off work!” He grins, stepping close enough to wrap an arm around your waist. "You look tired. My poor little mall employee." 

Your head thunks against his shoulder and you sigh, "I hate teenagers." 

"Yeah?" He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back. "Me too. They're little assholes." 

Your exhaustion starts to ease as the weight of his arms settle in around you. He kisses your head, whispering against your hair. "You eat yet?" 

You shake your head. "Had an Orange Julius and the souls of eleven children." 

"Nice. A balanced meal, I'd say." 

"Ed, today really sucked." You sigh, nuzzling as close as your bodies will allow. 

He tucks your hair back behind your ear, "what happened?" He asks softly.

"Some lady yelled at me because we didn’t have her size in jeans." 

"That does sound like your fault, actually." He teases quietly. You pinch his side and he yelps, "Ow! Abusive relationship, much?" 

"You deserve worse." You mumble softly. 

Gareth makes a gagging noise a few feet away. "Can you two either kiss or fight and get it over with? We're trying to play a game." 

Eddie glances at him and shakes his head. "She's had a hard day, Gareth. Relax." He chuckles before his eyes light up, "Oh shit, Bats. Baby, c'mere." 

You sigh, shaking your head.

He juts out his lip, pouting. "Pleaseee? I need you. I'm losing to Gareth, my reputation is on the line." 

Before you can protest again, Eddie is dragging you towards the machine. It's some fighting game you vaguely recognize from the thousands of hours Eddie's spent here. The screen flashes bright colors across your tired eyes. You sigh. "I don't know how to play this." 

"That's okay," He smiles and shrugs, nudging you in front of the machine, crowding close behind you as he reaches around to tap the controls. "Neither do I. I just hit buttons." You can feel the warmth of his chest against your back immediately. "Punch button. Kick button. Think that's all." He says softly near your ear.

You chuckle, "that's the tutorial you're giving me?" 

"Baby, I'm workin' with what I got." 

Gareth chooses his character, grinning, "you're both gonna lose." He says as the game starts and you do lose in less than a minute.

"What the fuck was that, Gareth?" Eddie yells, startling the pinball kids again. 

"That was winning." He shrugs. 

Eddie looks at him, baffled, "Jesus, you can't brutalize my girlfriend!”

"She agreed to play!" 

"You're supposed to go easy on her, asshole." Eddie huffs, rolling his eyes. 

You're laughing too hard to stand upright by yourself then, so you lean back against Eddie's chest as he keeps one arm around your middle. Your only support. "Sounds nice." He chuckles near your ear, kissing right below your lobe. 

"What?" you ask, turning your head to look at him.

"Your laugh.” He shrugs, his thumb rubbing absentminded little circles along your stomach. "You looked all sad when you walked in here." 

You smile at him just a bit wider. "You're really sappy today, you okay?" 

"Mhm." He chuckles and smiles, shrugging. "Just love you." 

"Disgusting." Gareth groans.

Eddie whips his head around, his eyebrows lifting. "Oh you're just jealous nobody holds you at the arcade." He teases. "You want me to hold you, Gare-bear?" 

"I'd rather fucking die." 

"You're saying that now, but—" Eddie laughs as Gareth reaches out to smack his shoulder. 

[chapterswritten]

Description: Eddie Munson has a crush, the only issue is he can’t even look you in the eye nevermind talk to you face to face. His solution? Taking advantage of your makeshift therapy clinic that you run in the abandoned toilet block round the back of Hawkins High School.

Request here! Hope you enjoy this.. ♥️ w/c: 6k

Pairing: Shy!Eddie Munson x Outcast!Reader.

Tags: Strangers to friends to lovers, romance, mystery.

⚠️: Mentions of Disordered Eating! Death, grief, Two cuties, fluff, angst, bullying, issues with self worth and confidence, loneliness.

Fluff, angst and a happy ending. My blog is 18+ MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Authors note: I am currently using Ellipsus to write and oh my god trying to transfer my work over is a nightmare! Anyways, rant over… Re-blogs and comments are ALWAYS welcome in this house and I thank you for your time xoxox

Almost.

One of the more unfortunate words to exist within the English language.

I almost made it. I almost kissed you. I almost told you.

For Eddie, it was gutting. He almost made it out of this hellish tomb. He almost flew but the sun had other plans for him. So, he fell, and when his plummeting body hit that concrete he wasn’t sure if he could get back up.

He almost didn’t….

Until he met you.

The quiet girl who often only existed within the realms of his daydreams. The girl who radiated light, not in the harsh way of the beating sun but like the comforting glow of the full moon at night. The one person who made Eddie’s palms sweat and his throat swell. He couldn’t even manage a meek ‘Hello,’ in passing, too shy. Too undeserving. So, his eyes would glide along the floor until he caught only a glimpse of your feet and even after you were long gone he was unable to look back over his shoulder at you. He could smell you though, the freshness of your perfume mixed with your shampoo if you ad washed your hair that day. Little things that kept the wheel of his imagination churning on.

It’s not that you were popular, actually, you were quite the opposite. An outcast, just like him, only prettier and a hell of a lot better at avoiding their loathsome stares and targeted brutality. You hid it better, suppressed it until you could walk over it, whereas Eddie couldn’t help but be ridiculously vocal about it. He didn’t care, not entirely, and he was nearly out of this shit hole any ways. Make waves or drown, right?

The only way Eddie was able to pluck up the courage to talk to you was through the thin wall of a bathroom stall where you would meet every Wednesday just as the final bell blew to dismiss everyone home. Over the last few months you had started a somewhat therapeutic clinic in the abandoned bathroom block hidden at the back of the high school. Now the forgotten space was used for the occasional smokers and substance takers. You claimed the middle stall as your own, cleaning it up slightly and treating it as your office. Sometimes you’d eat lunch there if you were feeling particularly vulnerable that day. The cheerleaders could be mean sometimes. Especially if provoked.

Outwardly you were overlooked and trodden on by your peers, but this separate identity of yours was praised and championed. It was strange, living both lives apart from the other, but you liked the anonymity. The shadows felt safe.

Some visited you regularly and when they couldn’t afford the $5 fee they would bring you other items of value like a fresh pack of ballpoint pens or something they had baked at home and brought for you to try. A lot of them were sweet, truly, but quite a few couldn’t handle the truth. You’d been yelled at numerous times, spat at through the walls and rattled to the core. They came around, eventually, all they needed was time and acceptance came with that.

For example, when you explained to Chrissy Cunningham that her reasons for feeling ill after eating wasn’t something necessarily physical but something punishing her mind. You suggested that she looked into the disorders of bulimia and anorexia and encouraged her to identify what caused her flare ups and triggered her illness. She had wailed, cursing your bloodline as she fled the building in tears. The following week she returned with a new outlook and a readiness to try to get better. You had helped her to reach out to a professional councillor for treatment and that’s what your message was. Healing took time and effort but it all started with opening up to someone worth trusting.

You slowly became that person for the students of Hawkins High.

—

Eddie was mistrusting at first. A nervous clam that was hard to crack open. At the beginning, your sessions together consisted of weighty silence with the occasional breath as one of you felt the urge to talk. More often than not people just need to sit with someone nonjudgmental. To know they are there and they aren’t alone. You liked those moments too, you felt allowed to exist as yourself with him. Unmasked.

“Hey…” The word left Eddie’s heart scrambling in his chest, as if he had done something wrong. He knew he was nervous over nothing but he couldn’t shake his need for control. If he opened up to you he would be totally exposed. Naked and willing. Unable to take it back. Unable to hide anymore.

The sound of denim rustling and a lightweight chain chiming hit your ears as Eddie fidgeted next to you, evidently uncomfortable and searching frantically for something to ground him. You expected this session to be no different to the previous.

“Please, don’t feel pressured to speak. We can take this at your own pace.” In front of you your eyes spotted a small beetle scuttling across the dirty tiled floor and you internally squirmed at the small creature.

“Sorry…” He choked as he dragged his hands through his hair, pushing his dampening fringe back and away from his sweaty forehead, “This, uh, this is new to me… I’m sorry.”

Instinctively you wanted to reach out and comfort him, “Don’t worry, me too. Sort of…” A soft smile found your face as Eddie released a sigh of relief into the still air.

“I cant imagine this is fun for you,” He shifted against the closed toilet seat lid, settling into his newfound welcome, “Listening to people bitch and moan must exhaust you.”

“Well, in a weird and self-indulgent way…” Momentary silence captivated you and you contemplated if you should show this side of yourself. You, more than anyone, knew the meaningfulness of relatability and how it only takes one thing to spark a deep conversation between two people. So, in a second of brave stupidity, you shared, hoping that the person on the other side of the wall felt a sense of belonging, “It makes me feel better about my own life. Knowing now that other students here struggle similarly to me makes me feel less of a target. I can ignore their taunts and eye rolls… I can see the human in them. Even when they don’t feel the same about me.”

Although Eddie couldn’t see you nor you him, his eyes slumped with appreciation and little by little his body relaxed into your presence, “Your empathy amazes me. Wish I could be as considerate.”

“Has high school been kind to you?” Deep down you knew the answer, your body could sense when someone like you settled down beside you. It’s like the souls spoke before anyone managed to open their mouths.

“Was hell kind to Satan when he first arrived?” A rhetorical question he expected you to laugh at but you remained unswayed, “No… high school has not been my best years. I’ll admit that good shit has came from my time here but… everything else is memorable in the worst way.”

“That’s why we focus on the good. Acknowledge the bad but don’t let it consume you.” He smiled then and rested his head against the adjoining wall. Through his nose he breathed your scent until it captivated him fully, lodging the breath until he was ready to reply.

His eyes watered, “I’m a little angry… no, fuck that. I’m really fucking angry. I’m so angry and I have been for years.”

For the first time in hours you were genuinely taken aback by this confession. But you remain voiceless, allowing him to vent.

“I’m not a bad guy,” He said it like he was trying to convince himself, “I look after people… I try to make sure no one feels the way that I have and yet you have people like douchebag Carver who treats people like they’re dogshit and he is worshipped like a God. Why is that? Why do people just… hate me..” It broke your heart to hear the croak in his voice and after allowing the emotion to level only then did you choose to respond.

“People… they often disregard what they don’t understand. They fear the unknown and the strange,” You searched for the words, chewing your bottom lip, “Jason is what they know, they find comfort in him because they have been brainwashed to believe that’s what the ‘norm’ should be. Surprisingly, not everyone has a kind heart. Not everyone cares.”

“They should…” He grumbled to himself, his polish chipped nails coming to pick the skin around his cuticles, “If people were more like you I think I would’ve actually gave a damn about school.”

The compliment seeped into your brain and you banked it there for a later visit, trying to remain as professional as possible and stay within the tender moment, “I’m sure you have people that cherish you and what you do for them. Like the people you have adopted. They may not treat you like a God but they treat you like a human being.”

Eddie bit back a loud chuckle then, his memory flickering to his role as Dungeon Master and how his little sheepie’s did treat him as a God during his meticulous campaigns. More importantly, though, he realised how right you were and he respected your way with words. Under normal circumstances he would be tongue tied right now and walking away in the opposite direction of you. He knew he'd be making the effort of returning to see you again.

Eddie slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees and using his fist to hold up his tired head, “I feel like I could tell you anything.”

You sung a happy hum, “You can, if you feel comfortable.”

A moment of suspense passed, “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.” Your stomach fluttered with uncertainty.

“Has high school been kind to you?” There was something special about this stranger. Something that made you feel unveiled and safe. No one had cared enough to ask you questions, but here you two were, defying the odds.

“Not as kind as it has been to others and not as brutal as it has treated many more unfortunate than I. I’m sort of in a grey area… I know people but I don’t particularly have many friends. I guess I’ve survived high school but not conquered it.” The truth left you feeling lighter but with a sourness lingering on your tongue that made you frown. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was also saddened on the other side of the stall.

“Don’t lose hope, there are bound to be many quiet admirers that lurk these halls looking at you…” Him being one of them.

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to be admired. Besides, only a few months left before graduation and in a couple of years none of this will matter. I’ll forget about it…” This time it was you that was trying to convince yourself of that statement. Maybe with time the memories of the torment will fade but the scars will remain. You’ll never look at skirts the same way and your hair won’t be pulled up into a ponytail for at least seven years. White sneakers will make you grimace and vanilla will always smell foul to you.

You’ll move on from Hawkins High but you wouldn’t recover.

“Unfortunately, our time is up… I’m sorry I spoke so much.” Eddie shook his head, alarmed at your discomfort.

“Trust me, you have no idea how much I enjoyed today. And hey, we actually talked this time. Progress.” You could hear the grin on his face and you couldn’t contain the heat spreading across your cheeks and nose as you smiled down into your notebook resting on your lap. The page open but blank. How charming.

“I’ll see you soon?” You asked, unsure.

“See ya next Wednesday, Doc. Oh, and here.” Beneath the cubicle, just at the small gap above the floor, his hand reached through with a $10 bill and as he hovered the money there you took notice of the unique silver rings adorning his fingers and the black watch strapped around his wrist.

“Oh, that’s too much—”

“Consider it a deposit for next time.” After ensuring the money met your fingertips Eddie exits the stall promptly, leaving you alone once more but this time with a amused grin ghosting your face and longing for more time.

