Where impulse takes over

| Mari | she/they | 18+ | college student | artist | occasional writer | multifandom main blog |

[halohalona]

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Hi!! I just want to update this little pinned post since I will add a couple other lists.

✧ Ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ ／ Ｆｉｃｓ

✧ Ｄｏｗｎｌｏａｄｓ

✧ Ｆａｎｄｏｍ Ｌｉｓｔ

[below is a list of the fandoms i'm in. If ya'll ever wanna send in asks or requests about certain fandoms. note that they change every now and then]

Currently Active in:

Resident Evil

Occasionally Active in:

Joseph Quinn

Dispatch

In hybernation until further notice:

DC Comics

Z-O-M-B-I-E-S

Epic: The Musical

Deadpool & Wolverine

The Witcher

Batman/Batfamily

Dungeons and Dragons

Baldur's Gate 3

Disney Descendants

Arcane

Valorant

Hugh Jackman

not currently fully active in any fandom

n/a

this will be updated occasionally

[beasbrain]

Hell of a Summer

this is part two, click here for series masterlist

description: it's the summer leading into your senior year, and you decide to spend summer break with your best friend and roommate, violet munson. and of course, her dad. what starts as harmless flirting turns into something a little more...interesting.

pairing: dilf!eddie x reader (fem!reader)

tags: dilf!eddie, 21 y/o reader, no y/n, best friend's dad, age gap romance, eddie being jealous, girl dad eddie, eddie and violet are literally twins, single dad eddie, shameless flirting, metalhead x metalhead, emo/goth reader, domestic fluff (like fr), violet munson being an instigator, steve has a wife and daughter?, summer vibe

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, age difference, mentions of toxic family dynamics

WC: 6.5k

A/N: AGH part two is finally here!!! sorry fics have been coming out slower than usual, between summer classes and work i've been BUSSYYYYY!! buuut, i'm so excited to hear what you guys think<3 reblogs are always appreciated :))

The annual start-of-summer lake day was apparently sacred in Hawkins. You discovered this at exactly eight-thirteen in the morning when a bikini top smacked you directly in the face. You jolted awake with a startled noise, immediately sitting upright as Violet stood in your doorway looking entirely too awake for a college student on summer break.

"Rise and shine."

You squinted at her through messy hair. "What time is it?"

"Lake day time."

"That's not a real time."

"It is in this house."

You groaned and flopped backward into the mattress. Unfortunately for you, Violet Munson had never been known for mercy. An hour later, you were sitting cross-legged on a kitchen stool nursing a cup of coffee while Violet packed enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse.

The house was quiet in Eddie's absence. He'd left for work before either of you woke up, disappearing sometime around six in the morning after leaving a note on the counter reminding Violet, "be there around four. please try not to drown anybody."

You'd stared at that note for far longer than necessary. Not because his handwriting was attractive, that would be ridiculous.

The front door opened dramatically, snapping you out of your lovestruck focus on Eddie’s chicken scratch. A blonde girl walked inside without knocking, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, and a set of car keys dangling from one finger.

"Please tell me somebody made coffee."

"Kitchen," Violet called.

The girl immediately rounded the corner before stopping when she saw you. For a second, she simply stared, then she looked at Violet. Then back at you.

"Huh."

"What?" Violet asked.

The girl pointed. "This is the roommate?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

"What does that mean?"

The girl shrugged. "Nothing. Just expected someone different."

She extended a hand toward you. "Harper Harrington."

You shook it. "The Harrington?"

She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

The rest of the group filtered in over the next half hour, the same way Harper had; no knocking, no warning, just casually wandering into the Munson house like they owned part of it. By the time everyone finally piled into their respective cars, you'd met enough people to completely lose track of who belonged to who. 

Apparently, that was another Hawkins thing. Everybody's parents knew everybody else's parents, everyone had grown up together, and somehow half the town seemed related through friendship if not blood. It was oddly comforting in a way you weren't used to, a kind of community that only seemed possible in places where people stayed.

The lake itself ended up being far prettier than you'd expected. Hawkins might've been small, but the water stretched wide beneath the summer sun, sparkling between the trees while boats drifted lazily across the surface. 

The group immediately claimed a familiar patch of shoreline, unloading coolers and folding chairs with the efficiency of people who'd been doing this every summer since birth.

Before you'd even finished laying your towel out, somebody had already started music, somebody else had started a volleyball game, and Harper was loudly accusing one of the others of cheating at something.

Hours slipped by surprisingly fast after that. You swam, floated on your back in the lake, got dragged into a game of beach volleyball despite repeatedly insisting you sucked at sports, and somehow ended up sharing a giant bag of chips with Harper while she filled you in on years of Hawkins gossip. 

By mid-afternoon, your skin was warm from the sun, your hair was damp from swimming, and for the first time since arriving in Indiana, you weren't really thinking about anything at all. Well, almost anything.

"Your eyes keep going to the parking lot."

You looked over at Harper. "What?"

She smirked. "Nothing."

Immediately suspicious, you narrowed your eyes. "Harper."

Before she could answer, a familiar roar of an engine echoed through the trees. And suddenly, half the group perked up. "Oh, they're here."

You turned instinctively toward the parking area, a big mistake. Huge mistake, actually. Because there, climbing out of the old van with a cooler balanced against one hip, was Eddie.

For a second, your brain didn't quite process what it was seeing. Then it did, and unfortunately, that made things significantly worse. Gone was the grease-stained work shirt you'd seen him leave in every morning. 

Instead, he'd changed into a pair of faded black swim trunks hanging low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His curls had been pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, exposing the tattoos crawling across his shoulders and chest, and the late afternoon sunlight caught against every silver ring still decorating his fingers.

Sweet fucking Jesus. You suddenly understood every poor decision women had ever made throughout history.

"Wow." The word escaped before you could stop it.

Harper followed your line of sight, then she looked at you, then back at Eddie. Then at you again. "Oh."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh no."

"Oh," Harper repeated, sounding somewhere between inquiry and suspicion.

Across the beach, Steve appeared from the passenger side, carrying enough bags to feed a football team. Beside him was a woman with dark hair and oversized sunglasses, effortlessly beautiful in the way that made you immediately understand why Steve Harrington had spent years getting himself into trouble. 

"That's my mom," Harper informed you.

"She's gorgeous."

"I know. It's annoying."

Steve immediately spotted the group and lifted a hand. "Alright, move. Important people are here."

"Nobody asked you to come!" one of the kids yelled back.

Steve looked genuinely offended. "That's a terrible thing to say to the guy carrying burgers."

The entire group immediately changed sides.

"Welcome, Steve."

"Great to see you, Steve."

"We love you, Steve."

His wife snorted. "You people are shameless."

Meanwhile, you were doing your absolute best not to stare at Eddie. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't making that particularly easy.

He'd abandoned the cooler near the picnic tables and was helping Steve unload supplies, muscles flexing every time he lifted something. The man wasn't even showing off. He looked completely unaware of the fact that he was walking around looking like every romance novel cover come to life.

Or maybe he was aware, because halfway through carrying a folding table, he glanced up. And immediately caught you staring. Fuck.

His eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, the bastard winked. You nearly swallowed your own tongue.

You snapped your head back to the lake, Harper immediately tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied on impulse. She hummed in response, but it didn’t quite sound convinced. 

Before you could formulate a solid response to her lack of one, Eddie finally started walking toward the group. The closer he got, the worse the situation became. 

Up close, you could see the faint tan lines across his shoulders, the tattoos wrapping around his arms, the way a few escaped curls had fallen loose around his face despite the bun. It should've been illegal for a forty-year-old father to look like that.

Thirty-nine. Not that you knew that, or thought about it. Or remembered constantly.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

You looked up and immediately regretted it. Because now he was standing directly in front of you, still shirtless, still damp from whatever shower he'd apparently taken after work, and still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Hey."

Eddie's eyes drifted over you slowly, taking in your swimsuit, your sun-kissed skin, and your damp hair. The look lingered just long enough to make heat crawl up your neck before he finally grinned.

"Looks like you're surviving Hawkins."

"Barely."

"Mhm."

Eventually, Steve decided he'd had enough of everyone picking at chips and snacks.

"Alright, listen up!" he shouted from beside the grills. "Food's done, and if you little gremlins don't come eat now, I'm not reheating anything later."

A chorus of complaints immediately followed.

"We're literally walking over!"

"Relax, dad!"

"You're not my dad!"

Steve pointed a spatula threateningly. "I could've been."

His wife rolled her eyes from where she was arranging burger toppings. "Ignore him. Everybody grab a plate."

The entire group migrated toward the picnic tables in a noisy mass of towels, sunscreen, half-finished conversations, and dripping lake water. Harper immediately stole a burger before Steve could finish serving everyone, earning a dramatic gasp from her father that she completely ignored.

You found yourself settling onto the end of one of the benches while everyone else naturally fell into conversations that had clearly been going on for years.

Maya and the twins were arguing about something that happened last summer. Harper was making fun of a guy she'd apparently gone to school with. Logan was telling some story that required absolutely zero context for everybody except you.

You smiled when appropriate and laughed when everyone else laughed. But after a while, you started feeling it, that subtle little distance.

Nobody was being unkind. Quite the opposite, actually. Everyone had gone out of their way to include you throughout the day. But there was still a difference between being welcomed into a group and having years of inside jokes and memories with them.

You were still catching up. Still learning names, stories, histories...still the new person.

For a moment, your thoughts drifted back home. To being the odd one out at family dinners. To sitting quietly while everyone else talked around you. To feeling like there wasn't really a place carved out for you anywhere, so you picked at your food.

The feeling only lasted a minute, maybe less. Because suddenly a shadow fell across the table, then Eddie slid onto the bench beside you.

"Hey."

You glanced over. "Hey."

He balanced a paper plate on one knee and took a bite of his burger before speaking again.

"You look like you're plotting something."

You snorted. "I promise I'm not."

"Mhm."

"What?"

Eddie tilted his head slightly. "You got quiet."

"I'm okay."

"I know."

His voice was soft enough that nobody else would've heard it over the surrounding conversations.

Then he nodded toward the group, "They can be a lot."

You laughed quietly. "That's one way to put it."

"Trust me, sweetheart. I've known most of these idiots since before they could drive."

"Feels like everybody here has known each other forever."

"Pretty much."

Eddie picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Harper was born when Vi was little. Maya's parents live three streets over. Logan practically grew up at my garage. Steve's wife still makes fun of me for a haircut I got in nineteen ninety-three."

You laughed. "What was wrong with the haircut?"

"Oh, it was terrible."

"Really?"

"It was magnificent."

"Those are two different answers."

"Both can be true." His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and you couldn't help smiling.

The conversations around you continued, but somehow they felt less overwhelming now. Maybe because Eddie wasn't trying to force you into them. He wasn't doing the awkward introduction thing or drawing attention to the fact that you were newer than everyone else.

"You know," he said after a minute, looking out toward the water, "when I first moved into Wayne's, I barely spoke for an entire summer."

You blinked. "You?"

"Hard to believe, I know."

"Impossible, actually."

Eddie grinned. "Seriously. I was awkward as hell."

"No way."

"Way."

You studied him skeptically. Just before this, the man had an entire picnic table laughing at half of what he said. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You expect me to believe you were shy?"

His grin softened slightly. "Not shy."

He looked down at his beer. "Just didn't think people wanted me around."

The admission surprised you enough that you didn't answer right away. Because for a second, you caught a glimpse of something underneath all the confidence and sarcasm; something younger.

Eddie glanced over and immediately noticed your expression. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Don't get all sad on me."

You laughed. "I'm not sad."

"Good."

Then he reached over and stole one of your fries, again.

"Hey!"

"Occupational hazard. Gotta make sure it’s not poison."

"That's not what that means."

"It does if I say it does."

The Hideout was somehow even more charming now than it had been in all the stories Violet told. Maybe it was the nostalgia baked into the place. The old wooden bar, the dim lighting, the neon beer signs buzzing softly against the walls. 

Maybe it was because half the people inside seemed to know Eddie by name. Or maybe it was because every few minutes someone would stop by your table to greet either Steve, Eddie, or both, and you'd get to watch them slip so naturally into the lives they'd built here.

You, Harper, and Violet had claimed a booth near the back while Steve and Eddie wandered over toward the dart boards with beers in hand. A local band was setting up in the corner, tuning guitars and testing microphones while conversations drifted through the crowded room.

Meanwhile, across the room, Steve lined up a shot at the dart board while Eddie leaned against the wall beside him. The dart landed with a satisfying thunk.

"Ha."

"Congratulations," Eddie deadpanned. "You're winning against a mechanic."

Steve ignored him. For a minute, they stood there in comfortable silence, watching the girls at the booth. Harper was talking animatedly about something while Violet argued with her. You sat between them, laughing at whatever ridiculous story was being told.

Then Steve glanced sideways. "So."

Eddie sighed immediately. "No."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to."

Steve threw another dart. "You gonna tell me what's going on there?"

Eddie looked offended. "Nothing's going on."

"Bullshit."

"Steve."

"Eddie."

The older man took a sip of his beer, and Steve pointed subtly toward your booth.

"You talked to her almost the entire barbecue."

"We were talking."

"You were talking."

"That's what I said."

Steve stared, and Eddie stared back. Neither moved, then finally Steve sighed.

"I feel like I'm watching a train derail in slow motion."

"Jesus Christ."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"That's your daughter's best friend."

"I know who she is."

Steve rubbed his face. "I liked you better when your bad decisions only affected you."

Eddie barked out a laugh despite himself. "Nothing's happening."

Steve looked like he wanted to believe him, then his expression changed when his eyes drifted toward the bar. Eddie followed his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.

Because sometime during the conversation, Violet and Harper had wandered over to grab another round of drinks. You'd stayed behind at the booth, scrolling through the jukebox selections alone.

Unfortunately, somebody else had noticed. A guy. Young, mid-twenties maybe. Definitely closer to your age than Eddie's. The guy leaned casually against the edge of your booth and said something.

You smiled politely, and the guy smiled wider. Eddie's jaw tightened instantly. Steve saw it happen in real time. 

"Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You are absolutely not fine."

"I'm completely fine."

The guy sat down at your booth, across from you, knee brushing yours slightly under the table. Steve physically winced.

"Oh, that's bad."

"I'm gonna go say hi."

"You don't know him."

"I know enough."

"Eddie."

But Eddie was already moving. Across the room, you were only half paying attention to whatever the guy was saying.

Something about being from Indianapolis. Something about visiting family. Something about your tattoos. Honestly, he seemed perfectly nice.

Then suddenly his expression changed, and you frowned.

"What?"

The guy glanced up and immediately looked nervous. A familiar tattooed arm draped itself across the back of your booth, then another appeared on the opposite side, boxing you in completely.

"Oh," Eddie said pleasantly. "There you are, sweetheart."

The guy looked between the two of you. "Oh."

Eddie smiled, but not his real smile. The dangerous one. The one you'd already learned meant trouble. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize somebody was sitting here."

The guy stood up so fast he nearly knocked his drink over. "No, no, you're good."

"Mhm." Eddie never stopped smiling.

The guy made a very quick decision. "Well. Nice meeting you." Then he practically disappeared into the crowd.

The second he was gone, you looked up at Eddie.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"What was that?"

He looked genuinely confused. "I came to say hi."

You stared, and he stared back, for approximately three seconds. Then you started laughing, because somehow that was even less convincing than whatever excuse he'd intended to use.

"You are ridiculous."

"Maybe." His grin softened, then he brushed his fingers briefly against your shoulder. "Just checking on you."

The warmth in his voice immediately ruined any chance of staying annoyed.

"You're impossible."

"Been told that."

A few minutes later, after you'd disappeared toward the restroom, Eddie eventually wandered back to the dart boards, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Steve was waiting with a beer in hand and a flat expression.

Eddie immediately knew. "No."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"Seriously?"

Eddie grabbed another dart while Steve pointed toward the booth.

"The kid practically evacuated."

"He left."

"You ran him off."

"I didn't run him off."

"Eddie."

"He made his own choices."

Steve laughed in disbelief. "You are forty years old."

"Thirty-nine."

"That somehow makes this worse."

Eddie threw his dart. Bullseye. "Don't."

Steve stared at him for a second, then looked toward the bathroom where you'd disappeared, then back toward Eddie. Then finally sighed. "You're screwed."

The second you came back from the bathroom, Eddie was waiting. Not in an obvious way, not standing outside the door like some lovesick teenager. Just leaning casually against the dart board wall with a beer in one hand and entirely too much amusement in his eyes.

The second he spotted you weaving through the crowd, his face brightened ever so slightly. A tiny thing, small enough that most people wouldn't notice it.

"Sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes as you approached. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Whatever this is."

Eddie grinned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"Prove it."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because annoyingly enough, you couldn't. Which only made his smile wider.

"That's what I thought."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet."

"And yet nothing."

"And yet you're still standing here." You hated when he had a point, especially when he looked so pleased about it.

The dart board behind him sat abandoned now, Steve having wandered off to join his wife and Harper near the booths. A few empty lanes sat open, and before you could stop him, Eddie was already pulling a set of darts from the board.

"You ever play?"

You eyed them suspiciously. "Not really."

"Oh."

The grin returned, the dangerous one. "Perfect."

Immediately, you groaned. "No."

"Yes."

"Eddie."

"C'mon."

The next thing you knew, a dart had been pressed into your hand. Five minutes later, you were learning very quickly that Eddie Munson was the most distracting teacher alive. Because at first, he genuinely tried, for all of about thirty seconds.

"You wanna hold it like this."

His hand settled over yours; warm, calloused, and large enough to completely engulf your grip. Your stomach betrayed you immediately, then he stepped behind you, which was somehow worse.

"Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

"I am literally teaching you darts."

His voice was directly beside your ear, maybe lower, and definitely rougher. You hated him.

"You stand like this."

His hands settled briefly on your hips, “adjusting”, supposedly. The problem was that neither of you seemed particularly focused on darts anymore.

Your heart was pounding loud enough that you were worried somebody else would hear it while Eddie leaned slightly closer.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You just missed the board entirely."

You looked, and the dart was currently embedded in the wall. "...Okay."

Eddie barked out a laugh, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. "See?"

"Shut up."

"Can't."

His hand slid down your arm, adjusting your grip again. You were beginning to suspect the lesson wasn't real.

Across the room, Steve looked up from his booth and immediately regretted it. "Oh, for the love of God." His wife followed his gaze, then immediately started laughing.

Meanwhile, Harper and Violet were sitting across from one another sharing fries. Harper watched the dart situation unfold for approximately thirty seconds, then another thirty. Then finally turned toward her friend.

"Can I ask you something?"

Violet didn't even look up from her food. "You already are."

"Does this not bother you?"

For the first time all night, Violet's attention shifted toward the dart boards. Toward you. Toward her father. You were laughing at something Eddie had said. Head tipped back, smile huge, the kind of laugh that made your entire face light up.

Violet's expression softened immediately, and the sarcasm disappeared for a second. "Honestly?"

Harper nodded. Violet watched you for another moment before speaking. "No."

Harper looked surprised. "Really?"

"Nope."

Her fingers traced the rim of her drink absentmindedly. "That's probably the happiest she's looked in years."

Something in her tone made Harper pause. "What do you mean?"

Violet was quiet for a second. "Freshman year."

Harper waited.

"There was this guy."

Immediately Harper winced. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The response alone said enough. "Bad?"

"Not physically." Violet sighed. "But he spent two years making her feel like everything about her was too much."

Her eyes drifted back toward you, toward the smile currently plastered across your face.

"He hated her music,” she laughed softly. "Hated her clothes. Hated her tattoos. Thought she was dramatic every time she had feelings."

Harper frowned. "What a dick."

"Exactly."

The relationship had ended almost two years ago now, yet Harper noticed something sad in Violet's expression anyway.

"She hasn't dated since."

Across the room, Eddie was currently saying something that had you doubled over laughing. Whatever it was made him grin too. The look on his face wasn't subtle, not even a little.

And for some reason, instead of making Violet uncomfortable, it made her chest feel warm.

Because she remembered crying with you in your dorm room, remembered helping you pick up the pieces afterward. Remembered all the nights you'd insisted nobody would ever actually want all of you.

Not the loud parts. Not the messy parts. Not the emotional parts. All of it. Yet there you were, laughing, flirting, happy, for the first time in forever.

Harper followed her gaze, then smiled. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Violet grinned into her drink. "Besides."

"What?"

She looked back toward her father, then toward you and smirked that usual Munson smirk. "My dad's obsessed with her."

Across the room, Eddie's hand settled briefly against the small of your back as he helped you line up another throw.

Harper burst out laughing. "Obsessed is an understatement."

A couple hours later, the Hideout had gotten significantly louder.

The local band had long since started playing, conversations were being shouted over music, and somehow your group had managed to push three tables together into one giant mess of empty baskets, beer bottles, and half-finished stories. Steve's wife had eventually given up trying to keep everyone organized, settling instead into laughing at the chaos from a safe distance.

You, unfortunately, were drunk. Not blackout drunk, not Violet-at-the-lake drunk, but definitely drunk enough that everything felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Unfortunately, Eddie seemed to be in exactly the same boat, which was proving dangerous for everyone involved, especially you. Because sober Eddie at least attempted restraint. Drunk Eddie apparently thought personal space was a government conspiracy.

By ten-thirty, his arm had somehow become permanently draped across the back of your chair. Every time he laughed, he leaned into you. Every time he told a story, his hand found your shoulder, your arm, the small of your back. The man seemed physically incapable of existing more than six inches away from you.

And the worst part? You weren't exactly discouraging it.

"You are so full of shit."

Eddie pressed a hand dramatically over his heart. "That hurts, sweetheart."

"You're lying."

"I'm embellishing."

"That's just lying with confidence."

Steve nearly choked on his drink. "Jesus Christ, she's got your number."

"I don't like this," Eddie muttered.

"You love it."

"Maybe."

The answer came so fast that the entire table immediately started laughing. Harper physically dropped her head onto the table. "Oh, my god."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Nothing."

"It was definitely something."

Across from you, Violet was grinning into her drink like this was the greatest show she'd ever witnessed. "He's not even trying anymore."

"I'm sitting right here."

"I know." The grin only got bigger.

By eleven-thirty, Steve had finally announced that he was taking his wife home before Harper somehow got herself banned from the establishment.

"I've done nothing wrong."

Steve pointed. "You started three separate arguments."

"I won all three."

"Goodnight, Harper."

The group slowly began breaking apart after that. Goodbyes were exchanged. Tabs were closed. Chairs scraped across the floor as people gathered their things. You stood up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted slightly.

"Oh."

Eddie looked over. "Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You almost walked into a table."

"The table moved."

"The table did not move."

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the furniture, and Eddie started laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. Ten minutes later, you were outside in the warm summer air waiting while Steve finished saying goodbye to someone.

The night was quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Crickets chirped in the distance while streetlights cast soft yellow pools across the pavement. You were halfway through explaining a very important theory about why raccoons probably conversed through telekinesis when Eddie suddenly crouched in front of you.

"What're you doing?"

He pointed at your shoes. "You can't walk."

"I can absolutely walk."

To prove your point, you immediately stumbled. Eddie looked at Violet, and Violet looked at Eddie. The two of them started laughing.

"I hate everybody."

"No, you don't."

Then, before you could argue, Eddie hooked an arm behind your knees. You squeaked as the ground beneath you disappeared. "Oh, my god."

"There we go."

"Eddie!"

Suddenly you were being carried like it was nothing. One arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back. You stared at him, and he stared back.

"What?"

"You picked me up."

"Congratulations."

"You're carrying me."

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

You considered this. "Fair."

Violet made a choking noise behind you. When you looked over, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You look insane."

She pointed. "No, you look insane."

The walk home wasn't particularly long, but apparently that didn't matter. Because every time you suggested being put down, Eddie refused, every single time.

At one point, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder. The man practically preened.

"Look at him," Violet whispered.

"Oh my god," Harper whispered back.

"He loves this."

"He absolutely loves this."

Eddie ignored both of them, or pretended to. The smile he was trying to hide said otherwise. By the time the Munson house came into view, you'd gone completely boneless against him, warm and sleepy from the alcohol and the summer air.

"Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

You hummed contentedly. Behind you, Violet immediately gagged.

"Dad."

"What?"

"You're gross."

"Am not."

"Are so. You carried her two miles."

"It was half a mile."

"You know that's not the point."

Eddie just laughed, then adjusted his grip slightly and carried you up the front steps anyway. By the time you got inside, Harper was heading toward her own car parked down the street. She paused halfway down the driveway, pointing between you and Eddie.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good," Eddie called.

"But I'm thinking a lot."

"Harper."

She grinned. "Night, lovebirds."

Then she disappeared before either of you could throw something at her. The second the front door opened, Violet immediately announced, "I am going to bed before one of you says or does something that permanently changes my brain chemistry."

You barked out a laugh. "You are so dramatic."

Violet looked toward the ceiling as if she were asking God for patience. "Goodnight." Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, and a few seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.

Eddie finally set you down on the couch like you were something fragile, which was ridiculous. You immediately sank into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

"Oh."

His mouth twitched. "What?"

"This couch is amazing."

"It's literally a couch."

"It's a really good couch."

"You're drunk."

You pointed at him. "So are you."

"Yeah." At least he was honest.

Eddie snorted softly and dropped down onto the floor in front of you, resting his arms across his knees. The position put him directly between your legs. Not touching, but close enough that your foot bumped his shoulder.

The soft yellow kitchen light caught the amber in his eyes while he looked up at you. God, the man was unfair. His curls had mostly fallen out of the bun by now, loose strands hanging around his face. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and laughter, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.

You were in trouble.

"So."

You narrowed your eyes. "So."

Eddie grinned. "You're drunk."

You gasped dramatically. "The audacity."

Eddie laughed, head tipping back slightly, and suddenly you understood why everybody in Hawkins liked him so much.

It wasn't just that he was funny. It was that he laughed with his entire body, like he genuinely enjoyed existing, like he enjoyed being around you. The thought made your stomach flutter.

"You know," you said after a moment.

"Oh boy."

"You scared that guy away."

Eddie immediately looked innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"I'm serious."

"You practically chased him out of the Hideout."

His grin widened. "He left on his own accord."

"Mmhm."

"He did."

"Eddie."

The man actually had the nerve to shrug. "He seemed like a smart kid."

You laughed. "Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You were jealous."

His eyebrows shot upward. "Jealous?"

"Very."

"Of a twenty-something wearing boat shoes?"

You burst out laughing since the immediate answer told you everything. "Aha."

"No."

"That's not a denial."

"It is."

"It was a terrible denial."

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You are exhausting."

"Because I'm right."

"You're not."

"You totally are."

The two of you stared at each other, then Eddie sighed dramatically. "Maybe I didn't love him talking to you."

Victory. You pointed immediately. "I knew it."

"Oh, don't look so proud of yourself."

"I am."

"You shouldn't be."

But he was smiling again, the soft kind this time, the one that made your chest feel warm. His eyes drifted across your face for a second before he spoke again.

"You know what my problem is?"

"What?"

Eddie leaned back slightly against the couch. "I forget how old you are."

You blinked. "What?"

"I spend all day talking to you and hanging out with you, and it feels normal." His voice had gotten quieter. "Then some guy your age walks over, and suddenly I remember you're twenty-one."

You stared at him, because there wasn't really a joke hidden inside that one. Eddie looked away first, shaking his head. "Forget I said that."

"No."

His eyes returned to yours. "No?"

"No."

"I like talking to you." The confession left your mouth before you could stop it.

Eddie's expression softened instantly. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

Something warm flashed across his face, like you'd handed him something precious.

"Good." The word came out almost embarrassingly gentle.

For a second neither of you spoke, neither of you seemed particularly interested in breaking whatever this was. Then Eddie glanced upward, down the hall towards Violet’s room. And a mischievous grin slowly appeared.

"Oh."

You immediately recognized that look. "What?"

"I just realized something."

"Eddie."

"If you become my girlfriend—"

"Oh, my god."

"—Vi is gonna be so annoying about it."

You laughed so hard you nearly fell sideways off the couch. 

You were still smiling when you looked down at Eddie. He was resting his arms on the couch cushion beside your legs now, chin tilted upward as he watched you.

"You know," you said quietly, "I think Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

Eddie snorted. "Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

"Fair."

"Steve definitely is."

"Oh, absolutely."

The thought made you laugh again, and Eddie smiled immediately at the sound. God. There it was; that damn look again. The one he'd been giving you all summer. The one that always felt like he was seeing something in you that nobody else quite did.

Neither of you spoke, just slowly drifted closer until the distance between you felt ridiculous. Then Eddie's hand settled lightly against your knee. A question, not a demand, just an invitation.

You answered by leaning forward first. The kiss was soft, almost embarrassingly sweet compared to the way you'd started things the first night. Just Eddie smiling against your mouth halfway through it because apparently he couldn't help himself.

"Hi," he murmured.

You laughed. "Hi."

"Thought about doing that all night."

"You're impossible."

"Been told."

His thumb traced absentminded circles against your leg while he looked up at you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then the thought slipped out before you could stop it.

"Would you actually want that?"

Eddie's brows knit together slightly. "What?"

You suddenly felt nervous, which was stupid, but there it was anyway. "The girlfriend thing."

"What?"

You shrugged awkwardly. "Earlier."

When realization dawned, something softened in his face. "Sweetheart."

The nickname came out quieter than usual. You looked away first, which only made him smile.

"Yeah."

Your eyes snapped back to his. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." There wasn't even a second of hesitation.

His hand slid over yours. "I wouldn't joke about that."

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

You laughed softly, and Eddie squeezed your hand once. "So?"

"So?"

He grinned. "Would you?"

You immediately narrowed your eyes. "Oh, now who's asking questions?"

"Me."

"You can't just reverse it."

"I absolutely can."

You laughed despite yourself, then looked down at your intertwined fingers. At the rings on his hand. At the way he was watching you.

"I'd think about it."

Eddie barked out a laugh. "You'd think about it?"

"I would."

"That's cold."

You nudged his shoulder with your foot. "Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"You should be grateful I'm considering it at all."

His grin widened. "Considering it."

"Mhm."

"Well."

The look that crossed his face immediately made you suspicious. "What?"

Eddie stood slowly, still holding your hand, still smiling. "I might have a way to improve my chances."

"Oh, do you?"

"Mhm." Eddie’s grin turns wicked as he tugs you up from the couch by your hand, pulling you flush against his chest.

“You’ve been teasing me all damn night in this little skirt,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Then some college prick thinks he can talk to you at the bar? Nah. I think it’s time I remind you exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he walks you backward down the hallway, kissing you hard, tongue claiming your mouth while his hands slide under your skirt and grab two handfuls of your ass. The second his bedroom door shuts, the switch flips completely.

“Clothes off. Now.”

You move fast, but apparently not fast enough. Eddie spins you around, bends you over the edge of his bed, and yanks your skirt and panties down in one rough motion. He kicks your legs wider, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your cunt from behind without warning.

“Fuck— Eddie!”

He eats you like a man starved. Messy, loud, and filthy. Long drags of his tongue, sucking hard on your clit, then fucking his tongue into you while his grip on your hips keeps you pinned exactly where he wants you. You’re already shaking by the time he pulls back, lips shiny.

“Think that little boy at the bar could eat this pussy like that?” he growls, standing up and shoving two thick fingers into you. “You think any of those college boys could make you drip down their chin the way you do for me?”

You moan helplessly, pushing back on his fingers. He curls them perfectly, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle. He flips you onto your back on the bed, strips his shirt off, then yanks his belt open. His cock springs out, hard and leaking, but he doesn’t fuck you yet.

Instead, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out the black vibrator.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, baby?” His smile is dark, predatory. “Gonna make you so fucking sensitive you forget any other man exists.”

He clicks it on and presses the buzzing head directly against your swollen clit. At the same time, he pushes his cock into you in one slow, deep thrust. You cry out, back arching hard.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, bottoming out. “So goddamn tight. This pussy was made for me.”

He starts fucking you in hard, steady strokes while the vibrator stays glued to your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming — his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against your walls, and the relentless buzz making your thighs tremble violently.

“Look at you,” he taunts, voice rough as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other keeping the vibrator exactly where he wants it. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You’d never go back to some twenty-one-year-old loser after this, would you?”

You shake your head frantically, moaning loudly.

“Say it.”

“I—I wouldn’t,” you gasp. “Never— fuck, Eddie—”

He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and your eyes roll back.

“That’s right. Because no college boy is ever gonna fuck you like I do. None of them are gonna make you come so many times you can’t even speak. None of them know how to ruin this pretty cunt the way I do.”

He fucks you harder, hips snapping, the wet sound of you obscene in the room. The vibrator never leaves your clit, and you come the first time with a broken cry, clenching around his cock so hard he curses.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps the vibrator pressed tight, keeps thrusting deep, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

“Too much— Eddie, please—”

“You can take it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your neck. “You’re gonna come again. Gonna soak my cock while you’re crying for me.”

He angles his hips just right and turns the vibrator even higher, and the overstimulation hits like a freight train. You’re sobbing his name, nails raking down his back, legs shaking uncontrollably as another brutal orgasm rips through you.

Only then does he pull the vibrator away, toss it aside, and fuck you like he’s trying to claim you completely. Deep, punishing strokes. His hand wraps around your throat tight, and high enough to hold you there while he stares into your eyes.

“Say you’re mine,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Say you’ll be mine. Let me take care of you all fucking summer. Hell, however long you’ll let me.”

“I’m yours,” you moan, voice hoarse. “I’ll be your girlfriend, whatever you want—fuck, I’m yours, Eddie—”

He kisses you filthy and deep, then buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, groaning your name against your mouth as he fills you. For a minute, the only sounds are your ragged breathing.

Eddie pulls out gently, then collapses beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms. His hands are soft now, stroking down your back, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle again.

You nod, still trembling. “Yeah… Jesus Christ.”

He chuckles lowly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Good. Because I meant every word. I want you to be mine, not just for the summer.”

You smile against his chest, pressing a kiss over one of his tattoos.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I want that too.”

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, and for the first time all night, his smile is soft.

“That’s my girl.”

hope you guys liked it ;)

taglist:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02     @ludachrissy @izzycstairs@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @lilyquinnmunson

@daveythorntonslocker @asteria-daydream @monsieurmorpheus @marsuv @wtfaidhblog @lananabanana42 @darth-aragorn @arcticmazecrystal @ggdawgg @sapphireslurppp @frostywinterstrawberry @lavenderambs @micheledawn1975 

[snoopysupe]

goodbye! | eddie munson

summary: eddie promises you a date when he returns from the upside down.

pairing: eddie munson x henderson!fem!reader

word count: 746.

content: s4 semi-spoilers? a little bit of angst and foreshadowing. affection but u guys haven’t had time to even kiss. eddie describes u potentially wearing a dress and that’s about it. swearing.

eddie munson masterlist

You sat in the nook of the trailer sofa, your arms folded as you watched Dustin and Eddie join together to create their very own battle weapons for a real life fight. Your bottom lip was being bitten down on whilst watching your little brother joke around with his weapon, swinging it around as if it weren't a life or death situation; worst case scenario, he is forever fossilised as a fifteen year old kid.

He had tried to ease your tensions by proclaiming his survival rate the past couple of years against 'The Upside Down', something that was going on right beneath your nose even whilst babysitting him to gain affection from your mother. Albeit, impressive, you still weren’t sold on the idea of your baby brother sacrificing his life — even if it meant saving the world.

As for Eddie, well, you couldn't control or even convince him otherwise. He was an adult in his own right, and he needed to do what was right by Chrissy after that night she died in his trailer. You truly wished you could change his mind — both of their minds — but it fell upon deaf ears and stubborn hearts.

Whilst you were deep in turmoil over your brother and your — well — Eddie, it was like a wave of energy wafted across the room like those cartoons when they smelt something good. The receiver was in fact Eddie, who laughed alongside Dustin as he turned his head to look at you. His smile softening along with his eyes before he swallowed, giving Dustin a subtle pat on the leg to give you some privacy.

Dustin looked between you two, his two fingers gestured to his mouth in a PUKE motion, and said nothing more. Aside from calling for Steve to check out his gear as he jumped out of the trailer.

Eddie stood from his spot where he was with Dustin and moved toward where you sat, placing his weapons behind him as you straightened up and let your arms unfold.

He did a twirl on the spot. “Whaddya think?”

Eddie was referring to the modifications of his outfit. The black bandana wrapped around his head, the combat green vest that he wore over his classic denim and leather combo; because Eddie Munson simply couldn’t leave the Metalhead aesthetic behind.

“I think you’re batshit crazy.” You responded.

“Batshit?” Eddie palmed his heart with both his hands and swooned, “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

You shook your head with a laugh. Eddie scooted on in next to you.

Knees touched, Eddie smoothed down your hair, his hand remaining at the nape of your neck, “You OK?”

“No.” You said flatly, a deep sigh leaving your lips, “You guys are doing something beyond crazy, in fact, it's so unbelievably outrageous yet you're all so causal about it.”

“This is going to save lives.”

“And what about yours?” You retaliated nonchalantly making Eddie shrug, “Eddie—I—You are sacrificing yourself for the outcome to possibly be the same.”

“You're talking as if I am going to die.” Eddie levelled with you, “We won't die. Dustin won't die, Robin won't die, Steve won't die. I won't die. We've got a plan, we'll make it back out and then I'll take you out on a real date.”

You scoffed, “You mean the trip into the Upside Down was not a date?”

Eddie sarcastically mulled it over. His ring-clad fingers tapped against his mouth as he feigned deep thought of the slightly harrowing memory.

