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Hiii, I’d like to order a Eddie Munson, stirred. Rum with no mixer. Add a lime wedge, a sugar rim (for him) and can I get it with a bent straw please?????

I adore your writing, can’t wait for all the new fics💘💘💘💘

unbirthday

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: you've always hated having a birthday so close to Christmas so you've decided not to celebrate. but your best friend has a different idea. and maybe you'll both get a gift in the process...

wc: 8.8k

order up: friends-to-lovers, canon-universe, smut & fluff, mutual pining, first time (for him), and slight post-hookup awkwardness/tender aftermath.

warnings: talk of drinking, mention of past violence, Eddie Munson eating pussy like his life depends on it, first time, virgin!Eddie, slight internal jealousy, p in v sex, fluff

masterlist

Holidays weren't your favorite time of year.

In fact, the time from after Halloween until New Year's made you more irritated and stressed than happy and joyous.

And maybe your birthday being right before Christmas had something to do with that, sure. Other people didn't have to worry about the biggest gift giving holiday being right around the corner from their own personal celebration.

Parties always got canceled because of snow or holiday conflicts. People were too broke to go out and do anything. Combined Christmas/Birthday gifts felt like a cop out.

So this year you decided to say 'fuck it' and not even mention your birthday. You were in community college for a couple years now, just outside of Hawkins. No one in your newer friend circles needed to know your birthday only to be too busy to celebrate. Hell, you were on break. You didn't even have to see them.

Unfortunately, for your plan, there was one person who never forgot your birthday.

Who's voice was currently wafting through the house like this was a performance piece.

Eddie was downstairs, chatting up your mom the way he'd done since freshman year, when you guys had your first school project together. And the rest was history.

Except you graduated a couple years ago and Eddie... didn't. So you saw a little less of each other than you usually did.

It bothered you more than you cared to admit, and it bothered him even more.

"Thanks for the cookie!" You heard, a mouth half full but still booming voice yell from the stairs. Footsteps, heavy even without shoes and two at a time, came next before three distinct knocks at your bedroom door.

"No solicitors." You say, deadpan, sitting on your bed reading the same line in your book for the past five minutes.

"Even if I'm selling my soul to you for a very, very discounted rate? It is your birthday after all."

You sigh. "Come in."

The door opens with a loud creak and then a soft click as he shuts it behind him. He's wearing a flannel over a band shirt that's so faded you can't even make out the logo, and faded black jeans, the chain on his wallet jingling as he walks over. He slings his jacket over your desk chair like he usually does.

"Happy birthday." He's holding out a small, poorly wrapped gift.

"You didn't have to get me anything. I told you—"

"'Not doing my birthday this year', yeah I heard you. You tell me a lot of things." He cuts you off, but not in a mean way. He's smiling. "Doesn't mean I agree with all of them."

You take the gift and set it beside you on the nightstand with a soft but reluctant 'thanks'.

Eddie flops dramatically backward across your bed, making you pull up your legs into a crossed position so he doesn't break his spine on them.

"So," he starts, glancing over at you. "Twenty one, huh? Finally legal to… drink rum without a mixer."

The joke lands, you can't help but snort a little. He always remembered your go-to, the one you’d refilled with water in your parents' liquor cabinet since you were old enough to sneak sips. "Very specific."

He shrugs, shifting on the bed so he's propped up on an elbow, facing you. The movement brings him closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the slightly chapped state of his lips.

"C'mon, you really don't want to do anything? Not even a 'finally legal' crawl to the Hideout? The sticky floors and three drunks aren't enticing you even a little bit?" He's grinning, all teeth and easy charm, but you know him better. You can see the flicker of something else underneath, something hopeful and a little worried that you’re actually going to say no to everything.

You sigh, closing your book for real this time and setting it aside. The spine makes a soft thud on the nightstand, right next to the present. "I don't know. I'm kind of just… burned out on it all. The whole song and dance." You pick at a loose thread on your comforter. "I'd rather just chill, you know?"

He's quiet for a second, just watching you. "Yeah," he says, the word softer than you expected. "I get that."

The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's familiar. It’s a thousand late nights spent in this very room, homework spread between you, music playing low from a tinny radio. It's a comfort you didn't realize you missed as much as you had this semester.

What is new is the small bruise forming under Eddie's left eye, that you just got to see in the light.

"Eddie..." Your eyes narrow as you reach out and touch it lightly before he can stop you. When you pull your finger back there's a nude residue on it.