You were growing fond of this client.

—

The sides of your ribs were in stitches, sore from laughing at countless sloppy jokes. You weren’t sure how you ended up here, spending hours after class with the same client twice a week now, but here you were. Tears streaming hot down your cheeks that also ached from your prolonged smile.

“Honest, these sessions help me get through the day… I look forward to them every time.” Talking was easy now, carefree with him and yet you still were unsure of his identity. Only hints of him existed in your mind. His staple rings, his black watch and the fresh minty smell of… shaving foam.

“Glad I could be of some assistance, Sweetheart.” His new nickname for you. He’d call you it constantly, the same adoration radiating from it each time. You’d never grow tired of it, never stop thinking about it or dreaming about it…

You’d miss him when you’d leave for home. Things would happen that you desperately longed to tell him about; like how your favourite mug had sadly lost its handle during a ferocious battle in the kitchen sink or how every time you thought about him you decided to write it down in your notebook. Those tallies went from once and turned into twelve times and twelve times turned into twenty-four. You had to know his name… you wanted to know him more.

Eddie was no different in comparison. It pained him to walk away from that stall, every time his feet would falter beneath him and stick to the tattered floor. He contemplated waiting there for you on the other side wearing nothing but a huge smile and a wild mop of hair. But, like a coward, he would run— not walk, but run to the parking lot and hurl himself into his van. You had come to know him more than anyone. You were burrowed beneath his skin now and there was no escaping you. He would see you in morning clouds on his drive to school. He’d search for you in every crowded room and supermarket isle. It was unbearable… he needed to know you.

“Y'know, I’m not taking your money today. Or anymore, for that matter.” You teased and your ink covered fingertip drew little circles on your thigh.

Eddie huffed, “Listen, it’s either you take it or I’m leavimg it on the floor for the roaches. You decide, Sweetheart.” His thumb toyed with the flint of a lighter, flicking the mechanism and occasionally lighting the flame.

A gasp escapes you, “That isn’t fair! I consider us friends now… you don’t pay friends for their time.” You chew the inside of your cheek as Eddie hums teasingly.

“Hmmm, I dunno. You still listen to my crap, which there is a lot more of, by the way. Wouldn’t feel right letting you take on that burden for free.”

A burden. He could never… not you.

“I like you— I like talking to you! I mean… uhm. It's nice, talking to you. I don’t mind it…” Your skin erupts in a warmth comparable to lava and you slap a palm to your forehead repeatedly.

Silly girl. Silly, silly girl.

You felt like screaming.

Eddie, however, has frozen to the spot. His restless limbs now like concrete as he processes what you’ve just said slowly. He couldn't believe it, but regardless, he beams and responds with a foggy brain, “I like you, too. I… I like this.”

The rigid moment dissolves into something diffused and for a long pause you both sit there. Basking in it.

“I… I nearly left last year, y’know? It’s hard to believe that I could’ve missed out on this.” Eddie’s gaze is trained on his clasped hands and his voice had a sombreness to it.

“Missed out on what?”

“You. This…” Your eyes flicker to the wall separating you, almost expecting to meet his eyes, but all you’re offered is old graffiti done in thick black sharpie.

‘Michelle is a whore! Yuck!’

Poor Michelle….

“What happened?” You quiz after your train of thought decided to take a detour.

He gulped, his mouth suddenly dry, “I met this girl at one of my gigs… she was an intern at one of the bigger labels and God, I was so close to getting a CD to her. But…” He punctured his bottom lip with his two front teeth, the memories rawer than they were seconds ago.

“But…?” You try to coax him in a way that was supportive.

“My uh… my Dad showed up. He fucked it… he fucked everything. Plus, Paige, the girl… she went off grid. Must’ve changed her number, or something.” Your jaw ticks and you blink away the water from your eyes. Of course there was another girl, how could you have been so foolish to believe this could be anything than what it is.

As if he could read your mind Eddie interrupted your self destruction, “It was strictly business. I hardly knew her… even now, I can't really recall her face.” You smoothed down your sweater, something you done often when you needed comfort. To self soothe.

“Your Dad… you haven’t really spoke about him.” Eddie now chewed on his thumb nail, picking off the polish and flicking it away with his tongue.

“He’s a total asshat. He was holed up for most of my childhood for petty crime and shortly after I moved in with my Uncle Way.. My Uncle William.” He regretted it as soon as he said it. Why didn’t he tell you the truth? Why didn’t he tell you about Wayne?

“Your Uncle? Why not your Mom?” The air shifted instantly to something tangible, you could feel it in the seconds it took Eddie to respond. Clearly, it was something not many people had asked him about before.

“She… she uh…” He almost couldn’t say it, “She died when I was young… terminal illness. It was a bit easier because I was only six but man did I miss her.” The frog jumped in his throat before he could conclude his sentence and you gave him a few moments to collect himself.

He still missed her. Every day….

“Tell me about her? What was her name—”

“Elizabeth.” He answered instantly through a teary smile, “Beth, for short. What my Dad called her…”

“I bet she was beautiful.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” He exclaims through a pant of a laugh that was equal parts love and loss, “Life with her was so… bright.” He remembered her as if it was only yesterday he had lost her…

He chuckles, “I remember this one time, after they had been to the grocery store, my Mom and I played a trick on my Dad,” He sniffled, his sinuses clearing, “I had asked for a bowl of cereal all the while my Mom had hid the milk in the cabinet. We watched my Dad search for the carton for a whole five minutes before we told him.”

You giggled, able to see the scene play out in your mind. Only the characters were faceless and slightly blurry…

“He was unimpressed but we laughed and laughed…” His giggles faded, “If I could go back I would in a heartbeat. There’s so much I wanna say to her…”

You could only imagine the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. How he has carried that with him through his formative years into early adulthood. If anyone had an excuse to be an asshole, it was him. Yet, he remained kind even after being beaten and bruised.

“I feel guilty sometimes… because sometimes I forget about her. I.. forget my grief.” He breaks down then, a sob strangling his throat that he violently tries to swallow.

“That’s normal. That… that happens. Grief ebbs and flows… it comes in waves. Some stronger than the others.” The palm of your hand rests against the cubicle wall, reaching out for his touch and your temple follows to lean against it.

“I wonder if life would’ve been different with her here… I question if I would've turned out somewhat normal.” Eddie was calmer now, letting his emotions wash over him and away again.

“Normal is overrated.”

“It is. I'm sure she’d agree, too,” Suddenly exhausted he collapses back on the covered toilet seat, letting his back collide with the water tank, “I swear I can still smell the pancakes she’d make in the morning. Only on a Sunday as a treat before the school week but wow… best fucking pancakes I’d ever had. Nothing compares.”

You laughed softly, “Sounds like you need to learn how to make a mean pancake.”

“I definitely do.”

“Maybe you’ll let me taste test one…” A desperate attempt of yours to drive the friendship further.

“Maybe I will, Sweetheart. Maybe I will.” His voice drops low, insecure and pensive.

“Next time… can we ditch the stalls? I’d really like to meet you—”

“You have met me.” He fires back.

“Fine! I'd like to see you. Know you…” Now it was your turn to shell up. Terrified of what he might say.

“…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, yes. Okay. But don’t look too disappointed when you discover who is behind this charm and raw sex appeal.”

You chuckled, “I don't think you could ever disappoint me.”

We’ll see about that…

“I have to head on home now, but I’ll see you on Friday? 3.30pm at the… bench?”

You knew the place, It’s where all the jocks and the cheerleaders met for their not so discreet drug deals and tasteless hookups.

“I’ll see you then.” You tried not to sound so excited though it proved impossible.

“It’s a date.”

—

Wednesday evening through to Friday was nothing short of tortuous and when Thursday night eventually rolled around, after many anticipated hours, you couldn’t will sleep with all the noise parading around in your head. Trumpets of doubt and drums of triumph.

You stayed up late into the early hours of dawn, tossing and turning and rehearsing the perfect conversation filled with witty one liners and blushing cheeks. Giddily you pictured a kiss... slow and sensual. And a embrace that blanketed you in fulfilment. It had you smiling up at your darkened ceiling, your eyes watching the blades of the fan swirl around slowly. During that girlish moment you also found yourself reminded of the other way which this could go. You tried to prepare for the worst outcome; the disappointment.

What if it was him riddled with regret on his face?

What if he was repulsed by what he saw?

These lonely thoughts became the downward spiral that robbed you of any rest at all. In fact, it inspired you to leave the warmth of your bed at 5:00am and begin getting ready for the day ahead. Classes weren’t until 9:00am but you couldn’t stop yourself, you had to do something. Shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows and scrub your skin until smooth.

From an outside perspective you look utterly insane in that bathroom, doing the unthinkable at that hour in the morning, but you struggled to find reasons to care. You’d show up at that bench today looking your absolute best if it was the last thing you did.

Walking down the traffic stricken hallway you met each fleeting face with suspicion and a quirked eyebrow. Your brain rushing around to string the pieces of the puzzle together before the end of the school day.

It was one of your many flaws, your need to know the future before it presents itself.

Frustration found you in your first class of the day when you couldn’t focus on a single thing spewing from the sub teachers mouth. Your pupils too busy darting to the clock above the door every five seconds and watching the minutes tick by.

9:30, 9:45, 9:47, 9:50, 9:53, 10:00…

Pathetically, you wanted to scream at the mechanism to hurry up.

After discovering that your wishful thinking wasn’t going to make the clock hands move any faster you slumped your body down over your desk, using your open textbook as your pillow as your eyelids sunk over your eyes and you drifted to sleep for a short while.

Eddie was unable to contain his excitement and even without an ounce of sleep he was still able to climb the walls with buckets of energy possessing him. Whenever he would see you he’d nearly combust into flames, he felt like a little kid in a candy store, grinning at your choice of outfit and the makeup around your eyes. You did that for him and he was absolutely enthralled by it. The party commented on his ridiculously good mood at lunch and how out of character it was for a campaign as gut wrenching as today. Then, they thought the worst when Eddie revealed that Hellfire was postponed that evening.

“Who died? Was it Carver? Are we celebrating?” Gareth investigated with a michevious smirk across the cafeteria but Eddie said nothing. He wanted to keep you a secret for now. Until he was sure… until he was certain that you wouldn’t run away as soon as you saw him.

“None of your business, ladies.” He chomped into the side of a red apple, his eyes scoping the canteen as he searched for you. Sure enough, he found you with ease near the lunch ladies where you chatted away with them. The older women smiled and laughed with you and you picked away at the slop on your plate. Pushing the mush around before you decided dessert was due.

His heart picked up to a record breaking pace and he felt like he could run a mile right there and then with the adrenaline flooding his blood stream.

“Jesus, Eddie, nervous much?” He hadn’t noticed that his bouncing leg was shaking the entirety of the lunch table. Jolting lunch trays and sodas as if they were experiencing an earthquake.

“No? I’m excited… for the campaign tomorrow.”

“If you were that excited we would be doing it today. What gives?” Dustin really could get on his nerves sometimes.

“Like I said, Dusty-Bun, it’s none of your—”

“Is this another Chrissy Cunningham special?” Gareth wiggles his eyebrows and Eddie flinches, disgusted.

“What? No. Ew, that was a one time deal and nothing happened—”

“Then who is it you’re meeting later?” Jeff asks, leaning in closer to Eddie, “You can tell us. Promise… we’ll be nice.”

“Okay. That’s it. Fuck you guys, I’m leaving,” He kicks out his seat, the metal legs screeching across the floor, “You,” He singles out Mike, “Through my lunch away.”

Mike meets him with a nod and an eye roll and Eddie shoots off from the table, fleeing away to somewhere more private where he can collect himself and his thoughts. His excitement was slowly starting to twist and expand into anxiety and the longer he waited for the end of the day to arrive the more difficult it got.

He started to picture your face, contorted with terror and disgust when you realise after all this time it’s been him on the other side of that stall.

It was funny, actually, because now more than ever he wanted to sit in that cubicle and talk to you about it. About his raging feelings for you.

He couldn’t, he knew that and it drove him fucking crazy.

When the final bell sounded, signalling the weekend, you weren’t the only person eager to make it out of the bloated hallways plagued with mild B.O. and booming voices. Instead of the main entrance at the front of the school that undoubtedly would be mobbed with a stampede of students you opted for the quieter side door that lead straight out towards the woods.

After fighting your way through the whipping branches and soft ground you were a whole twenty minutes early when you arrived at the table, too jittery to wait for him to meet you there. You needed time to prepare, to pace around and sort through your earlier thoughts and ideas.

What was good enough to say? What was totally unusable and lame?

These were the things you needed to know.

In the time it took for the twenty minutes to pass you had already talked yourself out of leaving on four different occasions and around the picnic table you had paved an evident path through the leaves in a huge circle. You spoke to yourself aloud, losing track of all time and meaning. You were calmer now but you also hadn’t even stopped to question if he were coming or not.

That’s when you decided to pace in the other direction which drags a unexpected yelp from your throat and causes one of your hands to fly up and clutch at your pounding heart in your chest as you nearly collide into someone at full speed.

“Oh god, Sorry! I didn’t see you— Oh, Eddie. Hi! Are you… are you meeting someone here?” You knew he used this spot regularly for quick visits with his clientele and through avoiding his gaze you shift down to admired his hands, “I can totally leave and come… back… wait…” You trail off, your eyes clocking the black watch on his wrist and the rings decorating his fingers.