It’d be something to tell the grandkids. That’s for sure.

“I’m thinking less weird alien shit. More, me picking you up…” He toyed with your fingers, eyes downcast, “In a pretty dress. Possibly looking like the girl of my dreams—”

“Steady on.”

“I get soppy in deadly situations.”

You huffed out a laugh, “Just make it out alive.”

“Scouts Honor.” Eddie held up his three fingers with pride, “You have to kiss me to make it come true.”

Eddie puckered up and you nudged him away. Not enough for the distance to gape, but enough that he laughed genuinely and pulled you in by the wrist for a tight embrace.

His heart was pounding.

“Your brother will keep me right.” He tried to snuff out his rising anxiety. Brown eyes wide, staring at the wall behind your head.

You pulled away from the hug, “Depends. He really doesn’t want us to date.”

“Then, he’ll have to kill me.”

[snoopysupe]

house tour | eddie munson

summary: you pay eddie a visit at his trailer.

pairing: eddie munson x henderson!f!reader

word count: 2.1k

content: not proofread. fluff. eddie is a problem solver in a physical way. swearing, D&D mentioned, finally a kiss turned makeout lmao. eddie may have shown he has a biting kink but really just wanted to reference straud at some point lmao. based on this request!

part two here!

eddie munson masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

You looked behind you at the Hawkins Trailer Park. A lady with red hair was humming a song to herself as she shoved her fresh laundry into a basket to take back indoors.

It was the first time you had visited this section of Hawkins. You hadn’t realised how many trailers there would’ve been set up on a patch of land. A few familiar faces passed by, all busy in their own little bubble.

The door you had knocked on swung open and you almost got whiplash from turning your head so quick.

Eddie Munson leant against the doorframe, one foot crossed over the other, smile lines galore.

“What brings the fair maiden to my doorstep?” Eddie wore a shit-eating grin. He knew why you were there, with your heap of junk car.

You folded your arms, “You have something for Dustin?” You were quick to add, “Something to do with D&D.”

Your little brother had been pestering you for a good eight hours about doing him a favour, and in his words, a favour that would give you some precious time with Eddie Munson. A win, win scenario!

Initially, you had said no. Not out of avoidance, or not having the desire to see Eddie — the desire was there — and, nor was it to show that you had the upper hand on Dustin because you had a mode of transport that he didn’t.

No.

You were, in fact, smoking Eddie Munson out.

He had been a little timid in his actions. All bark and no bite. Phone calls galore, lingering stares from across the parking lot when you were picking your brother up from Hellfire, and a string of empty promises on a first date.

As a Henderson, you were as stubborn as a mule. Raised by a single mother, you knew not to put all your cards on the table for a man. Even if that man was the sweetheart wrapped in a metal persona, Eddie Munson.

He was going to learn he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

Actions have consequences. And, Eddie’s consequences were removing access to you. From what you had heard; it was beginning to work.

So, eventually, you caved and drove to the Hawkins Trailer Park and, with minor difficulty, found the Munson’s trailer home.

It wasn’t hard to find with the band t-shirts hanging out on the washing line.

“My Dwarf Bard.” Eddie clicked his fingers in a lightbulb moment and soon went sluggish at your lack of amusement, “You’re wounding me.”

You shrugged, “D&D humour is sometimes lost on me.”

“Fine.” Eddie eyed you up, “Doth one care for a house tour whilst I fetch the goods?”

Holy shit. Sometimes he was super dense.

Without much more to say, you nodded meekly and Eddie gestured for you to enter his home.

He had the adrenaline shakes. The door held open for you, he breathed in as you walked past him into the living room area. His eyes shamelessly dropped to your backside, only to make the quickest shift to meet your eyes.

You gave him a knowing look but chose to keep the tension at bay.

When he stood in the same spot with no evident intention of moving, you waved at him.

Not a single present thought.

“Eddie.” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, “Are you good?”

Eddie blinked at the snaps, “So good.” He gulped the gathered salvia in his mouth and gestured to the back of his head, “I just…had a song start playing in my mind when you were talking. Yeah.”

“A song?”

“Rock You Like a Hurricane.” He added, “Scorpions.”

You frowned, “Never heard of it.”

Part of Eddie Munson shrivelled up and died in spirit at your nonchalant admission. So much so, he had to fidget on the spot, ring clad fingers almost pinched his own mouth shut from doing the obvious as a — to the core — passionate metalhead.

He’d play you the segment of the song he knew on the guitar at some point.

Further to that, he’d learn to play the whole discography if you positively reviewed the music.

He’d put a pin in that for the time being.

“So—” He said lowly before he manoeuvred to the start of the short hallway, leading to his bedroom, “—If it weren’t for Henderson, I’d have sent a search party out to look for you. Where have you been?”

You followed him, “I’ve been busy.”

Not a complete lie.

“Busy?” Eddie looked back at you.

“Sort of, yeah.”

You were taking in the decor when you slammed into Eddie’s side. He had stopped just prior to his bedroom at the back of the trailer, his brows furrowed and lips pulled into a deep frown.

Eddie was reading your face. Hoping he could somehow jailbreak into your thoughts.

“Did I do something wrong?” Eddie asked.

“You?” So, you hadn’t gotten this far in your ‘smoking him out’ plan. You fiddled with the fabric of your jumper, “What makes you say that?”

Eddie leant against the wall, “You’re icing me out.”

OK. So, he was severely good at reading people. Apparently.

You decided to be open. Be honest. There was no outcome of the conversation that would leave anything up in the air for you. Did you want to take things up a notch with Eddie? Yes. Had he been consistent in his interest in you? No doubt about that. Was there a significant fear of rejection because he wasn’t working within your timeframe? Yes, and no.

Yes, rejection was not palatable for you. No, because he had made the idea of you two going on a first date close to a conspiracy theory than a real, tangible thing.

“Just a little bit.” You said quietly whilst gesturing how ‘little’ you had been icing Eddie out with your thumb and index finger.

“OK.” Eddie took his own fingers and squished the ‘little’ to ‘nothing’, “Then don’t. Tell me what it is and I can fix it.”

“It’s going to sound a little ridiculous.”

Eddie tilted his head, “Try me.”

You deflated a little, “You’re so big with words and so little with actions.”

“Actions to do with you.”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’ve been an asshole.” Eddie admitted, “I can work on that. Immediately.”

That was it. No fight back or defence. Eddie took it in his stride with no tell in his face that showed you he was under some disguise.

To say you were a little taken aback was an understatement.

So, you nodded. Eddie smiled warmly at you.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Eddie nudged the door open with his foot to reveal his bedroom. He wouldn’t admit to you, but Dustin had pre-warned him about your arrival via walkie talkie, so he cleaned the place up a bit; sprayed a can of floral smelling stuff too.

Still, it was still a little unkempt, had the aroma of weed without any clear indicator that it was present in the room. His back wall spray painted in black, the name: CORRODED COFFIN.

It was Eddie’s tranquil nook.

You took great interest in the posters on his wall, Eddie had watched you for longer than he needed, and then snapped himself back into reality to retrieve what you were originally there for; although deep down, he hoped you wouldn’t scamper away the moment he handed it over to you.

“One freshly painted Dwarf Bard for Dusty-bug.” Eddie held out his palm to you with a minuscule figure in the middle.

You plucked it from his hand, “You painted this?”

“Primed and loaded, baby.”

“He’s going to love it.” You declared.

Eddie uttered, “Yeah.” With no real grasp on the conversation at hand.

His brown eyes cemented onto your face, he examined every feature — as he always did — just to memorise them for his dreams. His breath shuddered as you began to talk about Dustin’s deeply rooted passion for Hellfire Club, which then turned into a minor deep dive into how you believed your brother craved community due to his family technically broken, with his father being estranged.

Of course, Eddie engaged as much as his brain would allow it. He hummed and nodded with his hands on his hips, fingers twitched at the idea of touching you; zero interruptions this time.

As you continued talking, Munson took enough little — and slow — steps to step into your space.

He tucked his chin to look down at you.

“Are you even listening to me?” You asked. The blood suddenly rushed to your ears at the close proximity.

“No.” Eddie tested the waters with one large hand smoothed over your waist.

OK. Seemed like you smoked him out of hiding.

You scoffed, “You’d think you would take an interest in Dustin’s background—”

“—I’m not thinking about Dustin.” Eddie interrupted. There was no plausible way for Dustin Henderson to third wheel in spirit. He wouldn’t allow it. Eddie added, “I’m thinking about how my Uncle Wayne is at work, and you’re here…looking fucking gorgeous.”

Eddie placed a gentle hand on your jugular.

“Hm. When does Bedroom Curfew start?”

“In an hour.”

Eddie leaned in with a grin, “Perfect.”

He nudged your nose with his, and kissed you. Eyes both fluttered shut, you accepted the warmth of his kiss without a hint of objection. A deep hum came from Eddie’s chest, as if it had given him the release he had needed since the day he met you.

Had you known that Eddie Munson kissed like that, you would’ve shortened the whole ‘icing out’ scheme.

You leant back a little and Eddie chased your lips in hungry greed. One hand splayed across your back, and the other still at your throat, you grinned at his need to keep latched onto you.

After some time, lips puffed and coated in salvia, hearts tripled in beating, Eddie pulled back to direct his kisses to your neck.

Holy shit.

His thumb caught your jawline with a small amount of pressure to tilt your chin upward to allow him more access to your skin.

“I could just bite you.” Eddie muttered against your neck.

A breathless laugh escaped your mouth, “Please don’t. My mom would freak.”

Eddie trailed his tongue up your neck momentarily, his lips pressed a few chaste kisses to your cheek before he turned your head to kiss him again. He bent at the knees slightly, hands smoothed down the sides of your legs and to the meat of your thighs.

This is where — unfortunately — you had to cut his actions short.

Unlatched from his lips, you placed a hand on his chest. Eddie stared at you, unsure if he had overstepped a boundary.

“Are you OK?”

You wiped your lips, “Yeah. Yeah. I just—Need to get home before Claudia has a nervous breakdown.”

“OK.” Eddie nodded, his pupils blown, “Shit. OK. Did I take this too far?”

“If you had bitten my neck, you might’ve.” You shrugged whilst your hands smoothed down his chest, “Ravenloft Straud.”

Eddie groaned, “You’re so sexy when you talk D&D to me.”

He kissed you again. And three more times for good measure before you wiggled out of his grasp.

The pair of you giddy, he walked you to the front of his house where an abundance of mugs hung from the wall, the curtains drawn with a slither of light catching the dust floating across the room.

There was a folded up bed in the corner of the living room, and you presumed it was Wayne Munson’s as there was only one room — Eddie’s room — situated at the back of their home.

“I like your house.” You noted with one last scan of the living room and kitchen area.

Eddie pinched his bottom lip, “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Depends.”

“For a date. Without Henderson biting my ankles.” Eddie laughed at the thought.

“I suppose I can free up my schedule.”

Eddie pinched your hip, “OK. I’m meeting with Chrissy tomorrow afternoon, kid needs some help with chilling the fuck out. I’ll come by afterward.”

“It’s a date.” Eddie kissed you as you spoke, “Thanks for the figurine, and the brief house tour.”

“And the kiss?”

You mulled it over, “I’d give it three and a half stars.”

“Son of a bitch.” Eddie poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He clapped his hands together, “Alright, cutie, get out of here before I try up the rating.” He loved to watch you leave, “Say hi to Dusty-bug for me!

“That’s Dustin Henderson to you!”

[snoopysupe]

⋆˚࿔ GREEDY — EDDIE MUNSON

pairing: eddie munson / henderson!f!reader

word count: 3.1k

content: MDNI. part of the henderson!sister universe. slice of life sorta vibes. eddie comes to the rescue your car dies. kissing, swearing, no smut but suggestive content at times. also have an alternative harrington version of this hehe

eddie munson masterlist

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“No, no, no!” You exclaimed with your hand slammed against the dashboard of your car. “You piece of shit! No!”

Bug the Beetle let out an audible wheeze before it croaked on the side of the poorly lit road.

You stared out at the wet tarmac that glistened under the flickering glow of the street lamps, before your forehead came to rest against the steering wheel with a gentle thump.

The night had been a shit-show.

Half of your free time had been bundled up into a swell of deep regret for even attending a house party held three blocks down with a sunny disposition that your—using the term loosely—friend was the host of. A birthday bash for a birthday girl with a malicious streak in her that had you gawk in surprise when she turned her venomous bite toward you.

To skip the nitty gritty: it didn’t end on a positive note.

And now…now your car dogpiled onto your already bad feelings, leaving you to perform some well practiced self-regulation. Smell the roses, blow out the fucking candles.

Whilst the breathing exercises kicked in, you blindly reached across to the passenger seat and found the tool you were blindly in search for.

The walkie-talkie crackled when you pressed the button. “Dusty-bug. This is Beetlejuice.” You let your head fall back onto the headrest as you waited a couple of seconds before attempting again. Crackle, “This is Beetlejuice. I repeat—“

“Don’t! Say it again.” Your little brother’s voice sliced through the silence of your dead car. He sighed, “Did you not listen to a word I said when we went over this? Over.”

The antenna of the radio tapped against your forehead. “Yup. I’m well aware of the common knowledge.”

There was a pause. And then noise.

“…Holy shit. You need to say ‘over’ once you’re done talking. It’s walkie-talkie 101. It lets the other person know that you have concluded—”

“Over.” You interjected childishly.

The image of Dustin sat in his room—hair stiff from all that hairspray he polluted the air with—nostrils flared with a similar impatience that crept along your features; was tangible in your mind. Without a shadow of a doubt, he’d be exercising restraint to cuss his big sister out by doing the exact same self-regulation you had been doing in your car. And, suddenly, you could see the resemblance between you two.

The Henderson gene of healthily facing your emotions, rather than running from them will prevail.

The stubbornness kicked in soon after. Dustin was waiting you out. He’d respond when you’d talk first. Shit, he’d even spare you an extra ten minutes in the bathroom in the morning—something you both fought over viciously—if you apologised for your snarky antics.

You waited. And then sighed. “Alright. I’m sorry.” You paused for theatrics, “My car has broken down.”

“Annnnd…What do you want me to do about that?” Dustin queried and it set your impatience aflame.

You scrunched your face up. “I don’t know, Dustin.” Dustin raised his brows at that. OK. You were audibly stressed. You continued, “Can’t you get your friend Steve out here? Doesn’t he have a hard-on for all things car?”

“Do not—“ The additional voice that had mild, and completely unwarranted possession jumped in. Eddie Munson. “—Call pretty boy Harrington. I will come to you. Just stay where you are. Over.”

You rolled your eyes and spoke, “Yeah. OK. I wasn’t planning on moving anyway.”

“Henderson. Tone.” Eddie then added, “Over.”

The line went silent momentarily. And, because your little brother filled the pregnant pauses and awkward silences with his wit and excessive use of vocabulary; he took the opportunity to sign himself off.

“Since I’m no longer needed, I’ll be at Mike’s house. Over.”

You frowned, “It’s bedroom curfew.”

(Claudia had granted you a singular ‘hall pass’ that weekend over the strictly ran program of bedroom curfew at 9PM, due to your model citizen behaviour. Despite your argument that you were well past the sell by date of being rewarded for good behaviour. You’d pick and choose your battles.)

Dustin responded sharply. “So? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, sister. Over.”

What he was so graciously referring to, was the behind closed doors canoodling that you and Eddie Munson had began to participate in. Bedroom curfew or not.

Since you and Eddie had begun your back and forth rendezvous, concealed behind bedroom doors and dimly lit parking lots whilst your little brother planted a hand over his eyes, with the cassette in your car playing at full volume to mask the lip smacking his sister and friend were doing outside of the confines of Bug the Beetle; everything had to be calculated.

That meant that Eddie Munson became an overnight mathematical whizz in order to equate the time it took for him to hit the ground running from the trailer park, over to the Henderson Household just shy of the 9PM ‘Bedroom Curfew’ that Claudia Henderson hammered down on with little to no wiggle room. To then, add the time it took for him to scale the side of the two-story house and into your bedroom with minimal noise upon impact once he clambered into your pink hued room. Just so he could get as much of his daily Henderson supplement in as he could.

(Whether that involved heavy petting and kissing on top of your covers. Or, muffled beneath them.)

Eddie had managed to shave down the cycle from his trailer to your humble abode by three minutes. And, in Eddie Munson’s sugarcoated world, that meant three more minutes in a heavenly divine place called: in between your thighs.

The operation—or as Eddie called it ‘Vitamin Eddie’—was translating smoothly with the co-operation of your little brother, Dustin Henderson, that kept his mouth shut at the dinner table, even when he had endured some sisterly provocation that incited dangerous levels of irritancy coursing through his bloodstream.

Which meant if Dustin wanted to snitch. He could.

He just didn’t. Because…well, he loved you. In a fifteen year old shaped kind of way. Not outwardly enough. But, it was still love that conquered loose lips over steamed vegetables and a casserole.

That being said, there had been some alterations to the night ahead. Regrettably, you had to skip the whole ‘Vitamin Eddie’ fiasco for one night. Now, seemingly, the whole debacle with your ex-friend and green Beetle, had landed you back into being able to capture a fleeting visit from Eddie under the starry skies of Hawkins, Indiana.

It took him all of fifteen minutes to tank it from his trailer to your location. Half that time was spent scouring the neighbouring roads for an obnoxiously coloured Volkswagen and a soured-faced girlfriend.

Yes. Girlfriend.

With the borrowed bike from the neighbour’s kid dropped to the ground, Eddie Munson came into view with his usual Metalhead garb consisting of a denim vest layered with his infamous leather jacket that had begun peeling at the cuffs, the metal rings that sometimes clinked against your teeth whenever he felt the need to stick to his fingers in your mouth—no further explicit description there—and his slightly mussed hair from the rapid cycle.

He let out a low whistle as his eyes scaled the length of your legs. “Whew. I’m one lucky guy.”

You folded your arms across your chest in mild embarrassment. You were wearing an outfit on the nicer and more revealing side for the birthday party.

And, Eddie Munson was eating out of the palm of your hand because of it.

You watched him carefully as he approached. “Since when do you know how to fix cars?”

A hand tilted your face upward in order to coax you into a gentle kiss. (A new translation for ‘hello’ between you two.)

“I don’t—” Eddie mumbled as he pulled away from the brief kiss. He shrugged his denim and leather layer combo and tossed it around your shoulders for the meantime, “—But, I learnt the basics after seeing this heap of junk coughing up its lungs outside of Hellfire.”

You had forgone the minor slander punted in the direction of your beloved Volkswagen Beetle that had seen you through three blistering summers now, and honed in on the admission that Eddie Munson, the Dungeon Master—and lover of all things that defined him as a true Metalhead—a man that lacked callous in his fingers, with pretty brown eyes and a wicked smile; studied the mechanics of a car…for you.

Well, that’s what you assumed by his statement.

You tilted your head whilst fighting the indecent urge to wear a shit-eating grin. Unfortunate for you, another one of the Henderson genes gifted you the art of precision when it came to acute facial expressions, were undeniably strong and left you exposed to the amusement—and subtle endearment—of your newly titled boyfriend.

Sensing this, as Eddie was already incredibly in tune with your body language, he halted at the rear end of your car with a warning finger pointed at your face.

His brows raised. “Don’t.”

“What?” You swayed in a lovesick kind of way. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Baby.” He warned, “Not a single word needs to leave that pretty mouth for me to know what you’re thinking.” Eddie remained stern as he sniffed.

You let your hands peek out from beneath his jacket on your shoulders in surrender.

This warning referred to the whole ‘schtick’ Eddie and you had fallen into ever since you officiated your relationship—without Dustin’s blessing—where you had both agreed it was relatively way too early to profess a love deeper than just below surface level adoration. You know, the dreaded ‘L’ bomb that seemingly didn’t seem so dreaded. Or much of a bomb in this case.

So, you made a pact to not ruin your chances at a steady-paced relationship. For the sake of your beating hearts, and to prevent Dustin Henderson from saying: ‘I told you so!’ for diving head first into the deep end with one of his closest—and definitely not within his age-range—friend from his passion project club.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t taunt. Prod at the bear that so deeply craved to be disturbed from its slumber.

Point case: Only men in love concur a mundane book about diagnostics and repairs for a beat up Volkswagen Beetle that your girlfriend refused to part with.

You’d let your face do the talking for that.

When you didn’t make any additional comments, Eddie patted the backside of your car and studied her for a minute. Tongue poked at the fleshy inside of his cheek, he bent at the waist to inspect any damage to the wheels; because that seemed like the most logical place to start.

Right?

He kissed his teeth when he stood to full height. Hellfire shirt wrinkled against his torso, he swung his arms back and forth. “Alright.” Eddie then pinched his bottom lip and nodded. His thoughts internalised, before he added, “OK. Yeah.”

“What?” You asked impatiently. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie used his thumbnail to scratch at his brow-bone. “Can you pop the hood?”

“Yeah.” You strolled over to meet him at the front of the car. Your fist clanged against the hood—as violence was the only way to open her up these days—to reveal her organs. You beamed at Eddie, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Eddie glanced at you from his peripheral. “That’s one way to put it.”

You pinched his side at that, his own hand swatting at your attack at one of his multiple weak spots before inspecting the engine of your car with narrowed eyes; partial to the fact that Eddie had no actual inclination as to what he was looking for.

(The Volkswagen book from the library only captured his attention for so long.)

“So,” Eddie started, his voice a little strained as he twisted the dipstick cap, “How did the party go?”

You winced. “It’s safe to say that Stacey and I are no longer friends. Or even acquaintances.”

“No kidding. Why?” Eddie stood as he pulled the dipstick out, bottom lip pouted out of a mixture of concentration and curiosity to the sudden downfall of your cherished friendship.

“She got with my ex—not that, that is the issue. Kind of.” When Eddie didn’t have a visceral reaction to the mention of an ex, you continued with a nod of encouragement from him. You deflated, “Stacey paraded him about, then got…I don’t know, mad at me for existing at the party after my ex said hey to me. Anyway, she went full bitch at me, so I left.”

Eddie nodded and inhaled. Big brown eyes widened as he began to smirk, “Their loss. My gain.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway.” You steered the conversation back to the task at hand. As much as you appreciated the stolen moment with your boyfriend, you wanted to go home and de-shed the birthday disaster off of you, “Tell me she’ll live.”

Eddie leaned in, all smugness and charisma as he planted a kiss on your lips, followed by a handful of pecks as he spoke.

“My gorgeous—” Kiss. “—Sweet—” Kiss. “Intelligent and incredibly sexy—” Kiss. “—Girlfriend. When is the last time you put oil in this godforsaken motor?”

Ah.

Eddie studied your face knowingly.

He whispered, “Bingo.”

After the diagnosis and mild shame that came with the lack of attention to your oil levels—not because you didn’t know how to do these things, you just had been…preoccupied—you handed the oil to Eddie after he nudged you out of the way because there was one thing that the Munson man craved, and it was called being needed.

He wiped his hands on the bandana that he had stuffed in his back jean pocket as a style choice and pushed the hood of your car back into place; successful in his handyman work that revived Bug the Beetle for another summer.

The lamppost closest to you flickered as you stepped into his personal space, arms slotted around his torso with your chin tilted so Eddie could easily slot his hand at the column of your neck.

You kissed him and pulled back with a soft laugh as he chased you for another kiss. Something he continuously attempted throughout your time kissing out of pure gluttony. You mumbled, “I’ll turn her on.”

Eddie bent his head to gently bite your cheek, “I thought that was my job.” As you pulled away in disgust, Eddie shrugged, “What? That’s where you draw the line?”

“Don’t be a pig, Munson.” You said as you sat in the drivers seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed awake—quick to gloss over the small plume of smoke that billowed from beneath the hood—as clapped with glee. You shut your eyes momentarily, “Ugh. I love you.”

The atmosphere thickened almost immediately.

Shit.

Part of you prayed that Bug had done you a solid and made enough noise with its unhealthy set of engine lungs, so Eddie—who stood with an incredible amount of pride—had missed the minor slip of your tongue entirely.

(His face said otherwise.)

You wracked your brain for an excuse. You love your car! Which you did, but that wouldn’t slide. You loved life…no. Nothing quick came to your, usually, quick-witted brain and you sat with the thought for only seconds more. OK, so, it had been at least three months since the officiating of your relationship with Eddie Munson that happened in the grass just outside of his trailer, making flower crowns for each other from the wild daisies. It wasn’t like it was just two weeks past the whole labelling the thing between you two, which had been a hurricane of hormones and sexual activity.

Therefore, you were sort of justified. Right? Sure, there was the pact, and the minor scare that Eddie would run in the other direction. But, you’d die a hero. A lovesick hero who was in love with her boyfriend.

Yeah. That was it.

The inner turmoil was evident to Eddie whilst he chewed the flesh of his cheek to try prevent a shit-eating grin that showcased his dimples, to spread across his face. You were part of the problem for that. His inability to stop grinning like a fucking idiot.

He rounded the front of your car in a slow stroll, his hands clasped behind his back, boots kicking the asphalt beneath them. With your car door wide open, Eddie bent down with his hands rested against the roof for support.

“Don’t even say a word.” You warned behind the palm of your hands, face hot was mortification. “Have you never called your teacher, Mom, before? This is the same thing…just with the ‘L’ bomb.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie hummed and removed one of your hands from your face, “I knew you would say it first.”

You frowned, “No you didn’t—”

“Hey.” Eddie levelled with you, “I love you too. And…” He leant over you to pull the lever that folded the passenger seat down, “If you get in the back, I can match those words with actions. Because, actions happen to speak louder than words.”

His cockiness was unmatched. You let out a breathy laugh, “Oh yeah? I’d say you’re being a little greedy tonight, Eddie Munson.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always greedy with you.” Eddie’s jaw worked as his eyes trailed your body, “Now, move that cute ass, before I move it myself.”

It took you all of two seconds to haul yourself into the back of your car with Eddie hot on your heels. Clothes discarded, he spelt out his profession of his pure adoration for you with his tongue hot against your skin until the windows dripped with condensation.

With your hands threaded in his hair as he bit at your inner thigh, you managed to squeeze your eyes shut to ignore the intense flickering of the street lights and the continuous crackle of the radio that had been discarded in the front seat of the car, where Dustin Henderson was forewarning you of the time that had passed since your departure from the Henderson Household.

It was then safe to say—once you had returned home with a slight wobble in your step and hair that said sex in the back of a car rather than an innocent birthday party—that the hall pass Claudia Henderson had presented you would be revoked for the rest of your days.

And, Eddie Munson’s greed was to blame.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A Second Chance || James Bond ||

A/n: Part 2? Im not good with angst....I crave happy endings.

James woke with a violent gasp.

For one horrifying second, he didn’t know where he was.

His heart hammered against his ribs. His lungs burned. The nightmare still clung to him like smoke, refusing to let go.

He could still see it.

The blood.

The panic.

Your body growing colder in his arms.

Your smile as you asked if pigeons went to heaven.

Years of grief.

Years of drinking.

Years of missions that got more reckless with every passing day.

Then finally seeing you again at the end.Watching you hold out your hand.

Hearing you tell him heaven had pigeons.

The dream had felt so real.

Too real.

James sat upright in bed, breathing hard as sweat dampened the back of his shirt.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the bedside clock.

Slowly reality returned.

His apartment.

His bedroom.

His life.

A soft sound from the hallway made his head snap toward the door, then it opened.

And there you were.

Alive.

Perfectly, wonderfully alive.

Sleep still clung to your features as you shuffled into the room carrying a glass of water. Your hair was messy from bed, your oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder as you blinked against the dim light.

You looked entirely too normal for someone who had just been dead moments ago in his nightmare.

You yawned.

James was moving before he even realized it.

The mattress dipped as he crossed it in two strides and wrapped his arms around you.The water in the glass nearly sloshed over the side.

“James?”

His grip tightened.

You made a small noise of surprise as he buried his face against your shoulder.

The scent of your shampoo.

The warmth of your skin.

The steady beat of your heart beneath his hand.

All of it was real.

All of it.

“Hmm…” you mumbled sleepily. “Something wrong?”

James closed his eyes, he couldn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he simply held you tighter.

The calendar hanging beside the dresser caught his attention.

His stomach dropped.

Today’s date.

The date from the dream.

The date you’d died.

The date he’d planned to ask you to marry him.

The date he’d spent years mourning in a future that thankfully didn’t exist.

His fingers curled against your back.

A second chance.

That’s what this felt like.

A second chance he hadn’t earned but it was something that he was going to take.

You shifted slightly in his arms. “James?”

He kissed the top of your head. “No.”

The lie came easily.It always had.But this time it wasn’t to protect himself.

It was because there was no possible way to explain that he’d just lived an entire lifetime without you.

That he’d watched you die.

That he’d spent years trying to follow you.

Instead he just held you, held you in silence as wanted to make sure that you'd never disappear, then finally he spoke.

“I think I’d rather stay in today.”

You blinked slowly.

Confused.

“I thought you wanted to go out.”

He had.

Dinner reservations.

A ring hidden in his jacket.

Plans he’d spent weeks arranging.

In the nightmare, it had ended with blood on a sidewalk.

In reality?Suddenly none of it mattered.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You studied him for a moment before shrugging peering up at him. “Hmm…okay.”

Trusting him without question.Just as you always did.The realization made his chest ache.

You set the water down and allowed him to guide you back toward bed.

A few moments later you were tucked against his side beneath the blankets.

James refused to let go.

One arm remained wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily traced up and down your spine.

The simple movement grounded him.Kept the nightmare where it belonged.

Far away.

“James.”

“Hmm?”

Your voice was already drifting with sleep again, your fingers clutching his shirt. “Do you think pigeons go to heaven?”

For a second he froze.Then a laugh threatened to escape.

Not because the question was ridiculous.Though it absolutely was.

But because you had asked him that exact same thing.

In the dream.

In the nightmare.

In the future that would never happen, that he would make sure to not happen.

James looked down.

Your eyes were already closed.

Half asleep.

Completely unaware that you’d just shattered his heart all over again.

His hand moved to cup the back of your head.

“I believe they do."

The answer came easily.Because somewhere in another life, you’d convinced him they did.

A tiny smile appeared on your face.

“Hmm." You snuggled closer. “That’s good.”

Within seconds your breathing evened out.Fast asleep once more.

James remained awake.

Watching you.

Listening to every breath.

Feeling every rise and fall of your chest.

The ring hidden in his dresser suddenly felt very important.

Tomorrow.

He would ask tomorrow.

Not because he was afraid.

Not because he was rushing.

But because after dreaming of an entire lifetime without you, James Bond had discovered something terrifying.

There wasn’t a single day on earth he wanted to waste.

Pulling you closer, he pressed a kiss against your forehead.

Then, for the first time all night, he finally allowed himself to relax.

Because you were here.

Alive.

Warm.

Safe in his arms.

And somewhere, James thought with a faint smile, heaven probably did have pigeons.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Do you think Heaven has Pigeons? || James Bond ||

A/n: Hahah here's that angst idea, I can admit I teared up for this.

Little angst AU for James cause I've been thinking of some angsty things

Warnings: Death, angst, blood, mention of an after life.

James Bond had planned every detail.

The restaurant overlooked the Thames, the city lights scattering across the dark water like fallen stars. It wasn’t his style, not really. James had always preferred practicality over sentimentality, efficiency over grand gestures. Yet tonight there was a velvet box hidden inside his jacket pocket, and for the first time in years, he found himself nervous.

Not because of a mission.

Not because of an enemy.

Because of you.

You were sitting across from him, laughing about something completely ridiculous involving a pigeon that had stolen a tourist’s sandwich earlier that afternoon. Your hands moved animatedly as you talked, your eyes bright with amusement while James watched you the way a starving man looked at a feast.

He loved this.

The normalcy.

The simplicity.

You.

The ring felt impossibly heavy in his pocket.

He was waiting for dessert.Waiting for the perfect moment.Waiting for forever to finally begin.

Then the gunshot rang out.

For a fraction of a second, James didn’t understand what had happened.

The sound echoed across the crowded street.

People screamed.Glass shattered.

And suddenly you were staring at him with wide eyes.Confused....Almost surprised.The white blouse beneath your coat bloomed red.

“No.”

The word left him before he realized he’d spoken.

Your chair crashed backward as your body slumped.

James was already moving.Already catching you before you hit the ground.Already screaming your name.The world dissolved into chaos around him.

Security.

Police.

Panicked civilians.

None of it mattered.

Not when your blood was soaking through his hands.Not when your breathing was growing weaker.

“Stay with me,” he begged.

James Bond never begged.Yet he found himself doing it anyway.His hands pressed desperately against the wound.His heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst.

“Look at me. Look at me, darling.”

Your eyes found his.

Soft.

Gentle.

Even now.

Even dying.

And somehow you smiled.

A tiny thing.

Fragile.

Beautiful.

The same smile that had ruined him from the very beginning.

“James.”

His throat closed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t be sad.”

A broken laugh escaped him.The sound bordered on hysteria. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

Your lips twitched.

For a moment he saw the woman he’d fallen in love with again. The woman who could find something ridiculous in absolutely any situation.

Then you asked the strangest question imaginable.

“Do you think pigeons go to heaven, James?”

The tears finally came.

Hot.

Relentless.

Merciless, sliding down his cheeks as a broken sob escaped his lips. Because of course that would be your final question.

Not about yourself.

Not about fear nor death.

But about Pigeons.

You’d chosen pigeons.

His forehead pressed against yours. “I don’t know.”

“I hope they do.” Your smile widened slightly.

“I do too.”

Your eyes fluttered.And then...Nothing.Nothing at all.

The world ended in James Bond’s arms.

The years that followed were ugly.

James took missions nobody else wanted.

The dangerous ones.The impossible ones.The suicidal ones.

M would glare at him across briefing tables.Q would argue.Moneypenny would worry but none of it mattered.

Because every morning he woke up without you.And every night he went to sleep without you.

What was a bullet compared to that?

What was death compared to loneliness?

The drinking started slowly.

One glass became two, then two became entire bottles.

Not because he enjoyed it. No, because when he drank enough, he dreamed.

And in those dreams, you were still there.

Waiting.

Smiling.

Talking about birds.

Asking impossible questions.

He knew it wasn’t healthy, he knew it wasn’t real.

But it was all he had left.

Years passed.

The world kept turning and James....James simply endured it.

The final mission was supposed to be routine.

At least, that’s what they’d told him.But routine never existed in his line of work.

The gunfire erupted from three directions.

An ambush.

The explosion knocked him backward.Something hot tore through his side.Then another bullet found his chest.

The radio crackled frantically.

Voices shouted his name.Someone was running toward him.Trying to reach him.Trying to save him.

But James barely heard any of it.Because suddenly the pain was gone.

The battlefield faded.

The smoke disappeared.

And standing several feet away was you.

Exactly as he remembered.

Exactly as he’d dreamed.

Beautiful.

Alive.

Smiling.

His breath caught.

“Hello, James.”

For the first time in years, he smiled without forcing it.Without pretending.Without the pain.

The rescue team reached him.Hands grabbed his shoulders.Someone yelled for a medic.

And James ignored them.

Because you were holding out your hand.

Waiting.

Patient as ever.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

You grinned, the same grin that had once made him fall hopelessly in love.

“Did you know Heaven has pigeons?”

A laugh escaped him.Warm,Genuine.The first real laugh he’d had since losing you.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

You slipped your hand into his, ring glinting on your finger. Your hand fit perfectly against his, just like they always had.

Excitement sparkled in your eyes. The kind only you could have while discussing something so utterly absurd.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

The battlefield vanished completely to him, the shouting disappeared, the pain vannished.

None of it mattered, only you.

Only your hand in his.

Only your smile.

And for the first time since that terrible night beside the Thames, James Bond wasn’t sad anymore.

Your voice chattering happily beside him as together, you both turned and walked toward the light.

And somewhere in the distance, he could have sworn he heard the flutter of hundreds of wings.

[kassy-djomunson]

happy pride month to these two <3

[renhwrites]

Owner’s Privilege. 

Modern!Buff!Bearded!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie’s girlfriend decides she wants a piece before he has to leave for work at Hawkins Auto. Thankfully, being the owner means Eddie gets to decide how ‘late’ he can be.

Tags: Smut! (18+), morning sex, teasing, established relationship, domestic fluff, slight praise kink if you squint, mechanic!Eddie AU, modern Hawkins AU, buff!bearded!Eddie. (Only proofread some of this, too tired to finish.)

Fem!Reader is in her late 20s, though unnamed/undescribed. <3

(I fucking love this AU. I cannot stop writing for it.)

Word Count: 2.1K

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Most mornings, Eddie tried not to wake his girlfriend while he got ready for work. Still, she’d gotten so used to the sounds of him moving around their bedroom that she often found herself lying there with sleepy, half-open eyes just to watch him quietly start his day — though ‘quietly’ was usually relative when it came to Eddie.

The light creak of dresser drawers opening, the low hum of music drifting from his phone speaker in the bathroom, the heavy thud of his work boots hitting the floor one at a time. After nearly three years together, it had all become strangely comforting to her, familiar in the best possible way.

Her eyes opened slightly as she watched Eddie carefully pull open their shared closet door, reaching inside for one of his Hawkins Auto t-shirts. Her gaze trailed over the thick muscle of his arms as he reached, then down the broad span of his back to the trim of his waist hugged by his dark navy work pants.

Lucky for him, his work clothes were simple. Lucky for her, he looked ridiculously good in them.

A fond, appreciative hum left her throat. Eddie heard the sound and paused mid-motion, glancing over his shoulder with a grin already tugging at his lips.