You arch a concerned brow at him and he lays back with a groan.

"Are you wearing makeup?"

"I.. it's no big deal. I didn't want to... look like shit if we ended up doing birthday shenanigans, so Buckley put some of this stuff on me. She said it was good to help 'conceal'. I don't know." He gestures vaguely at his face.

"You're wearing concealer on your face." You state simply, still processing.

"Yes." He confirms in a way that sounds like he's admitting to murder.

"Okay, the mental image of Robin trying to get you to hold still long enough aside... Why didn't you tell me you got in a fight?" Your fingers twitch with the want to touch him again, to check if he was hurt anywhere else.

"Because it's embarrassing."

"Getting in fights is kind of your thing."

"Yeah, when they're on my terms. And for self defense. And not against dudes twice my age and double my size." He rubs his hands down his face as he speaks.

Your curiosity and concern are equally piqued, especially when he walks over to your vanity and bends down, squinting at the damage.

"It's not that bad right?" He asks, still looking in the mirror.

You unfurl your legs in front of you again, getting comfortable against your pillows as you watch him.

It's not your fault your eyes travel down to where his flannel lifts a little at his back. Or to where his jeans fit just right on his lean frame...

"Is it?" He finally turns around, taking your silence as a bad answer.

"No. Uh, it's definitely not the worst you've looked." You say, clearing your throat.

If he caught you, he doesn't seem to care because he's sauntering back over to your bed and flopping down again. Next to you this time.

"You gonna explain why a large man in his forties beat you up, or no?" You push, wanting to keep him talking, keep him here with you.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal. I promise." He says, sounding less theatrical and more honest. "I probably deserved it. And honestly, he took pity on me."

"Okay now you have to explain."

He sighs. "Fine. But you're gonna think I'm an idiot."

"I already know you're an idiot. So no news there." You smile as you nudge him with your knee.

"Fair." He sits up straighter. "I was at the Hideout last night. As one young degenerate male does on a random Thursday."

"Uh-huh..." You press, knowing he's being theatrical.

"And there was this girl... woman really..."

"Oh a woman caller, huh?" You tease, but something tightens in your stomach.

"Shut up." He pushes back playfully. "And she was sitting alone at the bar. Maybe in her thirties? I don't know. Women confuse me with their age magic. But she was a knockout."

"At the Hideout?" You ask, trying to hide the weird jealous flash with skepticism.

"I was as shocked as you." He snorts, clearly not noticing any issue with your tone. "But I had just finished my barback shift and... I don't know... it kinda felt like she was watching me throughout the night."

"Because she found you hot? Or because you were wiping down the bar with a dirty rag and sweating into the beer cooler?"

"The latter, probably. A look of pity maybe? Not sure." He shrugs. "But anyway, after my shift was over, she told me to sit with her."

The story pauses, Eddie looking at you as if to gauge your interest. You don't have to fake it. You've leaned in slightly, waiting for the rest.

"And?"

"And she got me a drink. Which, you know, was mostly booze because Bev doesn't slack."

"Bev loves you. In her own weird way."

"She loves what's left of my tips at the end of the night." He corrects you with a grin, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's looking at you, really looking at you, and it makes your stomach feel like a flipped switch. "So we drank. We talked. She was… cool. Older. Like, she had a real job and an apartment."

"And you, what? Made her a mixtape of all your favorite Black Sabbath songs?"

"Blasphemy! You know I only make mixtapes for the two special girls in my life." His grin was big and genuine. "You and the van."

You roll your eyes but he continues.

"One thing led to another and we're outside, by the cleaner dumpster. And she's... you know..."

Your tone was clipped. "I certainly don't."

"We were making out like... heavily. More than that one time with Nicole Summers under the bleachers after..."

"Okay, Jesus. I get it." You hold up a hand, not wanting to hear about that particular memory either. That was the summer before your senior year, and you'd had to hear all about it for a week.

"So anyway, she starts to... explore lower... with her hands...and then uh... she's... lowering herself..."

It was weird to hear Eddie talk about this. Uncomfortable, even.

You knew he was a virgin. Not exactly a hot commodity in Hawkins. So you didn't hear this kind of thing from him often.

"Look, I'm not gonna paint you a mental mural, but there she is." He gestures lower to his junk. "Eye level with the beast--"

"No." You say, shaking your head. "Don't call it that."

"It's my dick." He laughs, but it's a nervous one. "It can have a nickname."

"It shouldn't."

He shrugs. "Okay. So she's down there, doing her thing and I'm just about to..."