“Eddie?” Your blown eyes find the shy smile teetering on his lips. If he didn’t know any better he may mistake your surprise for horror.

“Surprise, Sweetheart…” There goes all his confidence, out the fucking window.

“Wait—” you squint at him, “Your Uncles name isn’t William.”

Slowly, the hornets in his chest dissolve, “Correct.”

“It’s Wayne. Wayne Munson—”

“Which is exactly why I couldn’t tell you. You’re too smart, you would’ve figured me out instantly.” You beamed up at him, getting lost in the depths of his eyes.

“You’re… taller than I remember.” Eddie shrugs his jacket from his shoulders, tossing it onto the bench.

“It’s been a long time since we spoke, and possibly forever since we were this close to one another,” Suddenly coy you take a small step away from him but Eddie matches the step towards you, “That wasn’t a complaint. Just an observation…”

Like how he observed the the pink in your face that definitely was unrelated to the makeup touched gently onto your features.

“Are you… disappointed?” You couldn’t look at him. Why couldn’t you look a him? He may be the most handsome man you’ve laid eyes on in this dump of a town and you couldn’t muster the strength to look at his perfect face—

“Me?” He chuckles lightheartedly, “Sweetheart, I was about to ask you the same question.”

With caution his fingers tilt your chin up until he can see the mesmerising colour of your eyes, “You have got to be the textbook definition of perfect If I've ever seen one.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m serious!” He exclaims, “Don’t give me that sass, y’hear? I might grow to like it too much.”

He was relentless, like the prickling warmth scorching your entire body, “I.. I’m so relieved that it’s you.” You confess and Eddie melts, nearly succumbing to gravity.

His Cheshire Cat smile goes straight to your head, “Yeah?”

“Definitely. If it was anyone else I think I may have ran for the hills by now…” You gnaw on the inside of your check.

“Hey, me too… me too,” All too quickly his fingers tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear before his touch is gone again. Leaving you yearning for more, “Shall we sit down?”

Your thighs settle against the warped wood of the bench, cold against the blazing skin through your jeans, “So… Eddie Munson.”

“In the flesh.” He fidgets with his arms, crossing them and uncrossing them over his chest.

“Did you know it was me? Through the wall.”

“The whole time.” He said it so casually it made your head spin at x2 speed.

“No way, you couldn’t have—”

“Mhm, I did,” He smiles down at his clasped hands outstretched on the table in front of him, “Did you suspect it was me? Did you have any ideas…?”

“Nope. Not a clue… only reason I knew it was you right now was because of your rings. And your watch,” You nod down towards the items, “When you’d pass me money through the stall I would see them. Catch glimpses…”

He clapped, “Very good, Detective. Very good…”

You bow where you sit, angling yourself forward from your hips and tipping you’re imaginary hat towards him, “Thank you, kind sir.”

Fuck, Eddie was smitten.

“Next time we hang out we should hit Benny’s diner… not as good as it once was but I think the pancakes are decent enough…” Your body stills for a moment, not rigidly but motionless enough to peak concern from Eddie, “What? Do I have something on my face—”

“Are you asking me out? On a date…” This time you took great pleasure in watching Eddie’s face glow in a colour similar to a tomato.

“Possibly… maybe…” He grabs a piece of his hair, hiding part of his face behind it, “Yes.”

“Well… I’d also like to add to that invitation, if I may?” Sitting here with him felt so natural. So… meant to be.

“Please do.”

“Pancakes at Benny’s and a movie later in the night?” The sunlight peeks through the trees and illuminates your eyes in a luminosity Eddie can only describe as ethereal.

“Sounds great—”

“The catch is, though… next time you have to make the pancakes. And I get to eat them.” Your posture straightens and Eddie nods whilst he chuckles.

“Okay. Sold, to the pretty girl with the remarkable eyes.” His attempt at an English accent catches you totally off guard and you burst into laughs, your hand shooting up to cover your open lips.

“Where on Earth did that come from?”

“I don’t know! You make me so nervous… next I’ll be pulling a rabbit out of a hat.” The giggles continued at an alarming rate and you feared you may run out of breath soon.

With a huge sigh, “I love this.”

I love you…

You thought but didn’t say.

“I love it, too. Love our time together, Sweetheart. Wish I could spend every second here with you…” Your brain doesn’t register his hand holding yours until after he ceased talking and looking down at the limbs intertwined had your heart leaping and singing with joy.

“Maybe this can be our new spot… amongst many other places.” The suggestion is punctuated by a soft squeeze from Eddie’s fingers.

“I think I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah… I’d like that a lot,” He pauses and you see in his eyes the gears turning, “Fridays are campaign days, though… is that cool with you?”

“Perhaps you can teach me the ways of Dungeons and Dragons…? I’d love to see the master at work,” God, you knew just what to say, “Once I’ve learned the ropes I could possibly join the club? Maybe we can have some solo adventures together, too.” You’d winked.

And his brain nearly exploded.

“Deal.”

“Deal?—”

“Yes, yes! Deal! Say no more because I am all in, pretty girl.”

And for those incredible remaining hours together you giggled and snorted like there was no tomorrow. No one else existed but you and him and slowly, then all at once you came to realise that….

High school was kind to you, after all.

[bambimunson]

ᰔ jerking virgin!eddie off. you’re behind him, frilly canopy cocooning you both as your fist experimentally stroked. he’s biting hard on his bottom lip with knitted brows.

your chin is a warm presence atop his shoulder. it isn’t exactly unwelcome, but it’s throwing his senses even more askew. he’s already embarrassed by how much he’s bucking into your warm touch so he attempts to keep his mouth zipped. you’re having none of it.

you squeeze just beneath the rosy tip on one specific upstroke which has a heavy breath coming out of his nose, eyes falling shut. it’s followed by a whimpering sound deep in his chest.

“there we go…” you murmur, nuzzling the spot behind his ear. “don’t gotta be so quiet.”

[glassbxttless]

No

eddie munson x bats (fem!reader)

word count: 900+

summary: Corroded Coffin Fest Day 12: Mullet | Eddie makes a suggestion that Bats definitely does not want to hear.

warnings: swearing

notes: submission for @corrodedcoffinfest!

This bathroom still feels too new and too big in this grand ole house. The marble is still clean and shiny and the mirror above the counter is huge. You've already got a dish sitting out for yours and Eddie's jewelry by the sink and the soap your mother swore was gentle for your face over there as well. Otherwise, the counter houses just a stack of clean towels. 

You're in the shower, your head tipped back under the spray. Your fingers are working shampoo into your scalp, fingernails dragging around in slow circles. It's something floral, it's not what you'd usually buy for yourself nor Eddie, but something your mama sent with you when you finally broke the "we bought a house in Los Angeles" news to her. Your eyes are closed, relaxing in the steam as you listen to the water and your husband's voice.

"I'm telling you, Bats. She threw that whole drink at him. A full glass, ice cubes, liquor, everything. Just like a Goddamn movie." His voice drifts through the shower curtain. You nod, even if he cant see you. You hear the scrape of his razor against his jaw between sentences.

You huff as you rinse your hair. "Maybe he deserved it. It is Gareth after all."

"Oh, he definitely deserved it." Eddie chuckles. "He's been acting like a total dick all week. Thought he was really in love this time. Swears this one's different." He chuckles as he tilts his head, checking his reflection in the mirror. He dips his voice into a very bad impression of his best friend, "'No man, she really gets me. Think this one's the one.' Meanwhile, I doubt this bitch knows his last name. He’s just thinking with his dick and his wallet."

You laugh loudly, pushing wet hair out of your face as water cascades down your shoulders. "You're so fucking mean." 

"I'm not mean. I'm right. There's a difference." He chuckles softly, then there's a pause and a soft clink of his razor being sat down onto the counter top. "I was thinking I might cut my hair." He says way too casually for your liking.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head and you lean forward out of the spray, hoping you heard him wrong. "What did you say?" 

"Not all of it, babe." He adds with a laugh, "relax." 

You blink water out of your eyes, opening your mouth to speak before he cuts you off with his own continued spiel. 

"I'm just saying… maybe I clean it up a little. Try something new. Y'know, evolve and shit." 

You stare at the marbled shower wall in front of you for a few more moments before you reach out and yank the curtain open just enough to stick your head out. You glare at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Eddie's standing at the counter. He's still in his jeans but he's ditched the shirt. He looks over at you in the mirror first, his face still littered in shaving cream. He lifts a hand towel as he turns, wiping his face, completely unfazed by the fact that you look like you're about to climb out of the shower and murder him at the thought of him cutting his hair. "What?" He grins a little and shrugs. "It was just a thought." 

"Yeah, a bad one." You frown.

He presses his lips together, tossing the hand towel over his shoulder and onto the counter. He crosses his arms, trying not to laugh. "C'mon, baby. Don't look at me like that." 

"Like what?" You almost spit out. Reign it in. 

"Like you're heartbroken. It's not like I asked you for a divorce." 

"You might as well be!" You shoot back, exasperated. "Your hair is… No. No. Absolutely not." 

He tilts his head a bit, smile still on his face as he lets his eyes drift over you. He hums softly, trying to count the water droplets that drip off your shoulder and onto the white tiles below. Something shifts in him then to amusement. "What if I got a mullet?" He jokes softly. 

You both just stare at each other for a long while. He's the first to break, a grin cracking large and wide across his face. "Business in the front, party in the back. Very rock and roll." He continues.

You raise your eyebrows. 

He just laughs, pushing off the counter and crossing the bathroom until he's close enough to touch you. "Jesus. Tough crowd."

You narrow your eyes and shake your head, tugging the curtain shut again. "You're not funny." 

"I'm hilarious, actually." 

"Don't cut it." You say a little quieter, stepping back under the spray, suddenly realizing how cold you are out of it. 

He leans against the tiled wall, just outside where the curtain closes. "What if I just trimmed it? Took off the dead ends?" 

"Eddie." You frown. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, tugging open the shower curtain again slightly. He watches how your eyebrows knit down together in frustration before you turn away from him, then he sees the way your hair falls down your back weighed down by the water, and he chuckles. "You're so intense about this." 

"It's your hair, Ed. Are you out of your mind?!" You say, hoping that that just explains everything you feel. 

He smiles and shakes his head, letting the curtain fall back closed. He steps back over to the sink, lifting his razor. "Relax, I'm not touching it." He says softly. You can hear the way the blades scrape against his skin again. "The mullet would've been sick though." 

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest 2026 - Day 11 - Ashtray

Summary: Eddie drops a bombshell revelation and you're not sure how to respond.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 980

Rating: M

Warnings/Themes: New relationship, workplace romance, early romance, fluff, smoking (obviously), Eddie is a cheeseball of epic proportions

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you don’t start on Day 1, you can still join! <3

You know, I've been trying to limit my non-gen entries for CCFest to Fridays but guys it is like...burn out recovery speedrun saturday and I am wiped. Originally we were gonna do something where Eddie is surly as he tries to give up smoking, but no luck. The words are just not wording and I am on a roll with an entry every day this year. So this is a short, cute one.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"Sweetheart, I have something amazing to show you."

You snorted and looked at him amidst the wafts of smoke from your cigarettes.

You were used to hearing that statement from him by now. It had started while you were still new to the company, nervous that you weren't fitting in; obviously, as you'd gotten to know him, you knew that he flocked to people like that.

The first amazing thing he had to show you was the coffee machine on the exec level that made hot cocoa. The most recent was when he "showed you" his favorite diner off the interstate; it had been your first date.

Now, there was a bit of hesitation to him, instead of the usual mischievous glint in his eye, as you stood behind the building for your afternoon smoke break together. Phil from accounting had just gone inside, so it was just the two of you. No reason to be nervous.

"What's up?" you asked.

He fidgeted under your gaze and his nose scrunched. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you continued. "We've had one date, I'm not gonna take it that hard."

Which was a lie, you would be devastated. To calm your own self-induced nerves, you took a drag from your cigarette and turned your attention back to the squirrels that were sniffing around the loading dock.

"I'm psychic!" He finally blurted out.

You almost sucked the entire cigarette into your mouth from shock.

"Excuse me?" You coughed.

Ok, he wasn't breaking up with you, he was just crazy. Which you sort of already expected and also found charming regardless.

"It's not something I tell everyone," he explained, holding his hands in front of him innocently. "I just figured that you deserved to know in case, you know, you wanted to break up with me."

You blinked at him, unsure of what to say.

"Can I show it to you? What I can do?" he asked after a beat. "That way I can prove I'm telling the truth."

"Uh...sure," you replied hesitantly.

He held out a hand and gestured for you to do the same. At first, you thought he meant your free hand, but as you laid yours in his palm, he batted it way.

"I'm not a palm reader," he explained. "I guess...I mean, I am a fortune teller, in some ways. Just not that. Here, come over here."

He took a step back and led you back to the little ashtray atop the trash bin, and he stubbed his cigarette out and gestured for you to do the same. Which you did, but not before one more quick inhale of glorious nicotine that would get you through the next few, stress-induced seconds.