“Mmm?” he repeated, one eyebrow lifting. “Someone’s up early.” His voice was low, still rough with sleep but already carrying that familiar teasing tone as he turned toward her, the shirt he’d grabbed left hanging loosely over his shoulder instead of being pulled on.

“Mhm,” her eyes closed briefly as she nodded once.

Eddie chuckled softly before tossing the shirt onto the bed beside her. A second later, he crawled onto the mattress, his weight dipping it beneath him as he hovered over her, bracing himself on his forearms. The warmth of his freshly showered skin and the clean scent of his cologne wrapped around her instantly, caging her comfortably against the bed. His beard brushed across her skin as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck.

“Good morning,” she hummed with a smile, slipping her arms out from beneath him so she could loosely wrap them around his neck.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled back, the word muffled against her skin.

Her fingers moved absentmindedly through his hair, still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken after waking up, while he slowly pressed further into her. His face stayed tucked into her neck as more of his weight settled over her, drawing a laugh from her the more dramatic he became. His arms slipped beneath her, trapped between her body and the mattress just so he could hold her tighter. He was heavy, all warm muscle and weight, but she loved the way he always seemed to melt against her like this.

They stayed like that for another couple of minutes before Eddie finally lifted his head, his face hovering only inches from hers when she met his eyes. He leaned down first, placing a lingering kiss to her cheek before beginning to pull himself away. But before he could fully lift himself from the bed, her hand reached up, fingers gently catching the silver chain dangling from his neck.

Eddie froze mid-retreat, blinking down at her with amusement flickering in his eyes. A slow, knowing smirk crossed his face — one that only deepened when she tugged lightly on the chain still clasped in her fingers.

“Oh?” he questioned. “You wanna play before work?”

“I absolutely do,” she mumbled softly, eyes wandering over his face. “Unless you have to get going...”

Eddie let out a breathy laugh, his pretty brown eyes slightly hooded as he looked down at her. His nostrils flared faintly before he settled his weight back over her again. 

“Baby, who’s gonna write me up for being late? Me?” he said with a small grin, dragging his fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. She smiled at his joke as his hand moved down to gently grasp her wrist still holding his chain, guiding it away before pressing her hand firmly into the mattress beside her head.

Her expression softened as she bit down on her lip, her free hand slipping between them to push the blankets aside in a messy heap near the edge of the bed. Warmth bloomed through her cheeks, anticipation curling low in her stomach as Eddie dipped his head and kissed her softly, unhurried and lingering enough to make her melt beneath him. Her hand drifted upward, fingertips gliding over the broad slope of his shoulder before settling around his bicep. She could feel the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin as he shifted over her, solid and heavy in a way that always made her feel completely surrounded by him.

The belt buckle clicked as Eddie freed it one-handed, his fingers working without hurry — a sharp contrast to the way his mouth moved against her neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin in gentle, teasing bites. He hummed deep in his throat at the way her breath caught, her fingers tightening against his arm as he tugged his belt free from the loops and let it drop carelessly to the floor with a muted thud.

“You just look so good getting ready for work,” she whispered near his ear, slowly dragging her knee along his side.

Eddie’s beard tickled her skin as he laughed softly against her neck, taking her hand and guiding it smoothly to the waistband of his pants. “Undo these for me, pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, unable to hide the subtle excitement in her voice as her fingers moved to undo the button of his pants. The rasp of Eddie’s zipper filled the room as he helped her guide it down, his breath warm against her lips when he leaned in to claim hers again. She opened her mouth to him as her hands cradled his face, breathing deeply through her nose. The kiss deepened naturally, full of the same passion he always gave her, steady enough that she could savor every second of it.

Eddie shifted his weight onto his left elbow, while his right hand worked his pants open just enough to free himself. His fingers trailed down her thigh, lifting her leg just enough to drape it over his hip as he settled himself between hers. She could feel him pressing against her, slow and teasing at first, until a quiet hum came from her throat as she tilted her hips upward to meet him. Eddie groaned softly against her mouth, fingers tightening around her thigh as he pushed forward, slipping inside with one smooth roll of his hips. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, pulling back slightly from the kiss. His forehead pressed against hers as he buried himself fully into her. “Morning sex is so fuckin’ good.”

His hips rocked into hers at first, each movement lazy and thorough, dragging soft gasps from her lips while his fingers traced idle patterns along the skin of her thigh.

He kissed her again, swallowing her quiet moan as he pushed himself deeper, setting a steady rhythm that quickly had her arching into him, chasing every careful thrust. Eddie laughed low in his throat at the reaction, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against her skin, biting lightly at her pulse point. Her fingers curled into his hair, nails barely scratching against his scalp as he shifted his weight, adjusting himself onto his forearms for better leverage. The new angle sent him deeper, earning a loud moan from her lips as her hips moved to meet his thrusts. Eddie groaned, his breath hot near her ear as he quickened his pace slightly, just enough to draw more of those pretty sounds from her throat.

“Eddie,” she mewled, fingers tightening in his hair as he lowered his head to leave open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His name spilled from her lips again, quieter this time, barely more than a whisper as his hand slipped under her shirt, fingers teasing just beneath the curve of her breast.

Eddie hummed against her skin, his hips thrusting deep and slow as his thumb brushed over her nipple, prompting a sharp gasp from her mouth. He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, his own darkened with pleasure as he watched her lips part on a moan.

“That’s it,” he cooed, squeezing her breast gently in his palm. “Lemme see you.”

She arched into his touch with a faint whimper, her nails dragging lightly down the back of his neck as she let her head tip back against the pillows. The heat of his hand on her skin, the rhythmic push of his hips — every sensation tightened the heat already curling low in her stomach with each deep roll of his body against hers. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her legs tightening around his waist as she pulled him closer, craving the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

Eddie growled, low and rough, when she clenched around him, his fingers flexing on her side as his hips stuttered slightly. His lips found hers again in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue dragging lazily over hers while his free hand slid down her body, slipping between them to press into the heat of her. The first brush of his fingers against her clit drew a sharp cry from her, muffled by his mouth as she writhed beneath him, pleasure coiling tighter in her stomach.

“Fuck,” she hissed lightly, pulling back from the kiss as her nails dug deeper into his shoulders. The tension pulled tighter with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, every deep thrust of his hips — her body trembled beneath him, heat pooling low until it threatened to spill over. Eddie watched her unravel with dark, possessive satisfaction, his rhythm faltering as her thighs clenched around him.

“Atta girl,” he rasped, breath ragged against her ear as her back arched off the mattress. The back of her head pushed into the pillow as she came undone beneath him, every muscle tensing before sinking into the sheets — Eddie watched her fall apart with heavy-lidded eyes, his own release chasing hers with a groan muffled against her shoulder.

He stayed inside her for another moment, savoring the way her body still fluttered around him before finally pulling out with a quiet exhale. His fingers brushed stray hairs back from her forehead as his thumb traced the warm flush high on her cheeks.

“Damn good way to start the day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose before rolling off the bed with a quiet grunt.

“Ugh,” she whined the second his weight disappeared from above her. Chuckling as he stretched, Eddie tossed her wink while adjusting himself back into his pants.

“C’mon, don’t make that face,” he teased, bending to retrieve his belt before giving her thigh a playful swat. “If I’m any later, Ray’s gonna start thinkin’ I died.”

She smiled, huffing a quiet laugh through her nose as she rolled onto her side to watch him fix his belt and pull his work shirt on. Eddie stood from the bed afterward, grabbing his watch from the nightstand and fastening it around his wrist with practiced ease. When his gaze lifted back to her, a dimple pressed into his cheek as he smiled.

A second later, he crossed back toward the bed, bracing a hand beside her as he bent down to leave one last soft kiss against her lips before pulling back just enough for his face to hover above hers.

“See you later, angel,” he murmured, “I’ll call you on my break.”

“Okay, baby,” she smiled sweetly. The way she looked up at him — soft and sleepy, skin still flushed from the morning they’d shared — made something tighten warmly in his chest. His hand came up to cradle her face, thumb brushing lightly along her cheekbone as he leaned down once more, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone she adored so much.

“I love you,” he said.

She looked at him softly, the sincerity behind it was unmistakable. “I love you.”

His thumb lingered against her cheek for another second before he finally straightened with a reluctant sigh, reaching for his keys on the dresser, the soft jingle of metal filling the room.

“Don’t go back to sleep before you eat something,” he said, glancing back at her with that familiar fondness and slight bossy tilt of his chin.

She mirrored the look with exaggerated seriousness. “Will do.”

With one last smirk, Eddie stepped out into the hallway, his boots thudding softly against the hardwood before fading into the distant rumble of the garage door opening. The quiet that followed settled around her gently as she curled deeper beneath the sheets, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne still clinging to the pillow.

[beasbrain]

Idle Hands

description: everyone in hawkins thinks you and eddie munson are already married. honestly? you can’t even blame them. between the shared garage, the constant flirting, and the way he cannot help but stare, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing going on between you.

pairing: mechanic!eddie x mechanic!reader (fem!reader)

tags: mechanic!eddie, eddie x you, no y/n, coworkers to lovers, unresolved sexual tension (until...), small town romance, flirtationship, mechanic core aftercare, old married couple energy, fucking on a '67 impala, workplace romance, tension tension tension, whimpering eddie, teasing each other mercilessly

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, needy eddie

WC: 4.1k

A/N: requested by my beloved @bitterestwillow I HOPE YOU ENJOY QUEEN AHHHHHHH. reblogs are a writer's best friend <3 yes, i had to use this gif for this fic...it does something to me idk......

The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.

“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”

The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”

Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”

Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana. 

Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.

“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”

Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”

“They’re towels.”

“They are expensive towels.”

Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.

“Anything for my favorite customers.”

Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”

You nearly choked on your own spit.

Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.

“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”

“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.

The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”

You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.

Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”

“What look?” you asked suspiciously.

“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”

Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”

The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.

“Husband, huh?” he mused.

“Don’t start.”

“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”

You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”

Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”

“You work here.”

“Semantics.”

“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.

You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.

“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”

You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.

“Say it once.”

“No.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”

You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.

By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.

Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.

Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.

You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.

Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.

Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.

“You are down catastrophically bad.”

That got Eddie to blink. “What?”

Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.

“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”

Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I’m working.”

“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”

Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.

“Shut up.”

Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.

Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.

The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.

The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.

Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”

Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.

It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.

Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”

Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”

Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”

“Why not?”

Eddie began to argue, but froze up.  Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.

Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.

It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.

“You’re both idiots.”

“Says you.”

“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”

Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”

Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”

“That is such a lie!”

“It is the truth.”

Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.

“Munson!” Both men looked over.

You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”

Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.

The next morning was somehow even hotter.

By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.

And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”

You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.

And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.

“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”

“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.

Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.

At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.

“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.

Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”

Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.

Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?

About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.

That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.

Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.

“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.

“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.

“Looks like jealousy.”

“Not jealous.”

“Mhm.”

The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.

“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”

Eddie stood immediately.

Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”

Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.

“No fucking way.”

The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.

A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.

Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”

The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.

You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”

And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.

“You alright there, big guy?”

Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.

You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.

“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.

You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.

Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.

By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.

The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.

Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.

The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.

And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.

You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.

Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.

“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.

Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”

That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.

Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”

You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.

Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.

Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”

You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“Thought girls liked that.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “You wish.”

“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”

“That happened one time.”

“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”

A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”

“It was hot.”

Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”

But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.

“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”

You snorted. “Into you? Please.”

“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”

“That’s because old people are nosy.”

“That’s because you look at me like that.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”

Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.

“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.

His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”

Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”

“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”

“That is not—”

“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”

“That was one time.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”

Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.

Interesting.

“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.

Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”

You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.

“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”

His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.

“Or what?”

Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.

You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.

His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.

Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.

He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.

“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.

“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.

Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”

“Now.”

He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation. 

Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.

“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.

He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.

He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit. 

Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors. 

Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.

For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.

“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.

“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.

“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”

You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.

“Eddie—shit—”

“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”

You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.

“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”

You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you. 

He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”

You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.

You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.

“You alive over there?” he called.

“Mhm.”

“Liar. You sound deceased.”

You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.

Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”

“You keep towels at the shop?”

“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”

He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.

Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.

“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.

You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.

“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.

“I’m multi-talented.”

“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”

“That is slander.”

You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.

You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.

“So.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”

“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”

anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond 

[beasbrain]

Wishbone

this is chapter 2, click here for series masterlist

description: the second eddie sees you for the first time, he's hooked. after stalking your job's instagram account, he finds your profile. cue shameless flirting in the DMs, cryptic notes, and a "hey girlie!" DM.

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mixed media fic (writing, text messages, images), modern au, eddie slid in her DMs, mutual pining, y2k alt baddie reader, cigarettes as flirting, eddie's on his phone every 6 seconds, robin buckley is a menace, possible love triangle, possesive-ish!eddie, jealous!eddie, eddies down catastrophically

TW: smoking, horny eye contact

WC: 6.1k

A/N: here's the long awaited part two!!! i have started to rewatch the Scream franchise and...i have IDEASSSS BRO UGH. stay tuned ;) reblogs are always appreciated<3 much love muah muah enjoyyyyyyy

In true Robin fashion, she sends about fifteen emojis before responding again:

You stare at the message, then sit up immediately, resting your back against the headboard.

Your stomach twists reading those messages. Which is so annoying, right? You've known Eddie for all of twenty-four hours, and suddenly you feel jealous of someone else who shows interest.

You dramatically throw your head back and open up the looming message from Chrissy. Fuck it.

Oh.

You stare at the smiley face like it personally offended you. Because, it sort of did.

You sigh and shut your phone off for a second, because what the absolute fuck is going on?

Then, another buzz snaps your attention back from whatever spiral was about to follow. It's not Robin or Chrissy this time, but Eddie.

And for some odd fucked up reason, it makes your chest sting.

Naturally, you immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.

You pause and stare between the conversations: Chrissy's sweet little smiley face, Eddie being jealous in real time, and Robin just blatantly stating the unfortunate obvious.

Then, slowly, a dangerous grin spreads across your face. Because two can play this game.

You leave Chrissy on read, which in this day and age is practically a physical slap across the face. Then you respond to Eddie's blatant test to see whether you and Steve are a thing.

Then, immediately after:

The next morning, you did exactly that. Picking out what you could only describe as your "outfit of mass destruction" and posting it on your story for good measure:

The second Eddie sees you step out onto your front porch, he forgets how breathing works…like, genuinely. One hand still hangs out the driver’s-side window of the van, cigarette between his fingers, while the other tightens around the steering wheel hard enough that his rings creak faintly against the leather.

Because Jesus Christ, you knew what you were doing with that outfit. The worst part? The really worst part? Is that you notice immediately.

Your mouth twitches as you walk down the driveway slowly, sunglasses perched on your nose despite the early hour. Eddie watches the way your boots hit the pavement like he’s witnessing a religious experience. By the time you reach the passenger side, he still hasn’t said anything.

You open the door, sliding into the seat beside him casually.

“Good morning.”

Nothing.

Then finally, “…You’re evil.”

You laugh immediately, shutting the van door behind you. “That bad?”

Eddie turns toward you fully now, looking deeply offended by your entire existence. “Sweetheart, I almost hit a mailbox pulling up here.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“You can’t dress like that at seven in the morning.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

A grin spreads across your face as you reach over, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers for a drag without asking. Eddie watches you do it with an expression that’s dangerously close to lovesick.

“Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” he mutters.

You hand the cigarette back slowly. “Maybe.”

Eddie stares at you for another second before finally pulling away from the curb with a dramatic sigh. “This is gonna be the longest school day of my life.”

The ride to Hawkins High is unfairly comfortable. The radio plays low through the speakers while morning sunlight spills across the dashboard, catching on the silver rings wrapped around Eddie’s fingers as he drums them against the wheel absentmindedly.

And he keeps looking at you. At red lights, at stop signs, every five seconds, like he physically cannot help himself. Finally, you glance over. “You know, staring at the road is generally encouraged.”

“I am looking at the road.”

“You almost rear-ended that truck.”

“It was worth it.”

You snort softly, shaking your head as you crack the window slightly.

Cold morning air rushes through the van instantly, carrying the smell of smoke and leather and Eddie’s cologne with it. God, what a dangerous combination. 

Eddie catches you shivering slightly and immediately reaches over without thinking, tugging the sleeve of your jacket higher over your shoulder, where it had slipped down. The gesture’s so casual it almost catches you off guard.

“You cold?”

“A little.”

He hums thoughtfully before turning the heat up another notch. “There. Princess treatment.”

“That what this is?”

“Obviously.”

You glance over at him again. “You do this with all the girls you drive to school?”

Eddie grins lazily. “Only the ones making me lose my mind before first period.”

Unfortunately for you, that line lands exactly as he intended. By the time the van pulls into the Hawkins High parking lot, your stomach’s already warm from laughing too much.

And Eddie’s completely gone for you, that part’s obvious now. He parks crooked because he’s too busy looking at you while backing in, which immediately earns him a laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. “Do you actually know how to drive?”

“Not anymore.”

Before you can answer, Eddie suddenly reaches across the center console, and your breath catches slightly. But he just tugs your sunglasses down your nose enough to properly look at your eyes.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I’m fucked.”

Then he smirks again immediately after, like he didn’t just say something devastatingly sincere. “Cigarette?”

Outside, the morning air smells again like wet pavement and gasoline. Students flood the parking lot in loud groups while Eddie leans against the side of his van beside you, lighting a cigarette between his lips first before turning toward you automatically.

He cups the lighter against the wind for you without even asking, and the flame flickers gold between you, your eyes lifting to his through the smoke. And Eddie visibly swallows.

“Oh, you’re trying to kill me today,” he murmurs.

You inhale slowly before answering. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Hon, I haven’t even STARTED being dramatic.”

Before you can recover from the choice of nickname, voices call out across the parking lot.

“Well, well, WELL.” Robin.

You glance over just in time to see her and Steve walking toward the van together, both immediately clocking the situation in front of them. Specifically:

Eddie standing way too close to you

your cigarette between your fingers

his lighter still in his hand

and his arm casually sliding around your waist, the second Steve approaches

Subtle. Very subtle.

Steve notices instantly and starts grinning like an asshole. “Oh, he’s feeling possessive now,” Robin says delightedly.

Eddie flips her off without removing his arm from around you. “Good morning to you, too.”

Steve stops beside the van, looking slowly between the two of you. “Wow. So this is why Munson looked like he was gonna throw up during homeroom yesterday.”

“I did not—”

Robin bursts out laughing immediately.

You glance up at Eddie innocently. “Rough morning?”

“Don’t start.”

But he’s smiling when he says it, which gets even worse when you reach over and fix the collar of his jacket absentmindedly.

Because now Eddie looks like he might actually die. Robin notices, Steve notices, hell, half the parking lot probably notices.

And somewhere across the parking lot? Chrissy Cunningham absolutely notices, too.

By the time you and Eddie make it inside Hawkins High, people are staring, not subtly, either.

Which honestly makes sense considering Eddie Munson has his arm wrapped around your waist, and the two of you are very obviously existing in your own little world while weaving through the hallway crowd.

Eddie pretends not to notice the attention, mostly because if he acknowledges it, he might start acting smug about it.

“You know,” you say casually as the two of you walk down the hallway, “people are looking at us like we committed a crime.”

“We probably did.” Eddie shrugs. “Pretty sure this school hates attractive people.”

You snort softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he says, glancing down at you with a lazy grin, “you keep hanging around me.”

Unfortunately? Also true.

His thumb keeps tracing absentminded little patterns against your side as you walk, and every single time he does it, your stomach flips in the most annoying way imaginable.

The worst part is he seems completely unaware he’s doing it…or maybe very aware, hard to tell with Eddie.

As you turn the corner toward the arts hallway, you notice people whispering almost immediately. Eddie notices that part and immediately pulls you a little closer against his side.

“You’re doing that on purpose now,” you murmur.

“Doing what?”

You look pointedly at the arm around your waist, and Eddie looks down like he somehow forgot it was there.

“Oh, this?” he asks innocently. “Thought you liked princess treatment.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again, which absolutely destroys him a little. By the time you reach your classroom door, Eddie’s already dreading leaving. Which is insane, he’s known you for like two days.

You stop outside the classroom while students file in around you loudly. 

Eddie leans casually against the wall beside the door, cigarette-free for once but still smelling faintly like smoke and cold air. His curls are slightly messy from the drive over, cheeks pink from the morning chill.

Cute. Dangerously cute, at that. 

“You gonna survive first period without me?” you ask lightly.

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Honestly? No.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You made me this way.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately softens hearing it. God. He’s so gone.

“Alright,” you say eventually, adjusting the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I should probably go before our fans start a rumor we eloped.”

“That already happened yesterday, actually.”

You snort again, shaking your head. Then, before you can overthink it, you step a little closer. Your hand slides briefly against the front of his jacket as you lean up and press a quick kiss against his cheek.

Soft, fast, and warm enough to completely short-circuit his nervous system. Then you pull back as if nothing happened.

“I’ll see you later, Munson.”

And just like that, you disappear into the classroom, leaving Eddie standing there in the hallway. Frozen, absolutely fucking frozen. His brain completely flatlines for a solid five seconds.

A sophomore accidentally shoulder-checks him, trying to get into class. Eddie doesn’t even react, because all he can think about is that you kissed him. On the cheek. In public. Voluntarily.

“Oh my God,” he whispers to himself.

Then immediately drags both hands down his face, trying to get it together before he embarrasses himself. Too late, fucker.

Because Gareth appears at the end of the hallway at the exact wrong moment and spots Eddie standing there looking visibly shell-shocked.

“…Why do you look like you just saw God?”

Eddie turns slowly, still stunned, still pink-cheeked, and still feeling the ghost of your lipstick against his skin. “She kissed me.”

Gareth blinks once. “What?”

“She kissed me.”

“…On the mouth?”

“No.” Eddie pauses dramatically. “Worse.”

“Huh?”

Eddie points weakly toward his cheek as if it explains everything. “Here.”

Gareth stares at him for a long moment before immediately bursting into laughter so loud that people turn around. “Oh, you are DOWN BAD.”

Fifth period passes painfully slow. Mostly because Hawkins High apparently operates entirely on gossip, and everybody has already noticed you showed up with Eddie that morning.

You catch people looking at you in the halls, whispering during class. One girl literally asks if you and Eddie are dating while you’re grabbing books from your locker. Which is insane considering it’s been, like, forty-eight hours.

By the time your teacher finally lets the class out for a bathroom break halfway through the period, you’re already irritated. The fluorescent lights inside the girls' bathroom buzz overhead as you shove the door open, immediately greeted by the smell of hairspray and cheap perfume.

Two girls linger by the mirrors, gossiping quietly, but they scatter a minute later, leaving you alone at the sinks. Finally.

You lean against the counter, reapplying lip gloss absentmindedly while your mind drifts back to this morning. Eddie’s arm around your waist, the look on his face after you kissed his cheek, the way he’d stared at you like—

The bathroom door swings open again, and you glance up automatically through the mirror. And there she is.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Pretty pink sweater, perfect blonde curls, glossy lips, and a sweet smile are already in place the second your eyes meet in the reflection.

“Oh my God,” she says brightly. “Hi.”

Your stomach tightens immediately because there’s nothing technically wrong with her tone. But, still. You cap your lip gloss slowly. “Hey.”

Chrissy walks over to the sink beside yours, setting her little makeup bag down carefully. Everything about her feels soft, polished, and intentional. Very different from you, which somehow annoys you that much more.

“I feel like I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,” she says while washing her hands delicately. “Robin talks about you constantly.”

You lean lightly against the counter. “Hopefully good things.”

Chrissy laughs softly. “Mostly about how pretty you are.”

There’s a tiny pause after that, just enough to feel loaded. You glance at her through the mirror. “Mostly?”

Her smile widens slightly. “You know Robin.” Of course, even her smile is cute. 

Chrissy pulls a lip gloss from her bag next, applying it carefully while looking at you through the mirror instead of directly at you. “So,” she says casually, “you and Eddie seem close already.”

There it is. You shrug one shoulder like you haven’t spent all day thinking about him. “Guess so.”

“Mhm.” The sound is light, not quite judgmental enough to call out. You hate that.

Chrissy finally turns toward you fully now, leaning against the counter beside you. “He likes you.”

Straight to the point, interesting. You raise an eyebrow slightly. “Did he tell you that?”

“No,” she says quickly, almost laughing. “Eddie’s terrible at admitting things.”

The familiarity in her voice scratches at something unpleasant in your chest. Like she knows him well, too well. You busy yourself fixing the sleeve of your jacket. “You seem pretty confident about it.”

Chrissy tilts her head slightly, studying you for a second too long. “I’ve known Eddie a long time.” And there it is again. It’s not mean or rude, but just enough emphasis to feel territorial.

You smile back anyway. “That so?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy’s tone stays airy and sweet. “People usually think he’s flirting with everyone, but he’s actually kinda picky.”

Your jaw tightens faintly because what exactly is that supposed to mean? Chrissy notices the shift immediately and smiles more sweetly.

“Oh my God,” she says suddenly. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Liar.

“You’re really pretty together, actually.”

Together. Interesting choice of words. You stare at her for a second, trying to decide if she’s intentionally messing with you or if this is just how she talks. The worst part? You genuinely can’t tell.

Then Chrissy reaches for her bag again, slinging it over her shoulder before heading toward the door. But right before she leaves, she pauses and glances back at you.

“Just don’t break his heart, okay?”

Then she smiles one last time and disappears out the bathroom door before you can even respond, leaving you standing there alone under the fluorescent lights. Annoyed, confused, and suddenly very aware that this whole thing with Eddie might not be as simple as you thought.

By the end of the school day, Eddie’s practically vibrating with anticipation, which is embarrassing.

But in his defense, you’d been on his mind literally all day. Ever since this morning, honestly. Ever since you kissed his cheek and walked away, looking all smug while he internally combusted in the hallway.

So yeah, he’s waiting outside your last period class ten minutes early. Leaning against the lockers with one boot hooked against the wall, twirling his van keys around his finger while students pass by.

And the second he sees you walk out of the classroom, his face lights up automatically. 

“There she is,” he says immediately. “My favorite—” Then he stops, because something’s off.

You don’t smile the same way you usually do when you see him, and don’t immediately drift toward him either. You just adjust your bag higher on your shoulder and lean beside him casually. 

“…Hey,” he says, a little slower this time.

“Hey.”

Yeah. Definitely something wrong. Still, he tries anyway. “So, good news. I survived the school day.”

“Congratulations.”

“…Wow.”

You start walking down the hallway, and Eddie falls into step beside you automatically, watching you carefully now. Usually by now you’re teasing him, laughing at something, looking at him. Now? Nothing.

“You alright?” he asks after a minute.

“Mhm.”

“That sounded fake.”

You shrug.

Eddie’s brows pull together slightly. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Sweetheart,” he says lightly, “you haven’t insulted me once in like… three minutes.”

That almost gets a smile out of you, heavy on almost. And that’s what really tips him off. Eddie reaches for your wrist gently, stopping you near the side exit doors, where the hallway’s quieter now.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “What happened?”

You look at him finally, those stupidly adorable brown eyes already searching your face like he’s trying to solve you. Which makes this even more annoying, because he looks genuinely confused.

You cross your arms lightly. “What’s going on with you and Chrissy?”

Eddie blinks once. “…What?”

“Chrissy.”

His expression somehow gets even more confused. “Chrissy Cunningham?”

“No, Chrissy fucking Teigen, Eddie.”

That finally earns a startled laugh out of him. “Okay, alright— Jesus.”

But you’re still looking at him expectantly, not joking.

Eddie’s smile fades slightly. “Wait. What about her?”

You hesitate for half a second before deciding absolutely not, you are not gonna sound jealous right now. So instead, you shrug like it’s casual.

“She talked to me today.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Okay…”

“In the bathroom.”

“…Okay?”

“And she was being weird.”

That makes him snort softly. “Chrissy’s always kinda weird.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “You know what I mean.”

Eddie studies your face for another second before realization slowly starts creeping in. “…Wait.”

His eyebrows lift. “Oh, my God.”

You immediately hate the grin starting to form on his face. “No,” you warn.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am NOT jealous.”

“You are SO jealous.”

You scoff loudly, starting to walk again immediately, but Eddie follows beside you, grinning like an idiot now. “That’s actually adorable.”

“Eddie.”

“You thought me and Chrissy— sweetheart, no.”

The pet name lands annoyingly hard, yet you keep your expression flat anyway. “She seems to think there’s a ‘me and Chrissy.’”

That wipes the grin off his face slightly. “…What’d she say?”

You shrug again, looking ahead instead of at him. “Just weird stuff. Talking about how long she’s known you. Saying you get nervous around people you like.” You glance over finally. “Which, apparently, she knows from experience.”

Eddie groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, my God.”

“So there is something.”

“No!” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ, no.”

You raise an eyebrow. Eddie exhales hard before stepping in front of you, suddenly near the parking lot doors, forcing you to stop walking.

“Okay,” he says. “Look at me for a second.”

You do, reluctantly.

“Chrissy and I are friends.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s it.”

“She doesn’t act like that’s it.”

Eddie sighs. “Chrissy flirts with literally everyone.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you flirt with ‘literally everyone’?”

Eddie stares at you for a second, then his expression softens completely.

“No,” he says quietly. “Just you.”

And unfortunately? That does something violent to your stomach. Because he sounds sincere. 

Eddie steps a little closer then, eyes searching yours carefully. “Did you seriously think I was spending all day following you around and staring at you because I’m secretly in love with Chrissy Cunningham?”

You cross your arms tighter anyway. “Maybe.”

“Sweetheart.” He laughs softly now. “I barely noticed Chrissy today.”

That shouldn’t make you as happy as it does, so you try to look away before he notices. Too late.

“Oh, there she is,” Eddie murmurs teasingly. “There’s my girl again.”

“I’m not your girl.”

His grin comes back instantly. “Sure you aren’t.”

The drive home starts soft again, which honestly feels worse after the whole Chrissy conversation. Because now every little thing Eddie does feels more intentional somehow.

The late afternoon sun spills gold through the windshield while music hums low through the van speakers, your legs stretched across the bench seat slightly as Eddie drives one-handed through Hawkins.

And his other hand? Resting warm against your thigh, like it naturally belongs there. At first, it’s casual, barely there. Then his thumb starts moving absentmindedly against your jeans whenever he talks, tracing slow little patterns that make it impossible to focus on literally anything else.

You glance down at his hand once.

“What?” he asks, mouth twitching.

“Nothing.”

“That looked like a lie.”

You turn toward the window again to hide your smile. “You’re cocky today.”

“Today?” Eddie laughs softly. “Baby, I’ve been cocky.”

The nickname hits harder now after the hallway conversation, especially because his voice sounds quieter this time, more affectionate than teasing.

The van stops at a red light, and Eddie glances over at you again, curls falling into his face slightly. “…You busy tonight?”

Your eyes flick toward him. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How good your offer is.”

Eddie grins immediately. “Jesus Christ, you make me work for it.”

“Always.”

The light turns green again, but he keeps glancing over every few seconds anyway. Then finally:

“Go out with me tonight.” You blink once.

The confidence in his tone disappears just enough at the edges for you to notice he’s actually nervous about asking.

“Like… a date?” you ask casually.

Eddie scoffs. “No, sweetheart. I just like to ask all girls to stare at me lovingly over greasy diner food.”

You laugh quietly before looking back out the windshield, mostly so he doesn’t see the smile you’re trying to hide.

“And what if I say no?”

“Then I throw myself into traffic.”

“You are so dramatic!”

“You like it.”

Unfortunately, yes. Yes, you do. 

His hand squeezes your thigh once, gently. “C’mon,” he says, softer. “Lemme take you out.”

The warmth in his voice ruins you a little, so you sigh dramatically like this is a burden. “Fine.”

Eddie goes still beside you. “…Fine?”

You shrug innocently. “I guess you can take me on a date.”

His grin spreads slowly. “Holy shit.”

“Relax.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Have we met?”

Then suddenly, his dashboard lights up, your eyes automatically flicking downward.

Incoming call: Chrissy C

Your stomach drops immediately, and the smile falls off his face almost instantly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

But it’s already too late. Because all the warm softness from five seconds ago immediately twists into something sharp and unpleasant in your chest.

You look away toward the window, and Eddie declines the call immediately.

“She probably just needs notes or something,” he says quickly.

“Sure she does.”

“Seriously.”

Another buzz, this time a voicemail notification. You laugh once under your breath, and it’s definitely not a happy laugh.

Eddie glances over at you again. “Hey.”

“It’s fine.”

“That definitely means it’s not fine.”

You shrug one shoulder, suddenly very interested in the passing trees outside your window. “You can answer if you want.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you usually do?”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

God, you hate how jealous you sound. Absolutely hate it. Especially because you barely even have a right to be jealous yet.

The van goes quieter for a second after that. Then Eddie suddenly pulls into the empty parking lot beside Lovers Lake instead of continuing toward town.

Your brows pull together. “What are you doing?”

He parks crookedly before turning toward you fully. “I’m fixing this before you spend the rest of the night pissed at me.”

You stare at him.

Eddie’s expression softens almost immediately. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, “I asked you on a date like thirty seconds ago.”

“So?”

“So why would I do that if I wanted Chrissy?”

Your jaw tightens faintly. “Maybe you want both.”

Eddie looks genuinely horrified by that. “No,” he says instantly. “Absolutely not.”

You finally look at him fully then. And unfortunately? He looks sincere again. Completely and utterly sincere.

Eddie reaches over carefully, fingers brushing your chin lightly until your eyes meet his properly.

“I like you,” he says simply. “Like… really fucking obviously.”

Your stomach flips.

“And Chrissy knows that now,” he continues. “Which is probably why she’s acting weird.”

You blink slightly. “…What?”

Eddie leans back against the seat with a sigh. “Chrissy and I have always kinda flirted, okay? But nothing has ever happened.” He looks back at you carefully. “And now suddenly I can’t shut up about you, so yeah, she’s probably irritated.”

That shouldn’t make you feel better, but it absolutely does.

You look down at your lap for a second before muttering, “Still annoying.”

Eddie laughs softly. “Yeah. It is.”

Then his fingers hook gently beneath your chin again.

“Don’t get all mad at me now,” he murmurs. “I kinda like when you’re mean, but I’d rather you just kiss me instead.”

Your stomach flips violently. God, he’s smooth. You narrow your eyes slightly anyway, mostly so he doesn’t notice how affected you are. “You think you’re very charming.”

“I know I am.” Cocky asshole.

Still, you lean forward anyway and kiss him. Not the cheek this time.

His breath catches instantly the second your lips touch his. It’s soft at first. Tentative for maybe half a second before Eddie’s hand slides firmly against your waist, pulling you closer across the bench seat like he physically cannot help himself.

And suddenly the kiss gets warmer, the kind that leaves your stomach floating somewhere near your ribs. Eddie kisses like he talks: confident at first, then devastating once he realizes you’re kissing him back just as hard.

By the time you pull away, his curls are messier than before, and he looks genuinely dazed. Like you just hit him over the head with a shovel.

“…Oh,” he says faintly.

You laugh softly despite yourself.

Eddie stares at you for another second before dragging a hand down his face dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”

“You alright there, Munson?”

“No,” he says honestly. “Not even remotely.”

That earns another laugh out of you. And God, that sound absolutely kills him. You settle back into your seat again, trying to regain some composure while Eddie continues staring at you like he’s seeing the physical embodiment of religion.

Then finally: “You should take me home.”

Eddie blinks once. “…What?”

You grin slightly. “I have this date that I need to get ready for.”

His jaw actually drops. “Oh, you are evil.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

Still muttering dramatically under his breath, Eddie starts the van again and pulls back onto the road. But now his hand definitely doesn't leave your thigh the entire drive home.

The second you get into your bedroom, you kick your shoes off, grab the phone beside your vanity mirror, and click on FaceTime.

Robin answers first, immediately.

And immediately screams. “OH, MY GOD.”

You wince, holding the phone farther away. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, absolutely not.” Robin’s face fills the screen while she points accusingly. “You kissed him.”

Your eyebrows lift. “How do you know that already?”

“Because Eddie just called Gareth and apparently sounded like he got drafted into war.”

You burst out laughing before another face suddenly appears beside Robin’s. Vicky.

“Oh, this is serious,” Vicky says immediately. “She called for backup.”

“You’re both dramatic.”

“Says the girl currently glowing,” Robin shoots back.

You roll your eyes, already digging through your closet. “I need outfit help.”

Both girls gasp loudly at the same time. Vicky clutches her chest theatrically. “She’s in deep.”

“I’m literally going to a diner.”

“With Eddie,” Robin emphasizes.

“…Unfortunately.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “You like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar,” both girls say instantly.

You ignore them, holding up two different tops toward the camera instead. “Okay. Focus. Which one says ‘I’m casually hot and definitely not trying too hard’?”

Robin immediately points. “Black.”

Vicky points the other direction. “Absolutely not. Red.”

“Thank you,” you tell Vicky.

“BOOOO,” Robin yells. “You can’t trust her; she supports chaos.”

“Exactly,” Vicky says proudly.

You laugh under your breath, tossing clothes onto your bed while the two of them continue arguing loudly through the phone.

Your bedroom smells faintly like vanilla candles and hairspray now, golden evening light spilling through the curtains while you drag eyeliner carefully across your lash line.

“So wait,” Vicky says from the phone screen, “start over. Exactly what did Chrissy say?”

You lean back slightly, screwing the cap back onto your eyeliner. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t technically mean.”

Robin groans immediately. “Those are the WORST girls.”

“I’m serious!” you insist. “She was all sweet and smiley the entire time.”

“Which somehow makes it more threatening,” Vicky says wisely.

“THANK you.”

Robin points aggressively through the screen. “See, I told you. Chrissy weaponizes kindness.”

You snort softly, reaching for your mascara. “That sounds insane.”

“Because it IS insane,” Robin says. “But she does it anyway.”

You shake your head, thinking back to the bathroom again.

Chrissy’s perfect curls, the sweet smile, the way she kept saying Eddie’s name as if it belonged to her. Your stomach twists again, annoyingly.

“She kept bringing up how long she’s known him,” you mutter while fixing your mascara carefully. “Like every sentence was secretly a threat.”

Vicky gasps dramatically. “Ohhhh, someone's jealous.”

Robin nods instantly. “Yeah, that’s territorial behavior.”

“She literally told me not to break his heart.”

Both girls go silent. Then: “Oh, that’s psycho,” Robin says immediately.

“RIGHT?” you exclaim.

Vicky leans closer to the camera. “No, because that’s actually so manipulative.”

“And Eddie acts like nothing’s going on!”

Robin scoffs. “Because Eddie’s dumb.”

“Hey,” you say automatically.

Robin freezes. Slowly grins.

“…Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You defended him.”

You immediately point your mascara wand threateningly at the screen. “Do not start.”

Vicky’s already giggling. “No, Robin’s right. You defended him instinctively.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Robin says. “Also the fact you’re doing a full post-crisis debrief while getting ready for a date with him is making me insane.”

You look back at your reflection quickly, pretending to focus on blending your makeup instead of how warm your face suddenly feels.

“It’s not a crisis.”

“You got jealous.”

“I got suspicious.”

“Jealous,” both girls say together.

You groan loudly, throwing your beauty blender onto the vanity dramatically. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Robin actually clutches her chest. “OH this is huge.”

“She kissed him today too,” Vicky says casually.

Robin whips toward the camera so fast she nearly falls off-screen. “WAIT. ON THE MOUTH?”

You immediately laugh. “Jesus Christ, Vicky.”

“What?” she says innocently. “That’s relevant information.”

Robin looks deeply betrayed. “And you DIDN’T LEAD WITH THAT?”

“It was one kiss.”

“One kiss?” Robin repeats hysterically. “You’ve known this man for like three days!”

“Sometimes when it’s right, it’s right,” Vicky says sagely.

“You are not helping.”

Robin’s eyes narrow suddenly. “Wait.”

You immediately recognize that tone. “What?”

“She saw you kiss him this morning.”

You blink once. “Who?”

“Chrissy.” Oh...OH. Your stomach drops slightly as realization settles in.

Because Chrissy absolutely had been standing near the front office when you kissed Eddie’s cheek goodbye.

Robin watches your expression change and immediately points again. “THAT’S why she cornered you in the bathroom.”

Vicky gasps dramatically. “This is becoming a soap opera.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re starting to think they might be right.

Robin leans closer to the screen again. “Okay but important question.”

“What?”

“Are we trying to make her jealous tonight?”

You blink. “…What?”

“She started psychological warfare first,” Robin says matter-of-factly. “We retaliate.”

Vicky nods solemnly beside her. “Correct.”

“You two are terrible influences.”

“And yet,” Robin says smugly, “you called us.”

Your mascara’s barely dry by the time your phone buzzes beside you. Robin’s still mid-rant about “counteracting blonde warfare” when you glance down at the screen, and immediately smile.

“Oh my God,” she says flatly. “That’s him.”

You try, failing miserably, to hide the grin tugging at your mouth as you unlock the phone.

Vicky makes a wounded noise. “That’s disgusting actually.”

“You want him soooo bad,” Robin says, pointing at the screen while you laugh quietly under your breath.

“I hate both of you.”

“Mhm,” Robin says knowingly. “Go see your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You kissed him twice in one day.”

Your face heats immediately. “Goodbye.”

Robin cackles as you end the FaceTime before either of them can say anything worse.

Outside, the evening air’s cooler now, soft summer dusk settling over the neighborhood while headlights glow warmly at the end of your driveway. Eddie’s van.

And there he is, leaning against the driver’s side door with a cigarette between his lips, leather jacket thrown over a black band tee, curls messy like he’s been dragging his hands through them impatiently.

Then he looks up and stops breathing again, visibly.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to himself.

You shut the front door behind you slowly, pretending not to notice the way his eyes drag over you immediately. From your boots, to your outfit, to your lips, the exact lips he kissed earlier.

His cigarette hangs forgotten between his fingers now as you walk closer.

“Well?” you ask innocently. “You surviving?”

Eddie laughs once under his breath, sounding slightly tortured. “No, sweetheart. Not even a little.”

You stop in front of him, tilting your head slightly. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?”

The low warmth in his voice hits straight to your stomach. Eddie reaches out before he can stop himself, fingertips hooking lightly through one of your belt loops just to tug you a tiny bit closer.

“You look…” He exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

You grin. “That good?”

“That dangerous,” he corrects. 

His hand lingers at your waist for another second before he leans down slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me you didn’t dress like this just to ruin my life.”

You look up at him through your lashes innocently. “Maybe a little.”

Eddie actually groans. “Oh, you think you’re funny.”

“I think you like it.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth instantly. For a second, it genuinely looks like he’s debating kissing you right there in the driveway. Instead, Eddie pulls back just enough to open the passenger door for you dramatically.

“C’mon,” he says, still grinning slightly. “Before I start acting less like a gentleman, and more like a dog in heat.”

A couple of hours later, Eddie decides he’s officially obsessed with hearing you talk. That’s the conclusion he comes to while sitting across from you in the diner booth, elbow hooked over the table while he watches you animatedly complain about your old school.

Apparently, according to you, everyone there was “painfully boring”, the art department sucked, and your ex-boyfriend once tried to tell you The Smiths were “too depressing.”

Which made Eddie nearly choke on his fries. “He said what?” Eddie laughs, genuinely horrified.

You steal one of his onion rings casually. “Exactly what you just heard.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” Eddie grins. “I’m judging him.”

The diner’s mostly empty this late, neon lights glowing pinkish-red against the windows while old rock music hums softly from somewhere near the kitchen. And honestly? It’s easy with him. Way too damn easy.

Conversation never really stops. One topic bleeds into another naturally: music, old school, embarrassing childhood stories, favorite movies, tattoos Eddie wants but definitely can’t afford.

At one point, you laugh so hard that soda nearly comes out of your nose. Eddie looks devastatingly pleased with himself afterward.

“Yeah,” he says smugly. “That one got you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Sure, I am.”

By the time you leave the diner, the air outside’s colder, nighttime settling fully over Hawkins while the parking lot glows under flickering street lamps.

Now you’re sitting together on the curb beside Eddie’s van, sharing a cigarette. Well, mostly sharing because Eddie keeps stealing it back every few seconds.

“You know,” you say, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “you’re kinda clingy for someone trying to act mysterious.”

Eddie scoffs beside you. “I gave up the mysterious thing once you started looking at me like that.”

You glance over. “Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me again.”

Your stomach flips immediately. Cocky asshole.

You bump your shoulder lightly against his. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie goes suspiciously quiet after that, which is strange. Normally, he’d have something smooth ready instantly. Instead, when you look over, he’s just staring at you again.

The streetlight catches against the silver rings on his fingers, curls falling messily into his face, while smoke curls lazily around both of you.

And your makeup’s slightly smudged now. Lips shiny from your milkshake earlier, laugh lingering faintly in your expression. Eddie’s completely gone for you. You notice him reaching for something a second too late.

“Wait—”

Flash.

Your eyes widen immediately as Eddie lowers his phone, grinning like a little shit.

“Eddie!”

“What?” he laughs. “You looked pretty.”

Your face heats instantly. “Delete it.”

“Can’t. Technology. You know what they say about the internet and all.”

You groan loudly while Eddie keeps laughing beside you, already typing away. 

“No, seriously,” you say. “That probably looks terrible.”

“Sweetheart.” Eddie looks at you like you’ve said something genuinely stupid. “You could probably survive a natural disaster and still look hot.”

You raise your eyebrows as he’s smirking at his phone, looking oh-so-pleased with himself when he drops it by his side. 

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he replies, but that smirk tells you everything you need to know. You snatch his phone, and it’s already opened on Instagram. Your stomach actually flips because Eddie posted the picture.

You look soft, like someone he adores and enjoys taking candid pictures of.

And over the top of the story, Eddie typed:

Your face heats violently.

“Oh my God.”

Eddie looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Too much?”

“You’re insane.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning closer beside you with a grin, “you’re smiling.”

“You are never beating the obsessed allegations,” you mutter softly.

Eddie grins against the cigarette between his lips. “I don’t particularly want to.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too hard for the insult to land properly.

“See?” he says quietly. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That smile.”

God. You look over at him finally, and suddenly, he’s closer than before.

Close enough to smell smoke and leather and diner coffee still lingering on him, close enough to see the tiny freckle beneath his eye, close enough that his gaze flicks down toward your mouth for maybe half a second too long. Then back up again.

Your breath catches slightly.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs softly, “and I’m gonna do something irresponsible.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Like what?”

That cocky little grin returns immediately, then disappears again just as fast when you lean closer first this time, and kiss him.

The cigarette gets abandoned somewhere beside him instantly as Eddie’s hand slides against your jaw, pulling you closer with a quiet noise low in his throat like he’s wanted to do this all night.

The kiss turns warm embarrassingly fast. Slow at first, then smiling, then downright hungry. By the time you pull away, Eddie looks genuinely wrecked again. Lips pink, hair even messier somehow, eyes heavy-lidded while he stares at you like he’s trying to recover from psychic damage.

“…You are so bad for me,” he says softly.

You laugh quietly before settling against his shoulder, still warm from the kiss.

Eddie immediately wraps an arm around you automatically, pulling you closer against his side while the two of you sit there beneath the buzzing parking lot lights.

His phone still rests in your hand while the story continues collecting reactions every few seconds.

rockin.robin replied to your story: OH HES GONEEEEE

hair-ington replied to your story: Munson’s cooked.

You snort softly against Eddie’s shoulder while scrolling.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” You grin. “Your friends are making fun of you.”

“They’re jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

The sincerity in his voice almost catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Eddie’s phone buzzes beside him.

He glances down absentmindedly, still holding you close with one arm while unlocking the screen, and immediately goes still. You feel it happen, that tiny shift in his body. Your eyes flick downward automatically.

chrissy.cunningham replied to your story.

And before either of you can say anything, another notification appears.

chrissy.cunningham: is that her jacket or yours?

WELLLLLLL SHIT.

hope you all enjoyed!!! missed writing SO MUCH AH xoxoxo

requests are coming out soon! i have two more to finish and then i'll start replying/doing more etc.

taglist is open:))

taglist:

@lilshaely @kennedy-brooke @fangirlll2000 @lananabanana42 @velvetdimond @naomiiily @frostywinterstrawberry @bonnieprincess @mdurdenpitt @f-remastered @snoopypisces @am0iur @livvy0390 @aprincess-orjustme

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond

[lovebugism]

✶ — LIFE ON MARS !

part one | part two

summary: johnny storm is on a mission to woo the newest addition to the space crew, who doesn't seem to like him very much. it almost works. almost. (10.8k words)

pairing: johnny storm / f!reader

contents: strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, grumpy x sunshine (grump!reader), johnny can't flirt to save his life, cw for very brief mentions of blood and gore, space sex, dry humping, smut 18+, mdni!!!

LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE!

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✶ — April, 1960 | ANSA Launch Facility — ✶

A long, long time ago, before bodies were ever invented, the atoms of all living things existed in the stars. Humans were, at their core, nothing more than an inherent act of defiant creation — just a bunch of tiny solar systems pretending to be people. At least, that’s what you preferred to believe anyway, ‘cause the comforting thought eases your worries about your own misgivings. Restless, removed, reclusive.

Because, of course, you can’t sleep when the stars are whispering your name. Of course, no one will ever know you quite as well as the moon, when it had known you long before man ever did. Of course, you’re so often filled with a celestial-like solitude when you were never meant to be in this world to begin with, and fell into it completely by happenstance.

The vast infiniteness of the universe reminds you, every day, of how small you are. And every day, it reduces you to a starry-night sort of silence.

Johnny Storm struggles to approach you accordingly. He knew you only distantly, like all heavenly bodies are meant to be known. All he knew of you was that you were a professor — the first of your kind, a colleague of Reed’s, and a scientist whose accolades had caught his sister’s attention. Such vague descriptions did little to capture your beauty, a youthful and quiet sort of charm. As lovely as the stars and perhaps as lonesome as them, too.

And how was he meant to talk to the girl with the galaxy in her eyes? It’s a question he hasn’t quite figured out the answer to yet. But he’s damn sure going to try.

“How well do you know him?” is the first thing Johnny thinks to ask, while the group of soon-to-be astronauts squeeze into their all-white ventilation garments.

You give him a deadpan look in return, clad only in a black tank top and a pair of spandex shorts, as you tug the skin-tight fabric up your legs.

You don’t know Johnny Storm all that well, just that he’s Sue’s younger brother and a pretty damn good engineer. But, in the few short days you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve noticed his strange penchant for covering his awkward tenderness with a feigned sort of arrogance. He’s obviously still getting used to this new world, and the subsequent attention that comes with being among the first people in space — aptly called the Saturn Five.

You figure he’s not yet accustomed to the sudden adoration from the public, and so he’s forced to improvise accordingly.

“How well do I know…?” you trail off.

“Oh, right. Yeah—” the blonde boy stammers, laughing softly at himself.

Your emotionless stare never wavers.

Johnny’s cheeks flare. “My— My brother-in-law, I mean. Reed.”

“Not well,” you answer in a detached monotone and drag the white sleeve up the length of your arm. “Mostly by reputation.”

Johnny scoffs and drags his garment over his freckled shoulders, lean torso straining against the fabric of his thin t-shirt. “And you still decided to show up?” he quips.

You don’t share his amused smile. You rarely ever do. Never, actually. Most of the time, Johnny can’t tell if you realize he’s joking or if you just don’t care.

Now, you just nod in response and answer his rhetorical question in a single word. “Yes.”

Johnny nods to himself, too, and pulls the silver zipper of his suit up his chest. “Yeah, no. I get it. Reed’s a pretty good guy, I guess— But I’m just here to make sure my sister doesn’t do anything, honestly,” he confesses in a breathy chuckle. “…What about you?”

“What about me?” you repeat with pinched brows, tugging on the other sleeve.

“What are you in for?” Johnny wonders with a playful squint in his light blue eyes — the exact color of the sky at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, or the color of the ocean at exactly 33 meters deep. “‘Cause I know it’s not just because you like my company, Doc.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “To change the world, I guess.”

“That’s all, huh?” he laughs.

You nod once. The zipper whizzes quietly as you drag it up to your neck. “That’s all,” you answer in a monotone before turning on your heel and walking away.

Johnny’s footsteps echo through the expansive launch facility as he rushes to catch up with you. He walks a little too close for your liking, enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his pale skin and to smell the vanilla-tobacco cologne on his long neck.

His broad shoulder brushes yours with every quick stride down the white brick corridor, moving in extra close every time you pass by bustling scientists in lab coats or clunking machines that didn’t exist to the world a year or more ago.

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t prying too much back there, was I?” he frets with furrowed brows, ocean eyes swimming with concern as he ducks to look at you.

You don’t share his gaze as you hum in a detached tone of voice, “I don’t know. Were you?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Johnny sighs with a shrug. “Half-and-half, I guess— Prying and, for selfish reasons, genuinely concerned for your wellbeing.”

You stop suddenly in the middle of the narrow hallway. Johnny stumbles on his feet beside you. A group of doctors walk down the corridor, then — a gaggle of men with heavy glasses on their noses and clipboards in their weathered hands. He has to take an extra step closer to you to let them pass by.

His chest brushes yours at the dwindling proximity, which seems to affect him far more than it does you. The scent of your perfume makes him dizzy; something fruity, like a raspberry, maybe. Far sweeter than the way you glare at him now.

“Concerned about what?”

“Well, I just mean it’s— It’s one thing for Reed to rope all of us idiots into his crazy plan, you know? We’ve all known him for years, we already know he’s crazy,” Johnny laughs, only partly joking. “But you’re…”

“What? A stranger?”

“Normal,” Johnny corrects before shrugging. “Well, actually, pretty would’ve been my first choice, but… tomato, tom-ah-to, right?”

He flashes you a crooked pink smile then, which would’ve made any other girl swoon at his feet — a proven theory he’s tested at several bars since he became known as Johnny Storm, faithful member of the heroic Saturn Five. But you don’t even blink, totally unmoved by his charm (or lack thereof).

Johnny sighs and drops his head. He finally lets go of all the boyish theatrics he thinks for some reason he needs, which you’re grateful for.

“Look… If something were to happen to us up there, I think I could stomach that, you know— It’d be awful, obviously, but we’d handle it. Like we always do…” He trails off, button eyes round and full of a distant worry that sends him rambling before he can stop it. “But this… This is dangerous stuff, Doc. And Reed knows it. And he shouldn’t have recruited anybody else, but he did, and if something happened to you… I don’t think I’d forgive myself.”

You’re slightly moved by his admission, though you don’t show it on your face.

“Well, I guess, it’s a good thing nothing’s gonna happen up there.”

You turn to walk away again, and Johnny nearly trips over his own feet to stay in stride with you. “Hold on. Just— Just one more question, alright?”

“I’m going on this mission, Johnny Storm.”

“It’s not that—” he insists, voice breaking slightly at the use of his full name.

Even despite your not-so-subtle bitterness towards him, he thinks he hears something strikingly soft in your voice. It’s something almost tender, and perhaps only in his head, which gives his name a brand new meaning. You make it sound like everyone else has been saying his name wrong his whole life.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to maybe hang out later, by the way, hypothetically,” Johnny rambles, talking wildly with his hands.

You notice his panicked gesturing from the corner of your eye, and how quickly he tucks his anxious fingers underneath his strong arms when he crosses them over his chest. He thinks he almost catches you smiling before you swallow it back down again a second later.

“I’m a little tied up here, actually,” you tell him, though it comes out too monotoned to sound like the half-joke you meant it as.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, me too…” Johnny nods, trying to play it cool despite his stammering.

You enter the main lab side-by-side for your daily check-ups. The rest of the Saturn Five are already waiting for you there. Ben, Reed, and Sue all sit next to each other on their exam tables, hooked to a series of buzzing machines which draw their blood into crimson tubes hanging at their side.

Johnny trails like a puppy behind you, brows raised and eyes glittering in a sheepish sort of look. “So, what about tomorrow, then?”

“Leave her alone, Johnny,” Sue calls across the room with a knowing smile on her face, always inherently gentle in her way, but still teasing like all older sisters are entitled to be.

The blonde boy gapes in response as he stammers, “I’m— I’m not even doing anything!”

“You’re bothering her.”

“I am not!” he argues instinctively, then flashes you a worried ocean-eyed look. “Am I?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” you shrug, as unenthusiastic as ever.

Johnny smacks his lips against his teeth. “Yeah, that’s not helpful—”

“She’s our lead astrophysicist, Johnny—” Reed reminds playfully from his wife’s side, olive skin growing sticky and pale as the nurse takes his blood. (He’s more frightened by needles than the unknown emptiness of outer space. It’s weird.) “—Which is code for: she’s way too busy for you.”

“Too pretty, more like,” Ben scoffs from beside the older man.

Johnny’s face screws in offense, which only makes them laugh harder at the stupid joke — even if it is sort of true. When you part from him to head to your own station, Johnny thinks he hears you laughing at it, too. A quiet, breathy sound that’s more of an exhaled breath than anything, but still a laugh nonetheless.

“Oh, really?” he huffs dramatically, ‘cause he’s been trying to get you to smile for three whole days now. “That’s what gets you?”

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✶ — April, 1961 | New York — ✶

Your last night on planet Earth is spent talking to the moon, crescent-shaped and gleaming. It tells you not to worry, though not exactly with words. It just holds you in its gentle glow and reminds you that you aren’t leaving anything behind, that there isn’t anything new you could possibly discover in the vast infiniteness of space. Because the universe was your first ever home in truth, billions and billions of years ago, and now it’s calling you back.

Like a childhood room you only see on holidays, frozen in time like you never even left it.

That’s how Johnny finds you — at an ungodly hour of the early morning, standing in the center of the worn sidewalk, bathed in the neon hues of the bright city square that never sleeps. You drown in your cable-knit sweater, arms crossed over your chest and fingers tucked away in a feeble attempt to hide from the early spring chill. You keep your chin tilted towards the sky, and your eyes trained on something far away.

He wonders if there’s something up there only you can see. That’s how you tend to look at the world, anyway, like you’re keeping all of its secrets.

“Where do you think it ends?” Johnny blurts, always so wrapped up in his own head that he tends to continue inward conversations rather than start brand new ones.

You’re unstartled by the suddenness of his arrival, ‘cause you felt him behind you long before he ever had to announce it — consumed immediately by his palpable body heat, along with the minty aftershave and sea-salt bodywash on his skin from a fresh shower.

“Why do you ask such vague questions?” you snap in return, as harsh as the late winter chill.

It’s your basic primal instinct to be annoyed by his presence, like the rage is hardwired into you. The simmering embers of misplaced anger in your chest are quickly snuffed out by the rolling breeze of a lingering winter, which bites mercilessly at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Something primitive in the back of your mind subconsciously wishes he’d come closer then.

When you turn to glare at the blonde boy over your shoulder, you find him donned in a fitting long-sleeve tee and a baggier pair of plaid pajama pants. His strong, shaven chin is tilted upward, and his sleep-swollen gaze is pointed to the sky like yours once, only it’s a lot more annoying when he does it.

Johnny laughs on a quiet, exhaled breath. “I mean, where do you think the sky ends and eternity begins?” he repeats, a question that has plagued him for some days now.

He’s tormented by the thought of a thin, black veil — one which separates the only home humans have ever known from an emptiness that goes on endlessly in every direction. Is space just dark and dead and doomed? his mind rages. Is everything worth marvelling at just here on Earth?

“100 kilometers above sea level,” you answer instantaneously. “Approximately, anyway.”

Johnny’s head snaps in your direction. “What?”

“100 kilometers above sea level,” you repeat like it’s obvious. “That’s where the Earth’s atmosphere separates from outer space—”

A laugh sputters suddenly past Johnny’s pink mouth. The boyish sound echoes through the empty city square, which is only filled now by your bodies and flashing neon signs.

A deep frown settles between your brows in return. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not,” he insists despite his chuckling. “I swear, I’m not—”

Your eyes narrow at him while his lighter ones glimmer with a newfound life. His cheeks flare a faint pink color from his poorly held-back laughter and the unforgiving late-night chill. He balls a pale fist in front of his mouth to hide how wide he’s smiling.

“It’s a fact—”

“No. I know, I just… I needed that, I think…” Johnny confesses before dragging in a much-needed breath; his first good one all night, maybe. “I’ve just been so in my own head lately, you know? With a bunch of existential stuff from the launch, I guess. I think I just needed to get out of my head for a second, so… Thanks—”

“I didn’t say it to make you feel better,” you snap.

Johnny smiles in the face of your glowering. “Yeah, I know that, too… I’m pretty sure you’re physically incapable of lying.”

“Okay, well, that’s just not true,” you scoff. Not because he’s totally wrong, but because you don’t need him thinking he knows a single thing about you — even if you have spent every day of the past year together.

“Really? Johnny hums with a knowing smile, crossing his arms over his toned chest as he takes a daring step closer. “Then tell me something nice.”

You swallow hard at the dwindling proximity between you. His body heat is all-consuming, swaddling you in a blanket of warmth and tenderness without trying. Whatever the sun is made out of, I think your soul might be made of it, too — those are the first words that rise like bile in your throat. Or your heart, maybe, and you’ve just got sunlight running like fire through your veins.

“Your eyes are very blue,” you observe in a monotone instead. “Like, the kind of blue where it starts to get a little scary if I look at you too long.”

Johnny’s plush grin widens. A big, boyish smile that moves everything inside of you — a flame that melts your body and turns your bones to ash, lighting up all the dark corners.

“And how long did you have to stare at me to figure that one out, Doc?”

“Why does everything have to be some kinda flirtatious remark with you?”

“Because sometimes I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or starting a fight, so I just assume it’s both.”

“Well, I’m definitely not flirting with you, Johnny Storm—”

“Oh, definitely not…”

“—Flirting is for children. We have a job to do.”

“Right,” he nods in a playfully solemn voice, with a wide smile and a sparkling look in his button eyes. “It’s very serious.”

You shake your head and turn away, headed back towards the towering skyscraper that overlooks the entire city — where you’ll spend your very last night on Earth before you’re seeing it from a space shuttle.

“I hate you,” you grumble as you go.

Johnny’s shoes scuff the pavement as he trails slowly behind you. “No, you don’t…” he lilts under his breath as he follows you inside, blanketed immediately by the warmth of the Baxter Building.

The boy spends his last few hours on the planet pondering not what separates his world from the immeasurable cosmic, but rather how disturbingly thin the veil is between hating someone and loving them.

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✶ — April, 1961 | ANSA Hangar — ✶

Nylon for the base. Spandex for mobility. Urethane for the pressure. Nomex for high temperatures. Mylar for the heat loss.

As Johnny helps dress you in the clunky blue and white space suit, you imagine each differing chemical coming together, resulting in a unique mixture that will (hopefully) prevent you from dying the moment you break through the atmosphere. All per Johnny Storms’ blueprint.

“How’s it fit?” the blonde boy wonders aloud from where he stands behind you, latching the last buckle around your back. He gives it one sharp tug just to make sure it stays in place, and you sway softly on your feet to keep your balance.

You nod once. “Good.”

“Better than the last one?” he asks with a smile evident in his voice, knowing that his first trial of spacewear was a complete and utter nightmare. It was too tight in some places, too loose in others, and failed not just one but two fire safety tests. That was about a year ago now. You’d like to think you have a little bit more faith in him these days.

“Anything would be better than the last one,” you scoff.

“Rude,” Johnny frowns.

You spin on the heel of your boot to face him and momentarily falter at how close he is to you. You take a sudden step back from him, like someone jerking away from an open flame. You turn away from his prying gaze and motion to his personalized suit still hanging on the display.

“Do you want help?” you offer unenthusiastically despite yourself.

“Nah,” Johnny declines, shaking his head and crossing his strong arms over his chest. His biceps strain against the tight fabric of his ventilation garment. “I got it. You go ahead.”

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You said it was a two-person job.”

“Because I wanted to help you,” he shrugs with his cheek tilted to his shoulder. “And I knew you wouldn’t have let me otherwise—”

“So you lied?”

“No, I… slightly misrepresented the truth in order to spend a little extra time with you…” Johnny corrects, blue eyes squinted as he carefully chooses each word. He smiles at the scowl you give him, “…Shoot me.”

“I’ve been meaning to, actually,” you deadpan and turn away.

You hear Johnny snickering behind you as you leave, like he finds something strangely sweet in the empty threat.

He likes it best when you’re mean — he thinks you’re gentlest that way, tender like a green and yellow bruise that’s still healing. The kind you dig your thumb into and revel in the pleasurable soreness you find below the skin. You’re like that, in a way. A delicate lover somewhere deep down in the bruising enemy you’ve decided to be.

Down the windowless corridor and through a set of heavy metal doors, you find the hangar bustling with unfamiliar faces and bulky cameras. The muffled chatter erupts into a thousand droning voices as you enter the room. A visibly anxious and already suited-up Reed Richards stands at the head of it, at the very center of the hounding press.

You freeze in place as the door clicks shut behind you. Your presence gains the attention of the media personnel across the hangar. You cower under their prying eyes and flashing cameras.

“What is this?” you wonder aloud, to no one in particular.

Reed hesitates for a moment, mouth agape and dark eyes wide, as his brain tries to figure out how to answer your question and the hundred others shouted his way. So, he just walks to your side instead, and the gaggle of journalists and photographers follow like so many ducklings behind him.

“This is Doc— Our in-house cosmologist and astrophysicist,” the older man announces as he stands at your side. He puts a gloved hand on your shoulder, almost apologetically so, like he’s trying to silently convey that he hates all this just as much as you do. His fake smile wavers slightly after having been plastered on his face for so long. “If anyone knows what’s waiting for us up there, it’ll be her.”

“I didn’t consent to this—” you deadpan, flinching at the blinding camera flashes.

Your protest gets buried under a barrage of questions shouted at you from every direction. Each member of the press is trying to be heard over the person standing next to them, who is trying to be heard over the person standing next to them. It’s an unforgiving cycle that fills the expansive room with chaos.

“How did the two of you meet?!” a newswoman questions into a bulky microphone from where she stands before a large news camera.

“At Colombia—” Reed answers, faltering briefly when the rest of the Saturn Five walk into the room behind him. Sue, Johnny, and Ben enter wearing their own customized spacesuits. The older man locks eyes with his wife almost immediately, who flashes him a sympathetic smile in return.

Johnny waits for you to look at him, too. He thinks he’s spent the better part of the past year just waiting for you to look at him. Because, most times, he sees you before he’s seen anything else in any given room.

Reed, realizing his sudden silence, stumbles over himself to continue. “Uh, Doc was giving a lecture on black holes, I believe it was, and I—”

“Cosmic radiation,” you correct bluntly.

“…What?”

“I wrote a book on the Black Hole Paradox, but I never taught the Black Hole Paradox,” you ramble in a detached monotone. “We met after a lecture I gave on cosmic radiation— specifically the idea that cosmic rays can penetrate the body and alter its molecules, leading to extreme genetic mutations, which can be passed down for generations.”

For perhaps the first time since security allowed the press into the hangar, silence fills the all-white room. You tend to have that effect on people. On everybody, it seems, except for—

“See what I mean?” Johnny says with a wide grin, relatively unfazed by the hundreds of cameras pointed his way. The lenses follow his every move as he walks to stand beside you, throwing a heavy arm around your shoulder. “Best damn cosmetologist I ever met,” he blunders unknowingly, but with a crooked pink smile that’s hard to say no to.

“Cosmologist,” you correct without taking your emotionless stare off the camera zoomed into your face.

You duck from beneath Johnny’s arm and shove through the crowd of media personnel, heading for the doctors waiting on the other side. The blonde boy takes the sudden attention with ease — he’s gotten all too used to it over the past year.

“She’s the prettiest one, too,” he jokes into the news camera, with a gloved hand cupping the side of his mouth like he’s telling some sort of secret. “But don’t tell her I told you.”

The fiberglass helmets are made of a thick polycarbonate, which Reed’s spent several years perfecting for this very mission. One of the many nurses slides it over your head and locks it into place. The amber-tinted visor, designed to reflect thermal radiation, paints the white building in so many shades of flaxen gold.

Johnny stands beside you — because he’s always somehow right beside you — and turns his heavy head to look at you when the doctor locks his helmet into place. The tinted glass dullens his ocean-eyed gaze and muffles his voice when he asks you, “Remember that date I asked you on?”

“Which one?” you deadpan.

“Any of ‘em?” he shrugs. “Is it too late to hash that out, you think?”

“Well, you can’t exactly take me out for coffee now, can you?”

A pink smile curls from behind his thick, glass visor. “Well, we get back in two weeks, Doc. I’ll have plenty of time to take you out for coffee then.”

“Trust me, Johnny Storm, you’ll be sick of me in two weeks.”

His laugh is muffled, but no less cherry-colored. “I’ve seen you every day for the past year, Doc,” he argues. “If I’m not sick of you by now, I don’t think I’m ever gonna be.”

It makes you frown. You don’t understand why he’s lying. ‘Cause you are, by nature, a rather demanding creature. You’re moody, cynical, and sometimes cruel. You’re at times totally untangible, and at others extremely unreasonable. You’ve intentionally made it very difficult to love you because you’ve spent many years not knowing men to be kind.

But Johnny — perhaps obliviously, and led only by his unbridled curiosity — longed to be close to you despite his inherent softness, and despite all your metaphorical barbs.

“Coffee, then?” you monotone without a glance his way, lest he see the vulnerability swimming in your gaze. “When we get back, I mean.”

Johnny glows at a moment’s notice. His button eyes widen in a not-so-subtle look of shock as his pink mouth falls softly agape. ‘Cause, sure, he’s been trying to get you to like him every day for the past three-hundred-sixty-five of them, but he didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly. Or at all, really.

He nods beneath his helmet, rapid and boyish, and smiles at you far wider than you think he realizes. “It’s a date, Doc—”

The comms built into your helmet hiss as they crackle to life. Johnny flinches as his sister’s voice comes through the faint static. “Comms check. Everybody sound off,” Sue instructs from his other side, flashing her baby brother a knowing look.

“Check,” Reed nods.

Ben salutes with two fingers pressed to his forehead, over his rounded glass helmet. “Check, check.”

A cameraman moves down the line as each of you speaks. The chunky gadget sits heavy on his broad shoulder as he squints into the rubber eyepiece of the viewfinder, zooming into each of your faces.

“Check,” Johnny says with a nod in his direction, always so painfully casual.

The cameraman settles finally on you. He looks at you through the lens as though it were a third eye, and your face screws with a subtle scowl. “Tell this man to get his camera out of my face,” you answer in a flat voice.

Sue’s pretty laugh sounds through the static. “Comms are live.”

The large hangar door whirs slowly open. Early morning daylight bathes the room in shades of orange-gold. The Excelsior towers before you, sleek and silver and shimmering in the soft sunlight. The five of you walk in a line up the steep tarmac, inching closer to what will become your new home for the next several days.

Reed reaches for Sue’s hand before they pass the threshold. “Good luck kiss?” he offers, already leaning in towards her.

“Maybe just one for the road,” the older woman grins.

Their lips pucker for a kiss, but their fiberglass helmets bump audibly together instead. They laugh about it, anyway, as the double doors to the shuttle part with a faint hiss.

Johnny turns expectantly to you then, eyes round and silently hopeful. Your scoff crackles through his comm. “In your dreams, space-boy,” you deadpan and walk on ahead of him.

“Ouch…” Ben winces playfully in response as he enters ahead of the blonde boy.

Johnny shrugs off the rejection with a slow nod. “Rain check, then.”

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✶ — April, 1961 | The Excelsior — ✶

You still remember that strange liminal space between high school and university, where they called you overtly ambitious like it were synonymous with the word bitch. No one had been to space before, let alone a woman, and very few of your kind were able to break into the astronomy field at all. Therefore, no one was quite inclined to believe that you’d be the first among them to be truly successful.

Why don’t you just settle down? they huffed impatiently, like your life wasn’t just beginning. The best way for your kind to contribute to society is to be a mother— Everyone knows that.

That was, of course, before you were pictured on the cover of the Times with the rest of the Saturn Five — wherein you were described in print as ‘perhaps the most eminent female astrophysicist of our time.’

You were among the first of women to earn a degree in the field, and the first ever to receive your doctorate from the same university. You were the first female faculty member of Columbia’s astrophysics program — an assistant professor for some excruciating months, until it became rather grating to take orders from men four times your age. Sometime thereafter, and despite all the odds, you were the first female full-time astrophysics professor.

Such accolades inevitably caught Sue Storm’s attention. She liked your persistence, and Reed Richards liked your mind. And somewhere between then and now, you were recruited to become one of the first ever humans to experience the uncharted terrain of outer space.

As you strap into your seat on the Excelsior, you can’t help but wonder about who you’re living behind, and what those who doubted you must think of you now — if they marvel at what you’ve accomplished, or if they pity you still for trying so hard to break the mold.

“Final check and check, please,” Sue instructs through comms, from where she navigates between the two pilots.

Each of your voices crackles through speakers in return, and only then does Ben initiate the ignition sequence. You watch from behind him as he presses a series of buttons on the light-up panel, a pattern you’re unfamiliar with that he knows all too well. His weathered fists push a weighted lever, and the shuttle roars to life.

You feel the floors trembling beneath your weighted boots. Your seat shakes with it, too. Your gloved hands clutch the straps of your buckles in an unforgiving grip while a funny feeling rolls over your stomach. Not with fear, or worry, or excitement exactly — but the distant acknowledgment that your life’s going to change forever.

“We’re go for launch,” Ben announces to his co-pilot, who presses his own series of blinking neon buttons.

The whirring engine jerks suddenly as it lifts from its place on the ground. Four million pounds of pure steel propel suddenly towards the heavens with the burst of a golden flame. There’s a harsh pull and then a numbness, which turns into a heavier, emptier feeling as you break through the atmosphere — roughly 100 kilometers above sea level.

“Woo-hoo!” Johnny exclaims boyishly into his comms, arms raised above his head as the shuttle pierces finally through the dreaded veil — as he witnesses, for the first time in human history, where the bright blue sky meets an all-black eternity.

The gravity is slow to dissipate. It makes everything feel suddenly lighter — the cool air running through your suit, the heavy boots on your feet; your stomach, your heart, your mind. The dizzying feeling must be to blame for the absent-minded smile on your face, you think, ‘cause you look at Johnny then like you’re watching the beginning of the whole world.

A giddy laugh sputters suddenly like magic from your lips. Johnny and the stars sigh in unison. He’s been wondering ever since he met you what the sound of your laughter must sound like. Your smile is the only thing he’s dreamt of for the past year, the only thing, and he mourns it all over again when you ultimately turn away.

The Earth grows more and more distant. What once seemed so limitless, now looks so tiny against the star-speckled void of outer space. Everyone you’ve ever known, everyone there ever was, lived their entire life on this indistinct orb of green and blue. Every saint and sinner, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization. Millions of years of joy and suffering are contained within this brief smudge, swimming in a sea of never-ending blackness. A fleck of dust lost inside a bright sunbeam.