"It's like...reading tea leaves," Eddie grinned nervously. He waved a hand over the overflowing ashtray, noting the few butts that had fallen to the ground. "Better than tea leaves, actually. Let's take Phil for example." Eddie waved at the still somewhat smoldering remnant belonging to your coworker. He hummed and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, then held his hands over the ashes. "He's having trouble at home. He's afraid his wife is leaving him because of his receding hairline."

"Phil doesn't have a receding hairline," you pointed out.

"It's a toupee," Eddie responded immediately, he cracked an eye open and stared at you. "It's really convincing, right?"

"I don't believe this." You laughed. "Even if you did know that he wore a toupee, that's an observation. Not a fortune."

"Oh no," he closed his eyes again, "that's where you're wrong. There is going to be a big blowout in about a week...when Phil's wife leaves him...for the mail man. Damn. Poor Phil."

His eyes opened and he stared at you expectantly. "Want me to read your ashes now?"

You gestured for him to go ahead and he pulled the same Johnny Carson act from before. He hummed and waved his hands; there was a little twitch as his eyebrows drew together, and you had to admit that your curiosity was piqued at that.

"There's a lot of information here," he muttered. "You've...gained something new recently. A boyfriend? Interesting. I bet he's handsome. And really good at playing the guitar."

You rolled your eyes.

"No, no, wait!" He shouted and leaned forward. "Oh, but so much indecision surrounding you. Because you like this guy, you really like him, but you're not sure. You need a sign to tell you if he's the one."

"Is he?" you asked blithely.

He hummed and then threw his arms out and opened his eyes, suddenly out of breath.

"The future is unclear," he shook his head, stepped forward and took your hands in his. "But I was able to see one thing for certain."

"What do you see in my future, oh Edward the Clairvoyant?"

"A...kiss?" He offered hesitantly, and then nodded. "Wait, no, not just one. Many kisses. And some cuddling, if you wanna...come over to my place and hang out after work?"

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your face, and that boyish grin you loved to see on him deepened as he pulled you closer, right into his embrace.

"What a way to ask someone for another date!" You giggled.

"Hey, I didn't ask," he said, completely seriously. "I prophesied."

"Sure you did."

"Now I'm asking if you wanna come over and hang out after work. I can order pizza and maybe we...make out a little?"

"Sounds great!" You agreed.

He rocked you back and forth until you leaned into him. Your nose brushed against his and you felt your cheeks get hot.

"So, do you believe in my fortune-telling skills now?" he muttered.

What an idiot...

"Mmm, yeah," you nodded. "I do."

Then you surged forward and pressed your lips to his.

[em1i2a3]

Superposition

Pairing: Sentry x Mutant!Fem!Reader! Summary: When you and Sentry both start going through a temperature crisis, the two of you figure out an unexpected cheat code to speeding up the recalibration process. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, This is Tropey as all hell (but I was in the mood to write a trope so…Imma do it), Reader has similar powers to Iceman (from X-men), Sentry is struggling a bit, Reader and Sentry have a bond, Slight Cannon Divergence (because of the whole temperature crisis thing), Porn Without Plot (kind of) Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (Fem Receiving), Marking, Biting, Scratching, Use of Powers During Sex, Sentry is an absolute mess, Thigh Riding (brief), Breast/Nipple Play, Rough (but very intimate) sex (kisses everywhere, clinging to one another, both of them being moaning messes), Pillow Talk, Discussions of having children (just in theory…Sentry’s curious) Author’s Note: Took me a little bit to write this because I got distracted with a few other WIPs, but have no fear, it’s here. I hope y’all enjoy this one, I’ve missed writing for Sentry! Word Count: 13,397

“Hey, can you re-freeze this ice pack?” Sentry asked, holding out the jiggling plastic in front of your view of the television. His broad frame casted shadows over the couch you were laying on, the sheer width of his shoulders covering the low light of the Watchtower’s lounge, causing everything to look darker to you suddenly. He kept his voice low, almost hesitant in his delivery because the last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience you and pull you from the nest of blankets you had burrowed yourself into after you had eaten dinner.

A small hum escaped your throat, slipping one hand free from your heavy coverings, the chill of your own skin already raising an array of goosebumps along your arm, before pressing your small palm to the bag. The liquid inside stiffened instantly beneath your touch, frost racing across the plastic in delicate, branching veins until the whole thing hardened into a solid, icy block.

“Thank you,” Sentry murmured, drawing the pack back quickly, as a few droplets slipped from the plastic and landed on your blankets, darkening the fabric in tiny, perfect circles before they could soak through the layers you had over your body.

“Who needs the ice pack?” You questioned, bringing your arm back under the confines of your coverings and nuzzling yourself deeper into them, chasing the illusion of warmth even though you knew it was pointless–because every shift of your body only caused another burst of cool air to envelop you, putting you right back to square one.

“Me. I’m boiling hot and it feels like I’m coming down with the flu or something…” He explained, pressing the newly frozen pack to the side of his neck. The mentioning of his overheating drew your gaze upward, before you shifted your body toward him to get a better view. 

His normally pale skin had flushed a deep, splotchy red, the colour rising high across his cheekbones and spreading down the strong column of his throat before disappearing beneath his shirt. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline, dampening the wavy light brown strands that fell across his forehead, making them curl at the ends as if he had just gotten out of the shower. The soft fabric of his t-shirt clung in patches to the solid planes of his chest, outlining the heavy muscle beneath, so much so, that you could practically count every single ridge of his abs that were on display to you. 

Even standing still he looked imposing–broad through the shoulders, arms thick with pale blue veins that pulsed over the muscles as if the rapid beating of his heart had ignited the blood that flowed through them–yet the way he was holding himself was not the typical form Sentry often took when he presented his body to onlookers. It was like he was embarrassed of the uncontrollable heat that was rolling off of him–and embarrassment didn’t look good on a sun God.

“Mmm…I don’t think it’s the flu, Sentry.” You stated, your teeth clattering together as a violent shiver tore through you. The cold sank deeper into your bones, contracting every muscle before you forced yourself to breath through it–even though it was like your heart had seized inside your chest. He frowned at your comment, patting the ice pack slowly down the length of his neck.

“Then what the hell is it? ‘Cause I feel like I’m on the verge of setting this whole place on fire.” He huffed, lifting his free hand to fan himself rapidly, hoping that it would aid in cooling him down. The gesture did nothing but stir the humid air around him though, and he felt fresh beads of sweat breaking out along his skin, sliding down his neck and lower back, creating an inescapable dampness over his entirety. He wanted to rip his clothes off in those moments, because modesty wasn’t going to cure whatever was happening to him, but out of respect for you, he held himself back from becoming a free form tornado of fabric.

“You’re having a temperature crisis…It’s normal for people like us.” You informed, watching the confusion deepen between his brows, seeing wrinkles appear between them.

“Temperature crisis?” He questioned, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, thinking you were lying to him to make him feel better, but you gave him a small, stiff nod.

“It’s when your body can’t handle the excess energy it takes to constrict your powers, so it just gives up and lets them spiral out of control. It takes a bit of time to recalibrate, but you’ll be back to normal in a few days.” He let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his forehead roughly, as a few damp strands of hair fell forward to frame his face, tickling the sharp line of his jaw. The ice pack was already softening again, feeling the condensation beginning to bead along the plastic, hissing where it touched his overheated skin and dissolved. You were surprised the encasement didn’t melt in his hands, but you didn’t question it.

“There’s no way to speed up this whole recalibrating process?” He pressed, and you shrugged, tugging the blankets higher until they rested just beneath your chin, even though they were useless at this point.

“I haven’t found a solution myself, and I’ve been through hundreds of these…So I’d say your case wouldn’t be any different to mine.” You replied, the words leaving your lips in a faint cloud of breath as another chill surged through your body. Your muscles quivered deep beneath the layers of fabric, a full-body tremor that started in your core and radiated outward until even your fingertips felt numb. Your heart skipped–a sharp, irregular contraction that made you feel like your blood had stopped flowing through your veins, like frozen pipes–before it steadied again into the strained rhythm it had been fighting to keep all evening.

Sentry watched it happen, observing the way your eyes clenched shut for a single moment, the loud clatter of your teeth cutting through the quiet living space, and how you burrowed even deeper beneath the coverings until only the top of your head and the narrow strip of your eyes remained visible above the blanket’s edge. You looked impossibly small against the wide couch, swallowed whole by the cluster of covers–if he wasn’t actively speaking to you he would’ve mistaken you for the couch cushions, and he was thankful he didn’t accidentally sit on you in the heated haze he was in. 

But then it all the puzzle pieces seemed to click into place from these simple little things you had done…You were going through your own temperature crisis right now, just like him. 

Evidently the two of you had synced up in some inexplicable way–likely from the string of back-to-back mission that had drained your respective reserves at similar paces. You were so used to this cycle you had come to expect it and endured it like normal, but Sentry evidently had a larger power bank than you, and with that came a far more intense reaction. Where you accepted the inevitable discomfort with grim resignation, he looked like he wasn’t going to sit with it and do the same, and you could see the impatience in his glowing eyes–the way they shifted around the room as if he was searching for a physical solution to his problem.

“So what do you do to cope with this whole thing then?” He asked, stepping closer to the couch, hearing the floor panels beneath his weight creak in a soft protest, pressing the icepack to the side of his neck again. The frozen block had already surrendered to the heat, reduced to nothing more than a lukewarm liquid that sloshed inside the thin plastic again just like before–putting him right back to the situation he had been in when he approached you just moments ago. Stray droplets slid across his heated skin and rose instantly in faint threads of steam, vanishing into the air and catching the light for a brief moment.

There was a pang of jealousy that sliced through you in those moments–to be that hot right now would have been everything, a fevered dream of warmth you would have given anything to claim because the frigid cold that overtook your entirety was absolutely miserable. Your eyes lifted toward him, and the same feelings were mirrored by him, etched into the way his gaze lingered on the thin rim of frost that was spreading along the blanket’s edge, each heavy breath you exhaled feeding the delicate crystals that clung to the fabric and expanded along it.

“I just su-suffer,” You stuttered, drawing your knees up to your chest, hoping the shift in position would spark even the smallest pocket of warmth against your skin, though your past experiences had already taught you the futility of it–the pessimist in you was on full display tonight.

A short laugh escaped Sentry, dragging one of his large hands through his hair, pushing the wavy brown locks back from his forehead only for them to tumble forward again in a heavier, more disheveled sweep that stuck to the sweat at his temples. The sound carried no mockery, only the shared frustration threaded with reluctant amusement and a faint hint of disbelief that the two of you had somehow collided in the same miserable state.

As much as the two of you existed as literal opposites in temperature, you had always found a solid ground when you worked together. You liked how straightforward he became once his walls had come down, how the sheer scale of his presence never crowded the mission once he let you set the pace–how he let you lead rather than follow his orders.

He stayed out of your way and you stayed out of his, and when the moment demanded it and the two of you had to stand shoulder to shoulder, you allowed instinct to take over–adjusting into an effortless rhythm where fire and ice moved in perfect tandem, as though the choreography had been drilled into muscle memory long before either of you truly realized it.

Being locked in this crisis together felt entirely different. There was no tactical formation to fall back on, and no clear objective to chase down and eliminate. And that absence of control was exactly what gnawed at Sentry now. He knew there was a solution; he could practically feel it radiating off your bundled form even from the distance that he kept, and he hated to admit it–but he craved it. 

The only question was whether you would agree to it, to the exchange, and he found himself weighing the idea in silence, deciding that the risk would be worth taking if it meant ending this torment faster.

“Well…Maybe we could try something that might solve our issues, since it seems like you’re also going through one of your own crises right now.” He said, watching as your eyebrows raised at the tone of his voice–at the soft hesitance that laced every word, like the suggestion that was pressing down on his tongue was going to jump out at any second and display itself to you. In the few seconds of silence you ran through the only two possibilities that made sense in a situation like this, and both of them circled an intimacy line neither of you had crossed together. Still, you found yourself nodding for him to go on.

When he didn’t continue immediately, you cleared the dryness in your throat.

“Let’s hear it,” You urged, because at this point you were willing to entertain any idea that might recalibrate your system before the shivers escalated into something far worse and far more unmanageable.

“We both have something that the other one needs–you have to get warmed up, and I need to cool down.” He trailed off, his eyes locking onto yours like he was pleading for you to finish the thought and offer up the idea yourself so he wouldn’t have to do it. You could sense the hesitation in his voice and it sat strangely on him–almost boyish, like his typical over confidence had plummeted, knowing that there was a chance of being outright rejected. When he saw the patient blankness in your gaze though, he continued “So why don’t we try using each other for that?” 

For a split second your eyes widened at the way he phrased things. Using each other sounded so…Cold and transactional. And you both knew that it wasn’t going to be anything like that, especially depending on how he decided to approach this solution. There wasn’t any harm in entertaining it, you trusted him with your life during every mission the two of you were sent together on, so trusting him with your body–and with your powers–felt like the next logical step.

You could see him bracing for your reply, as if he were already preparing for the sting of rejection. But when you shifted beneath the heavy nest of blankets and eased your head out a little further–enough for the low lounge lights to catch the relaxed lines of your face and the frost that began to glimmer along your lashes–he knew. The tension in his jaw eased, and the golden hue of his eyes softened, turning just a fraction brighter before dimming to a sweet caramel colour.