“You seein’ that?” Johnny wonders into his comm, to no one in particular, though he still hasn’t quite taken his eyes off of you.

You nod wordlessly for a moment, ‘cause you can’t believe how blue the world is from here.

It’s a rich, vibrant color that humans couldn’t recreate if they tried, ‘cause such a cerulean-cobalt shade cannot travel the entire distance from the sun to the land. Its molecules, instead, get scattered in the wind and the water, before reflecting in the more observable lighter hue that paints the sky.

But this? This deeper, dreamier, more melancholy blue — this blue that does not reach the Earth, this blue that gets lost on the way to the humans down below — holds the beauty of the entire world in its hand.

“It’s beautiful…” you murmur into the crackling comm, more speechless than the rest of them have ever seen you before.

You turn to Johnny then, who sits across the aisle from you, and wear the orbital golden sunrise in your gaze. Inside his, you find the same dreamlike blue that paints the depths and edges of the faraway Earth. The lost, untouched ultramarine swims now in his round button eyes as he stares unblinkingly at you.

“Yeah…” he nods within a breathless sigh, overcome by the ethereal infinite surrounding him — and the one sitting just beside him in the shape of a girl. “Beautiful.”

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✶ — May, 1961 | The Excelsior — ✶

The routine you fall into in space is not quite unlike the one you had on Earth. You’re alone more often than not, hidden away in the observation room with your books and your journals, trying fruitlessly to make sense of the inherently nonsensical universe around you. It’s exactly how you’ve spent most of your life, really — the only difference now is you feel much more at home here, on the Excelsior and in the unpathed emptiness of outerspace, than you ever did on Earth.

Sue Storm is perhaps the only one of you who understands the importance of a real schedule. You and Reed, particularly, would work your circadian rhythms half to death if she let you. But, in an attempt to maintain a routine in an inherently timeless place, Sue insists on taking all of your meals at the same time every day, and in the same spot at the small kitchen table in the galley.

You sit between Johnny and Ben for at least an hour out of the day there, and catch up on plans or other miscellaneous discoveries found while on opposite sides of the shuttle.

The five of you exercise for one hour every day, before breakfast and after dinner, in order to keep the strength in your bones and muscles, which would otherwise be sucked out of you from the microgravity. The rest of the day is fair game and often spent with the five of you scattered about. Sue and Ben are usually navigating in the control room, Johnny and Reed are always finding something to do with their idle hands, and you can often be found on the observation deck looking for something new in the nothingness spanning before you.

And when the rest of the Saturn Five, at the end of a long day, return to their sleeping bags strapped to the wall — yours is the only one left empty. And Johnny knows immediately where to find you.

You drift like a dream in the dim cupola, a room made of so many fiberglass windows. The starry, black velvet universe sits just outside — an undreamt emptiness at your fingertips.

Your hair is tied back and out of your face. Your body is adorned in your nightclothes, a simple white tank top worn over a pair of red gingham pants. Your legs are crossed beneath you, as if you were sitting down, and you scribble something into a journal while a heavier textbook floats at your side. You’re a pretty girl dressed for a quiet night at home, observing Mars as casually as someone would watch their television.

Johnny knocks briefly on the ajar door before he enters. He’s already in his pajamas, too — an old t-shirt that clings to his lean torso and a pair of dark sweatpants that sit low on his hips.

“Sue wanted me to tell you it’s time for lights out, so… Lights out.”

You nod without looking his way, still slouched over the book in your lap. “Good night, Johnny Storm.”

His quiet laugh fills the silent room. “I think she meant she wants you in bed, too, Doc. You know how she is about the schedule.”

“Well, I’m busy, so…”

“You’re always busy,” Johnny scoffs, shutting the cupola door behind him as he maneuvers into the room with you.

The lack of gravity makes his bones feel lighter than air as it carries him towards you, cradling him in its cold and heavy hand. He lingers just behind you, warm with exhaustion and smelling of musky vanilla-berry shampoo as he peers over your shoulder. He can hardly make sense of your haphazard scribbles. Your pen whizzes across the page like something’s telling you’re about to run out of time.

“What are you writing about?”

You motion wordlessly to something at your side, as easily as a parent shrugging off a child. Johnny looks around until he finds a telescope — short, bulky, and likely worth far more than it looks. He plucks the weighty thing in his hands as it drifts by his feet. He falters with it for a moment, struggling briefly to determine which eye to close in order to see out of the damn thing.

With furrowed brows and a single squinted eye, he peers through the lens of the telescope. He doesn’t know how to focus it, or exactly where he should be looking, so instead he marvels at the big, blurry planet looming before him — looking much closer than it did just a moment ago.

“Planet,” he concludes with a slow nod, like it isn’t plain as day in front of you.

With a practiced and half-distracted hand, you contort your wrist slightly to focus the lens for him, all without looking up from your notebook. When Johnny peers through the telescope again, everything is more distinct — the blobs from before are now craters and rocks and ridges on the billion-year-old planet.

Within the shrouds of rust-colored dust and martian stars is something more distant but still well-defined — it’s rounded like a planet, but grayer and swathed in a heavy veil of ice.

“What is that?” Johnny murmurs incredulously. “Is it like a… A ghost planet or something?”

The words feel a bit silly as they spill from his mouth, but you nod in response anyway. “Most scientists would call that an exoplanet, but sure, yeah. A ghost planet.”

“I’m a scientist!” Johnny argues, boyish features screwed in offense — not because you’re wrong, but because he feels a bit like he’s earned the title after being in such close proximity to some of the brightest scientific minds known to man. You, for one. His sister, for another. And Reed, though he would never co-sign that out loud.

“You’re an engineer who plays dress-up in his sister’s lab coat—”

“That was one time!”

You look up and nod your chin towards the window. “Look at what’s around it.”

Johnny ducks his head and squints one eye to peer through the telescope once more. With untrained hands, he refocuses the lens to see a bit clearer — the indistinct clouds there turn into more defined specks, red and dull and dying.

“Uh… Rocks,” he confirms.

You bite back a grin and nod. “Sure. Rocks and stars and dark matter,” you explain further, growing increasingly giddy in a way that makes you already embarrassed at yourself. “It’s a planet— A fossil planet.”

“…Fossil?” Johnny echoes.

“You can tell by the colors of the stars around it that it hasn’t changed or merged with any other galaxies in at least a billion years,” you ramble, gesturing wildly with the pen in your right hand. You point out the window like the strange planet is right outside and not tens of millions of kilometers away. “Which means it’s essentially frozen in time.”

Johnny just nods along. He barely understands you if he’s being honest — ‘cause he’d much rather build things than observe them — but he likes hearing you speak, so he pretends you’re speaking the same language.

Until it’s his turn to talk, that is. Then his blonde brows pinch slowly together and his ocean eyes turn to sparkling buttons. “Wait, what’s so special about a dead planet?”

“Everything,” you answer like it’s obvious, hardened gaze glinting with a newfound life. “They’re like time capsules— They can tell us everything about what our early solar system looked like. How it changed over time, how after billions of years of inhability, Earth just happened to be perfect for human life, it’s—”

The dim lights above you click suddenly off, leaving just one row of amber auxiliary lights glowing overhead. A second later and the heat whirs slowly off, too.

The comfortable warmth gives way to a heavier cold. A shiver crawls up your spine almost instantly that you fight stubbornly away. It’s Reed’s way of conserving power, and Sue’s way of saying that everyone who isn’t in bed will freeze for the night.

Johnny deflates at the interruption.

He was just starting to get you to open up again, just like you did a week or more ago, when the Excelsior first launched and you looked at him like you were discovering something. Johnny wants you to find it again. Whatever it is.

“I hate when he does,” you scowl, dull eyes losing their previous spark.

“I guess it’s a good thing you have your very personal space heater to keep you company, then, huh?” Johnny croons with a lopsided grin. Your frown deepens, and he shrugs. “What? I run hot. I always have.”

“I’m busy. And it’s late,” you deadpan and turn away again. “Good night, Johnny Storm.”

You return to your work with an admirable ease, like Johnny isn’t there at all. Your pen darts across the page in a series of swirled and smudged cursive, sounding much louder in the sudden quiet. He lingers at your side anyway, inching closer despite himself, as though the microgravity were pulling him towards you. He doesn’t say a word; tries to move too much, tries not to breathe too hard, for fear of being noticed.

You do notice him, though. You can’t help but notice everything about him.

“You’re still here,” you observe distantly.

“Well, I don’t want you freezing to death out here, Doc,” Johnny scoffs like he’s doing you some sort of service. “Just let me stay— you know, for warmth. You won’t even realize I’m here, alright? Scouts honor.”

He holds up four fingers instead of three. You turn away again and say nothing. Johnny takes it as the invitation you mean it as, ‘cause you’re no stranger to telling him to fuck off when you really want him to.

You continue your scribbling while he lingers at your side, chest pressed against your arm as he peers over your shoulder. Through the messy cursive, he manages to make out, It’s possible this exoplanet once existed in our own solar system and was later ejected; check for any potential strange orbital movements—

Your hand freezes in place when Johnny’s warm breath fans over your bare shoulder. Each rhythmic exhale through his nose brushes your skin. It makes it hard for you to think, makes all the words in your head jumble suddenly together. You don’t know why.

“You’re breathing on me,” you blurt emotionlessly, neither angry nor pleased, just observant in a way he’s always known you to be.

“Sorry,” Johnny flinches back.

His round eyes swim with a darker shade of blue as they dart over your profile. He wants you to look back at him, even if it’s with malice. He just wants you to see him.

But you keep your eyes on the journal in your lap, even though you can’t figure out what to write anymore. The only thing in your head now is the sun in Johnny’s veins and the deep, Earthy blue in his eyes.

“It’s okay…” you mumble, still detached as ever, but with a white-knuckled grip on your pen. You swallow hard and wait for him to be close again, mourning when he keeps his distance. With a weary look over your shoulder, you repeat more firmly this time, “It’s okay.”

Johnny knows it’s an invitation, but for what, he doesn’t know. His unmanicured brows furrow as his tongue darts out to wet his pink mouth. “Do you want me to… to do it again or…?” he trails off.

The soft look in your eyes turns glacial in an instant. “Don’t say it!” you scold. “Do it, but don’t— don’t say it out loud. That makes it weird.”

You look away again, inwardly cursing yourself for being so vulnerable. Johnny purses a smile to the side of his mouth, lest he look too excited for your request to come closer. He curls his arm around you and keeps a softly calloused palm on the outside of your elbow, gently tethering himself to your side as you sway together in the zero-gravity.

You feel his warm fingers against your skin and flinch on instinct. You haven’t been touched with such gentleness since early childhood. You weren’t a stranger to man or their bodies, nor what their hands could do to yours, but something about Johnny made you feel different.

It was something about Johnny.

You hated that it was always about Johnny.

But you let him keep touching you, anyway — and, in his arms, you feel finally like you belong some place. His breath feels warm and familiar as it rolls across your skin. His chest feels solid and firm as it presses against your back. When he gets closer than he means to, and his chapped lips accidentally brush the curve of your soft shoulder, you tense like he’s burned you.

Johnny’s breath hitches, too. “Sorry,” he blurts again, wide-eyed and worried that he’s ruined something.

“I liked it,” you confess, as blunt with him as you’ve always been. “I think…”

“You think?” Johnny echoes, pink lips curling. “So, you’re not sure?”

“No,” you answer plainly and spare him only a brief glance from the corner of your eye. “So you should probably try again. Just in case.”

He doesn’t know how you do it — how you manage to torment him with your feigned ambivalence and reward him with your closeness at the same time. Johnny obeys you anyway, though, ‘cause it’s in his blood to bend to your every whim. He thinks if the two of you were sunflowers, he’d face you instead of the sun.

He smooths his plush lips slowly along the expanse of your exposed skin, from the edge of your shoulder to the junction of your neck — not quite kissing you, just caressing you with his mouth. His tongue darts out to wet dry lips, and the pink brushes just over your pulse.

You hum on an exhaled breath. And in the deathly quiet of outer space, it sounds almost like a moan.

Johnny falters briefly. “…More?” he whispers against your skin.

You nod wordlessly. You couldn’t get the words out if you tried. You just know you want him to kiss you. God, you don’t want him to stop kissing you.

The entire universe spins around you when his warm lips lock more intentionally on your neck. You go dizzy in an instant without the gravity to hold you down. It makes you feel like you’re going crazy — did love make people crazy? Did love turn people into unrecognizable versions of themselves?

You figure it must.

Because the girl who turns her head to catch Johnny’s lips with her own most certainly can’t be you. The girl who abandons her life’s work, who lets her pen and paper float aimlessly next to her, who turns away from the uncharted universe in front of her to hold desperately onto the blonde boy she couldn’t stand a year ago — whoever she is, is a stranger to you now.

Your fingers twist in his freshly cleaned hair, mussing recklessly at the satin blonde tendrils. Johnny’s hand trails down your body in the meanwhile. His warm, wide palms smooth over your bare arms and across your back. He cups the back of your thighs, urging them around his waist. You lick into his mouth and lock your ankles behind him, keeping yourself tethered to him as you float aimlessly in the heavy air.

“And to think…” Johnny pants when you part from him, smiling lips swollen and rosy. “You spent all this time pretending to hate me.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” you slur with his spit on your mouth.

“Really?” he hums. “‘Cause it kinda feels like you like me a lot, actually—”

His strong hands curl around the curve of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. Your lap sits flush against his own. Something soft and firm presses along your inner thigh. “I could say the same about you, Johnny Storm.”

You shift slightly, and Johnny realizes how hard he is. His cock strains against his sweats and the tighter boxer-briefs he wears beneath them. Feeling distantly overwhelmed and half-embarrassed, his pale cheeks flare pink. “Sorry…” he grimaces.

“Don’t,” you squint, slightly demeaning but somehow still playful. “I like it… I think.”

You kiss him again, deep enough to steal the breath from his lungs, wet enough to feel your spit on his chin. You wrap your legs tighter around his lean waist until his stiffening cock is sandwiched between your bodies, pressed intently into your own warmth.

Johnny gasps through his nose. He almost thinks he can feel the lines of your clothed cunt against him, hidden folds embracing the most sensitive parts of him. It makes him wonder if you’re wearing anything under your thin pajama bottoms as your hips rock back and forth over his own.

Your mouth is equally as unforgiving. You kiss him like you’re searching for heaven in his mouth, like you can taste stars on his tongue. His lungs burn for air, but still he never parts from you. You’re killing him, with your mouth and with your hips, but Johnny throws himself deeper onto the blade, anyway. He pulls you that much closer, kisses you that much deeper — until he worries he might bleed out.

Your lips smack in protest when he parts from you. “We should stop,” he frets through panted breaths, eyes dilated and heavy-lidded.

“Please, don’t—” you beg and fall back into him again.

Johnny falters. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you beg. He doesn’t think you’ve ever had to before. You never have to beg for anything; all you have to do is take.

A groan sounds deep in his throat when your hips grind over his own in a slow and practiced rhythm. “It’s gonna be too much,” he slurs against your mouth.

“What?”

“I’ll…” he sighs breathlessly and trails off. He can’t figure out the words to say without sounding like a total teenager; he only knows he should probably get them out before he bursts in his boxers and has to explain to Sue why he’s wasting water on a second shower.

“ I’ll cum,” he confesses finally, fingertips digging bruises onto your clothed thighs in a feeble attempt to stop your merciless movements.

Your lidded eyes dart over his form. His tousled blonde hair, his glazed-over ocean eyes, his flushed cheeks, his kiss-swollen mouth. He’s pretty and pathetic. You want to take care of him and ruin him all at once.

“I want you to cum,” you say. You plead. You command.

Johnny loses himself in your assurance. His slow and languid kisses turn sloppy — full of tongue and teeth and swapped spit. The fingers that once restricted you now fight to keep you close. His hands twist into the fabric of your pants as he guides your hips back and forth against him.

A pretty whimper sounds in your throat every time your clit catches the bulbous tip of his clothed cock, and the exhaled breath fans over his cupid’s bow.

His boxers dampen from his drooling pre-cum as he twitches in the confines of his underwear. He wonders if you feel it, too. He figures you must, if your erratic thrusts and choked back whines have anything to say about it.

“Johnny—” you whisper like a warning to him, voice breaking as your inevitable orgasm twists in your belly.

“I know,” he pants through rapid nods. “Fuck, baby— I know.”

He adjusts you on his waist with a pair of wide hands around your thighs. The harsh and sudden movement sends the two of you spiraling, spinning softly together in the open air like two orbiting planets. The new angle opens you wider for him, keeps your throbbing clit pressed intently to his aching cock.

Johnny feels the way your pussy pounds like a heartbeat for him as it rubs up and down his lap. A whine grumbles deep in his throat.

“I’m cumming,” you whimper against his mouth. Foreheads pressed together, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging crescent shapes into his shoulders. Your sensitive clit catches the ridge of his cock over his sweats, and you gasp. “Oh, fuck, Johnny— I’m cumming.”

The blonde boy holds you tighter. He curls one strong arm over your back and towards your shoulder; his other cradles the outside of your clothed thigh in a bruising grip. He keeps you spread open and pressed mercilessly against him while his hips rut with a sporadic sort of rhythm.

“C’mon,” he grunts in panted breaths against your chin. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon—”

You tense in his hold, trembling when you cum for him. Your thighs clench around his waist. Your fingers ball his thin shirt in your fists. Your face screws as you fight back a moan. A whimper rises and dies in your throat instead, as a warm feeling of honeyed release blooms in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Johnny praises in vague mumbles while you twitch in his hold. His hips stutter as his boxers grow sticky with a premature release. “That’s it, baby… Shit. I’m cumming, too— Gonna cum so hard for you, baby. Fuck—”

His voice breaks with a pathetic whimper. He chokes back a louder groan and tilts his heavy head back towards the ceiling.

Through heavy eyes clouded with a lingering pleasure, you watch Johnny’s orgasm rack through his body. His chiseled jaw clenches. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat. His skin flares a faint pink color.

Even through the layers of clothes separating you, you feel his cock twitching with each rope of cum it spits into his boxers. Johnny grunts through each one of them, hips stuttering against your own, slow to come back down again.

You just stay like that for a while — limbs entwined, twirling slowly, floating together in every sense of the word. Johnny buries his face in your neck. He presses wet kisses to your burning skin, while you keep your heavy eyes trained on the cupola. You blink slowly at the stars and distant planets there, forgetting until that moment that there’s a whole world out front of you.

An entire universe you spent your whole life dreaming about, gone momentarily forgotten in Johnny Storm’s arms.

“Do you think we’re the first astronauts to orgasm in space?” you wonder aloud in a distant whisper.

It makes Johnny laugh. The warm breath of it fans across your shoulder. His body trembles with it, too. “Yeah,” he scoffs. “You gonna write about me in that book of yours? See what other firsts we could do up here?”

He presses one last innocuous kiss to your neck before parting from you. He lifts his heavy head, lips curled into a crooked smile, and finds you scowling at him in return. “Don’t push it,” you deadpan.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, ‘cause he can never quite tell where the line is — how close you’ll let him get before you’re pulling away again. Apparently, cumming in his pants will only get him so far. “I still get to take you out for that coffee when we get back, though, right?”

“Yes,” you nod in your usual deadpan, though something about your detachment seems different now. Maybe because you’ve still got your thighs wrapped around his waist. “I plan on doing a lot with you when we get back.”

It sounds almost like a threat as it spills from your monotone mouth.

It finds Johnny like a promise, anyway.

Visit Original Link

✶ — May, 1961 | Baxter Building Med Bay — ✶

How quickly a dream turns into a nightmare.

In a blink. In a flash of a bright light. In a searing storm of daunting blue and purple.

On the early morning of the dissent back home, you warned Reed of heightened solar activity. Johnny barely understood a word of it then, but he heard the distant worry in your voice when you told the older man about the strange eruptions of plasma pulsing from the sun, which you feared would disrupt the journey back to Earth.

“Our shielding isn’t strong enough, Reed— We can’t get caught in that flare.”

“We won’t,” he assured, voice strangely even for such an anxiety-riddled man. “You’ll keep an eye on that radar, and Ben will keep us outta the line of fire. We won’t get pulled into that magnetic field, Doc, I swear—”

“It’s not that I’m worried about.”

And you were right not to be.

It was strangely poetic, in a dark, sadistic way, how the thing you dedicated your whole life to learning about ended up killing you in the end.

You’d alerted Reed of the increasing cosmic rays coming in ripples from an aggravated magnetic field. And when Ben hit turbulence, worried that the ship wasn’t strong enough to take it on, the older man told the panicked pilot to push onward. Not because of his own hubris, but because there wasn’t any other choice. There was no going back then — either you laid there and took it, or you pushed the Excelsior to its limits and prayed you escaped unscathed.

Johnny only remembers darkness. And his sister’s screaming. And your strange silence. Then he remembers fire — a big burst of a bright orange flame that engulfed the shuttle as it re-entered the Earth’s atmosphere, snapping in half just before plummeting into the Atlantic.

The Saturn Five did not return to the Earth the same way they had left it.

Ben’s lean, white body, for one, is now covered in bulky calluses that make him a hundred times stronger than the average man, totally unrecognizable from the human he was before. Reed reaches across the aisle for his slumped-over wife, and his arm stretches abnormally to fill the distance between them. Sue, seemingly subconsciously, disappears at random in a flicker of refracted light — as easily as someone turning off a light switch. Johnny burns from the inside out, glowing orange from the wildfire raging inside of him.

And you…

You didn’t return at all.

That’s all Johnny can think about when they’re air-lifted back to the Baxter Building. Press hound the halls outside while ANSA doctors scatter about, unsure of what to make of the suddenly superpowed Saturn Five. He paces back and forth all the while, clenched fists bursting into flame at random, ash burning on his tongue.

“We have to go back out there,” Johnny decides firmly, made stern with his sorrow.

He does not cry for you. His grief is made out of something much more discreet than that, as silent as blood spilling from a weeping wound. Your absence pierces him like a thread through a needle. The thought of finding you again is the only thing keeping him stitched together now.

“With what ship?” Ben calls to him.

“We can build another ship— We’ve done it before!”

Sue pushes through the doctors crowded around her, stumbling towards her baby brother despite the blood matted in her hair. “It wouldn’t do any good, Johnny,” she tries her best to calm him despite the tremor in her own voice.

“We can’t just leave her out there!” the blonde boy shouts, teary eyes wide and crazed. He gestures wildly with his hands, and Sue flinches at the flame he holds within them.

“Johnny—”

“We can’t!”

“Johnny, she’s gone!” Sue shouts over him.

She puts her pale hands to his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath her palm. Her mouth opens to speak, but the words die on her tongue when her fingers start to disappear on their own accord. She balls the fabric of his shirt into her fists and tries to focus.

“If the fire didn’t kill her, being sucked into the atmosphere would’ve, and you know it! It would’ve crushed her, Johnny—”

The boy shakes his stubborn head. “You don’t know that, Sue,” he chokes.

“But she—” Sue pauses to swallow down her own sob, then flashes her brother a more assured, glassy-eyed look. “But she didn’t suffer, Johnny.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it. I do. It was quick. It was over before she knew it was happening—”

“Not that,” Johnny snaps and stumbles back. His pale skin glows a faint orange color under the weight of his rage. He softens only at the fearful look in his sister’s eyes. “We don’t know if it killed her at all, Sue…”

The woman sighs, almost sympathetically so. “Johnny…”

“Look at us, Sue!” he shouts, voice ringing through the white and blue med bay.

He gestures around him with fiery hands — at the personified rock that used to be Ben Grimm, at the abnormally flexible limbs of Reed Richards, at the rainbow waves of light dancing around his sister and turning her invisible at whim.

“How do we know that something didn’t happen to her, too? Something that might be keeping her alive out there?”

“There wouldn’t be enough oxygen, Johnny,” Reed comments with an apologetic sigh from where he slouches on an exam table. His words are weighed down with an obvious regret that paints his weathered face. “Even if something did happen, we only had enough air supply for the trip. She’d be running out of oxygen—”

“Don’t!” Johnny snaps with an accusatory finger pointed his way. Reed cowers under the flame in his hand, and the red rage in his dark eyes. “You don’t get to speak right now, Reed— ‘Cause what happened to us out there? That’s on you.”

“It’s on all of us,” Ben says in a feeble attempt to quell the palpable tension.

“It’s on you!” Johnny repeats and storms out of the room, despite the distant calls of his name.

The muffled chatter outside the med bay doors bursts into a symphony of a thousand voices when Johnny rushes into the hallway. He pushes past the press waiting there, dodging questions and camera flashes, as he makes a beeline for the elevator.

“How’s it going in there, Johnny Storm?” he hears a deep-voiced reporter ask.

“How do you think?” the blonde boy bites in response.

His non-answer succeeds only in producing a hundred more questions in return. The choir of unfamiliar voices turns into a buzzing sort of drone as he steps into the lift. Johnny squints at the never-ending flashes and incessant yelling that pervades his inevitable migraine.

“Care to make a comment, Mr. Storm?”

“What happened to Ben?”

“Where’s the Doctor?”

“Are you okay, Johnny Storm?” a younger newswoman, no older than him, calls from the front of the crowd. The only difference in her prying is that it seems almost genuine, as her made-up face screws softly with concern.

“Yeah…” Johnny sighs and presses the button for the main floor. The elevator doors ding as they close ahead of him. “I just… I had a date.”

to the brave souls who made it this far: thank you and i love you and i'm sorry for making you read something so long hahah. but i hope you liked it!! just know i'm giving all of you a virtual kiss on the forehead right now ily!!! (▰˘◡˘▰)

[beasbrain]

Risky Business

description: after a few drinks during girls night with robin and nancy, the liquid courage kicks in and you decide to send a risky photo to your not-so-secret crush, eddie. and let's just say, the feelings are mutual.

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x you, no y/n, girls night chaos, drunk confession, eddie is down BAD, dirty talk on the phone, bar bathroom photos, reader is a huge tease, eddie and reader are mutually horny, they lowkey some freaks fr

TW: NSFW (18+) content, minors do not interact!!! dirty talk the house boots, insinuation/descriptions, no actual action

WC: 2.0k

A/N: requested by @darth-aragorn i hope you enjoy!! reblogs are always appreciated!!! ts freaky ngl

The thing about Eddie Munson was that he could flirt with everyone except you, seriously.

The guy could lean over a lunch table and make some poor sophomore nearly pass out with one wink, could sweet-talk bartenders into free fries at The Hideout, could stand on stage with a guitar slung low on his hips and command an entire room without even trying.

But the second you walked into the room? Gone. Reduced to a fidgety, chain-fiddling idiot who forgot how sentences worked. And honestly? You weren’t much better.

It had been like that for months now, maybe longer. Ever since Steve accidentally invited you into the weird little orbit of his friend group one summer night after work, things with Eddie had been weird. Not bad weird, but worse. Tense weird, full of pent-up energy. 

The kind of weird where everyone else noticed before you did. The kind where Eddie always saved you a seat without asking. Where his hand would land on your lower back in crowded rooms. Where he’d light your cigarette for you before lighting his own. Where he looked at you like you’d hung the goddamn moon and then immediately panicked the second you caught him doing it.

Robin called it painful to witness. Nancy called it emotionally constipated. Steve called it “like watching two idiots repeatedly miss a stop sign.” Because apparently, everyone knew Eddie Munson was in love with you, except Eddie Munson. And apparently, everyone knew you were in love with Eddie, except you.

Or— no. You knew, you just refused to do anything about it because the possibility of rejection made your stomach hurt. So instead, you and Eddie existed in this endless cycle of longing glances and almosts.

Almost touching, almost kissing, almost saying something real, then immediately chickening out. Which was exactly how you ended up five tequila shots deep at girls’ night, squished into a booth between Robin and Nancy while aggressively denying the obvious.

“He does not like me,” you insisted for maybe the fifteenth time, words slightly slurred as you pointed your straw accusingly at them. “You guys are projecting.”

Robin barked out a laugh so loud the table next to you looked over. “Oh my God,” she said, clutching her chest dramatically. “Nancy, I can’t do this anymore. They’re actually stupid.”

Nancy looked equally exhausted. “Eddie nearly walked into traffic last week because you waved at him.”

“That is not true.”

“It absolutely is true,” Robin said immediately. “Steve had to physically yank him back onto the sidewalk.”

You snorted into your drink. “That’s dramatic.”

Nancy leaned forward, expression deadly serious. “He watches you like a starving animal.”

“No, he does not!”

“He does,” Robin insisted. “It’s honestly embarrassing. You say his name, and he sits up like someone rang a little bell.”

Nancy nodded calmly. “And you’re not any better, by the way.”

You scoffed, offended. “I am incredibly chill.”

The two of them stared at you, then burst out laughing.

“Bullshit!” Nancy retorts. 

“Oh my God,” Robin wheezed. “You wore his leather jacket home once and slept in it for like three days.”

“It smelled good!”

Nancy took a sip of her drink. “Case closed.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands while alcohol buzzed warm through your body. Maybe they were right, maybe Eddie did like you. 

Robin suddenly narrowed her eyes at you over the rim of her beer. “You know what your problem is?”

“I’m scared of vulnerability?”

“You’re both cowards,” she corrected.

Nancy nodded. “Severely.”

“Thank you, Captain Wheeler.”

Robin grabbed your wrist dramatically. “One of you needs to make a move before I lose my mind.”

Your cheeks felt hot now from the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol, and not from imagining Eddie’s hands or his mouth or the way he looked at you whenever you wore short skirts. Absolutely, 100% not that.

“You know what?” you announced suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Fine.”

Nancy immediately looked wary. “That tone concerns me.”

“I can make moves.”

Robin’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh no.”

You were already digging through your purse for your phone. Nancy reached for you immediately. “Wait— hold on, maybe let’s think first—”

“No thinking,” you declared. “Thinking is what got me here.”

Robin looked thrilled. “I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.”

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands as you unlocked it, tequila confidence making you reckless.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked cautiously.

You grinned, then wobily stood up, sashaying your way to the bathroom. Robin immediately grabbed Nancy’s arm. “Should we stop her?”

Nancy sighed into her drink. “There’s no point.”

You flipped them both off over your shoulder, nearly tripping over your own boots in the process, before disappearing into the tiny neon-lit bathroom. The second the door shut behind you, you stared at yourself in the mirror and burst into drunk laughter.

Your eyeliner was slightly smudged, your cheeks warm and flushed from alcohol, and your lips shiny from the cherry gloss Nancy insisted you borrow earlier. Cute, dangerously cute, at that. 

“This is insane,” you whispered to yourself, then immediately unlocked your phone anyway.

Because maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way Eddie looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole every time you wore a low-cut top. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spent months touching you like he was terrified of wanting too much.

Whatever it was, it made your pulse flutter wildly as you adjusted your top just slightly and angled your phone. Not fully nude, but just enough to make him weak in the knees. Enough cleavage, thigh, and pouty face to absolutely destroy him. You stared at the picture for a long moment afterward, chewing your lip.

Then typed:

you: girls night has me making bad decisions apparently

you: don’t let this go to your head munson

[image attached]

Across town, Eddie was lying across his bed pretending to watch some shitty late-night horror movie, pretending being the key word. Because really, he’d spent the last hour thinking about you. Again.

Your laugh earlier this week. The way your hand lingered on his arm yesterday. That tiny skirt you wore last Friday that nearly made him drive his van into a mailbox. Pathetic behavior, honestly.

He was halfway through wondering if maybe he should finally grow a pair and ask you out properly when his personalized ringtone for you shattered through the room.

Eddie tried to play it cool, giving it some time before he opened the messages, but failed instantly. Then he opened the message and short-circuited.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

Eddie bolted upright so fast he smacked his knee against his bedside table, hard, but didn’t even feel it. Because there you were on his screen, all flushed cheeks and glossy lips and soft skin, looking pretty and teasing and so unfairly gorgeous he thought he might actually die.

Not fully exposed, but enough. Enough to make his brain completely stop functioning and send every coherent thought directly out the window.

“Oh, my god,” Eddie sighed instantly, closing his eyes and clutching the phone to his chest like he was protecting a sacred artifact.

His face was burning, his heart was pounding, and embarrassingly enough, his first thought wasn’t even 'holy shit she sent me a dirty picture.' It was:

She thought of me. Out of everyone, she thought of me.

Then his eyes drifted back to the photo, and okay. Maybe a few less gentlemanly thoughts immediately followed. Because Jesus Christ. The angle, the look on your face. The fact he knew you were probably drunk and giggling somewhere while simultaneously ruining his entire life.

Eddie scrubbed a hand down his face, already feeling warm all over as his imagination immediately started betraying him in vivid detail.

What you’d look like sitting in his lap. What that top would look like on his bedroom floor. What noises you’d make if he finally kissed you the way he’d been wanting to for months.

You hit call before the liquid courage could wear off, heart slamming against your ribs as you leaned back against the cool bathroom wall. 

“…Hello?” Eddie’s voice was rough with sleep and surprise, like he’d been halfway to dozing and your name on the screen jump-started his wake. “Sweetheart? You okay? It’s late, you’re—”

You smiled at your reflection, cheeks flushed, top still pulled just low enough. “I’m fine, Munson. Better than fine, actually.”

You could picture him sitting up in bed, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Did you… uh… did you mean to send that picture? To me?”

God, he sounded so shy. The same guy who could flirt with half of Hawkins but turned into a nervous wreck the second you looked at him too long.

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I meant to. Girls’ night got a little… dangerous. Tequila made me bold. And I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

A stunned little pause, then a shaky breath left his mouth. “You… yeah? Fuck. I don’t even know what to say. You look insane in that photo. Like, stupidly hot. I can’t even formulate a coherent thought.”

You smiled, leaning back against the tiled wall. “Good. I want you stupid for me.”

Eddie swallowed hard enough for you to hear it. “Jesus Christ. You’re really doing this?”

“Mhm.” Your voice dropped. “I keep picturing you pushing me up against this wall. Kissing my neck all sloppy while your hand slides up under my skirt. You’d find out real quick how wet I am just from thinking about you.”

A rough exhale. “Fuck… yeah? You’re wet right now?”

“Soaked,” you whispered. “Can you help me, Eddie?”

You swore you could hear his eyes rolling back. “Help you with what, sweetheart?”

“Tell me what you’d do to me. I need to know.”

He groans, “That little mouth? I keep imagining those lips stretched around my cock, looking up at me with those pretty eyes while I fuck your throat slowly. You’d take it so good for me, wouldn’t you?”

You let out a soft, needy sound. “Yes. I’d be so good.”

Eddie’s breathing was getting heavier. “Shit, sweetheart… I’ve thought about that so many times. You in my van, skirt flipped up, riding me in the backseat while the windows fog up. Or bending you over the hood, fucking you stupid.”

Your thighs pressed together. “Eddie—”

“I’d take my time with you first,” he continued, voice rougher now, confidence growing with every word. “Eat you out until your legs shake. I wanna feel you come on my face before I even think about fucking you.”

Your mind begins to race, flashes of what were mere fantasies coming to fruition every second he speaks. The thought of him actually pounding you against the van causes an audible whimper to leave your throat.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Every time you smile at me, I get stupid. Every time you wear something short, I go home and lose my mind imagining exactly this. Pinning you down in my bed, legs over my shoulders, pounding into you until you’re crying and begging and coming so hard you see stars.”

Fuck is right, Eddie. You were breathing fast now, flushed and aching. “Then stop imagining. Come get me. Right now. I’m done waiting. I want your hands on me tonight. I want you inside me now.”

There was a long, charged pause. You heard him shift, probably sitting up fast.

“You—,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m coming to get you. Fifteen minutes, tops. You stay right there in that bar. Don’t you dare leave with anyone else. You’re mine tonight, sweetheart.

Then, the line clicked dead. You stared at your phone, cheeks burning, and a giddy smile spreading across your face.

Mission accomplished. 

well well well

anyways.... hope you all enjoyed ;)

general taglist is open!!

taglist:

@aareyouquotingbeachesatme @bluebirdonafencepost

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101@flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25@abirdinthehouse@m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond 

[beasbrain]

I'm Not in Love

description: he’ll get on his knees for you behind closed doors, call you his queen like it’s the only truth that matters. but at school? you’re just another cheerleader he rolls his eyes at, and you’ve had enough of being his secret.

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x you, no y/n, weekend lover energy, angst, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, dom!eddie smut, public denial private devotion, possessive!eddie, soft!eddie, "my queen", (all behind closed doors, of course)

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

WC:7.9k

A/N: requested by @pierrotandsam i hope i did your request justice!! thank you all for your continued support, I LOVE YOU RAHHHHHH!! reblogs are always appreciated <33 enjoyyyyyuhhhhh

The first time you notice it, it almost feels like a mistake. Because the night before, Eddie had you pinned against the thin wall of his trailer, palms warm at your waist, voice low and reverent like he was saying something sacred.

“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling you closer like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. “My queen shouldn’t have to ask.”

He said it so easily, like it was fact. Like it was truth. Like you were something worth kneeling for.

And then, school comes. Fluorescent lights. Lockers slamming. The stale, over-perfumed air of Hawkins High School presses in on you from all sides.

You see him before he sees you. Or—no, that’s not right. He does see you.

You catch it, just for a second. His eyes flick up, lock with yours, and then slide right past you like you’re just another body in the hallway.

Like you’re nothing.

Your stomach drops so fast it makes you dizzy. But maybe it’s just a thing. A one-off, a weird morning, Eddie being Eddie.

Right?

You try again at lunch.

He’s at his usual table, boots kicked out, Hellfire Club crowding around him, loud and messy and unapologetic. He’s mid-rant about something; D&D, probably, hands moving like he’s conducting his own chaos.

You hover for half a second, just long enough to be seen. He notices you this time, you know he does. There’s that flicker of recognition again.

Something softer underneath it, something that belongs to you and you alone. And then it’s gone.

“Jesus,” he scoffs loudly, leaning back in his chair like you’re part of the scenery he’s criticizing. “The pom-pom parade’s getting more annoying every day.”

Laughter. Not yours, never yours. Your face burns, but you don’t stop walking. Years of practiced composure keep your spine straight, your expression neutral, your steps steady.

Like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. But it does. It really fucking does.

Because that night? That night he opens the trailer door before you even knock. Like he’s been waiting, like he always is.

“There you are,” he breathes, and it’s different now; soft, relieved, and almost desperate.

His hands are on you instantly, pulling you inside, the door slamming shut behind you like it’s sealing something sacred off from the rest of the world.

His forehead presses to yours, curls brushing your cheeks, his voice dropping into something quiet and worshipful.

“They don’t get to look at you like I do,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to have you.”

Your hands find his jacket, clutching tight.

“Then why do you act like you don’t even see me?” you ask, and it comes out smaller than you mean it to.

That pauses him. His grip tightens, and his jaw sets just a little.

“It’s different there,” he says finally. “That place? It’s a joke. A performance. I’m not playing their game.”

Your laugh is sharp, but quiet.

“But you are,” you say. “You just don’t realize it.”

Instead of pulling away, he leans in closer, always closer. Like, proximity can fix what distance breaks.

“You think I don’t mean it?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something fragile. “In here? With you?”

You don’t answer, because that’s not the problem.

He presses a kiss to your temple. Your cheek. Your mouth. Soft, reverent, careful like he’s trying to convince you through touch instead of words.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips. “My queen. That doesn’t change just because we step outside.”

But it does.

Because tomorrow morning you’ll be back under those lights, and he’ll look through you again like you’re nothing but everything he claims to hate.

You wake up earlier than you ever do. Not because you have to, but because you want to.

The room is still dim, the kind of soft gray light that makes everything feel slower, like the world hasn’t fully decided to start yet.

You lie there for a second, staring at the ceiling, Eddie’s voice from last night looping in your head in a way that’s equal parts comforting and infuriating.

“My queen.”

Your jaw tightens.

“Yeah,” you murmur to yourself, pushing the blankets off. “Okay.”

If he wants to act like you don’t exist out there, fine. You’re not going to beg for attention. But you’re also not going to pretend you don’t care what he sees.

The closet takes longer than it should.

You pass over your usual outfits, the safe ones. The ones that fit neatly into the version of you everyone already understands. Pleated skirts, clean lines, soft colors that make people smile at you in the hallways.

Not today.

Your fingers land on a pair of ripped jeans you barely wear. They’re not extreme, not enough to raise eyebrows, but different enough that it feels like you’re stepping just slightly outside the lines.

You pull them on. A top next. Fitted, but not loud. It sits just right against your waist, the kind of thing you don’t usually reach for unless you’re trying to feel something.

You hesitate, then grab your Converse. That part makes you pause the longest, because it’s not random.

You remember him, sprawled across his mattress, tapping the side of your shoe once, absentminded, like it was a thought he didn’t mean to say out loud.

“Way better than those preppy things you wear,” he’d said. “More you.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

Your hair is the last thing. Usually it’s styled, controlled. Pulled back into something intentional. Today, you let it fall. Loose, soft, and slightly imperfect; exactly how his hands always leave it.

You catch your reflection in the mirror, and for a second, you don’t move. It’s still you, just a version that feels a little closer to the one he sees when it’s just the two of you.

The halls of Hawkins High School are louder than usual. Or maybe you’re just more aware of it.

Every step feels deliberate, like you’re walking into something instead of just through it. You can feel the difference in how people look at you, subtle shifts, double takes that don’t quite linger long enough to mean anything.

You don’t look for him right away; you don’t want to. But your eyes betray you eventually, flicking toward the far end of the hall, and there he is.

Leaning against the lockers like he owns the place he claims to hate, Dustin beside him mid-sentence, animated as ever. Eddie’s not really listening, not fully.

His attention drifts, lazy and unfocused, until it lands on you and stops. It’s small, so small you almost miss it, but you don’t.

His eyes take you in like they always do when it’s just the two of you. Not just looking, but seeing.

The jeans. The shoes. Your hair. You watch the recognition hit. The quiet, almost involuntary flicker of something softer. Something that belongs to last night.

Your heart stutters, just once. And then it’s gone.

He straightens slightly, like he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

“Dude,” Dustin is saying, still talking, completely unaware. “I’m telling you, if we just—”

Eddie cuts him off with a short laugh, louder than it needs to be.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, pushing off the lockers as the two of them start walking right toward you.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

You look anyway. For half a second, your eyes meet again, and this time, he rolls his. It’s exaggerated.

“Unbelievable,” he says, not even lowering his voice as he passes you, shoulder brushing just barely against yours. “It’s like they all share the same brain cell. New costume, same act.”

Dustin snorts beside him, quick and thoughtless. “Right? It’s like—”

Their voices fade as they keep walking. You don’t turn around. You don’t stop. You just keep going, steps steady, posture perfect, like nothing just shifted inside your chest.

Because you know that look he gave you before the eye roll. You know it wasn’t real, but it still stings more than it should.

The trailer door swings open before your knuckles even finish their second tap. Eddie doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t need to. His hand closes around your wrist, and he yanks you inside, the door slamming shut hard enough to rattle the walls.

The second the latch clicks, he’s on you; mouth crashing into yours like he’s been starving for the taste of you all day.

“Fuck, there she is,” he growls against your lips, walking you backward until your shoulders hit the flimsy kitchen counter.

His hands are everywhere at once, sliding under your shirt, palming your waist like he needs to remind himself you’re real. “My queen. My fucking queen.”

You barely get a breath before he’s kissing down your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing the spot that always makes your knees weak.

He drops to his knees right there on the worn linoleum like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands sliding down your thighs, reverence in every touch.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing his face against the front of those ripped jeans, inhaling like your scent is oxygen. “You walked around school looking like this for me, didn’t you?”

His fingers trace the frayed rips at your knees, then higher, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your inner thighs. “Every single person who looked at you today wanted you. And none of them gets to have you. Only me.”

A soft, needy sound escapes you as he mouths over the denim, hot breath soaking through.

He looks up at you from the floor; dark eyes, glassy with want, curls wild, that cocky public mask completely gone. Here, he’s only yours.

“I saw you in the hall,” he confesses, voice low and rough as he pops the button on your jeans. “Nearly lost my goddamn mind. Jesus Christ, princess… you looked like sin. Like you’d let me ruin you right there against the lockers if I asked.” He drags the zipper down slowly, eyes locked on yours. “So perfect.”

He tugs your jeans and panties down in one motion, helping you step out of them.

Then he leans in and kisses you right at the apex of your thighs, soft at first, almost chaste, before his tongue parts you with a hungry groan.

“Eddie—” Your hand flies to his hair, gripping tight.

He hums against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine. “Taste so fucking good, like you were made for my fucking mouth.”

His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer as he devours you—long, filthy strokes of his tongue, sucking your clit like he’s trying to pull every sound out of you.

“Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to hear you moan like that. Just me.”

Your legs start to shake. He notices immediately, rising just enough to lift you onto the counter, spreading your thighs wide so he can bury his face again.

Two fingers push inside you without warning, curling just right, and your head falls back against the cabinet with a thud.

“That’s it,” he praises between licks, voice muffled and worshipful. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. You looked so goddamn pretty today.”

He pumps his fingers faster, tongue flicking relentlessly against your clit. “Come for me. Let me taste how much you need this.”

The orgasm hits you hard—white-hot and overwhelming. You cry out his name, thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it, groaning like your pleasure is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling and oversensitive, only then pulling back with a slick shine on his chin and a dazed, adoring smile.

He stands, kissing you deep so you can taste yourself on his tongue, hands already working his belt open.

“Bedroom?” he asks, voice wrecked.

You shake your head, pulling him closer by his shirt. “Here. Now.”

Eddie laughs, low and delighted, lifting you off the counter and turning you around so your chest presses against the cool surface. He kicks your legs apart, lining himself up.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your ear as he pushes in, thick, slow, perfect. “Always so wet for me.” He bottoms out with a broken moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Only I get to know how you fall apart. Only I get to call you mine.”

Then he starts moving, deep, possessive thrusts that make the trailer creak, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks no one else will ever see.

Every snap of his hips is deliberate, like he’s trying to press the truth of you into your bones. The angle has you gasping, chest pressed tight to the counter, his mouth hot against the back of your neck.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he groans, voice wrecked. “All those pretty little sounds just for me. You take me so well, princess. Like your body was made for this cock.” He angles his hips and hits that spot that makes your vision spark white. “That’s it, right there.”

Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the countertop as the pleasure coils tighter. Eddie doesn’t let up. He reaches around to rub tight circles over your clit, mouth never leaving your skin; kissing, biting, whispering filthy praise between every thrust.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart while I’m still buried inside you.” His voice drops lower, almost reverent. “You looked so fucking good today. Drives me crazy knowing they all saw you and still don’t know you’re dripping for me every night.”

The words tip you over the edge. You cry out, clenching hard around him as the orgasm crashes through you.

Eddie curses, hips stuttering, and follows right after, burying himself deep with a guttural moan, spilling inside you while he holds you.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the fridge. Then he’s gently pulling out, turning you around, and kissing you slow and deep, like he’s sealing every word he just said into your mouth.

Later, you’re tangled in his bed, sheets twisted around your bare legs. Eddie’s sprawled on his back, one arm hooked around your waist, pulling you half on top of him.

His fingers trace lazy patterns up and down your spine, curls splayed across the pillow, eyes half-lidded and soft in the low lamplight. He looks peaceful and content, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

You try to match it. You press a kiss to his chest, right over the tattoo there, and murmur, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “Only for you, sweetheart. My queen deserves to be worshipped properly.”

His hand slides down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Especially after walking around school looking like a goddamn wet dream in those jeans.”

You smile against his skin, even as something tightens in your chest. You trace one of his scars with your fingertip, keeping your voice light. “Yeah… it was fun seeing you try not to stare.”

It comes out casual. Playful, even. Like you’re totally fine with it. Like the memory of him rolling his eyes in the hallway doesn’t still sting.

Eddie hums, clearly buying it, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Had to. Can’t have the sheep thinking I’ve gone soft. But trust me, the second I got you through that door…”

He trails off with a low groan, rolling you both so you’re underneath him again, caging you in with his arms. His eyes are warm, adoring. “Best part of my whole shitty day.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently like you always do when you want him closer.

“I know. It’s okay.”

But it’s not, not really.

Because even now, wrapped up in him, warm and safe and wanted, you can already picture tomorrow: fluorescent lights, slammed lockers, the way his gaze will slide right past you again like you’re nothing.

Like this, his mouth on your skin, his voice calling you his queen, the way he fucks you like you’re sacred, doesn’t exist the second you step outside this trailer.

You bury your face in his neck so he won’t see the way your eyes sting. He holds you tighter, completely unaware, murmuring more soft praises into your hair until his breathing evens out.

You stay awake a little longer, listening to his heartbeat, your mind slipping off, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.

Game days always feel louder.

By the time you step into Hawkins High School, the whole place is buzzing; hallways packed tighter, voices higher, everything charged with that restless, anticipatory energy that comes before a Friday night game.

And you? You’re back in uniform. It fits like it always does. Clean lines, bright colors, everything about it is designed to be seen. It’s the version of you everyone recognizes, and the version he pretends to hate.

You catch a few looks as you move through the halls, smiles from teammates, nods from people who only acknowledge you on days like this.

Lunch is worse. It’s crowded, loud, suffocating, and you don’t even mean to look for him this time, you really don’t, but your eyes still drift. And there he is.

Boots up on the bench, leaning back like he owns his corner of the cafeteria, Hellfire Club gathered around him in their usual chaos.

He’s mid-story, hands moving, voice animated, until a group of cheerleaders passes by the table. Until you pass by. His gaze flicks over, just once. You feel it; you always do.

And then, “Man,” he says, loud enough for his whole table to hear, leaning forward with a smirk that feels practiced. “They really roll out in those uniforms like it’s some kind of holy procession or something.”

A couple of the guys laugh. Someone mutters something about pom-poms. Eddie shakes his head, scoffing, like the whole thing is beneath him. Like you’re beneath him.

Your grip tightens around your tray, and you don’t look over again. You don’t give him that. But the words stick anyway.

“Holy procession.”

You almost want to laugh. Because if anyone treats something like religion, it’s him.

Practice is worse in a quieter way.

The field stretches out under a dull sky, the air crisp, biting just enough to keep you alert. The rest of the team moves through warm-ups, chatter echoing across the track as your coach calls out instructions.

Eventually, they’re sent out to start running drills.

“Track. Let’s go,” someone calls.

You hesitate.

“Be right there,” you say, already stepping back toward the building before anyone can question it.

No one does, they’re too busy. You’re grateful for that.

The halls are quieter now, most people already filtering out toward the field, the distant echo of the marching band bleeding faintly through the walls.

Your footsteps feel louder than they should as you head toward the locker room, heart still a little off from everything earlier.

You just need a second, just a minute to breathe. The door creaks when you push it open.

Dark, mostly. The overhead lights are off, only a soft strip of yellow from one corner casting long shadows between the rows of lockers. It’s empty, or at least, it looks empty.

You don’t think twice. You step in, letting the door fall shut behind you, already reaching up to adjust your hair, your uniform. And then, hands.

They catch your waist from behind, pulling you back into a solid chest before you can even gasp properly.

“Missed me that bad?” his voice murmurs low against your ear.

Your breath stutters. Of course, of course it’s him.

“Eddie—” you start, but it comes out more like a breath than a protest.

His grip tightens just slightly, not rough—never rough—but insistent, like he already knows you’re not going to pull away.

“You didn't stop by at the end of the day,” Eddie mutters, nose brushing along the side of your neck, his voice softer now, edged with something almost accusing. “Had me thinking you were avoiding me.”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of you. “Maybe I was.”

That makes him pause, only for a second. Then his hands slide up, slow and certain, like he’s relearning you by touch alone, thumbs grazing over the sides of your uniform.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “Didn’t seem like it last night.”

There it is, that tone. The one he always uses when it’s just the two of you. Like the rest of the world peels away, and he gets to be this version of himself again. Yours.

Your eyes close for a second despite yourself.

“That was last night,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he turns you slightly in his arms, enough to get a better look at you, his gaze dropping, lingering in a way that feels almost reverent again.

“God,” he exhales, softer now. “You look—”

He doesn’t finish it, he doesn’t have to. His hand comes up, brushing a loose strand of your hair back, fingers catching just briefly like he doesn’t want to let go.

“My queen,” he adds under his breath, like it belongs here. Your chest tightens.

“You have a funny way of showing that,” you murmur.

He frowns, just slightly, like he doesn’t like the tone, like he doesn’t understand why this isn’t enough.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he asks, quieter now. “Dragging that shit in here.”

“Because it matters.”

You don’t raise your voice, you don’t pull away. But you don’t melt into him either. And he notices, you can tell he does.

So he does what he always does when something feels too real: he leans in and closes the distance.

His lips brush your neck, slow, lingering, and intentional in a way that makes your breath hitch despite everything.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs against your skin.

Your hands hover at his chest, unsure. Because this? This is the part you want, and the part that hurts.

His grip tightens slightly at your waist, like he’s anchoring you there with him, like nothing outside this room exists. For a moment, you let yourself lean into it, just a little. Just enough to remember what it feels like when he’s not pretending.

By the time you make it back to the field, the lights are on. The game energy has fully taken over now, music blaring, people crowding into the stands, everything loud and overwhelming and public.

You rejoin your team near the track, slipping back into place as if nothing happened.

“Hey—oh my god, finally,” one of the girls says, grabbing your arm lightly. “Coach was about to send someone in for you.”

“Sorry,” you say automatically. “I just needed—”

She cuts you off, eyes suddenly narrowing. Not suspicious, but excited.

“Wait,” she says, leaning closer. “Hold on, turn your head.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t move.

“Wait, no—stop—” you start, but she’s already gently tilting your chin, just enough.

“Oh my god.” Her face lights up instantly. Pure delight.

“Shut up,” she whispers, grinning. “You have a hickey.”

Heat floods your entire body. “It’s not—” you try, but your voice falters.

“Finally,” she laughs softly, squeezing your arm. “I was starting to think you just weren’t interested in anyone. This is so good.”

“Good," you echo.

“You deserve to be happy,” she adds, softer now, genuinely warm. “Like, actually happy.”

Your throat tightens. Because to her, this is simple. Sweet. Normal.

You force a small smile.

“Yeah,” you say, even though it doesn’t feel true. “Something like that.”

She beams, completely satisfied, already turning back toward the rest of the team.

And you just stand there for a second. The noise of the crowd swelling around you. The mark on your skin is still warm, proof of something that only exists in the dark.

Something no one, not even the person who gave it to you, would ever admit to in the light.

The game ends in a blur of noise; cheering, music. The sharp echo of the band still ringing in your ears as people spill out of the stands, bodies moving in every direction, voices overlapping until it all becomes one steady hum.

You go through the motions. Smile when you’re supposed to. Clap when everyone else does. Stay just long enough that no one questions it.

And then you leave. The parking lot is quieter on the far side, tucked away from the main rush.

Stadium lights cast everything in this hazy glow, long shadows stretching across the pavement as you make your way to your car. You just want to go home.

You barely make it to the driver’s side before you hear it.

“Hey—hey, wait.”

You freeze, and you don’t turn right away. You don’t give him that immediately.

But you hear his footsteps, quick, uneven, like he almost slipped past you tonight and is trying to catch up before you disappear completely.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath as he gets closer, glancing over his shoulder like he’s checking for witnesses. “You walk fast.”

Eddie looks different out here. Not softer, just restless.

His eyes flick around the lot again, shoulders tight, like even being near you out in the open is something he has to manage carefully.

That’s what does it.

“What?” he says, noticing the look on your face, trying to play it off with a crooked grin. “No ‘hi, Eddie’? I come all the way out here—”

“Why are you looking around like that?”

It cuts him off, clean. He blinks.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Your voice isn’t loud, but it’s not soft anymore either. His expression shifts, something defensive creeping in almost immediately.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you say. “Like you’re gonna get caught doing something wrong.”

He huffs out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair like this is all ridiculous.

“Okay, and? What, you want me to roll out a red carpet in the middle of the parking lot?” he jokes, stepping a little closer. “Make a big announcement? ‘Hey everyone, look who I—’”

“I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”

For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“You’re joking,” he says.

You don’t answer, and that’s when it clicks. The grin fades, something sharper takes its place.

“You’re serious?” he asks, voice flattening.

“Yes.”

It’s simple, honest…and apparently, completely unacceptable. He scoffs, stepping back like you just said something offensive.

“Are you kidding me right now?” he mutters. “This is what this is about? After everything?”

“After everything?” you repeat. “You act like I don’t exist. You talk about me like I’m—like I’m a joke.”

“Oh, come on,” he snaps, the edge in his voice coming out fast now. “Don’t act like you don’t know what that place is. It’s high school. It’s bullshit. None of it’s real.”

“It’s real to me.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be.”

You swallow, shaking your head slightly.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

He laughs again, but there’s nothing amused about it now.

“Right. Because what, you want me to suddenly start hanging around your little cheerleader squad?” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the field. “You want me to play nice with the same people who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you’re implying.”

“No,” you push back, frustration finally breaking through. “I’m saying I don’t want to feel like something you’re ashamed of.”

His expression hardens, jaw tightening like he’s been cornered.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says, but there’s something off about it now. “I’m just not stupid.”

Your stomach drops. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not about to screw myself over because you suddenly decided you need a public fucking announcement,” he snaps. “You think your friends are gonna be cool with this? You think your precious little image survives that?”

You stare at him. Because that wasn’t about protecting you, that was about protecting him.

“You don’t even hear yourself,” you say quietly.

“Oh, I hear myself just fine.”

“Do you?”

Because you don’t think he does. You don’t think he realizes what he’s actually saying.

Or, maybe he does.

“Look,” he says, running a hand over his face, clearly irritated now. “If this is gonna turn into some dramatic thing, I’m not doing it. I told you what this is.”

“What it is?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Something real. Something that’s ours. Not for everyone else to pick apart.”

“Then why does it only exist when no one else is looking?”

“Because that’s the only place it works,” he says.

That’s the thing you can’t unhear. You nod slowly, even though it feels like something inside you is caving in.

“Okay,” you say. Just that.

He frowns slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in that easily.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

You open your car door. “I get it.”

“Wait—” he starts, but there’s no real urgency behind it. Not enough.

Not like there should be. You pause just long enough to look at him one last time.

“I don’t want that,” you say. “Not like this.”

Something flickers across his face, too fast to hold onto.

“Then that’s your problem,” he mutters.

And that? That’s the final cut. You don’t say anything else. You just get in the car, slam the door, and leave.

Monday feels colder. Not literally, just the kind of cold that settles under your skin, the kind that comes from deciding something and sticking to it.

You don’t wake up early this time. You don’t overthink your outfit. You don’t stand in front of the mirror trying to see yourself the way he does.

The halls of Hawkins High School are the same as always: loud, crowded, and predictable. But you’re different in them now.

There’s no hesitation in your steps. No scanning the room without meaning to. No quiet, traitorous hope that maybe today he’ll look at you differently.

You don’t look for him at all. And somehow, that’s exactly why you feel it. That awareness, like someone’s eyes are on you.

You know who it is before you even confirm it.

You don’t give in right away. You keep walking, steady, focused, refusing to let your head turn.

But it lingers, that feeling of being watched. Eventually, your eyes flick; just barely, just enough to catch it in your periphery.

Eddie, leaning against the lockers like always. But he’s not talking, not really. Dustin is mid-sentence beside him, hands moving, voice animated…and Eddie’s not listening.

He’s watching you. Not casually, not like before. There’s no smirk. No eye roll, no performance.

You don’t slow down, and you don’t give him anything. You just keep walking like he’s part of the wall behind him. And for the first time, it throws him off.

You can feel it even without looking back.

Lunch is worse for him, but better for you. Because you sit with your friends, laugh when something’s funny, respond when spoken to, and fall into your usual rhythm like nothing is missing.

Like he isn’t missing.

And that? That’s new.

From across the cafeteria, Eddie notices it immediately. You’re not glancing over, not even once.

Not hovering at the edges of his awareness. Not giving him that half-second of attention he’s gotten so used to taking for granted. It shouldn’t bother him, it really shouldn’t.

This is what he wanted, right? Separation. Control. No complications. So why does it feel like something’s off?

“Dude, are you even listening?” Dustin asks, snapping his fingers once in front of his face.

Eddie blinks, dragging his gaze away from you like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m listening.”

“You’re not,” Dustin says flatly.

Eddie shrugs it off, leaning back in his seat, trying to force himself back into the conversation, back into the version of himself that makes sense here.

But his eyes keep drifting against his will, back to you.

You laugh at something one of your teammates says, head tipping back slightly, hair falling the way he always liked it, and something in his chest tightens.

Because you look…fine. Better than fine, actually. Like you’re not waiting for anything. Like you’re not missing anything. Like you’re not missing him.

And that doesn’t sit right, not at all.

You feel it again, that stare. You try to ignore it, you really, really do. But something in you—something stubborn, something tired—finally snaps.

You look up across the room, right at him. And when your eyes meet, there’s no softness. No hesitation. No flicker of last night, or the night before, or any of it.

Just a look: sharp, cold, and cutting.

The kind that says more than words ever could. Because it’s not angry in the way he expected. It’s not loud or emotional; it’s final.

Like you’ve already decided something he hasn’t caught up to yet.

You don’t hold eye contact, and you don’t give him time to recover. You just look away, like he doesn’t matter. Like, he’s not even worth the energy it takes to stay mad.

That’s when it really sinks in.

He fucked up.

And he doesn’t know how to handle that, not even a little.

He waits longer than he should; that’s the first mistake. Not days, but just enough time to convince himself it isn’t urgent, that you’ll come around, that you always do.

Except you don’t.

Your house looks the same as always. Warm lights on, quiet street, the kind of place that feels stable in a way his life never has.

Eddie sits in his van for a minute, then another. Hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, running through what he’s going to say and hating every version of it.

Because none of it sounds like him. None of it sounds right.

But leaving feels worse, so he gets out.

The knock on your door comes later than you expect. You almost don’t answer it, but something in you already knows. So you open the door anyway, and there he is.

Standing on your porch like he doesn’t belong there, like he knows it.

“Hey,” he says finally.

You don’t return it.

“Why are you here?”

“I—” he starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”

You hesitate for a second. Then you step outside, pulling the door mostly shut behind you like you’re not inviting him in.

“Talk,” you say.

He nods, like he expected that.

“Look,” he starts, pacing once like he needs the movement, like standing still makes it worse. “About the other night—”

“Which part?” you cut in. “The part where you said it only works if no one knows about me, or the part where you said it’s my problem?”

He exhales sharply, nodding like he’s bracing himself.

“Yeah. That,” he mutters. “That was—” He huffs out a breath. “That was shitty. I know that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he adds quickly.

“You said it like that.”

“I know.”

“And you meant it enough to say it.”

That corners him.

“I panicked,” he admits, quieter now. “You said you didn’t want to be a secret and I—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I got defensive. I said shit I shouldn’t have.”

Your arms cross over your chest.

“And the way you act at school?” you ask. “Was that panic too?”

He flinches.

“No,” he says. “That’s just… how I deal with that place.”

“So humiliating me is how you deal with it?”

“I’m not trying to humiliate you—”

“But you are.” Your voice cracks just slightly.

“You think I don’t notice?” you continue, quieter now but sharper. “The comments, the eye rolls, the way you act like I’m everything you hate? You think that just… doesn’t matter because you call me your ‘queen’ and act like you care when no one’s around?”

His chest tightens at that.

Because hearing it out loud makes it sound exactly what it actually is.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That sounds bad.”

“It is bad, Eddie.”

“I didn’t think—” he starts.

“I know,” you cut in. “That’s the problem.”

“I thought what we had was enough,” he says, softer now. “Just us. Away from all that shit.”

“It’s not,” you say. “Because I have to go back there every day and pretend you don’t matter. Pretend I don’t matter to you.”

“You do matter to me,” he insists, stepping closer again.

“Not in a way that counts.”

That stops him fully. Because he knows what you mean, and he doesn’t have a way around it.

“I don’t want something that only exists when it’s hidden,” you continue, your voice quieter now but steadier. “I don’t want to be something you tuck away when it’s inconvenient.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.”

Silence again. This time, he doesn’t try to fill it. Instead, he's looking at you like he’s finally seeing the full weight of what he did.

And it’s not pretty.

“I can fix it,” he says finally, a little desperate now. “I can— I don’t know, I’ll—”

“What?” you ask. “What are you going to do, Eddie?”

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Because he doesn’t know, not really. Not in a way that feels solid enough to promise.

Your shoulders drop slightly, like something in you just settles.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

That one word feels like a conclusion, not a question.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer now. Real this time. “I really am.”

“I believe you.”

And for a split second, something like relief flickers across his face.

“But it doesn’t fix it.”

His stomach drops.

“So that’s it?” he asks, voice tightening despite himself. “You’re just—what—done?”

“I don’t want to be,” you admit, your voice finally wavering. “But I can’t do this. Not like that.”

He runs a hand over his face, frustrated now, pacing again like he’s trying to outrun the feeling.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re really gonna walk away from this?”

You shake your head slightly. “I’m walking away from how you treat me.”

“Can I… fix it?” he asks eventually, quieter now.

“You’d have to change how you show up for me,” you say softly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just when no one’s looking.”

He nods, quick. Almost too quick. “I can do that.”

“Maybe,” you say.

“Then prove it,” you add, stepping back toward your door.

He stands there for a second, like he wants to say more. Like he should say more.

But nothing he has right now is enough. So he nods once, and lets you go inside.

Eddie doesn’t sleep, not really.

He tries. God, he tries: flipping over in his bed, staring at the ceiling, running every word you said back through his head like maybe if he hears it enough times, it’ll change.

It doesn’t, it just sits there, and not in a way that counts.

By the time the sky starts to lighten, he’s already up. Already dressed, already out the door before he can second-guess himself.

The bell above the door jingles softly when he pushes into the small café you mentioned once—offhand, like it didn’t matter, like it was just a passing detail. It wasn’t.

He remembers the way you said it; the little smile you didn’t mean to show.

“Iced coffee there is actually good,” you’d said. “And they have these chocolate croissants that are insane.”

So he stands there now, awkward as hell, hands shoved in his jacket pockets while he waits his turn like he doesn’t quite belong in a place like this.

“Uh—yeah,” he says when it’s his turn, clearing his throat. “Can I get… two iced coffees. And—” he hesitates, then adds, “those chocolate croissant things?”

The girl behind the counter nods, already moving. “Anything else?”

He pauses. Then, quieter, “Yeah. Can you, uh… make one of the coffees extra sweet?”

Because that’s how you take it, he remembers that too.

The flowers feel like overkill, he knows that. Standing outside a small shop with a bouquet in his hands, he almost laughs at himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re really doing this.”

But he doesn’t leave them. He doesn’t put them back. Because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

By the time he gets to Hawkins High School, the halls are already filling. And for once, Eddie doesn’t hang back. He doesn’t slip into the background. He doesn’t wait until no one’s looking.

He walks in like he’s got somewhere to be, mostly because he does.

You’re at your locker when you hear it.

“Move—sorry—excuse me—yeah, my bad—”

That voice.

Your stomach flips before you can stop it. And when you finally turn, you almost don’t process it. Because it doesn’t make sense, not at first.

Eddie is standing right there. In the middle of the hallway, in full view of everyone.

Holding: coffee, a paper bag, and a bouquet of flowers that look wildly out of place in his hands. Your brain stalls.

“Hi,” he says. Simple, like this isn’t the most insane thing he’s ever done. Like he didn’t just shatter every rule he’s been following since this started.

The hallway is quiet in that subtle way; people pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.

You blink.

“…what are you doing?” you ask, because it’s the only thing your brain can come up with.

He huffs out a small, nervous laugh.

“Trying not to screw this up again,” he says honestly.

And then, he steps closer. Not hesitant, not checking who’s watching.

Just walking straight up to you like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“I, uh—” he starts, holding out one of the iced coffees. “Extra sweet. Like you like it.”

Your hand moves before your brain catches up, taking it from him automatically.

“You remembered,” you say quietly.

He nods.

“Yeah. Turns out I remember a lot of things I should’ve been paying attention to sooner.”

Your throat tightens. Before you can respond, he holds out the paper bag.

“And these,” he adds. “Chocolate croissants. Or… croissant. I don’t know. I got two in case I said it wrong.”

A couple of people nearby actually laugh softly at that. You don’t even notice; you’re still staring at him.

Because this isn’t him. Or maybe it is, just a version you’ve never been allowed to see out here.

“And—” he exhales, then holds out the flowers, suddenly a little less confident. “These felt like a good idea at the time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“They’re… a lot,” you admit.

“Yeah,” he says immediately. “I figured. But I already bought them, so...”

There are still people watching. And for a split second, you expect him to fold. To pull back or make a joke to ruin it, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts the flowers into one hand and reaches for you with the other; gentle, careful, and very much public.

His fingers lace with yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s something he’s always been allowed to do.

“Hi,” he says again, softer this time, like the first one didn’t cover it.

Your heart stutters.

“Hi,” you echo.

He studies your face for a second, searching, checking, making sure he hasn’t misread anything.

“I meant what I said,” he adds quietly. “About fixing it. About showing up.”

You glance down at your joined hands, then back at him.

“You’re… definitely showing up,” you say.

He huffs out a small laugh.

“Yeah, well. Figured if I was gonna do it, I shouldn’t half-ass it.”

“You called me your queen,” you say, a little teasing now, a little testing. “You gonna say that out here too?”

A couple of people nearby go very still. This is the moment, the one that would’ve broken him before.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. He leans in just slightly, close enough that his voice drops, but not so quiet that it disappears.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “That doesn’t change just because people are watching.”

Your breath catches. The hallway doesn’t matter, the people don’t matter, the whispers don’t matter.

Because for the first time, he’s not treating what you are like as something that only survives in the dark.

He’s choosing you. Right here, in the light. And it’s not perfect.

It’s a little messy, a little awkward, very Eddie, but it’s real.

Had to make a hurt/comfort comeback after Doll Parts, sorry!? i have a double-header coming tonight, keep your eyes peeled 👀

anywayyy, I hope you all enjoyed! :D

taglist is open:))

beasbuggies:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000

[gem-writes]

On-Screen Lover

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

Summary: New to the industry, you become paired with one of p*rn’s biggest names; Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Used to doing solo work, you can’t help but feel a little intimidated and a lot nervous. That is, until Eddie teaches you that maybe there isn’t all that much to be scared about.

Content Warning: 18+ smut, porn, porn-industry talk/mentions, pornstar!Eddie x pornstar!reader, sex work, allusion to sex, dirty talk, she/her pronouns, masturbation (m & f), use of sex toys, swearing/profanity, mentions of oral sex, actual oral sex (m & f receiving), swallowing, cum-play, handjob, digital penetration (fingering), light spanking, overstimulation, voyeurism, sex while being filmed, rough oral/face fucking, face riding, face smothering, spitting/sloppy oral sex (both m & f receiving), softdom!Eddie, mutual pining. Eddie is down bad for reader. Eddie solidifies the rumors that he's a total munch.

────────

He was supposed to be off on Sundays- practically unreachable. It was a clause in his final contract that he signed almost 11 months ago. He had Sundays off with no disruptions. No calls, no emails, no meetings- and absolutely no work. So, when his phone rang through the quiet confines of his loft-style apartment, he groaned out in frustration.

Leave me the fuck alone, Paul…

He thought, slumping further into his couch as he slung his forearm over his eyes. He had nothing on his agenda besides a well-needed nap and some light D&D manual reading. He didn’t even plan on leaving his apartment. Just that.

So, when his phone stopping ringing, Eddie let out a sigh of relief- trying to doze off again before it started ringing again. Not even a five minute pause between the last call.

Whatever he wants, he can leave a goddamn message like everyone else.

He would get to it on Monday. Maybe. If he was lucky.

But no.

On the third attempted call, Eddie jumps off the couch with a groan- stomping over to his wall phone before picking it up.

“Munson.” He murmurs gruffly as he leans against the wall impatiently.

“Eds! Jesus Christ, kid! Pick up your damn phone when I call.”

“What do you want, Paul?” Eddie drones, already wanting to be off the phone as fast as he picked it up.

“Look, kid, I know you said no Sundays but-“

“Nuh-uh.” Eddie cuts him off “No. You know the rules. The only thing I asked for when we renewed my contract was that I get to be unreachable on Sundays. This-“ Eddie gestures to the phone in his hand even though he knew his manager couldn’t see him. It was all for emphasis, really.

“This is not unreachable.” He finishes “It can wait until Monday.”

“Look, kiddo, I know what you said but I don’t think this can wait.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll have to wait. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“Do not hang up on me, Munson! I know you’ve only got a month left of this but at least respect me enough to hear me out when I speak to you.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his temple in exasperation “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a gig for you. Trust me, kid, you’re gonna love it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Y’know, Paul, I feel like I’ve heard you say that before.” He points out.

“Nah, kid. I mean it. I’ve got something you’re gonna love. Meet me in my office in an hour.”

“What!?” Eddie exclaims “Hold on! Wait-“

But before Eddie could argue, his manager had already hung up- leaving the other end dead as he stood there in disbelief.

That fucking bastard.

────────

To say that the porn industry had made him jaded would be an understatement.

After three grueling years, a lot of fucking, faking it, and getting off enough women to start a Jim Jones-style cult- Eddie had had enough. He was retiring. For good.

The announcement to the porn industry had been a shock to everyone. Eddie “The Freak” Munson; the sex-industry’s “Prince of Porn” (Or “The Prince of Pussy” as some called him, for some odd reason) was leaving behind his legacy as the ladies’ favorite male pornstar. No one has seen anything like it. It was practically unfathomable that someone of his caliber- someone who jackhammered his way into the hearts of millions- was walking away.

To almost every man in America, Eddie “The Freak” Munson was living their dream. Eddie, however, was bored, tired, and lonely. It was fun while it lasted but he was ready to move on. You could only fuck so many blondes with huge tits and daddy kinks until it got completely played out and repetitive. It also didn’t help that, outside of filming, he wasn’t even interested in sex.

True be told, sex had become the last thing on his mind. Not that he couldn’t fuck anyone he wanted. Hell, he was sure there would be a line halfway to Europe if he did. He just didn’t see the point. It was like eating the same meal everyday for the rest of your life. You get tired of it pretty damn quick. What was the point of sex without the emotional connection? The passion? The lust? It was just a waste of time and energy.

Eddie rolled into his manager’s office an hour and a half later, taking his sweet time as he parked his van at the studio. He walks past the receptionists, sending a wink their way as he walked through to Paul’s private office suite. There have been many occasions when he overheard the girls at the front-desk fawning over him after he had just wrapped up a scene with some “up and coming” star that was completely underwhelming.

Sometimes he even thought about taking home one of the receptionists and dicking them down just to see if he felt something. That he wasn’t completely numb to getting someone else’s rocks off. But Paul would surely have his ass if he found out. Sometimes Eddie wondered why he even cared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Paul exclaims, turning towards Eddie once he walks through the door “I was just in the middle of calling you.”