“Let’s try it…Wh-What’s the worst that can happen?” You questioned, hearing him let out a huff of a laugh.

“Mmm, maybe you shouldn’t say that…Those are famous last words.” He commented, seeing you shrug, the movement stiff from the cold that was continuing to stiffen your muscles.

“It’s true though, is it not?” He hummed in quiet agreement, tossing the melted ice pack onto the side table near the couch with a thud. The discarded bag landed with a faint slosh, already forgotten as he stepped closer to your lying form.

“I guess…” He mumbled, pausing to look down at you, letting his golden eyes trace the bundled shape of your body before lifting to your face. Even from this nearness you could feel the heat radiating off him in thick waves–almost like a invisible force–pressing against the chilled air around you as it expanded outward from his flesh. 

When you drew in a slow breath, the scent of him filled your lungs–smoky and metallic, like overheated wiring that was under strain, yet undercut by something oddly comforting, as if he was a fresh bonfire.

“So how are we going to do this?” You asked, watching as his gaze dropped to the thick pile of blankets still covering you. His fingers twitched against the hem of his top, toying with the stitches.

“We’ll take off our clothes so that we can have skin to skin contact…It’ll speed up the process, so we won’t have to be against one another for too long.” You felt your stomach drop to your feet at that, a deep pang of worry blooming hot through your nerves despite the cold that was locked in your blood. He sensed it immediately–the slight hitch in your breathing, the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket–but he didn’t push. His phrasing had landed poorly again, yet you understood the intent behind it, and after a beat you accepted the practicality of the plan.

“Alright,” You replied, giving him a small nod as you began to shift beneath the blankets. Your hands found the hem of your sweater, tugging it upward, the heavy knit catching briefly on your elbows before you pulled it free and tossed it onto the ground. Three long-sleeved shirts followed, then a plain t-shirt, and finally a thick tank top, the frost along the material melting and creating small puddles of water on the wooden floors.

Sentry’s eyes widened a fraction with every article that you threw off, observing the mountain of clothing that you had created, absolutely shocked that you were wearing all of that beneath the covers that were over you.

“Jesus Christ, how many layers are you wearing?” He asked, the question being followed with a small chuckle. You glared up at him, your hands pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants as your teeth clattered again at the loss of clothing that was containing what little comfort and warmth you had. 

“Unlike you, I need to contain as much heat as possible. It would be crazy of me not to layer up, I would freeze to death if I didn’t, so spare me the judgement.” You shot back, shimmying out of your sweatpants, not bothering to kick them off to the side as you pushed your two pairs of thermal leggings down, letting it join the pile at the end of the couch, leaving yourself in just your undergarments–a simple bra and a pair of long boxer briefs that you were using as another layer for your thighs. 

You tightened your hold on the blankets, the fabric suddenly feeling lighter without the clothes that you were wearing. A gust of cold breath fogged the air in front of your face, while your body started to shake again, this time bordering on uncontrollable. The loss of these additional barriers left your skin stinging, the chill biting deeper now. Your fingers had grown numb, and patches of ice began to form across the plane of your stomach, the blanket sticking to the frozen spots where your body pressed against it.

“Hu-Hurry up and take your clothes off before I start turning into a human ic-ice sculpture.” You managed to say, the words breaking through the violent chattering of your teeth–echoing as if they were knocked loose. The sound snapped Sentry out of his momentary trance, and he made quick work of removing the sweat-soaked t-shirt, dragging it upward in one fluid motion. The damp fabric peeled away from his skin with a wet squishy sound before he let it drop onto the your own discarded clothes with a plop. His shorts followed next, shoved down the thick lines of his thighs, getting kicked aside without ceremony until he stood in nothing but his tight black boxer briefs. 

Through the pounding ache beginning to build behind your eyes, you couldn’t look away from the bare expanse of him. The flushed skin that had been covered by his shirt was on full display now, ruby red and unevenly splotchy, with fresh beads sweat tracing down the ridges of his abs and disappearing against waistband of boxer briefs that hugged his thick muscly thighs that were the width of both your arms combined–not that you were looking to measure. The freckles on his skin carried an almost luminous quality to them, like they were glowing, creating this stark contrast against the ruby hue. He was an absolute adonis, perfectly sculptured and toned–like the God that he was.

If the cold hadn’t locked every other bodily reaction in place, you would’ve felt heat rise in your face at the sight. Instead, your expression laid your enamourment bare to him, eyes tracing every inch of his exposed skin with open appreciation. Sentry caught it immediately, a shy smile lifting on his lips.

“It’s odd seeing me without clothes, huh?” He teased, and even though you couldn’t verbally respond–because your heart kept staggering its beats–you nodded at him, letting your eyes do all the talking. He stepped towards you then, fingers catching the edge of your blankets and flipping them back to reveal your body to him, causing you to let out a little whine at the feeling of the air touching your bare skin. He could see the frosted patches that had already begun to spread up your stomach and thighs, delicate webs of ice forming and thickening in some spots, and that’s when he realized the real time crunch he was on. 

He slipped his arm under your body, lifting you slightly and shifting you onto your side to make space for him, and instantly the both of you let out a joint sigh of relief, hearing his skin sizzling against yours at the contact. He immediately took up the spot he made for himself, laying down and adjusting his position before wrapping his large arms around you, pulling your body into his. He was so soft and warm that if you were able to cry you would’ve in those moments just from the sheer relief of him crowding you in. He slipped his thick leg between yours, getting as close as possible to you while he brought the blanket around you both, letting it rest just below your chests so it could seal the temperature exchange that was happening beneath it.

“Fuck…You really are cold,” He muttered, resting his broad palm between your shoulder blades, urging you nuzzle into him, feeling your soft cheek rubbing against the plush muscle at the top of his pec, finally gaining a semblance of movement back in your bones as the chill began to thaw.

“An-And you’re really hot.” You stuttered, closing your eyes at the heat, hearing a rough laugh escape his throat, quietly acknowledging the double entendre but not saying anything about it directly. 

The smoky scent of his flesh had disappeared with the newfound closeness, and now he smelled like warmed skin and sunlight–naturally creamy and powdery with a hint of clean sweetness that was coming from the sweat that coated his skin. You were used to it–how it filled the room and overtook every space he was in–and often times you got lost in how perfectly it suited him. 

He reminded you of summer days, when the heat felt like it was choking you because of how cloying and thick it became from the humidity, and you found yourself moving your arm over his torso, holding him tighter to absorb the warmth that slipped from his pores. 

You felt like Icarus–flying too close to the sun but accepting your fate and absorbing the heat into your bones–but instead of wax wings it was your icy cool flesh that seemed to be melting, and you could feel water beginning to pebble and slip along your flesh until it sizzled and disappeared against him, followed by a gentle gust of steam that made your skin stick together. 

He shifted against you once more, the solid weight of his body pressing deeper into the couch cushions beneath you that had began to dampen from the condensation that coated your skin, as the frame creaked in protest at the movement. For a moment he drew back, allowing a thin rush of cooler air to slip between your joined bodies, only for him to slide downward, shimmying so there wasn’t a complete loss of contact. 

He settled his cheek against the soft swell of your breasts, chasing the cooling relief that poured from your body, needing the skin of his face to stop heating up. The wavy strands of his light brown hair spilled across your flesh, tickling the thin delicate skin beneath your chin as he moved. You tilted your head from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position that made sure the silken locks didn’t find their way between your parted lips, before resting your chin on the crown of his head. 

Your arms moved of their own accord, sliding around his neck and drawing him in tighter so his face was squished against you. He let out a long sigh, letting his hands roam your back, his fingertips tracing heated shapes along the curve of your spin, each pass melting away the lingering patches of frost that hadn’t left your flesh. Against the plush cushion of your chest, his ears tuned into the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat as it finally found it natural cadence under the influence of his warmth, and he couldn’t help but smile at that–thankful that his plan was actually working.

“You feeling any better?” He asked, his voice sending a subtle vibration across your sensitive skin, his hot breath sticking over the tops of your breasts, sinking into your pores like a body oil.

“Yeah, definitely…I think if it wasn’t for this I would’ve ended up going into natural cryosleep…So thank you for preventing that.” You murmured. His fingers paused mid-motion, right when he was about to draw a triangle on one of your shoulder blades. He lifted his head slightly, his golden eyes meeting yours, as little hints of orange embers lined around his pupils, almost like his curiosity was sparking behind them. 

The flush across his high cheekbones was already beginning to fade in uneven patching, revealing the pale porcelain-like tone beneath, and when your fingers moved to push a few strands of hair away from his face, the tiny flecks of orange brightened. You tucked them carefully behind his ears, and Sentry had to resist the temptation to lean into your touch, allowing you to make that choice for yourself on whether you wanted to keep feeling him like this–though he preferred that you kept doing it.

“Can that actually happen?” He questioned, the tightness of concern lacing his words. You nodded.

“It’s happened a few times. My body’s temperature plummets so much sometimes that all its systems basically go into hibernation mode to compensate. Usually I end up coming out of it a month or two later, but I typically don’t know what’s going on and it takes me a while to get used to my surroundings again…” You explained, watching his expression pull tight with worry–his brows drawing together, and his eyes widening slightly.

“That sounds…Scary.” He commented, his fingers twitching against your back, digging slightly into the soft flesh that lined your spine as if the mere thought made him want to pull you closer so that he could protect you from the possibility of that happening. You offered a small shrug in response, taking in a deep breath that caused your chest to expand beneath his chin.

“It was when it happened to me the first time…I didn’t really have anyone that cared about me back then, so I had to navigate everything on my own.” You said, ghosting your fingers along the side of his cheek, igniting a faint line of frost over the skin there which melted instantly–the droplets of water beading down his skin before evaporating with a small line of steam. You could see the way he was hanging off of every word you were saying, being the attentive listener he always was, and he waited for you to continue, silently encouraging you to keep opening up to him.

He secretly loved learning about you through the little anecdotes you dropped during missions, and oftentimes he found himself looking for more details, but he was always too afraid to ask–more because he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. From what the rest of the team had told him though, he was well aware that you had been through a lot–disowned by your family at a very young age because they couldn’t handle your mutation, being passed around from facility to facility until you ran away to be on your own, discovering that you could use the power that you had for good…There was a lot of mirroring to his own story, but he couldn’t imagine all the other things you had gone through that you chose to hide. 

“But thankfully that’s changed.” You added, giving him a small smile, watching his lashes flutter at the realization that you were talking about the team–and specifically him–with that comment.

“I’m glad.” He murmured, feeling your fingers trace along the freckles dusted across his cheek, connecting them with an invisible line. 

“Me too…” You whispered back, reaching the bridge of his nose and trailing your soft touch down to the tip of it, feeling him let out a long shaky breath that clung to your flesh, his hand twitching against the small of your back. He leaned into your touch then, urging you to continue, basking in the coolness of your touch and enjoying the way it made his skin sizzle when there was a little surge of frost that escaped the tips of your fingers.

When you dragged them down to his lips you could see the way the embers in his eyes shimmered, glowing just a fraction brighter and you let out a little laugh.

“You like this?” You asked, moving your fingers over his thin top lip before doing the same to the bottom one, stopping in the middle of it when they parted, blowing a gentle gust of hot air against them that made your skin crackle slightly.

“I do…It feels nice.” He replied, the words vibrating over your fingertips as his lips brushed them in the faintest of kisses–like he was testing to see if you would pull away. When you kept your hand still for him though, he pressed his lips into the soft pads more fully, kissing each digit and leaving little wet spots behind that froze instantly on your flesh before melting against under his warmth. 

Then he took your pointer finger into his mouth, the velvety heat of his tongue sliding along the pad until he reached your knuckle. Your throat tightened, pushing out a gasp from your mouth. He kept eye contact with you, the dark golden hue of his irises shifting to a richer saffron that glowed, like he had captured the sun behind his eyes. He sucked gently, hollowing his cheeks just enough to create a tight, warm seal around your finger, and you felt your stomach stir, your heart catching on a beat as an undeniable warmth ignited through you despite the biological coolness that wracked your system, feeling every nerve in your body light up so all you could focus on was the way his mouth felt.

He pulled off with a light pop and smeared the saliva on your finger along his face, closing his eyes at the wetness until it dried on his skin. He hummed low in his throat, a satisfied rumble that travelled through his chest and settled in your belly. Only then–when the spell of his mouth finally broke–did you move your hand to cup his cheek.

“Sentry,” You whispered, a hint of seriousness wrapping around his name like a quiet warning. He caught your tone immediately, gazing up at you, seeing the slight shock in your expression–the way your brows were pulled together, how your jaw had slackened just a fraction, the soft rapid breaths that escaped you…It was like you were processing what he had just done. He hadn’t meant to push; he had simply followed his instincts, desperate to show you how he felt, and he knew then that he shouldn’t have taken such a stupid approach to broaching the act of intimacy like this. 

“Did I cross a line?” He asked sheepishly, pulling back just a little more to get a better look at you, though your hand on the back of his neck tightened, almost like you didn’t want him to move away at all.

“No…I…” You paused for a moment, seeing his eyes dart along your face as you bit the inside of your bottom lip–which he noticed, his golden gaze dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat before returning. “I’m just surprised.” You admitted quietly, and you could see the look of concern soften in his eyes, the tension easing from his shoulders.