Paul puts the phone down as he watches Eddie plop down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. What are your other two wishes.” Eddie deadpans.

“You’re lucky that production pushed back today’s shoot by another hour otherwise you would’ve missed out on what the hell I even called you in for.” Paul chastises, earning an eye-roll from his client.

“Which is?” Eddie points out “You had me race across town in traffic and you haven’t even told me that the hell for. Let’s get on with it. What’s this gig you’re so obsessed about?”

“I found a girl for you.” Paul announces excitedly as if he were a matchmaker and not a manager for sex workers.

“….Okay.” Eddie replies slowly “That’s it?”

“Would you lighten up?” Paul replies incredulously “I’m getting there, okay? Just give me a minute to, you know, set the scene.”

“Paul, I don’t pay you 10% for you to ‘set the scene’ and waste my time. Let’s pick a lane here, and stick to it.” Eddie states, not mincing words. One thing he learned fast during his first year in the industry was that mincing words was what got you used up and stomped on.

“Alright. So, I found this girl. Her manager came to me. Her company is putting together a flick. Oral Fixation 5 or some shit like that. Anyway, they’re looking for a male costar for her. They want someone good. It’s the girl’s first time with a partner. She mainly does solo work. She’s a bit skittish but cute. Different than the type of girls you usually work with.”

“So, you want me to fuck an amateur?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, no. Not an amateur. She’s been on film before.”

“Has she fucked anyone on film before?” Eddie challenges, eyeing his manager judgmentally. Leave it to Paul to call him in on his day off to ask him to fuck some newbie that probably has no idea what she’s doing.

“See, that’s the thing, you wouldn’t be fucking her.” Paul explains.

“Then what would I be doing? Feeding her bon-bons?” Eddie asks.

“Like I said, it’s an oral flick. No fucking. Very simple stuff. She basically does most of the work herself. She’ll start off solo, get herself nice and ready, you come in and eat her out, make her come, she’ll suck you off, let you come on her face and voila! Done! You’ll be out of here by noon tomorrow. So, whaddya say?”

“….What does she look like?” Eddie asks, leaning forward in his seat. He would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued. No actual fucking? Just some light oral work, a blowjob, and then done? Didn’t seem that bad.

“That’s why I wanted you to come in!” Paul explains “She’s here. In Studio B shooting some stuff for Hot & Horny. You can head over, give her a good look, see what she can do, and then we can book it if she makes the cut. Maybe if she’s up to your standards, we can use her for your big flick. But you have to decide today before someone else snags her. She’s cute, kid. A real looker. I don’t see her staying small for very long.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Really.” Paul assures him “What’re you thinkin’?”

“Alright.” Eddie sighs, standing up from his chair “Let me see her.”

────────

When he walks into Studio B, Eddie is expecting to find another cookie-cutter run of the mill porn girl. Big fake silicone tits, lip injections, and an overly-enthusiastic fake orgasm. Bonus points for bleach blonde hair. What he didn’t expect to find was you- the complete antithesis of all of the other girls he’s used to. You were a breath of fresh air.

You stood off to the side of your set- a cute little bedroom set up complete with frilly pink floral sheets, heart shaped pillows, and cute little teddy bears. Boy band posters were taped onto the fake set walls to mimic the feel of a girl’s bedroom. College student, girl-next-door. Young, hot, and sexy- and, boy, Eddie was into it. He was so fucking into it.

Production staff began setting up the scene, placing several different adult toys onto the rose-printed lacy duvet. A smorgasbord of pleasure instruments. Eddie was no stranger to solo girls scenes. He’s gotten off to many of them. But this one was different. He was sucked in- intrigued.

You were standing in a silky robe, covering up whatever production has asked you to wear. All Eddie could get a glimpse of was the thigh high white stockings with lace trim that adorned your long, sexy legs. No heels. Interesting.

You were talking to a set manager, batting your long mascara-ed eyelashes as your pink, kissable lips spread into a sweet smile. The set guy said something that got you to laugh, your head tilting back as you let out an adorable sexy laugh- your hair draping down like a luscious waterfall.

Fuck, you were hot. So, so hot.

“Told you she was a looker.” Paul chimes in as he sidles up beside Eddie- too distracted to notice that he was even in the vicinity “What are your thoughts so far?”

Eddie didn’t want to reveal his hand just yet. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Let me sit in for this one. I wanna see what she does.” He replies slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Before he knows it, the director calls you over- motioning for you to enter your set and get yourself situated on the cutesy pink bed.

Alright, Eddie thought, Show-time.

Before the cameras begin to roll, you gingerly untie the silk sash of your rope- taking it off to reveal your lingerie ensemble before handing it off to a set manager. Eddie’s mouth immediately went dry.

There you were in all of your glory, decorated head-to-toe in a baby pink lacy lingerie set that Eddie wanted to unwrap- desperately. You wore a bra that was practically see-through, your perfect tits hardly covered by the lace that adorned them. Through the fabric, he could spot your perky nipples- his mouth beginning to water at the thought of rolling his tongue around them- his hands full of your gorgeous breasts.

You wore a pair of lacy matching panties. Your beautiful cunt barely hidden beneath the fabric. Covered up just enough to leave him wanting more. Teasing him. You were a vision. You sat primly on the bed, your legs tucked to the side- like a proper lady- as you waited for your cue to start. Eddie began to move closer- not wanting to miss this.

He sidled up to the small herd of production members, standing firmly as a few of them greeted him with a nod. They were probably wondering what the hell he was doing there. He normally didn’t sit in to watch scenes. He was more known to shoot his own shit, get dressed, and leave as soon as possible. Yet, here he was, metaphorically sitting on the edge of his seat as he waited for you to start.

As if by the grace of god, the set director calls action- signaling to you that the camera was rolling. There wasn’t even a hint of intimidation as you started off slow and tantalizing. You place your fingers over your lips, blowing your signature kiss to the camera. Those lips. Those pouty, pink lips. Eddie hadn’t seen anything yet and he was already hooked- those soft kissable lips drawing him in. Soft lips that he wanted wrapped around his cock.

Continuing on with your tease, you trail up your body with your cute little hands, reaching up to your chest- gently massaging your tits through your lacy pink bra. The movement was slow and sensual, your hands kneading your perfect breasts- pushing them together seductively as you began to look straight into the lens of the camera.

Okay, Eddie thought, this was definitely not your first time doing this sort of thing.

He could tell, immediately- his eyes taking in the way that you were confident and deliberate with your touches. The way that your hands trailed up and down your body- grabbing, kneading, and tracing your irresistible curves. You were comfortable. In your element. Eddie could tell right away that, when it came to getting yourself off, you were definitely no amateur. He had barely even seen anything yet and he knew- and all he wanted was to see it in real time.

You reach up to hook your thumbs into your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders as you bit your lip- batting those pretty eyelashes at the camera lens. Reaching behind you, you began to unclasp your bra- sliding it off agonizingly slow. Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes lock onto your bare tits- nipples hard and perky as you playfully toss the discarded bra onto the floor beside the set bed.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk, loving the way that you teased the camera- staring it down as if it were the viewers at home. The sad, unfortunate losers that weren’t anywhere near as lucky as he was to see it in person- to even be offered the opportunity to get on his knees to please you.

You kneel onto the bed, giving the camera a good view of your lower half- your lace panties and stockings still on. Those fucking stockings. Eddie could feel the blood circulating to his dick, causing him to grow hard against the zipper of his jeans. You had barely even done anything but play with your tits and he was already starting to leak precum.

These days, it took a lot for Eddie to physically react to things. Being overly-exposed to sex in this industry tends to do that to you. So, the sheer notion that he was getting hard and horny for you when all he had seen so far were your breasts was pretty damn close to miraculous. You were barely even into your scene and he was sure that he’d have to use one of the private dressing rooms to rub one out afterwards.

You ran your hands down your stomach, staring down the camera as you caressed lower and lower down your body until you reached the waistband of your panties, biting your lip as you plunged your right hand into the fabric. Eddie had to stop himself from groaning at the sight. He had seen plenty of women touch themselves- he was a pornstar, for fuck sake- but the way that you did it was hypnotizing. His eyes become glued to your clothed core as he focuses on the way that your fingers moved and teased yourself behind the thin fabric.

So fucking hot. So goddamn sexy.

He wanted to see more- needed to see more.

Your nimble little fingers teased your clit, working behind the thin fabric of your panties as you threw your head back in pleasure- your hair cascading down as your free hand reached up to one of your breasts. You pinched the nipple between your fingers, letting out a light little moan that had Eddie’s dick stirring beneath his boxers.

Fuck, that’s hot. Eddie thought. Keep going, baby. Show me how you do it.

As if you could read his mind from across the room, your eyes open- flickering over to him as you inch your hand further down into your panties. You insert a digit inside of your pussy, causing yourself to gasp as the sensation.

Shit.

Eddie watches your knuckles work their way inside of your cunt as he strains himself to get even just a glimpse past what’s behind those pretty lace panties. He could bet that they were fucking sopping wet by the way that your muscles didn’t tense or stutter when you inserted another finger. You probably slid it in with complete ease. Like it was nothing- and that was so incredibly hot.

It went on like this for a while. Eddie staring at your lower half as you toyed with yourself from behind the panties. Just when he thought he was on the brink of getting blue balls, you slowly slipped your fingers out of your panties- the production lights on the studio set picking up the way that your digital glistened with your arousal. It was a fucking sight. Such a sight that Eddie didn’t even think about you upping the ante- taking your drenched fingers and sliding them into your mouth, wrapping your lips around them as you sucked them clean.

Holy..fuck.

Suddenly, the director called cut- the sound of his orders causing Eddie to snap his head over in horror.

Cut? No. No, no, no, no, no! You were just getting started! What the fuck?!

“Alright, babe, second act. Lose the panties and get into position. Legs spread, okay?” The director calls out, causing Eddie to sigh in relief. You weren’t wrapping yet.

Thank god!

You nod at the director, hopping off the bed as you begin to take your panties off, sliding them down your legs. Where Eddie was standing off-set, he had the perfect view as you bent over further and further to push your underwear off. You were bend over so low that he had a full fucking view of your glistening wet pussy, and he was right- you were sopping. It took all of the fucking strength and self-control he had to not stomp onto that set, pull down his jeans to free his raging hard cock and jam it into your fucking cunt. God, he’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly in his life. He wanted to tell production to fuck your solo scene so that he could start fucking you.

You straighten up, now standing as you kicked off the panties- leaving you completely nude aside from the white thigh-high stockings. You climb back onto the bed, perched near the edge as you opened your legs- sitting spread eagle in front of the camera. Eddie was fully convinced that he was about to pass out.

That perfect little pussy. It was wet, pink, and tight. The prettiest he’s ever seen and he’s seen a lot during his career. Yours was the first to make him go weak in the knees, wanting to sink down in front of you at the edge of the bed as he spread you open and devoured you- acting as if you would be his last meal.

Production came rushing in to fix your hair, smoothing away any imperfections before running off set- gearing up for your cue. You waited patiently like a good, good girl. Hands to yourself as you awaited permission to continue and, if it were up to Eddie, he would reward you. For being so good. So patient.

The director begins rolling, cuing you in to start and Eddie was hooked and ready to see what you would do next- spread out in front of him. Your eyes catch the camera, your hands roaming down to your core as you begin to play with your clit- now uncovered. No barriers in-between. Thank god.

Your middle finger does all of the work, slowly circling your sensitive little button as you throw your head back again, letting the sensation take over you. Letting your hands freely pleasure yourself as if no one were watching- as if it really were you in your bedroom alone. That, Eddie decided, was what made it so hot. You weren't putting on a performance for anyone. There was no theatrics, no drama- no over the top acting. It was you. Just as you were. Enjoying every little bit of it- and, goddamn, was it sexy.

You let out soft little moans and gasps that went straight to Eddie’s dick, twitching in his pants at the way that you sounded. You sounded sweet- melodic. Music to his ears as your breathing picked up. He stared as you moved your fingers from your clit and down through your folds, wet and glistening as you spread your arousal all over your sex. You were drenched. In all of his life, Eddie never even thought about wanting to be an appendage, but holy shit was he jealous of your fingers.

You use one of your hands to spread yourself open for the camera, causing Eddie’s eyes to almost roll into the back of his head. He was seeing so much of you and he hadn’t even met you yet. But he couldn’t help but watch. He couldn’t look away.

You sink the middle finger of your other hand into your pussy, pushing it in until you reach your knuckle- so fucking deep with that little finger of yours. Eddie couldn’t help but want to take over, wanting to use his much bigger digits to fill you up just how you deserved.

Eddie watched as you slip another finger in, framing your soaked core with your pointer and pinky finger. The way that you touched yourself was hypnotic, putting him in a trance as you ramped yourself up closer and closer to your orgasm. Your moans grew louder, breathing heavier and more needy. Because there was something you needed- Him. Or maybe that’s delusional of him to think. But he knew that he needed you. He was hungry for you and he wanted a taste.

You begin fingering yourself, expertly delving your fingers into your pussy as you fucked yourself with your digits just the way that you liked. Eddie studies this, watching the way that you liked it- wanting to replicate it. No, he wanted to do it better. So fucking good that you couldn't even fathom the idea of anyone touching you but him. He was so drunk on your pussy and he hadn't even so much as touched it yet. He was fucked.

"Alright, angel." The director calls out, catching Eddie's attention for a moment "How about we get some footage of you with one of the toys? Get a really good build-up, climax, we'll do a closeup of the aftermath, and then we're done. Sound good?"

Toys? Eddie forgot about the toys. He was so fucked. He probably shouldn't watch this, knowing that he could very well finish in his pants- but he didn't care. He was rooted to the spot. Too addicted to move. He was drunk on you and your sexy body and your perfect pussy. He needed this. He needed to see you come undone. He needed something to think about tonight as he jacked himself off so hard that he would probably chafe. He'd have to use lube. His own spit wouldn't cut it. There's no way that he could rub himself raw when he knew that he was going to be lucky enough to be in your mouth the next day. Sucked off by those pouty pink lips.

His own thoughts and the view of you naked on that bed, toying with yourself, was becoming overstimulating. It was like an outer-body experience to watch. Even though he didn't feel like he was in his own body, he knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to be inside of yours.

His eyes are glued to the scene as you daintily reach for the toy of your choice. A purple Jack Rabbit style vibrator. You click it on, watching as the toy came to life in your hands. Eddie couldn't help but think about how much bigger he was than that stupid toy. How he would be able to reach places inside of you that the vibrator couldn't even come close to reaching. Places that you probably didn't even know existed. You deserved to be fucked like a queen. Not by some inadequate toy. Even still, he watched as you pressed the tip of the toy to your clit- causing you to gasp loudly in reaction.

Fuck, Eddie thought as he watched you slide the tip of the toy past your clit and through your folds- marveling at the way that your body shivered in reaction. The way that your body responded to pleasure was oh so delicious. Eddie was eating it up like he was starving.

He watches as the toy collects a thick coating of your arousal, making it so wet that Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Fuck, you were so wet.

You slide the toy back up towards your clit, pressing the tip against it harshly as your eyes fluttered shut- causing you to buck your hips.

So fucking sensitive.

You swirl the toy against your clit as you breath catches, followed by a soft moan that escaped those pretty lips.

Fuck, baby, let me hear you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you let out a needy whine. You needed more. It wasn't enough. Not even close.

Before he could process it, you had begun to insert the toy into your pussy- falling back onto the mattress underneath you as you started to thrust it inside. Flicking your wrist with a motion that had you whimpering desperately. The vibration inside of your cunt causing your walls to contract around the vibrator- making it a tight squeeze to continue thrusting.

Eddie's eyes were wide as he watched. The sounds of your moans, the faint buzzing of the vibrator, and the wet squelching sound of your pussy completely overtaking him. Fuck, this was hot. The most erotic thing he's ever fucking seen.

You continue fucking yourself with it, picking up the pace as you sit yourself up enough to watch you fuck yourself with it.

Shit, yes! Bet you like to watch yourself get fucked, don't you?

You mouth falls open as you watch how slickly coated the toy was as you pushed it in and out of your pussy. Eddie was jealous that it wasn't his dick covered in your arousal, making it so easy for him to slide in and out of your cunt at an ungodly pace. He wanted it so fucking bad that his knees were weak.

Without warning, you finally find that spot. That perfect spot deep within you that had you going crazy. Toes curling, gasping for air, moaning out like crazy as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were close.

Fuck, baby! Just like that! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You pushed that pathetic little toy as deep as it could go, your mouth falling into a perfect little 'O' as you got closer and closer and closer.

Show me how you like it, baby. That's right. So fucking good!

Soon you couldn't control yourself, bucking your hips as you thrusted it in and out of hole as your moans became more loud and desperate.

Fuck, sweetheart, doing so good. You're almost there. Need to watch you cum.

You began to reach your peak, practically sobbing as you kept working for it.

C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Let me see it.

And as if on cue with his dirty thoughts, you cry out in pleasure. Finally peaking as your thighs began to shake, whimpering as you came all over that stupid toy- your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.

Fuck, yes! That's it! Fuck, you are so fucking hot! Jesus fucking Christ!

You rode out your orgasm, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. It was so fucking hot. Eddie didn't know how he had gone this long in his career without fucking you. Without knowing you existed. A perfect little sex kitten that he wanted to play with. Hell, you alone were giving him second thoughts about retiring. Not before he could fuck you in every possible way imaginable. Fuck, he was so fucking into you that he could surely invent new ways to fuck you that had never even been thought of before. He'd have to create a whole new updated version of the Kama Sutra with you as his sole muse.

"That's a wrap! You did great!"

The director praises you as you slowly begin to sit up on the bed, hair wild with a blissed-out look on your face. Eddie had never seen someone look so beautiful post-orgasm.

A member of the production crew came over to you and handed you your silk robe. You stand up with shaky legs as they helped you put it on- making yourself modest after that fucking smoke-show that you had just given everybody. Eddie didn't know how no one else was crashing down like he was. He was leaking so much precum that he would probably need new pants. But it was worth it because you were...wow.

"See? I told you." Eddie whips his head over to catch his manager standing there next to him. Had he been there the whole time? Had Eddie been talking out loud? "What do you think, kid?"

Eddie's mouth was dry. He felt dehydrated from just watching. He felt like he needed to down a gallon of water after watching you get yourself off like a fucking professional. With an intensity that he's never fucking seen before.

"Is she still available?" Eddie croaks, his heart hammering in his chest. What if another guy had swooped in and booked the gig right under his nose while he was too busy ogling at you?

"I could give her manager a call and see if it's still open. I know they reached out to a few guys. That Chris Infamous guy being one of them. The jacked up one with the muscles. You know who I'm talking about."

Chris Infamous? Over his dead fucking body!

“Paul, go call her manager right now and tell them I’m in. Like, now.”

────────

The whole way home, he had been antsy. He had waited an hour after your shoot in his manager’s office as he called up your manager in an attempt to get in touch with them. There was no luck. Paul had missed them every single time- and Eddie made him leave a voicemail every…single…time. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his hands.

Eddie tried to busy himself with his previous plans that he had before leaving his loft earlier that day but he just couldn’t focus. The words in his Dungeons and Dragons player manual just blended together and his mind would wander off, causing him to read the same sentence over and over again.

He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. Your soft, supple body wrapped up in that pink lingerie. Those goddamn white stockings that you had kept on the entire shoot. The way your pussy glistened with your arousal underneath the production lights. Eddie was addicted- transfixed. He needed to do this scene with you.

He throws down his player’s manual, tossing his head back onto the couch. He stares up at the ceiling as he lets out a frustrated grunt. Waiting back for a response was torture. He just needed a yes or a no- hopefully a yes. God, he was hoping for a yes. But if the gig was taken, he wished he would know sooner rather than later in order to kill the anticipation.

He reaches onto the coffee table for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his lips before lighting it. He took a couple of drags, the taste of nicotine barely doing anything to calm his nerves. He was so pent up. He had been ever since your scene. He was hot and bothered.

His mind drifts back to thoughts of you. Your perfect tits that would fit perfectly in his hands. Your perky nipples that he wanted to roll his tongue against, tasting them. But he mostly thought about your sex. What you would taste like. He imagined that you would be sweet- candy-coated beneath his tongue as he ate you up. Liquified sugar in the best way.

Eddie could feel his cock twitch beneath his pants as he fantasized- wanting to bury his head between your soft thighs as he worked his tongue against you so ferociously like it would be the last thing he’d ever do. He’d never wanted someone as bad as he wanted you- wishing that he could toy with your sensitive little button with the tip of his tongue. Teasing you until you begged for more.

Eddie began to unbutton his pants, feeling the ache in his cock that was dying to be satiated. He needed a release. His head was so full of you that he needed to do something to quell the heat that he felt in his groin. He needed to cum.

He pulls down his zipper, feeling a sense of relief as the pressure of the metal enclosure against his hard cock was finally removed. It was like releasing a long, pent-up sigh. He was painfully hard. Practically throbbing underneath his boxers as he slides his hand down past the fabric, gripping himself as he attempts to pull his dick out. He winces at the sensitivity he felt on his cock head.

When he pulls his dick free from his jeans, he looks down to find that his tip was nearly red, angry at the lack of attention that it was receiving. It had been a long time since Eddie had touched himself. He normally didn’t have to with the kind of work that he did. But this was different, he needed this. He needed relief.

He wraps his hand around his length, slowly moving it up and down the way that he liked but his member felt nearly hot to the touch. He was so worked up that it had made him ultra-sensitive to every little thing. Every stroke, every little flick of his wrist. He could feel everything with ten times more intensity than normal. And, god, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jack himself off to completion on his living room couch. No, he wanted to sink his desperately hard cock into the velvety soft walls of your incredible cunt.

A pearl of precum leaks out of his tip, slowly dripping down until he collects it with his finger-swiping it up to use as lubricant and he began to buck his hips into his hand. It shouldn’t be his hand. It should be you. He didn’t want to settle for anything that wasn’t you. But he’d have to until he hopefully got the real thing.

“Ah! F-fuck!” He gasps as he picks up a faster pace, wanting to reach his peak as quickly as possible. He was desperate for it. He was needy and fucked out by the images of you that kept playing out in his head.

You on the bed with your legs spread wide open for him, ready to take whatever it was that he was willing to give you like the good girl you would be. Like the good girl he just knew that you were. He stroked himself fast and hard as he thought about how he’d want you to take his cock. He wanted your legs slung over his shoulders as he pounded into you hard enough to have you sobbing. He wanted to wrap his hand around your throat and jerk you back onto his cock as he fucked you from behind. He wanted to fuck you like a whore. Like you were made for it.

“Fuck, baby…” Eddie whimpers, more precum oozing from his tip as he imagined that it was your hand instead of his. Stroking him with those soft little hands of yours as you stared him down with those gorgeous eyes. Marveling at just how crazy you could drive him- at just how badly he wanted you.

“Shit….just like that, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Eddie could feel himself getting close, his breathing picking up faster and faster until they became needy grunts- trying to chase his high.

“Shit, shit, holy fuck…”

He kept stroking and he wouldn’t stop until he got there. Not when all he could think about was just how hot you looked when you orgasm. When all he wanted was to fuck you so good that you had to beg him to stop. How he wanted to make you cum on his cock over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to take you apart just to put you back together again.

Just when he was ramping up to his finish, a few seconds away from blowing his load into his hand, the phone rings- snatching him right out of his fantasies.

Fuck. No!

He growls in frustration, jumping off the couch as he stumbles towards the phone- barely stuffing his angry cock back into the confines of his jeans. A denim-clad prison.

“What?” He huffs as he picks up the phone, his breathing still heavy and ragged from touching himself.

“Eddie, listen, I got in touch with her management.”

“Fuck!” He sighs in relief, resting his back against the wall. “What’d they say?”

“They were pretty psyched that you wanted in, kid. Turns out you were first choice for them. Which is great because they were an inch away from giving the gig to Chris. Good thing I called when I did. Anyway, you got the gig. They’re excited. The girl’s excited.”

You were excited? Wait…You knew who he was?

“Wait, she knows who I am?” Eddie stammers, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Oh yeah.” Paul laughs “Apparently she’s a huge fan.”

“Fuuuck. No shit?” He asks, trying to fight the grin on his face. He felt on-top-of the-world fucking incredible.

“Have you ever known me to pull your leg, kid? She asked for you specifically. By name. Lucky you, playboy!”

Yeah, Eddie thought. No fucking kidding!

“She asked…for me?” He still couldn’t believe it. You were out-of-this-world gorgeous and you wanted him to be your first on-screen partner? Eddie hadn’t experienced an ego-boost this big since…well, ever.

“Yeah, kid. First on her list. She was worried we wouldn’t accept what her management was offering but I told her we’d make it work.”

Fuck, he would do it for free.

Wait…

“You spoke to her?” Eddie asks, jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Oh yeah,” Paul replied “She personally returned my calls. Wanted to thank us for accepting.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie swoons. It just kept getting better.

“She also wanted me to tell you that she hoped you were impressed at the shoot today. She said she was a little nervous when she saw you but hopefully you didn’t notice.”

You...naughty…little…minx. You had known that he was there the entire time? Fuck….

“Anyway, call time for tomorrow is eight a.m.” Paul adds “And Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fucking be late.”

────────

The next morning, Eddie had woken up early.

Not because he had something to do or somewhere to be. No vastly important errands that he needed to run. Eddie had woken up early because his body couldn’t stand to stay dormant and asleep any longer. Because, for once in a long time, his reality was better than sleep. He had something to look forward to- you.

He had never felt this way before, never took his work too seriously- honestly, what was there to take seriously? He just showed up, fucked, picked up his check, and went home. He never put much thought into things. He just did them. But today was different. Today, he seemed to be putting too much thought into everything.

He agonized over whether or not to drink coffee, worried that the caffeine might make him come off hyper or on edge when he finally had the opportunity to speak to you. He debated foregoing breakfast, giving himself an excuse to invite you out to post-work brunch if things really took off between you two. This was the start of all of his worries. The closer it got to his call time, he got more and more in his own head.

He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything about himself. Anything that you could nit-pick when you finally met. Did you like tattooed guys? What if you didn’t? Would you think his tattoos were stupid? Did you prefer guys with short hair as opposed to long hair? What if he wasn’t your type at all in the slightest and none of this even really mattered? It only got worse by the minute.

Then he reminded himself that you knew him. You’ve seen his work. You were a fan. There was obviously something you must have liked if you chose him out of any other guy in the industry. You were so pretty that you could have requested anyone you wanted- and you chose him. Eddie desperately wanted to know why.

He prepped and primped himself in the bathroom like a teenage girl. He took extra care in the shower, scrubbing every inch of himself vigorously with the soap that smelled extra good.

He washed and conditioned his hair. Hell, he actually brushed it and applied product instead of just running his fingers through it and calling it good. He fucking styled it- putting it into a low bun with a hair tie that he found in his medicine cabinet. He knew just how much wearing his hair up drove women crazy- and he hoped that you weren’t any exception.

He paid extra attention to his downstairs area, making sure that he was perfectly trimmed and proper for you. The last thing he wanted was for you to get on your knees for him and be met with an unkempt jungle. He wanted things to be neat and tidy. He also hoped that landscaping the bush would make his dick appear prettier- something that you’d want to put in your mouth.

An hour before his call time, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was in high school again, nervous and skittish around the female population of Hawkins High. Which was ironic considering what he does for a living these days. Over the years following graduation and leaving that hellhole, Eddie had begun to gain a sense of self-confidence. His demeanor changed.

He became sure of himself, finally believing that he was worth women’s attention. That he was far more attractive than he initially gave himself credit for- and the critical feedback on his work as a porn actor definitely proved that. If twenty year-old Eddie could see just how many women would flip their shit over him, he’d have probably dropped dead in disbelief. But none of those women mattered. None of the porn girls that he had previously filmed with mattered. Even the girls from Hawkins didn’t matter anymore. You mattered.

The whole drive to the studio was anxiety-inducing. Multiple people tried to cut him off on the freeway- gotta love L.A. traffic. Some douchebag in a fucking Corvette flipped him off because he forgot to use his blinker, which seemed to worsen Eddie’s mood as he just kept overthinking himself. How was he supposed to talk to you, let alone shoot a scene, when he couldn’t even drive straight?

When he finally pulled up to the studio and parked his van, Eddie was officially a wreck. He had no idea what to do with himself. You were probably already inside trying to pretty yourself up for your scene together. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what you would wear- hell, why did he even care if you wore anything at all?

He wondered if you were just as nervous as he was. Granted, you had an excuse. This would be your first scene with a partner, meanwhile, this wasn’t anywhere close to Eddie’s first rodeo. Yet, he felt like a virgin on prom night.

He enters the studio, trying to act normal as the front desk girls greet him. Even the choruses of “Hi Eddie…” in their seductive voices weren’t enough to get him out of his own head. He just gave a small wave and a slight tinge of a smile on his lips. Normally he would’ve leaned up against the receptionist desk and flirted- given them just a scrap of his attention. But not today. Not when he felt like he was going to be sick.

He drifted all the way back to Paul’s office, casually knocking on the door a couple of times before letting himself in. His manager looks up from his desk, suddenly adopting a confused look on his face once he laid eyes on Eddie.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Paul asks, tilting his head in confusion.

The comment takes Eddie aback, immediately causing his stomach to drop. Was he missing something? He was supposed to be here…right? Then he felt the dread seep in.

Fuck. The shoot’s cancelled. No way. There is no…fucking…way.

“I…uh…I’m confused.” Eddie replies slowly, shaking his head as he tries to keep it together. This could not be happening.

“Aren’t we shooting today? I came before call time. Did they fucking cancel?” He panics, running his ring-clad fingers through his hair in agony. Fuck!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Paul says “Nobody cancelled. Shoot’s still on.”

“But…I thought…you said you were surprised that I’m here.” Eddie tries to reason.

“Yeah,” Paul nods, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts “I’m surprised that you’re here before call time. I’ve managed you for the past three years and I can barely remember a time when you’ve ever shown up on time. Let alone early.”

“Oh.” Eddie replies, dumbfounded.

Well, at least the shoot is still on.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Paul asks, looking Eddie up and down as he stood awkwardly in front of his desk.

“Oh.” Eddie breathes “Yeah.”

That has Paul even more confused. Eddie always smelled nice but it was always just his natural scent- laundry detergent, a woodsy musk from the deodorant he wore, and a hint of cigarette smoke. Eddie never deliberately put on cologne unless he was trying to impress someone- and Paul knew this.

“Alright, well…” Paul starts, not knowing what to say to make things less awkward than it already was “Your leading lady is here. Dressing room A.”

“She’s here already?” Eddie gapes, taken by surprise. He thought he had more time to prepare. For what? He didn’t know.

“Yeah, kid. Unlike you, the leading lady happens to know a thing or two about punctuality. Speaking of which, why don’t you go see how she’s doing? Bet she’s sweating like a sinner in church. First time on-camera partner and all that.”

“Do you think she’s nervous?” Eddie asks, out of concern but mostly to gauge if you could be nervous because of him.

“No idea, kid, but it would be nice for you to have a conversation with each other. You know, before you stick your dick in her mouth.” Paul suggests.

To which, he had a great point. Eddie probably should go and say hi. Hopefully he can pull himself together enough to be charming and personable for you. Or, if anything, at least make you feel a bit more comfortable with him before he went down on you in front of a whole camera crew. This could either go very well for him or become a complete disaster.

────────

Eddie stood outside of your dressing room door, his body so tense that he felt like stone. On the other side of this door was you- the girl of his wet dreams that he somehow, begrudgingly, didn’t know existed until yesterday. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement. Eddie’s stomach felt like it was tied in knots and the last thing he wanted was for you to see that he was nervous. No, he had to play it cool- confident and sure of himself. He could do this. Even if it was all a facade.

He begins to knock, so nervous that he could practically break into a sweat over it. He was definitely glad that he decided to wear cologne today but then Eddie began to worry that maybe the cologne would make it seem like he was trying too hard. He was worried that you could sense it and that it would turn you off. Turning you off was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

He could hear shuffling from behind the door, the sound growing closer before the handle turned and the door swung open- revealing you. All dolled up with completed hair and makeup. Wearing that short little silk robe. As soon as you saw him, your face broke into a smile.

Okay, Eddie thought, that’s a good sign.

“Hey,” he smiles, trying to be smooth but it was so fucking hard when you looked at him with those eyes “I’m Eddie. I’m…uh…I’m your scene partner for today.”

Not that he had to introduce himself. You knew exactly who he was. You had gotten off to his scenes more times than you could count.

“Right, of course!” You exclaim, extending out your hand in greeting as you introduced yourself to him. Eddie raised his eyebrows when he noticed that you hadn’t given him your porn name. No, you had given him your real name.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you….properly.” Eddie jokes, causing you to laugh. God, he loved the way your lips curled into a smile- how your eyes lit up. You were so damn pretty.

“Me too.” you nod, looking at him for a beat too long to be accidental. With a cheeky little glint in your eyes as you casually looked him up and down.

Oh, Eddie thought, so we’re flirting now?

“You mind if I come in? Or are you going to make me hang out in the hallway?” Eddie teases “Which I wouldn’t mind. As long as you keep looking at me like that.”

Your heart flutters in your chest “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” You bite your lip nervously- and, boy, does Eddie notice.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He smirks “So, you gonna let me in or?”

“Right!” You shake your head “Come in.”

You step aside, letting him walk through the door before closing it for privacy. Not that you expected anything to happen. Not off-camera, at least.

Eddie walks over and sinks down onto the small loveseat that was against the wall in the dressing room. He sits seductively, legs spread apart as he leans back on the sofa like he owned it. Honestly, he was so charming that he could tell you that he did, indeed, own it and you’d believe him. You, on the other hand, sank down into the hair and makeup chair across from him.

“So, I…uh….I should probably say thank you for accepting. My management probably already told you but it’s my first time doing a scene with someone else. I normally do solo work.”

“So I’ve seen.” Eddie replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He wanted you to know that he had seen you in action. Not that he needed to tell you. No, he just wanted to remind you of the fact.

“So, my manager might have told me that you had requested me specifically…..by name.”

As soon as the words left his lips, your face began to heat up in embarrassment. “He told you that?”

“Mhm.” Eddie hums, his eyes devouring you.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie smiles slyly “I was pretty flattered, actually. Not gonna lie, it kinda gave me a big head.”

And, to tell you the truth, I wanna show you my big head, Eddie wanted to say.

But he didn’t want to come off crude and overtly sexual during your first meeting.

“Really?” You mumble bashfully, trying to look anywhere but at Eddie but it was so hard when he was so fucking hot.

“Yeah.” He confirms “Especially coming from a girl like you. So, tell me, sweetheart….why me?”

The sound of his deep, sexy voice calling you sweetheart was enough to make you light-headed. Lord have mercy….

“Well,” you sigh “My management really started to float the idea of me doing stuff with a co-star. They thought it might push my career a bit more and give me more opportunities. To be honest, I wanted to do it but I didn’t want to do it with just anyone. So, I told them that I would only agree to do it as long as I could pitch at least one guy that I thought I could feel…comfortable with.”

You thought you could feel comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something about him that you felt was different than all of the other porn guys. You were far too shy to admit it but Eddie was your favorite male pornstar. You didn’t know what it was about him but he just felt safe. Like you wouldn’t be completely in your head if you were to work with him.

You had seen so much of his stuff that you had witnessed exactly how he treated other girls-putting their pleasure first so much so that he made sure to at least get them off twice before he finished, himself. It wasn’t just that but how soft he seemed with them. Like every one of them and how they felt was important. For your first time, you didn’t want to feel like a piece of meat. You wanted to feel cared for. You were certain that Eddie Munson would be the perfect guy to pop your first-time cherry with. He didn’t want to settle for anything else.

“I make you feel comfortable?” He asks, looking at you in a way that had you on the brink of melting into your seat. However, truth be told, it was Eddie who was trying not to lose his shit. You felt comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something different about him than the others. You felt something.

“That’s, uh, really flattering.” Eddie clears his throat, trying to stifle the very turned-on moan that he felt coming. "Can I maybe ask why you feel comfortable with me? Y'know, so I can lean into it while we're shooting the scene?"

And so I can use it as spank bank material tonight…

“Well, I don't really know what it is exactly.” You begin, wringing your hands nervously in your lap “I guess it’s the vibe you give off. I’ve seen your stuff and I just….there’s something about how you treat the other girls that makes me feel like I’d be safe. Cared for, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah." He nods.

Keep it together, Eddie. Jesus Christ...

“I want to make sure you feel cared for. It's important to me. Especially it being your first time. I'm really flattered."

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, of course. How could I not be?' Eddie admits “You're, like, super gorgeous....and you picked me, for some reason."

He says it as if he's not one of the most sought after guys in the industry. Like he was nobody. Like he couldn't have a harem of girls hanging all over him if he wanted to.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m looking forward to it. Making you feel cared for...and safe."

"Thanks, Eddie." You reply bashfully "That means a lot to me."

"Um....so....since we're being truthful and shit...can I admit something?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah." You agree "Absolutely. Safe space and all." You smile and, god, it makes Eddie's dick so hard.

"I...uh...I've kinda got a little crush on you." He blurts out before he can back out of saying it.

"Oh." You breathe, your eyes widening in surprise "You have a crush...on me?"

Eddie fucking Munson just admitted that he had a crush on you.

"...Yeah." He winces "I've kinda been down bad for you since yesterday."

"Really?" You repeat "Me?"

"Why do you keep saying it like it's hard to believe or something?" Eddie laughs.