He let the silence settle between you, until he let out a long breath and shimmied back up your body so he could be face to face with you. His nose bumped gently against yours as he shifted the leg wedged between yours, the thick muscle of his thigh pressing higher until it brushed the edge of your boxer briefs. 

“In a good way?” He pressed curiously, sliding his hand from your back and leaving a slow-burning trail of heat in its wake as it travelled down the dip of your spine to settle at your hip. His large palm engulfed the curve there completely, his thumb stroking broad circles over the sensitive skin, coaxing fresh goosebumps to rise before the deeper chill of your body overtook the spot–only for his warmth to chase it away again in a subtle shimmer of melting frost that left your flesh glistening. You nodded, your gaze dropping briefly to his soft pink lips–slightly parted and glistening from the trace of saliva left behind by your finger–before flicking back up to meet his eyes.

“Yes.” You confirmed, your hand inching lower to cradle the side of his neck, your fingertips registering the rapid, heavy pulse hammering beneath his heated skin. He gave you a small smile, eyes dipping to your mouth now as his pupils flared wider and the scattered orange flecks within them brightened with unmistakable want.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, not wanting to take your physical signs as permission, preferring to hear the answer fall from your mouth–needing to see your lips wrap around the words.

“Please, Sentry,” You breathed, leaning closer to him, bumping his nose against your as the two of you shared a brief moment of exchanged air. Then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours. 

They were impossibly soft and searing, the contrasting pulling the air straight from your lungs. A little moan slipped from you as your hand tightened at the back of his neck, drawing him closer while his damp strands of hair brushed against your fingertips. He parted his mouth against yours and you followed, tongues sliding together in a slow, hungry glide that made you feel like someone had set a sparkler off right against your spine. His other hand rose to cradle the back of your head, fingers pressing into your scalp, holding you exactly where he wanted as he deepened the kiss, massaging his lips against yours with growing urgency. You laced your fingers into his hair and tugged lightly at the roots, earning a low groan from him, his hand tightening on your hip. You hiked your leg high, draping it over his hip so it rested against the thick muscle of his thigh. He adjusted instantly to you, his leg between yours fleeing upward until the firm ridge of his quads pressed flush against the gusset of your boxer briefs.

The sudden, solid pressure on your core made your hips jerk forward, a needy whine tearing from your throat at the heat radiating through the fabric, warming you immediately. Sentry held you through it, allowing the natural reaction to take over your body as it chased the friction it desperately craved, smiling into the kiss to silently convey to you exactly how much he loved the way you were reacting to him. 

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks burned a deep jammy red and his once-soft pink lips were now puffy and slick, glistening with the mess of your shared saliva. He could see a faint flicker of shyness cross your face, noticing the way your eyes widened for a split second as if the eager grind of your hips had surprised even you, and there was an instant moment where he felt the need to urge you to continue–to give you permission to use him.

He leaned in again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your cheek and jaw, each one leaving wet spots behind that cooled along your flesh. Your back arched toward him in response, tilting your head back to bare more of your throat to him as short, breathless gasps spilled from your parted lips. His teeth dragged lightly along the sensitive line of your jaw, the faint scrape of them being soothed by the flat of his tongue before he reached your ear and nipped at the fleshy lobe feeling you flinch, and drawing out another soft, broken sound from you. 

“You can take what you need from me, Y/N…You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He whispered, his breath warming the shell of your ear, as his hand squeezed your hip gently–providing a reassuring pressure to your flesh. He trailed several more kisses down the column of your neck, letting his lips linger over the rapid flutter of your pulse, giving it a small lick and nuzzling against the frost that formed there to warm it.

Your fingers tightened in the damp strands of his hair you had in your grip, scratching your nails across the sensitive skin of his scalp, drawing a low, appreciative hum from him at the sting. He responded by guiding your hips forward, dragging you along his thigh. Every defined ridge of muscle pressed against you perfectly through the fabric, the contact so intense it felt as though nothing separated your aching core from his scorching skin. Your thighs clenched around him, slipping into the tingling heat that ignited low in your belly.

One of your hands slipped from his neck to brace against the broad plane of his shoulder, the contrast between your chilled palm and his overheated skin trudging up another burst of steam.

“Sen–Sentry…” You stuttered, his name shaking on your breath as he backpedaled along the same trail of kisses with his lips, moving up your jaw until he reached your mouth again. His golden eyes burned even brighter now, pupils blown wide as he registered–and felt–your heartbeat hammering wildly against his chest, a dizzying mix of nerves and arousal flooding through you.

“Y/N…It’s okay. Just rock your hips against me…I want to feel you,” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth with an aching gentleness that made your whole body seize, before blowing a warm breath across the little wet spot he left, “And I want to see you enjoy yourself and indulge…Please…Please grant me that.” He added softly, on the brink of desperation. 

You couldn’t help the way your body yielded to his words–the tension melting from your muscles as you relaxed and loosened against him. He felt every shift, your weight bearing down onto his thigh with just enough pressure that he knew exactly what you were about to do. 

Slowly, your hips began to move, rolling along the thick, flexing muscle with hesitance, adjusting yourself to get the position just right so the fabric of your boxers could rub across your clit, granting you the perfect amount of friction against the swelling bundle of nerves. You shivered against him, a burst of frost spiderwebbing across his shoulder before melting away, turning into droplets of water that slid down his chest, evaporating within seconds under the heat of him. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the soft flesh of your hip, pressing into it every so often as he leaned forward to claim your mouth again. His tongue slid against yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip while he pulled your body towards him, helping your find a steady rhythm that matched the frantic pulse that bounded through your veins.

His fingers dug gently into your scalp, holding you close as your breaths grew heavier, turning into soft, needy moans that he swallowed greedily–letting your noises fill him. You squeezed his shoulder harder, the fabric of your briefs clinging obscenely to you as you ground down onto him with increasing urgency, chasing the tightening coil of pleasure that tightened the muscles in your belly. You whined into his mouth, nails biting into his shoulder while you tugged at his hair with your other hand.

The friction wasn’t enough, and he could tell it wasn’t getting you to where you needed to be–sensing the frustration in your movements, the way you kept adjusting your position so that you could feel more of him, only for it not to change anything. 

His hand left your hip then, his fingertips ghosting just beneath the waistband of your boxers, before sliding beneath it, trailing his touch to your pubic bone, settling it there for a moment. He shifted his thigh down, and the sudden loss of pressure drew a soft moan from you, but the absence of it was replaced almost instantly by his fingers tracing along the heat of your folds. He let out a groan of surprise, pulling back from your lips just enough to breath heavily against the saliva he left there, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, a pleased smile curving up on his mouth. 

“I was expecting you to be cold here…But you’re…You’re warm. So fucking warm.” He said, marvelling at the discovery as his fingers ran slowly through your folds, savouring the silky softness of your skin while your arousal coated him.

Your breath caught in your throat, head tilting back as your lashes fluttered against the overwhelming sensation of his fingers exploring you, your body tingling with every pass. His lips pressed gentle, open-mouthed kisses over your jaw, each one leaving a warm imprint that made your skin numb where frost tried and failed to form.

When he moved lower, circling your sensitive entrance with the pads of two thick fingers, he felt the way you pulsed and clenched against him, your hips pressing down in silent urgency, wordlessly begging him to push inside. But he held back, drawing the moment out with torturous patients, wanting to hear you break and beg before he gave you what your body was demanding. 

He smeared your arousal up to your swollen clit, covering the throbbing bundle completely with slow, gentle circles that had your thighs trembling. You arched into his touch, urging him to give you more, your nails scraping over his shoulder but doing limited damage to him. It felt better than your own fingers, and it was evident he knew exactly where to touch you to drive you crazy, finding a perfect pressure that made the nub swell even further.

“Sentry…Sentry please.” You breathed, voice cracking with desperation. He hummed against your skin at the sound of your pleas, nibbling at your jaw before licking the spot.

“Please what?” He asked, looking up at you through heavy lashes while your eyes squeezed shut.

“Please give me more…I need more.” You begged, the words tumbling out like you were on the verge of tears, your mind clouded by a thick haze of lust that made every though narrow down to the slow, teasing drag of his fingers. He let out a long, heated breath that clung to your skin, nodding once as strands of his hair tickled your cheek.

“All you had to do was ask.” The teasing edge in his voice sent a fresh shiver racing through you, your stomach stirring and clenching. He brought his fingers back down to your entrance, tracing the muscle for one moment before pushing inside you in a smooth, soul catching stroke. 

You sighed out a broken sound of relief, your walls clenching around the invading heat of his fingers, welcoming him immediately. The stretch was perfect–filling you like a cock would–every ridge and knuckle dragging along your sensitive inner walls until he was buried to the hilt. He curled them deep, stroking firmly against the spongy spot inside you while his thumb found your clit again, pressing steady circles over it.

Frost bloomed up his forearm and his lips turned up into a smile against your throat–proud that he could make you lose control of your powers so easily, relishing in the way the phantom air of you clung to his flesh before evaporating completely. 

His fingers began pumping steadily, setting a rhythm that had your hips rocking helplessly against his hand. His lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was slower, softer, bordering on sensual. He parted his mouth over yours just enough to taste the cool rush of your breath flooding his lungs before sucking your bottom lip between his, pulling on it gently until it swelled and filled with blood under his attention. You clenched hard around his fingers, thighs tightening around his wrist, grinding down on his hand in earnest, riding every thrust, digging you hand into his shoulder even more to keep a steady pace. 

He put more pressure on your clit, rubbing faster, tighter circles along the bundle of nerves, curling his fingers harder against that spongy rigid spot inside you. Your ears began to ring like a stun grenade had gone off inside your head, the world narrowing to nothing but the wet sounds of his fingers working you open and the overwhelming heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core. You became a blubbering mess, trying to form words, but all you could say was his name over and over again, like a mantra–like a prayer of mercy.

“Mmph–Oh god!” You managed to say, feeling a wave of heat exploding over your skin–whether from him or the pleasure itself, you couldn’t tell–as your body shook against his. Your walls clenched tighter around his fingers, pulsing in a fast, rhythmic flutter until you gushed over his hand with a loud, broken whine. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it, your nails scraping down his shoulder blade as overwhelming relief flooded every nerve.

Sentry moved to the dewy drops, licking the salty beads before they could even fall along your skin, slowing his fingers down gradually, savouring the way you kept pulsing and fluttering around them, your body shivering from the overstimulation that rattled through your nervous system. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad letting yourself go, hmm?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You shook your head weakly–like your bones had turned to jelly–chest heaving with each breath you took.

“No…No…That was fucking perfect.” He pulled back just enough to flash you a toothy grin, the embers of orange around his pupils and framing his irises setting alight with satisfaction.

“I’m glad.” He replied, slipping his fingers free with a wet sound that made your cheeks heat, then dragged them slowly up your stomach, smearing the glistening evidence of your release across your skin in lazy streaks. He brought the slick digits up between you both, spreading them apart to show you the honey-like sheen the connected them in translucent webs, the sight so filthy and intimate that it made your stomach clench all over again. 

Light bounced off the glossiness, shimmering across his skin like liquid gold before he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. You tasted salty and sweet, like a savoury dessert, laced with something mineral-like, almost cold in a way like chilled syrup. He let out a little moan, drawing his fingers out slowly, dragging the flat of his tongue along each pad until every trace of your arousal was gone, leaving only the faint sheen of his own saliva. 

“Mmm…You taste amazing…Makes me want to try it straight from the source.” He murmured, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, putting his weight into you so that you shifted onto your back. A look of confusion drew across your face–brows pulling together, a little frown forming on your lips–and you shook your head. 

“What about you? Don’t you want me to do anything to you?” You questioned, watching as he adjusted himself above you, his knees sinking into the couch cushion so he could spread your thighs wider and settle fully between them, the blanket falling off the side of the couch. He pressed his chest against your stomach, peering up at you through his lashes, a soft laugh of disbelief escaping him.

“Trust me, this is doing a lot for me,” He commented, taking your hand in his and guiding it down to the front of his briefs, letting you feel the warm, daunting thickness of his erection straining against the fabric, heavy and pulsing under your palm. You hadn’t noticed it when you were grinding on his thigh, but now the sheer size and heat of him made fresh heat boom low in your belly again. Your fingers curled around him, giving a gentle squeeze, your thumb brushing over the small wet patch of precum that had soaked through the material. He twitched hard against your touch.

“You didn’t even have to touch me and this happened…So just lay back and let me get a better taste of you.” He said, pressing a kiss to your belly. When you gave his cock another squeeze, he hissed softly, then carefully took your hand off him to settle your palm flat against your stomach, right over the spot his lips had just warmed. He held it there for a moment, letting a thin layer of frost bloom beneath your fingers to preserve the faint imprint of his kiss like a brand against your skin. 

“Okay…” You breathed, settling back against the cushions, using the arm rest to angle your head just enough so you could watch him. He kissed along your hips, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your boxers and pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion. You helped by lifting your legs, bending them until the fabric slid free. He tossed it aside without a glance, then pushed your thighs open again, one foot bracing on the floor so he could lay comfortably between them.

He stared at the glistening trails of your arousal pulsing from your core as you clenched around nothing, pushing more sweetness out of you, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight–like he was a dehydrated man looking at a fountain of fresh ice cold water. He rubbed your inner thigh, the heat of his palm sinking deep into your chilled skin as he gave the soft flesh a firm squeeze.

“All wet just from my fingers…Absolutely breathtaking.” He admired, voice thick with hunger. He leaned down, chest pressing into the yielding cushions, his hot lips peppering a slow pathway of kisses up toward your core. He nuzzled his cheek into the cool skin right at the apex of your thigh, breathing you in deeply–your scent was sweet and icy, like ripened fruit laced with peppermint. A beautiful haze of euphoria washed over his features as he kissed along your pubic bone before pressing his shoulders beneath the backs of your thighs, spreading you open wider and locking you firmly in place. 

He glanced up at you, catching the way your kiss-bitten lips parted on a shaky breath. His hands moved to your core, opening your folds up to him before he pressed his tongue flat against you. The first long, slow lick pulled a gasp from your throat, your hand shooting down to lace tightly through his hair. You were so sensitive from your first orgasm that every pass of his tongue felt like liquid fire pouring into your veins, reigniting the heat deep in your belly all over again. 

He buried his face in you completely, head moving slowly so his tongue could part you more, licking deep inside, tasting every drop while smearing your arousal across his chin and cheeks. Low, filthy moans vibrated against your core as he devoured you, his hand gripping at your thighs, fingers dimpling the soft flesh, sliding his tongue higher to circle your clit before sucking it between his lips. He flicked the swollen bundle, eyes never leaving yours, holding you captive under that golden stare while your fingers massaged through his hair.

“God, Sentry…Ho-Holy fuck.” You whined, hips shifting helplessly beneath him. He moaned into you in reply. The noises that echoed through the room were wet, his mouth sucking on your folds and your clit, burrowing deeper before pressing his tongue into you and tasting you straight from the source, doing it over and over again. It was like he was making out with your pussy, his experienced mouth taking all everything you gave to him with ease. You bucked against his mouth again, and he brought his hand up to your hip, pinning you to the couch cushions, holding you still so that he can keep his rhythm exact, sharp focusing on dragging a second orgasm out of you that would eclipse the first.

He felt your thighs trembling against his shoulders, the muscles quivering with every pass of his tongue. Your free hand found the one he had dug into the top of your thigh, fingers lacing tightly with his as he squeezed back in silent reassurance, another grunt vibrating through you. The pressure of his tongue grew heavier, more insistent, as he continued to devour you without thought.

The lamp on the stand beside the couch suddenly brightened, its glow pulsing in time with the waves of pleasure rolling through you, and your eyes flicked to it for a brief second before dropping back down to him, catching the way his irises glowed like captured sunlight–bright and molten. You knew it was him doing this–you certainly weren’t capable of doing that–and a stifled laugh escaped you as the light flickered again, like he was speaking to you in bursts of golden morse code

You could feel him smile into you, plunging his tongue into your entrance one more time before moving back up to your clit again, his lips wrapping around the swollen bundle, snapping you out of the moment of humour and dragging you back into the overwhelming sensation of his mouth.

You took in a sharp breath.

“Sentry! Oh fuck…Please, right there!” You whined, your thighs clenching hard around his head, fingers pulling at his hair as your hips bucked against the firm hold he had on you. He kept sucking, swirling his tongue in tight circles while pressing his face deeper, the wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the silence. 

The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast, as his lips sealed over you one last time, making it snap instantly. You came hard with a broken cry, your back arching off the couch as your core pulsed against his chin. A powerful wave of frost bloomed across his shoulders and down his arms, racing over his skin like you got a surge of energy from your orgasm. 

He couldn’t stop licking you, craving every shudder, greedy for every last drop until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably and your breath stuttering.

“Yo-You need to stop, I’m gonna turn you into a piece of ice if your don’t.” You warned quickly, forcing your thighs to loosen from around his head so he could breathe and move away from you. He hummed in response, the vibration sending one last aftershock through your body, before he pulled back, placing one final open-mouthed kiss against your quivering core. 

“I’ve got the power of the sun coursing through my veins, you wouldn’t be able to do anything to me…And honestly, I actually like when you get all chilly–shows me I did a pretty good job.” He commented, his voice a low, velvet rumble that shook against your stomach as he began kissing his way upward. His lips dragged slowly over the soft give of your belly, glistening with the sheen of your release that coated his chin and mouth. 

Everywhere he touched, he smeared the slick evidence of your pleasure across your chilled skin in warm, glistening streaks, the contrast drawing faint curls of steam that rose through the air lazily like hot breath on a chilled window. His teeth grazed the tender flesh just above your navel, a gentle nip that made your muscles flutter and tighten beneath him, followed by the immediate heat of his soothing tongue that lapped away the sting. He nipped your again, just below your ribs, and you felt yourself arch into him, your skin prickling with fresh goosebumps.

“But I’ll give you a break since you need one so badly,” He added, the words husky and teasing as he pushed himself up on his powerful arms, the thick cords of muscle in his shoulders and biceps flexing with the motion. He hovered over you for a moment, his golden eyes locking on yours, the orange embers around his irises flickering like distant stars caught in the pull of desire. Then he lowered himself, claiming your mouth in a deep, sticky kiss that stole your breath from your lungs, his lips parting against yours to let you taste the salty-sweet tang of yourself on his tongue as it slid hot along yours. 

The flavour of your own arousal mixed with the clean, sun-warmed scent of his skin, and you let out a small moan, your hand flying up to cradle the side of his neck, fingers pressing into the strong column of muscle there, feeling the throb of his pulse beneath the heated flesh. You tilted your head up to chase the kiss, tongues tangling with wet, needy sounds escaping the both of you, until he finally pulled back to trail kisses along the curve of your cheek and jaw, his breathing rapid and ghosting over your flesh.

You laid beneath him, chest rising and falling in ragged little pants, every inch of you humming, trying to come down from the euphoric high your orgasm put you in. The heavy weight of his body pressed you deeper into the couch cushions, the heat radiating through his chest and abdomen sinking into your bones like liquid sunlight.

Your thighs cradled his hips, legs locking around his to draw him nearer, the thick outline of his cock pressing hot through the thin barrier of his briefs. It rested just above your aching core, the searing length of him throbbing against your lower belly, feeling the fabric was now saturated in his precum–which had only grown larger while he had feasted on you. Small, translucent droplets seeped through the material, smearing against your skin, creating this sticky warm film there. 

You were so tempted to reach down, to slip your fingers beneath his waistband and wrap them around that daunting thickness, to test whether your hand could even close fully around him, to feel the velvet-steel weight of his cock pulse against your palm. But you held yourself back, nails digging into him for a moment. You truly needed the break, knowing that the moment he finally pushed inside you would shatter what little composure you had left–and losing your mind entirely was something you were trying very hard to avoid right now.

So you made quick work of finding a distraction for yourself. 

“…Can I ask why you were flickering the light like a maniac while you were going down on me?” You asked, carding your fingers through his hair and gently tugging at the roots. He let out a little huff of a laugh against the sensitive skin of your neck, the warm gust of it raising fresh goosebumps that ran up to your chin, as he pressed another kiss there.

“It kind of just happens when I’m feeling really good. My brain is focusing on something else then my powers fall out of my control and it does whatever it can to get out the excess energy.” You hummed softly in response, tilting your heat to the side to allow him to continue his explorations. Then suddenly, your brows pulled together as a realization dawned on you, cutting through the lingering haze of pleasure.

“Wait a minute…Is that why we sometimes have a ‘power surge’ in the middle of the night and wake up to every fuse in the Watchtower being blown out?” His lips curved up into a shy smile against your skin, the warmth of it branding the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“Guilty as charged,” He mumbled, the words muffling where his mouth had settled, sending a fresh shiver racing down your spine that clashed deliciously with the steady heat pouring off his chest. A soft, playful laugh bubbled out of you, pushing against his broad shoulder, your palm meeting the solid muscle there with no real force.

“I knew it was you! Everyone was denying it and calling me crazy!” He let out a rumbling laugh of his own, the deep sound vibrating against your breasts as he nuzzled closer, his large hand sliding up your torso with a slow, possessive glide. His palm spanned the entire width of your ribcage, his thumb slipping beneath the underwire of your bra to brush the plush underside of your breast, the calloused pad teasing the sensitive skin until your nipple tightened. 

“Well, now you know. Let’s not go spreading that around though…Cause I will vehemently deny it.” Your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me.” You reassured, flinching when he gave the underside of your breast a little pinch, rubbing the spot to soothe it.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, his golden eyes flicking down to the bra still clinging to your frame, the last scrap of fabric separating skin from skin. You nodded, breath catching as his free hand slipped behind your back, his fingers unhooking the clasp before slowly peeling the straps down your arms, and letting it drop off the side of the couch with the rest of your discarded clothes. You were glad that nobody was coming home anytime soon because there was no way the two of you would be able to clean the mess that was scattered along the floor. 

He leaned up on his forearm, drinking in the sight of you, watching the way your nipples pebbled at the sudden exposure, running his thick finger over the bud, the pad covering it entirely before he cupped the full weight of your breast in his large palm, squeezing with just enough pressure to draw a soft gasp from your throat. You twirled a strand of his hair around your finger, watching the light brown colour catch with golden highlights from the lamp.

“I feel overdressed,” He commented, glancing down at his boxers, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Maybe you should get undressed then to make it even.” You replied, feeling his fingers twitch against your breast before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” He whispered, his hands leaving you as he pushed off you and reached down to his waistband, pushing the fabric down just enough so his cock sprang out of its confines, bobbing and tapping against his lower belly, before standing erect between his legs. The outline certainly didn’t do him justice, and seeing it in the flesh was far more intimidating than feeling it against you. The crown was large and red, swollen from him holding back this entire time, and the shaft was thick and veined along the smooth skin that led down to the trimmed hair at his base. He kicked the boxers aside without a glance, then settled back between your spread thighs, adjusting himself so the scorching length of his cock rested flush against your belly, the hot, velvety weight of it twitching and leaking fresh beads of precum that smeared over your flesh. 

You let out a sigh, your fingers trailing down the sweat-slicked planes of his abdomen, following the deep cuts of muscle until they wrapped around the tick base of his cock. Your hand barely closed around the heavy girth, the velvet heat of him pulsing against your chilled palm. You stroked him once from base to tip, feeling every ridge and vein drag beneath your touch, the skin stretched taut and burning. His lashes fluttered shut, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as his hips jerked forward into your fist, chasing the friction with a helpless little gasp that broke from deep in his chest.

Your thumb swept over the slick head, spreading the steady leak of precum in lazy circles before you stroked him again, firmer this time, twisting your wrist just enough to hear him groan. You kept the rhythm precise and unhurried, watching the way his powerful body trembled above you, the flush on his chest deepening as steam began to radiate off of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he reached down to catch your wrist, guiding your hand away from his aching length before he lost the last fragile thread of control. “If you keep touching me like that, this is going to be over before I even get inside you.” He said, pinning your hand beside your head, fingers sliding down your forearm in a heated trail melting the frost that bloomed on your flesh, before he leaned in to press a small, tender kiss to your lips, rubbing his nose gently against yours. 

“Do you want that?” He asked, his golden eyes searching yours, the orange embers sparking and swirling around his irises.

“No…” You breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as you brought your legs up to wrap loosely around his waist, heels digging into the firm, rounded muscle of his ass to pull him closer, “I’d prefer to feel you cum inside me rather than in my hand.” He let out a hot breath against your lips, the warm rush filling your mouth and slipping down your throat. 

“So…Does this mean you’re ready?” He questioned, as the tips of your fingers glided along the broad slope of his shoulder, tracing the muscle.

“Yes,” You said, the single word heavy with want, and he didn’t need to be told twice to confirm it with you. Slowly, he shifted his weight, creating just enough space between your bodies to reach down and grip the base of his cock. The swollen head nudged through your folds, coating himself in the slick evidence of your arousal, sliding hot and smooth along your slit before circling once over your swollen clit, teasing it, before bringing it back down. 

He notched himself at your entrance, pausing to glance up at you, his eyes locking on yours to make sure there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, and when you pressed your heels harder into his ass, urging him forward, he took it as permission to go on–that you were sure. 

He brought his hips forward in one controlled push, feeling your walls part around his thickness, the broad crown sinking in immediately. The stretch was overwhelming even though it was only the tip that had breached you, and your breath caught in your throat, chest rising as your body adjusted to the warmth that was filling you. He waited, perfectly still, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as your walls pulsed and fluttered around him.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He asked, concern threading through his voice, studying the way your breath hitched and how your hands had gripped his shoulders just a fraction more, nailing sinking into the muscle.

“No it doesn’t hurt…I’m just getting used to you. Keep going,” You urged, thighs tightening around his torso. He continued to push forward, your walls fluttering around each new inch he gave you, feeling every ridge and vein dragging inside you until he was finally buried to the hilt. The fullness was unbelievable–his cock seated so deep you could feel him pressing against your cervix.

He stilled above you, chest heaving against your in deep, ragged pulls of breath as he pressed his forehead to your temple. His frame trembled, muscles locking tight beneath your palms, his body fighting the urge to lose himself completely in the tight, fluttering grip of you. He wanted this to feel as good for you as it already did for him; he refused to rush, refused to risk hurting you for even a second.