"I mean....because it is. You're...you know..."

"I'm what?" He pushes, wanting to hear you say it.

"You're Eddie 'The Munch' Munson, for god's sake."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Eddie laughs "That’s a new one."

"I mean...it's not not factual." You argue "When you...you know...eat pussy like that....you could have basically any girl that you want."

"Hm." Eddie hums, as if he were doubting it.

"Oh please," You tease "Don't act all modest. You know you're gifted."

"Oh, I am, am I?" He flirts, a cheeky smirk spreading across his lips.

"As if you don't know." You scoff, trying to avoid his gaze. But how could you when he was so hot?

"Well, sweetheart, that's really flattering coming from you." He compliments "At least I know that I have a pretty good chance of pleasing you later."

The comment went straight to your core, causing you to shift in the hair and makeup chair as you clamp your thighs together. You tried to be inconspicuous about the fact that him and his words had such a strong effect on you, but Eddie's eyes shift to your long, sexy legs as you crossed them in your seat. His lips curl into another smirk. He was loving this.

"Don't look at me like that." You practically whisper, your face heating up bashfully.

"Like what?" Eddie teases, that fucking shit-eating-grin still plastered on his face.

"I don't know. Like-"

"Like I wanna eat you?" Eddie interjects, raising an eyebrow at you seductively.

Cocky asshole....

"What if I do wanna eat you, sweetheart?" He asks, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, staring you down.

"I-"

"'Cause I do. As a matter of fact, since this is a safe space and all, I'm going to tell you that I wanna eat you so fucking bad. Real bad."

You were so fucking wet. Holy fucking shit.

"And if I'm being real honest, baby, I wanna eat you so good that I make you cry. But I get the feeling that you just might like that."

"Eddie..."

"But only if you want me to." He adds "I don't wanna misinterpret anything."

He couldn't misinterpret anything if he fucking tried. How you felt about him was so fucking obvious.

"Anyway," He says, quickly standing from his seat on the sofa. “I should probably go freshen up for you. Y'know, seeing as I'm about to get really lucky in the next..." He checks his watch "Thirty minutes."

He looks up from his watch, his big brown eyes falling upon you- drinking you in.

"See you out there, Princess."

────────

You were so fucking nervous. You stood off-set, watching as production set up lighting- making sure there was the right amount of brightness on the scene stage. The set was a small brick-walled room with an expensive looking black leather sofa in the middle. White shag rug underneath it and some vibrantly green foliage plants in the background.

It was reminiscent of those “casting couch” scenes that porn companies liked to shoot- but this one was classy. Not cheap and sleazy. Like it was the middle of someone’s living room- a glimpse into a private passionate moment between a couple and not just two strangers fucking. Eddie Munson was going to eat you out on that couch. The thought of it made you somehow even wetter than you already were.

Just as you were allowing yourself to get lost in the fantasy, you feel a large hand on your waist- causing you to look over to find Eddie standing next to you. Staring at you with softness in his eyes.

“Doing okay?” He asks, searching your face for any indication that you weren’t, indeed, doing okay.

“I’m okay.” You breathe shakily “Just a little nervous.”

“Don’t be.” Eddie whispers, leaning into you so intimately that only you could hear “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me. You’re safe with me, okay?”

And somehow those five little words felt like they’ve lifted so much weight off of your shoulders. He was right. It was just him. You could trust him.

“Okay.” You whisper, looking into his warm, brown eyes. Everything was going to be okay.

“How about this…” he starts, beginning to think “If things become too much or you need to stop, I want you to tap my arm twice. I’ll get them to cut and we’ll take a break.”

“Won’t they get mad?” You ask, your voice tiny and uncertain.

“It doesn’t matter.” He states “What matters is that you’re comfortable. This is about you, sweetheart. Without you, there’s no scene. You have the upper-hand. You are in control here. Nothing happens here that you don’t want to happen. Understand?”

“Yeah.” You nod “Okay.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust you, Eddie.”

“Good.” He nods “Because there’s nothing to worry about. If things start to get overwhelming with everyone watching just close your eyes and just focus on feeling, okay? That’s my job. To make you feel good.”

You didn’t think it was possible to be even wetter than you had been before but Eddie being sweet on you had practically opened up a floodgate inside of you. If it weren’t for the scene, you’d throw yourself at him right there.

“Well, hopefully I’m able to return the favor.” You say “I’ve never done that before…on camera.”

You were alluding to giving him a blowjob. It’s not like you haven’t given blowjobs to ex-boyfriends and casual hookups before. But this was different. You would be sucking off Eddie Munson- a man that’s probably received far too many blowjobs to count. He’s probably experienced some mind-blowing shit and there’s no way that you’d ever be able to compare to what other porn girls have been able to do to him with their mouths. You were embarrassed to even try.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, trust me. I’m not picky.” He laughs “Blowjobs are like pizza. Even when it’s not the best pizza, it’s still good because it’s pizza. Not that I expect you to be bad or anything.”

“…I don’t know if that’s supposed to be encouraging or not.” You reply, starting to retreat back into your own head.

“Sweetheart, what I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be fine. Don’t think too much about it.”

“But how could I not think about it when-“

You were cut off by Eddie grabbing for your hand, squeezing it affectionately as he looked into your eyes.

“I thought said you trusted me.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I do.” You reply hastily “I just-“

“Like I said, focus on feeling. When we get to that part, I just want you to focus on what feels right. Things will be fine. Honestly, there’s also nothing sexier than a girl that’s into it, y’know?” Eddie explains “You don’t have to be the best at something. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you enjoy doing it and I want you to enjoy yourself. ‘Kay?”

“Okay.” You nod, letting his words sink in.

“Also, sweetheart, with lips like those, I’m sure you suck cock like a champ but I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out.”

Your heart skips a beat at his dirty confession and you almost think about smacking his arm before one of the production managers approaches you.

“You’re on in five.” They say “Start stripping down and we’ll get you on set.”

You felt your blood run cold.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, voice low as he strokes your back with one of his large hands “If it gets to be too much just look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the entire time.”

You take a deep breath before nodding. Eddie gives your hand another squeeze before letting you walk to take your place on set. He had successfully gotten you out of your head even just a little bit. Now Eddie just had to get himself out of his own head about cumming too soon.

────────

Eddie stands back near the camera as the director calls action. He had been watching you like a hawk, eyes peeled for any sort of sense that you were beginning to panic. He stared as you dropped your robe, handing it off before gingerly taking a seat onto the black leather sofa.

“Alright, start off slow like you normally do. Take as much time as you need. Start off with slowly taking the panties off. We’ll do some light touching, maybe some fingering. Get yourself nice and ready then Eddie’s gonna come in and take care of you.”

Hearing those words immediately felt soothing to you.

You look over towards the camera and lock eyes with Eddie. He was right there like he told you he would be. He winks at you, setting off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You began to follow directions, waiting for the director to give you the okay before you started. Then you began to do what felt right. Just like you were doing a solo masturbation scene. You began to touch and caress your body, getting yourself worked up as you got into the scene.

You began with your breasts, reaching your hands up as you began to knead them through the red lacy bra that you had chosen for this scene- something that made you feel sexy and confident. In your head you began to repeat it like a mantra.

You were sexy and confident.

You are sexy.

You are confident.

You could do this.

You push your tits together, thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the lace bra and you gasped at the feeling. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to be in the moment and just feel. Just like Eddie had told you.

Eddie, on the other side of the set, was watching. His eyes were hyper-fixated on every little thing. The way your soft hands roamed your supple body and you tossed your head back in pleasure as you teased yourself. He was too far away but he was sure that you were letting out the tiniest little moans as you touched and squeezed and felt your sexy body with gentle hands.

Eddie had been halfway hard all morning but now his cock was starting to respond to every little thing you did. Every pinch, every grasp, every flick of your fingers against your tits. He could’ve sworn that it was starting to get hot in there and your bra wasn’t even off yet.

“Okay, honey, start to naturally drift down more. Get to the panties and take them off. We want it nice and slow, alright? Tease the camera.”

Tease the camera? Eddie definitely won’t be lasting long enough for the planned cum shot if you kept going on like that. But he didn’t dare say it out loud. He didn’t want to immediately gain a reputation for finishing fast even when he had so much pornographic proof out there that he wasn’t a fast shooter. You were the first girl in the industry that made him worry that he was going to finish in his pants as soon as he got a taste of you.

Nevertheless, your hands began to drag down, lower and lower until they reached the waistband of your panties. Red lace just like the bra. You didn’t even have to feel yourself to know that you were ready to go. You knew as soon as you had locked your eyes on Eddie from where he stood off-set that you were going to be drenched. But your right hand still delved into your panties, swiping at your folds as you felt just how wet you were.

Eddie watched, heart pounding as he stared at your hand down your little red panties-playing with your sopping wet core until you slowly removed your fingers. Drawing them out to reveal a thin coating of your arousal. Eddie’s breath hitched as your eyes bore into him. You were staring at him. Your gaze was locked in on him. All of this was for him.

You bring your slick fingers to your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you popped them into your mouth, sucking them nice and clean.

Fuck, you dirty girl….

Eddie’s dick begins to strain against his jeans at the action. God, was he ready to find out what you tasted like. He couldn’t take the teasing and direct eye-contact for much longer. He was so fucking ready for you.

Meeting the expectations of the director, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, seductively shimmying your hips as you pulled them down tantalizingly slow- agonizingly slow. Eddie watches with greedy eyes.

You laid back onto the sofa, panties wrapped around your thighs as you begin to lift your legs up, pulling the wet lacy fabric the rest of the way down your legs that were lifted slightly into the air- giving the camera a nice view of your pussy. Thighs pressed together in a way that had Eddie staring hungrily. He wanted so badly to sink down to his knees and hold those legs up like that as he ate you. The sight was mesmerizing.

After the lacy panties were off, you flung them across the set- right in Eddie's direction and he swore he saw a cute little smirk on your face when you did it. God, you were so naughty- and he was going to teach you a lesson.

"Okay, honey, now lay back on the couch. Spread your legs. Great! Perfect! Can we get some finger action in there?"

Eddie realizes just how well you follow directions as your body melts into the back of the couch, bringing your legs up onto it as you open them for the camera- spreading them open for everyone to see and, god, it was a fucking sight that was so fucking unholy. Yet, Eddie couldn't look away. Not when you were bare and spread out in front of him for his eyes to feast upon. That gorgeous body, those lace-clad tits, that glistening wet pussy. You were going to fucking kill him.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any hotter, you looked off near the camera- eyes trained on his as you used your fingers to spread yourself open for him. He could have passed out right there.

Fuck, he was really gonna give it to you.

He was going to devour every fucking inch of that tight little pussy until you were screaming. Fuck the cameras, fuck the scene, fuck everyone who was watching. They didn't matter. All that mattered was what he wanted to fucking do to you.

Your fingers began to tease your hole as you glided them up and down your slit. You were so fucking wet that it was making Eddie weak in the knees. Your sopping wet pussy was none other than a holy altar in which he wanted to bow down and worship. Eddie wasn't religious but you were a fucking goddess that he would devote his entire fucking life praying to if you let him.

You began to play with yourself, using your fingers to rub your needy little clit in slow circles. You threw your head back against the back of the sofa as you close your eyes. Focusing on feeling. Making yourself feel good. Getting yourself nice and wet for Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie fucking Munson with his huge fucking cock and his soft-looking lips and those big brown eyes. How he made you feel. So cared for, so safe. Your fingers begin to work your clit a bit rougher. You had seen him on screen so many times fucking so many girls and now it was finally going to be you. His head between your thighs. His tongue in your folds. Sucking on your clit. It was getting you so fucking worked up.

You insert two fingers into your pussy as you begin to fuck them into yourself. You let your mind take over, moans tumbling from your lips as you try to fuck yourself with your fingers as deep as you can- wanting to hit that spot within yourself that had you curling your toes.

You shove them as deep as you go, trying to reach it but you just couldn’t. It felt like something was missing. But you kept trying. It felt good, of course it did, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Like you were struggling. Now you were beginning to wonder if closing your eyes and thinking about Eddie was what did you in.

You had no issues in the past with using your fingers on yourself to get the relief you needed but now they just felt inadequate. As if they suddenly weren’t enough. It was so odd. Was Eddie jinxing you? Were you maybe more nervous than you originally thought? Were you-

“Alright, honey, how are we doing?” The director asks, bellowing out to you from behind the camera. “You look good, babe. Gorgeous. We’re going to add Eddie in. Are you ready?”

You look over at Eddie as he begins to strip off his shirt, his brown curls still tied back in a low bun. As he removes his t-shirt, you can’t help but stare- zoning in on his sexy, toned body. He was so fucking hot. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more turned on by him, he looks up at you- making sure that you were okay. That you were comfortable.

You both lock eyes, staring at each other with so much sexual tension that the whole room could probably feel it. You wanted Eddie Munson so bad- his body, his mouth, this hands touching all over you. You wanted him so bad that your body felt hot to the touch. He had been your industry crush for so long and now you were going to have his mouth on you- tasting you.

You give the director the okay, still spread out on the couch. As Eddie prepares to join you on-set, he can’t help the way that his eyes wander over your beautiful body. Your perky tits, your long legs, your pretty face, your sexy curves- but, most of all, your glistening wet sex. You were practically dripping with arousal as he shamelessly stared at you- the most gorgeous angel he’s ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth on you yet and he knew that he was in for trouble.

“Alright, you’re on.” The director nods towards him, giving Eddie his cue. It was the moment that he had been thinking about for hours.

His hardened cock was surely very noticeable beneath his black jeans. He could’ve sworn that there was so much blood rushing to his dick that he would pass out from the sheer lack of it being anywhere else in his body- and it was only getting worse with the way that you were looking at him. As if he were the most delectable man on the planet. Which, you would have to admit, was pretty accurate.

Your eyes stay glued to him and the pure fucking sex god that he is as he crosses onto the set, introducing himself to the scene. You loved the way that the black denim of his jeans hugged his waist. You loved the silver chain that dangled against his right hip as he strode over to you. You loved the soft tufts of dark hair that made up the happy trail leading down into the waistband of his pants. Eddie Munson was a fucking dream. He was a king- and you wanted to be his queen.

“Hey, you.” He whispers, eyes on you as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you “Doing okay? Not nervous?”

He was checking on you. Fuck, there was no way this man could be any hotter.

“I’m okay.” You whisper back “Just a little overwhelmed.”

The way that Eddie looked at you with those chocolate brown eyes made you want to melt.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice still low enough for only you to hear- sharing this intimate moment with you only.

“Just a little.” You answer. You were trying not to focus on your nerves but you could feel the space that they occupied in your body.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and relax. I’m here to take care of you.” He says, his eyes warm “Remember what I said? If it gets to be too much just focus on me. Just forget that anyone’s even here. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back, staring at him as you nod.

“Good.” He says “Now, how can I help you get comfortable? What do you need? Hm?”

God, he was making you so wet…

“….I….I, uh, can you use-“ You immediately felt embarrassed, your face flushes as you try to look away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He tsks “Eyes on me. Look at me, angel.” He reaches for you, taking your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger- guiding you to look at him. “Tell me what you want. It’s just you and me here. It’s just us. Okay?”

“Okay.” You bite your lip, nodding along.

“Say it.” He demands, maintaining eye contact “I want to hear you say it. Need to know that you’re with me. That it’s just me and you in this room right now. Nobody else. Just us, okay? Tell me.”

“I….It’s just us.” You breathe, your body feeling as if it were on fire from the intimacy “You and me. No one else.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just you and me. Now, tell me, what….do you….need?”

What did you need?

“You, Eddie. I need you.” You gasp lightly, causing his lips to form into a smirk.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks “Gotta use your words or I won’t be able to understand.”

“I want….I need you to kiss me. Please?”

Eddie lets of a short, low growl from the back of his throat as his hands fly to your waist, grasping tightly as he jerked you towards him- wanting you closer.

“C’mere, baby.” He rasps, straightening his body to become level with yours before he uses one of his large hands to grab the back of your neck- pulling you into a rough, hungry kiss that was so intense that it could have knocked the air out of you.

And Eddie fucking Munson was an amazing kisser.

The way that his lips slotted and molded against yours. The way that his mouth moved against yours as he nipped and licked and sucked at your bottom lip. The way that he slid his tongue into your mouth as if you belonged to him- causing you to want him to make you his.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue fought for dominance against yours, taking your breath away with how desperate he was to kiss you harder and more passionately than he already was- if that were even possible.

How hands were all over. Grabbing your waist, his fingertips trailing up and down your back in delicate touches. The way that his thumb slipped underneath the clasp of your bra. He pulled his thumb back to stretch out the band then released it to let it snap back against your soft skin- earning him a surprised gasp.

He removes his lips from yours, beginning to pepper light kisses along your jawline before trailing his lips down your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as he kisses down the column of your throat and then back up- working his way over until he began nibbling on your ear. You thought you were dreaming when he whispered in your ear.

“Can I take your tits out?”

You probably seemed needy and desperate as you fervently nodded your approval. You worried that you probably looked pathetic but, to Eddie, there was nothing hotter than seeing how worked up you were getting.

“P-please.” You mutter, voice coming out breathy and shaky.

“Mmm…good girl. Wanna look at those pretty tits when I fuck you with my fingers.”

You let out a startled squeak at his filthy works, causing him to grin.

“Fuck, sweetheart, does that turn you on? Listening to me tell you that I wanna put my fingers in you? Hm? That I wanna stuff you full?”

“Fuck, Eddie…” You moan.

“God, sweetheart, you’re already moaning my name and I haven’t even touched you yet. So needy for me. I fucking love it.”

He reaches both hands around to your bra clasp, expertly popping it open and removing it as if it were the easiest thing on earth. To him, it probably was. He’s probably taken off so many girl’s bras that he could do it with his eyes closed.

He pulled the bra off, taking it in his large hand before flinging it somewhere on the set. Not that it mattered. As hot as it was, it was getting in the way of what he really wanted. Your tits in his mouth.

“Mmm fuck, baby.” He groans, staring lovingly at your gorgeous chest- your hardened nipples. “You are so goddamn pretty, angel. So beautiful. Can I put my mouth on them?”

“Please.” You moan, arching your back in order to bring your tits closer to his face. Eddie chuckles at your eagerness.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He laughs “You want me to put them in my mouth? Yeah? These sweet fucking titties….”

He keeps one hand on your waist while the other snakes up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your boob as he squeezes it in his hand.

“So fucking soft, honey. So warm…..so perfect.” He teases, voice low and seductive. “Perfect little tits. Want me to put them in my face? Suck on your perky little nipples? Fuck, they’re so hard for me.”

You don’t know what came over you but you instinctively grasp at Eddie’s hand that was left grabbing your waist as you draw it up and onto your other breast, wanting him to have two handfuls of you.

“Look at you, sweet girl. You want both my hands paying attention to your tits? So bossy.” He tsks “Could’ve just asked. But that’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want. But you’re gonna have to do something for me too.”

You look at him with curiosity in your eyes. You had no idea what he was going to ask you. Truth be told, it made you a little nervous.

“Since both my hands are full, sweetness, I’m gonna need you to use yours to play with your pussy for me. Think you can do that for me? Hm?”

Fuck

You stare at him as he surveys your body, now fully nude in front of him. God, you were a beautiful sight.

“Okay.” You squeak out, nodding your head.

“Atta girl.” He whispers “That’s my good girl. Now start rubbing your clit.”

────────

To Be Continued…

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part one. Sorry that I cut it short, I didn’t want to make the fic too long and I also wanted to get it out before I left for vacation next week. I feel like I’ve already held this back from you all long enough. Please excuse any spelling errors. I’ll go back and edit later

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[mbrickswrites]

Flying the Nest - Cooperative Parenting (Epilogue)

[Re9 Dad!Leon x fem!Reader]

Warnings: fluff with a little bit of smut, slice of life, mentions of pregnancy, tw!calorie counting, dad!Leon, married!Leon

Summary: Set fourteen years after the events of Cooperative Parenting, but can be read as a stand-alone pre RE9 Dad!Leon oneshot. Just pure domestic fluff, a little bit of smut. Slice of life with the chaotic Kennedys. Leon and Reader are both early 40s in this. 🌹

Masterlist

word count: 3.1k

Muscles were rippling under taut skin, droplets of sweat trickling down, being lapped up by the crevices emerging with every flowing movement. 

How Lottie didn’t get caught up in the athletic and technical demands of ballet and forget about her facial expressions was beyond you. Somehow she managed to make it look easy, relaxing, like she was a fairy dancing in a field of flowers.

Your eldest was like a perfectly trained government agent: highly focused, executing every movement with the utmost skill, using her body as a weapon. Out of all your children, she was the one most like Leon. 

The music stopped and you wiped away the tears that had formed in the corner of your eyes, clapping your hands in applause. 

Lottie, out of breath, let herself sink down from the tips of her pointe shoes and walked up to you. “Thank you, mom.” 

You pulled her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you. I don’t know if I tell you that enough.” 

She chuckled. “You do. All the time.” 

You squeezed her tighter. “Good. Because that’s my job.” 

Lottie shook her head. “You’re so much more than that,” she whispered.  “And you need to let me go, I‘m sweaty as hell.“

'Letting go' had been your trigger word recently. You inhaled Lottie‘s scent. Your little girl. All grown up. If you thought about it for too long, you would burst into tears again like every other night ever since she had signed the contract with the American Contemporary Ballet. 

“I’m just not ready,” you had sobbed into Leon’s chest. “When I look at her, all I see is my baby.” 

Lottie slipped out of your embrace, sinking down into the splits on the floor, stretching out her legs. 

“Mom, can you pass me my bag?” 

You did as requested and she rummaged for a gatorade and a granola bar. She also took out a notebook and a pen, checking the labels on her food and scribbling numbers onto the paper. 

“You know, I would really like it if you stopped doing that,” you said, sitting down beside her. 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m counting calories to make sure I eat enough to maintain my weight, mom. I’m not trying to lose any.” 

You sighed. "Are you sure?"

She looked at you like you had lost your mind, demonstratively stretching her upper body down to cup the soles of her foot.

“I worked really hard for the perfect ratio between weight and muscle so I can throw my leg up as quickly and as elegantly as possible. I’m not giving that up. Especially not with performance season approaching.” 

You grimaced. Lottie was being too hard on herself. Also exactly like Leon. Sometimes when you looked at your daughter, you saw him, twenty-one and determined to be the best cop the world had ever seen. You certainly hoped the American Contemporary Ballet in Los Angeles wasn’t anything like Raccoon City. 

“Are you nervous?” 

She crinkled her nose. “A little. New city and all that. I also hear the ACB runs a tight ship. We’ll see.” 

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always come back,” you offered, not entirely selflessly maybe.

“Mom, you have to let me go,” Lottie said, smiling at you. “I’m the same age you were when you had me.” 

You blew out a breath. That was insane. To think you were Lottie's age when you had your first baby. You had felt young then, but seeing your daughter at that age made you realise how young you really were. 

“But I did a good job,” you murmured. “I did, right?” 

Lottie smiled. “Yeah, you did. And you still are. Even though Ollie is a handful.” 

“He’s fourteen. Being a teenage boy is hard,” you defended him. 

Lottie scribbled in her notebook. “I know, he’s making it everybody else’s problem too.” 

Back home, Leon was filling up a plastic tub of cold water and dumped a whole bunch of ice cubes in there.

You were fixing yourself a snack, while Lottie was sitting at the kitchen table, patiently waiting for her father to ice her feet. Anytime you told Leon he was spoiling his daughters, he would just shrug it off, smiling. 

“You know, if I didn’t know you have an IUD, I would get really worried right now,” he murmured, pointing his chin at your peanut butter, pickle and bacon sandwich. 

You shot him a dirty look. “Don’t yuck my yum.” You searched the counter top. “Where’s the mayo? Did you get new mayo?” 

“I did get mayo.” He chuckled, carrying the plastic tub over to Lottie. “It’s in the fridge.”

She hissed when her feet hit the ice water. 

“Is that good, or do you need more ice?” Leon asked, looking up at her. 

She shook her head, holding on to his shoulders. “No, that's just the right amount of painful, thank you.” 

You closed the fridge. “Leon, you did not get mayo.” 

He wrinkled his forehead. “I 100% did.” 

“Alright, then why is there no mayo in the fridge?” you asked. 

Lottie faked a gag. “Oh god, please don’t let it be Ollie. I don’t want to know what use a teenage boy could have for mayo.” 

As if on call, your son walked into the kitchen. 

“Ollie, did you take the mayo?” you asked. 

He shook his head. “Why would I take the mayo?” he asked, voice breaking. 

“I don’t know, probably for some gross stuff,” Lottie murmured. 

“Lottie,” Leon warned. “Leave your brother alone.” 

“Why am I the gross one? Your messed up feet are just out here in the open,” Ollie exclaimed, voice breaking even harder. "Blisters and everything."

“They’re dancer’s feet,” Lottie shouted. “And they’re more skilled than any part of you ever will be.” 

“Guys,” Leon said, stepping between the two. “It’s Lottie’s last weekend with us before she leaves for California. Can we not do that? Can we remember that we all like each other?” 

“I guess,” Ollie said, brushing his fringe out of his face. “If she stops being such a pain in the ass.” 

You clicked your tongue scoldingly. “Tell your sister you love her. In this house we don’t fight before people leave for a long time.”  

Ollie grumbled, sitting down at the table as well. “Love you, I guess.” 

“Love you too, sometimes,” Lottie replied, accepting an ice pack from Leon to put on her knees.

Your husband sighed, looking at you for advice. You shrugged. Close enough, you guessed. 

“Mom, are you pregnant again?” Ollie asked, looking at your sandwich. 

Leon snorted.

You narrowed your eyes on him. “You know, I feel like you of all people should be really quiet when it comes to pregnancy jokes, Leon.” 

“You were there too, right? At least that’s what I remember,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug from behind and kissing you on the cheek. 

“Ew, this whole family is so gross,” Ollie whined, burying his face in his hands. Lottie kicked him under the table. 

“I’m Oliver and I have the hardest life of all hard lives because my parents love each other,” Lottie said, imitating the timbre of her brother’s voice, it cracking and everything. 

He kicked her back. 

“Stop,” you hissed. “I’m being serious.” 

Your youngest daughter, Alva, the only one of your children you had actually planned for, came walking into the kitchen, mayo jar in hand. 

“Alva, what were you doing with the mayo?” Leon asked over your shoulder. 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?”

She opened the fridge to put it back, but you snatched it from her grasp unscrewing the top, checking the inside.

“That ‘nothing’ sounds suspicious,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She gnawed on her lower lip. “It’s the only material that mimics the behaviour of plasma” she whispered. “I was doing research on the Rayleigh-Taylor instability.” 

You blew out a long breath, exchanging a look with Leon. 

“Alva, what did I tell you about nuclear fusion research?” he said, face stern.  

She crinkled her nose, looking an awful lot like her older sister. “I know. But my curiosity is a gift, remember?” 

“All of our children are insane and I blame you,” Leon whispered into your ear, before taking the mayo from your hands.

It was early enough in the morning that nobody in the house was awake yet. Especially not on a Saturday. 

Nobody except you and Leon. But that was calculated. Because after three children, if you wanted to have sex with your husband, there were very limited time slots available to you. 

Saturday morning was by far your favourite one, because what better way to start your weekend than by having your face pressed into the mattress and your ass up, several inches of smoking hot husband pounding into you from behind. 

“Leon,” you moaned. 

“I know, baby,” he whispered, voice breaking into a helpless groan, picking up his pace. 

You heard a crashing sound from downstairs. Followed by a “Mom!” from Ollie. 

Leon brought your hips down, his chest flush against your back. Less skin slapping noises in this position. Being stealthy was a skill you had mastered by child number two. 

“Ignore it,” he whispered, breath fanning the shell of your ear. “They’re old enough.” 

He moaned and kept rutting into you, making you see stars. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you whimpered, his hand coming up to clasp yours, both your wedding bands clinking against each other with every one of his thrusts. On your other hand, your engagement ring glinted in the dim light. The diamond on it was so big, you had been worried to wear it out at first. An entire check of hazard pay had been blown on that.

“You feel so good, baby,” Leon breathed, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix and hitting every spot deep inside of you. 

You arched your back, tilting your pelvis so he could fuck you even more deliciously and his pace faltered, breath hitching in his throat. 

“Don’t stop, I’m so close,” you whined, a high pitched moan falling from your lips. Leon shushed you, muffling his own low groan by pressing his face into your neck. 

Your walls fluttered around him, gripping him even tighter and he whimpered, pushing into you harder. You cried out and he pulled a pillow down for you to muffle your sounds in.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he grunted and you turned your head to the side, meeting his gaze. 

“Me too, you fuck me so good, I can’t—” the rest of your sentence turned into a loud moan, as you came apart. Leon pushed the pillow into your face, biting down on your neck to keep himself from announcing what you were doing to the entire house. 

A loud, obnoxious knock on the door cut through the thick atmosphere of the room. 

“Mom! Dad!” Lottie yelled. “Get out of bed and take care of the kids you decided to have. Just because I’m your oldest, doesn’t mean I’m a free babysitter.” 

You and Leon were both fighting for your lives, as he spilled into you, twitching and helplessly pushing himself in deeper, as you rippled around him, losing any sense of where you were for a moment. 

Another knock. “I’m being serious, your middle child is a lunatic. Get down to the kitchen.” 

Her steps sounded on the stairs, as she ran down and you plied the pillow from your face. 

“Holy fuck,” you panted. “That was close.” 

Leon let go of your neck, also desperately trying to catch his breath. “No, that was amazing. You’re so hot.” 

You bit your lip. After twenty years of being together, give or take, you expected you both to be less horny for each other. Nobody told you it would only get worse the longer you were married. Raising three children together also only made you fall more in love with Leon every day. It was insane. There was supposed to be a limit somewhere, right? 

“You know, I think with Lottie moving away, we should send the other two somewhere, too. For like a weekend,” Leon said, nose softly brushing yours. "So you and I have some free time."

“To do what?” you asked, biting back a grin. You knew exactly why he wanted the kids out of the house. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“So I can bend you over every surface in this house, Mrs. Kennedy,” he murmured, trailing kisses along your jawline. 

You chuckled, shimmying onto your back in his arms so you could face him properly and pulled him into an unrushed kiss. “I love when you call me that,” you whispered. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I fucking love you, do you know that?” 

You smiled. “I do.” 

Leon’s hands cupped your breasts, running his thumbs over your pierced nipples. “I also love that you got these redone after Alva. Best decision you ever made.” He drew in a sharp breath and bent down to slip one of your nipples into his mouth.

You whimpered. Your boobs had been really sensitive lately. You were probably getting your period soon.

“Not the best decision I ever made,” you whispered, brushing a strand of blonde-grey hair out of his forehead. 

“Oh yeah?” Leon said, voice muffled by your nipple. “Which one was the best then? Was it me?” 

Another crashing sound from downstairs made you both flinch. 

“I don’t know, maybe I should have reproduced with someone else. Our kids are clearly a danger to the public,” you sighed, waiting for the inevitable high pitched ‘Mom!’ to follow. 

When it did, Leon buried his face in your chest. “I’ll go. You deserve a shower without anyone wanting something from you.” 

“You know, I thought it would get easier once they were all out of elementary school,” you mused, massaging his scalp.  

Leon shook his head, sinking deeper into your body, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. “It really doesn’t.” 

“What's worse? Nightly feedings or teenagers?” you asked and Leon groaned. 

“The terrible twos,” he concluded and pushed himself off of you. 

You smiled knowingly. Deep down, you and Leon had loved every bit of it, temper tantrums, sleep or no sleep, all of it.

You rolled over to your side, shamelessly ogling your husband as he put on pyjama pants and a T-shirt. He had only been getting more attractive with age. His hair beginning to grey really did something to you.

You sighed, softly squeezing your breasts. After breastfeeding three children those were not the same, either. But Leon still couldn't get enough of them.

Anytime they would get tender before your period you wondered how much time you had left. It was funny, really. When you were young you hated getting your period, but now, likely hitting menopause in the next few years, it was almost something to be celebrated.

You bit your lip. “Would you ever do it all again?” 

Leon looked at you, coming up to cup your cheek. "I'd love to but I doubt we have time for round two right now."

You shook your head. "That's not what I meant."

You thought about when all your kids were small: three year old Ollie barely reaching up to the kitchen table, while you were nursing baby Alva. And Lottie, standing on a chair, helping her father flip pancakes for Sunday breakfast. 

"I meant..." You paused. "A baby."

Leon did a double take. "A baby? What do you mean 'a baby'? Another one?"

You shrugged. "Maybe? I don’t know. It’s just … it might be our last chance to have one. If we did want another." 

Leon sighed. “Are you sure this isn’t about Lottie flying the nest?”

You gnawed on your lower lip. You had been really emotional about that lately.

Leon pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Can you imagine getting up every two hours to take care of a newborn? Because I can't."

“Maybe you're right,” you whispered. "I don't know where this is coming from all of a sudden. I think with Lottie leaving I'm just feeling extra maternal."

"We had a good run." He nudged your nose with his. "And we have three perfect children."

Another scream from the kitchen. Alva this time. Lottie joined in, trying to mediate between her younger siblings.

"I am going to put you both in a headlock. Try me," she threatened.

Leon grimaced. "I take that back."

He let go and rushed downstairs. 

You rolled back onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You really didn’t know where that had come from. Cognitively, you knew having another baby was probably a bad idea. You already had three and except Alva, they were pretty much out of the woods.

With Leon’s job especially, it would be a little unfair to bring another baby into this. You never knew if your domestic bliss would be abruptly cut short. Leon was happy he had been there for most of his kids’ milestones so far, a new baby might not get to enjoy all these things with their father. 

Not to mention that conceiving at forty-two was probably not an easy feat either. What if you settled on it and then it just didn't happen? Or something went wrong during the pregnancy? Leon was right. It was good the way it was.

But emotionally, you kind of wanted to do it all again. Experience it one last time with Leon by your side. 

This was only because your (not so) little girl was moving across the country. To the big city no less. Your worry probably got warped into something new along the way.

You felt a little queasy this morning, too. Maybe you were coming down with something and it all came to a head now.

You took a shower, enjoying the silence while Leon defused the crisis downstairs. You couldn’t have wished for a better husband. Whatever happened, Leon and you had always been one kick-ass team. 

When you walked downstairs your whole family was sitting at the table already, Leon having somehow managed to bring peace into the chaos. Three perfect children. A perfect husband. The smell of coffee and toast in the morning. What more could you want? Your heart was already full. 

If it weren't for that horrible sour smell that hit you as soon you sat down at the table.

“Coffee?” Leon asked and you nodded. A perfect life. 

You took a sip from your cup and grimaced. “Did you not get milk yesterday?”

“I did get milk yesterday,” Leon said. “One grocery run with the mayo.” 

Your forehead wrinkled and you pulled Alva’s half-eaten bowl of cereal out of reach. “Don’t eat that.” You pushed your cup over to Leon. “Smell that. Does that smell funny to you?”

Leon paused mid-chew and held your coffee to his nose, shrugging. He took a sip. “It’s fine, babe. It’s fresh milk.” 

“It’s not, it’s sour,” you insisted and swallowed, drawing in a sharp breath as you felt your mouth salivate.

"Are you okay?" Leon asked and you shook your head, trying to figure out if you were about to throw up or not. Something wasn't right. This wasn't normal.

Leon took another sip from your coffee to make sure it was alright, just to choke on it.

Your hand flew to your mouth and you stared at him, eyes wide when you put two and two together.

“That’s impossible,” Leon rasped, battling asphyxiation. “You have an IUD.” 

“Unless it dislodged,” you whispered. 

Leon shook his head, desperately. “But you would feel that, right? I—I would feel that during sex?” 

Ollie stopped chewing. “That is so gross.” He got up from the table, taking his bowl of cereal with him.

"Ollie, sit back down," Lottie said, pulling on his sleeve, but he yanked his arm away from her.

"I do not want to hear about mom and dad doing it. That's sick," he grumbled.

"What day is it today?" you asked Lottie, calculating.

"Saturday, the 17th," she replied.

Your head whipped around to Leon. "Oh my god."

"No." Leon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Leon, I..." you started.

"Wait, what's happening?" Alva looked between you and Leon, looking for someone to explain this to her.

Lottie burst into laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" Alva asked, annoyed that everybody was ignoring her.

"I think I'm late, hold on." You reached for your phone, checking your calendar. Did you log your last period?

"Ew," Ollie whined, pressing his palms to his ears. "You're over forty, why are you still doing it?"

Did you have your last period? Technically that should have been around the time Lottie had signed her contract with the American Contemporary Ballet. Emotions had been at an all time high, Ollie had been throwing a fit because you were discussing buying your daughter an apartment in LA. He was set on also getting one, even though that was ridiculous and he didn't need his own apartment at fourteen. Sibling rivalry at its best.

On top of that, Alva had been preparing for a science competition at school, turning your entire house into a lab whenever you turned your back to her. It had been absolute chaos.

And most importantly that had been about six weeks ago.

"No, you're not late." Leon rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're just not."

"I am," you concluded, breathlessly. You were more than late. Plus, getting all emotional and teary eyed whenever someone mentioned your oldest leaving? Sore breasts, wanting another baby all of a sudden—the nausea?

"It could be something else, right? Very early menopause maybe?" Leon tried and you knew he was listing off the exact same things in his head.

"Leon, I don't think it is," you whispered.

Lottie had a hard time breathing through her laughing fit. "Three times? Are you guys for real?"

a/n: I just had to. Low-hanging fruit.

____

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