A few minutes passed in silence, until you rocked your hips against him, testing the depth, and turned your head just enough to catch his lips in a deep, needy kiss. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, the warm rush of it flooding your senses as he finally gave in.

He drew back almost to the tip, the drag of his thick length sending sparks exploding through every nerve, before he rolled his hips forward in one powerful thrust that punched the air straight from your lungs. A keening moan tore from your throat as the blunt head of his cock kissed the deepest part of you as softly as he could. He pulled away from your mouth, closing his eyes tightly.

“God…You feel so good,” He breathed, the words breaking as he felt your nails dragging down his shoulders, leaving faint red trails the disappeared before they could even settle into his skin. He found a steady rhythm then, rocking his hips in deep, claiming strokes that drove every inch of him into you with each forward snap, the wet slap of skin meeting skin echoing through the room as your arousal coated him, smearing along his pelvis. 

His mouth found yours again in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together in hungry strokes while one large hand came up to cup your breast fully, his thumb circling the tight, pebbled peak of your nipple before pinching it hard enough to make your walls clench around his cock like a vice. A whimper spilled from you, broken and needy, as your nails scraped down his back in response, the sharp sting only spurring him on. 

His hand left your breast then as he slid both arms beneath you, craving a better angle, the thick cords of muscle in his biceps flexing as he lifted your body towards his until you were sitting on his lap. The sudden change in position made you whine, the new angle letting him sink even deeper, pressing against the places inside you that stole every inch of air out of your lungs. It was as if you could feel him in your stomach, pulsing and twitching inside, taking up more space like he wanted to invade your entirety. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him as you steadied yourself against the solid wall of his chest. 

He pulled away from the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck in hot, open-mouthed paths, licking and sucking at any skin he came into contact with, leaving marks that bloomed wide. When he reached your breast he enclosed his mouth around one stiff nipple, drawing it deep between his lips with a low groan that vibrated through the soft, tender tissue. You let out a loud moan, arching your back into him, lacing your fingers through his hair and pulling as his tongue flicked rapidly over the hardened bud.

“Jesus Christ, Sentry!” You cried out, the words breaking on a gasp as his hands settled on your hips, guiding you into a steady rhythm so you could ride him comfortably. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your nipple, sucking and teasing until your thighs trembled around his waist, sending waves of fresh frost up his torso.

The new position let you control the pace, and he allowed it, his large hands splaying wide across the curve of your back as you rolled your hips in deep, grinding circles. Each motion dragged the thick length of his cock through you, the heavy motion stretching you open again and again while he thrusted up to meet you, his pelvis rubbing against your swollen clit with every roll. The added pressure layered the sensations perfectly, your arousal coating him even more, dripping down to soak the skin of his thighs where the pressed against you.

Your moans grew louder, filling the lounge as his hand skimmed up the length of your spine to cradle the nape of your neck, while the other gripped the soft flesh of your ass, helping you lift off him so he could guide you back down onto him with every roll. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin echoed louder now, obscene and perfect, each impact sending fresh waves of heat between your joined bodies.

He pulled off your nipple with a pop, breathing heavily against your skin as he moved his mouth to the other breast, enclosing the stiff peak between his lips with the same intensity. His tongue flicked and swirled, sucking hard enough to pull more of your breast into him, a loud moan tearing fro your throat as you laced your fingers tighter through his hair and tugged.

He loved the way you gripped him, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock like you never wanted to let him go, like you wanted to stay like this forever, hearing the broken compliments and needy sounds spilling from your lips in a jumbled mess that only made him thrust up harder.

You rode him like you couldn’t do anything else, nails digging into his scalp as the coil in your belly tightened, every deep grind of his cock and every relentless flick of his tongue pushing you right to the edge. The lamp beside the couch began to flicker again, pulsing once before flaring brighter, as the thawed ice pack fell to the ground with a soft plop. You didn’t lose focus for a second though; the erratic glow only confirming how good he was feeling too, how close he was, how desperately he needed you.

His fingers dug harder into the flesh of your ass, a low moan vibrating through your breast as he felt you fluttering wildly around him.

“Sentry! Sentry I’m gonna cum again.” You whined, and he hummed against you, not wanting to let go of your breast. 

“Give it to me, Y/N…I got you.” He said with his mouth full of you, and that was all the encouragement you needed as you shattered around his cock with a broken cry, your walls pulsing and fluttering in rhythmic waves that milked his thick length, soaking him even more in your slick. Frost exploded across his chest and arms, invading his mouth, making his teeth nibble down on your nipple from the chattering which pulled a surprised gasp from your throat. He grunted, his hips stuttering up into you a few more times before they locked up, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you. 

His cum felt scorching hot, almost like it was burning your insides in the most exquisite way, as thick ropes flooded your core, feeling pulse after heavy pulse coating your walls until it overflowed, spilling out around his cock and mixing with your own release on his thighs. The sensation of him filling you so completely, so deeply, sent another wave of relief crashing through your body. 

The both of you trembled, gasping for air, bodies locking together in the aftershocks that raced through your muscles, and slowly the brightness of the lamp eased, just like the frost that had momentarily overtaken his skin. He let out a breathless moan, releasing your nipple before looking up at you, his golden eyes soft and hazed with pure satisfaction.

“You’re a godsend,” He whispered, leaning up to press a small, tender kiss to your lips before carefully lowering you both back down onto the couch, making sure he was still buried inside you as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The heat of him was now perfectly balancing your cooled skin, and every point of contact hummed with shared relief and warmth.

“Feels like we found a cheat code to the whole temperature crisis thing.” You joked, catching your breath, earning a little laugh from him.

“We might have to keep testing it just to make sure…” You nodded.

“I definitely wouldn’t mind that.” You commented, as he pressed a kiss to your neck, biting down where your pulse fluttered against his tongue. You trailed your fingers over his back, tracing the deep valley of his spine, basking in the comfortable silence of the afterglow, until he cleared his throat.

“I know this may not be the right time to ask given that I just came inside you…But…What do you think would happen if we ended up…” He trailed off, looking up at you in hopes that you knew where he was going with the question, seeing the lustful haze that clouded your eyes.

“Having a child together?” You said, finishing it for him, and he nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on yours, seeing the way you were considering the answer in your mind, like you never truly thought about the topic because it wasn’t something that had ever come up in your entire life.

Sure, you had been to a lot of scientists and doctors who practically tore you apart piece by piece just to test your genetic makeup, but even then they never asked about if you ever wanted to have children, which meant you never explored what could happen in that process. Now that the question was posed though, you had to take a moment to reflect on it, because it wasn’t just about your own mutation being passed down in this circumstance, it was also about his.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes roaming his, seeing that the bright lustre that had overtaken them had eased, allowing his irises to return to a dimmed sun-kissed hue.

“It would be an easy answer if you didn’t have the serum, but factoring in that you do and that we are practically on the complete opposite ends of the temperature scale, I really don’t know what would happen…We might end up making a super mutation or something.” You joked, feeling his hand run up your torso.

“Sounds dangerous…” He murmured, and you nodded at him.

“It probably is…They’d probably end up taking them away if we had one.” He didn’t really know who you were referring to, but he could hear the fear that suddenly encompassed your voice, and his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him, wanting to comfort you immediately. 

“I wouldn’t allow that to happen, you know that.” You gave him a small smile, bringing your hand up to cradle his cheek.

“Of course I do, you’re already extremely protective of me during missions, I couldn’t imagine how you’d be with a baby.” His lips turned up into a smile, tilting his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“Do you like the protectiveness though?” He questioned, and you shrugged.

“I don’t mind it…Makes me feel like I’m special to you.” He pressed another kiss to your hand.

“You are…And I won’t let you forget that.” 

-----------------

Buy me a ko-fi (if you'd like)

[dorkszn]

EDDIE MUNSON never thought about recording while he had sex. It just never came to mind. Not until he had his favorite little cheerleader face down, ass up on his mattress. Still wearing her Hawkins High cheer uniform, her skirt hiked up on her waist, bouncing slightly everytime he fucks into her.

“Just like that, pretty girl. Just— fuck— like that,” Eddie pants above you. His camera pointed directly at the area where you’re connected. Watching the way the plump of your ass ripples with every thrust.

“Eddie,” you whine, your voice almost overshadowed by the sound of your ass meeting his thighs. His hand settles on your rear, kneading and pressing the pads of his fingers into the skin. He moves the camera up. The lens trailing your quivering body in your uniform, your soft hands clutching at his comforter and your face pushed sideways into his bed.

“Yeah? Whose dick are you taking, pretty girl? Who’s making you feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, his voice broken up by groans and ragged breaths. He damn near forgets about the camera entirely when your pretty cunt tightens around his dick. A broken moan echoing behind the camera.

“You, fuck, it’s yours,” you breathe out, nearly overshadowed by the squelch of your pussy. You let out a cry when Eddie’s hand suddenly comes down on the flesh of your ass, his rings leaving behind a sting.

“Uht uht, say my name,” he orders, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches you try to hide from the camera. He fucks you a little harder until a mumbled string of his name over and over again comes from you. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

He drops the camera so he can keep fucking you properly. Only what you deserve, after all. He promised he’d be better fuck than any jock you could find. He also promised he’d show the jocks that he could treat you better. Good thing he recorded.

[sheneedsrocknroll92]

Y'all know I have to make everything about Eddie so....

Iron Maiden's EddFest is happenning as we speak, and omg I just can't stop thinking about how happy Eddie would be if he was there! He would be losing his mind seeing his name everywhere shskdjf He would be taking pictures at all the places and doing all the games and rides and just having fun 😭😭❤️❤️

[master-of-puppetsx]

Eddie Munson x Shy!Fem!Reader

"Fuck me," He groans into the pillow, his hand wrapping around his thick cock as he jerks himself off aggressively. His other hand reaches out blindly for lube, knocking over a few D&D miniatures in the process. "Shit..."

He growls in frustration, kicking at his nightstand. "Come on... come on..." The lube tube had been empty for days. God, why did he keep waiting until the last second to buy more? It was always the last second.

His mind flickers to you.

The image of you infiltrates his mind without permission, soft, elusive, drifting through the hallways like a ghost. He squeezes his eyes shut, his breath hitching as his strokes falter. It was pathetic, really, getting himself worked up over the girl who hid inside oversized sweaters and barely spoke above a whisper.

But god, (Y/N).

His hand moves faster, slicking himself with spit now because he's too far gone to care about the mess. "(Y/N)..."

He pants your name brokenly, hips snapping up into his fist. You were the complete opposite of him quiet where he was loud, soft where he was jagged. The mental image of you drowning in one of your oversized sweaters, those big, shy eyes looking up at him...

It ruins him. "Fuck... baby..." He strokes himself desperately. "My pretty girl..."

His head falls back against the pillow, messy hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead. The fantasy bleeds into reality, the thought of you crawling onto his messy bed, shy and trembling, letting him peel back those oversized layers to reveal the soft girl underneath.

"I'd treat you so good," he grits out through clenched teeth, his strokes becoming punishingly fast. He imagines your small hands hesitantly reaching out to touch his chest, his abs, his... *his dick*. He loses it, coming hard with a choked groan into his own hand. "...fuck..." His body shakes with the intensity of the release he gave himself over you.

His whole body jolts, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as he spills across his knuckles. The release hits him like a freight train, white-hot and overwhelming, forcing him to arch off the mattress. His hips buck upward, thrusting into his fist as thick ropes of cum coat his hand, spilling over his skin and onto the tangled sheets beneath him.

"F-fuck..."

His chest heaves, heart hammering against his ribs as the aftershocks roll through him. His cock twitches lazily, still leaking onto his stomach and fingers. He groans pathetically, face flushed, jaw slack, the most uncoordinated expression he's ever worn. Even his D&D voice couldn't summon something this pathetic. "Goddamn it," he mutters, dragging a shaking hand down his face. His cum is cooling on his skin, sticky and humiliating.

He tosses the empty lube tube across the room with more force than necessary. "Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid." He scolds himself. "Getting off to the shy girl? Really, Eddie?"

He stares at the ceiling, chest still heaving slightly, his pulse gradually slowing. His hand moves unconsciously towards his cock—which is already starting to stir again. His dick is already softening and he's still... still half-horny from the afterglow.

Fuck, he thinks. It's worse than that.

It's a problem. A genuine problem.

It wasn't just the sex. It was *her*. The way she bit her lip when she was nervous. The way her oversized sweaters slipped off one shoulder. The way she barely spoke, but when she did... god, that soft voice made his skin prickle.

He'd watched her from across the cafeteria. From across the hallway. From across the fucking parking lot once when he'd seen her leaning against her beat-up car looking like a daydream.

He was Eddie fucking Munson. Leader of the Hellfire Club. Freak. Outcast. Metalhead. He had a reputation. And he was *obsessing* over the shy, quiet girl who barely looked at him. Who probably thought he was a loser and a freak. He groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow.

He pressed his forehead into the mattress, his breathing ragged. The scent of sex lingered in the room, mocking him. He was pathetic—jerking off to a girl he’d barely spoken two words to, a girl who looked like a ghost drifting through the halls. He needed to get laid, or high, or something. Anything to get you out of his fucking head.