He makes a face, a very unflattering one at that.

"... finish?" You wince, using the least crude term you can think of. “And hopefully not looking like that.”

"Shut up. And almost." He corrects you, then he covers his face with his hands. "And that's when the husband shows up."

Your jaw drops.

"The husband?" You ask, a little too loudly.

He nods from behind his hands. "The husband. Apparently she has one. And he's not too pleased that I'm receiving a uh...gift...from his wife." He finally drops his hands.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie." You whisper, the image seared into your brain. The poor girl, probably trying to reclaim some lost piece of her youth, and Eddie, your Eddie, caught in the crossfire.

"I know, right? So he shoves me. Hard. I fall back, hit my head on the dumpster. He screams something about a 'greasy little punk' and then he's just... wailing on me."

Your eyes dart back to the makeup on his face.

"And you just took it?"

He lets out a laugh that's more mortified than anything.

"See...he only landed one punch. Because the woman... she uh, she explained she was doing me a favor. Told him I'm uh... not what he thinks I am. She called me... a charity case." The last words are whispered, a confession.

It hits you like a physical blow. The casual cruelty of it, the public humiliation. The fact that Eddie, who puts on such a show of not caring what anyone thinks, had to stand there and take that.

"She was trying to stop him from hitting you more?" You ask, trying to understand the logic, trying to find a silver lining.

"Yeah. I don't know. I was mostly focused on trying to pull my pants up." He flops back on the bed, defeated. "Moral of the story: still a screw up, still a virgin."

You sigh slowly, wrapping your head around it as you lay down next to him more.

"I mean... did you really want to lose your v-card by the dive bar dumpsters?" You ask softly. The words are meant to be comforting, a gentle reframe.

He turns his head to look at you, your faces inches apart on the pillow. "No, not really." A beat of silence. "Did you expect a full, gruesome story of my near-deflowering on your twenty-first birthday?"

You can't help the small, breathy laugh that escapes. "No, not really." You admit, a grin tugging at your lips. "But I'm glad you told me."

His gaze is unwavering, full of a warmth that's been there for years but feels suddenly, intensely new.

As soon as it flashes it's gone.

"Yeah well. In a couple months I'll be twenty-one, and I'm really hoping I'll have an actual deflowering by then. So maybe I should work on it." He jokes, but it doesn't land.

It sits in the air like something sour.

"You don't need to work on anything, Eddie." You say, your voice barely a whisper. "And you're not a charity case."

The look on his face is unreadable, a complicated mess of gratitude and something else, something you can't quite name.

"I know." He says, but it sounds like a lie. He thinks he's scraps, and it breaks your heart.

"It's not even that great. Trust me. I've had guys play dj with my labia for thirty seconds and ask me if it was 'good for me'. Or the one time the guy from band camp felt me up and then cried. And I only lost it last year in the backseat of this art student's van." You offer, trying to make him feel less like the odd man out. Trying to make him feel less alone.

Eddie looks at you, his head tilted on the pillow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It's not the big, performative grin he uses at school or in the Hideout. This one is smaller, softer, real.

"Art student's van, huh? Was it a good one?"

"The sex or the van? He had a futon mattress in the back, so... you know. It was a step up from your van. The sex was…adequate."

"Okay wow, shots fired to my second best girl? I wouldn't take you in the van for our first time at least. That's a third time kind of activity." The words are out before he can catch them. A beat of silence hangs in the air, thick with the weight of what he just implied.

His face flushes, a deep, splotchy red that climbs up his neck. "I mean, not that... fuck. That's not what I..." He stammers, sitting up abruptly as if to put distance between the admission and himself.

You don't move. You just watch him, a strange, warm feeling blooming in your chest.

"I knew what you meant." You say attempting to calm him, and yourself.

Eddie stops mid-fidget, turning to look at you. "Right. Good."

He doesn't sit back down. He just stands there, awkwardly, by the bed. The space he created feels too big now.

This was the precipice. Years of late-night study sessions, shared secrets, and inside jokes all led to this one, charged moment. The air in the room feels different, thicker, humming with a new kind of energy.

You make a choice.

You swing your legs off the bed and stand up, crossing the small space to stand in front of him.

"You're not some charity case, Eddie."

"Yeah, you said that."

"No I mean..." You sigh, taking his large hands in yours. "Girls in Hawkins are cowards. And if the Bible thumpers and hick idiots didn't run this town, you'd be a catch."

He looks at you skeptically, like you're full of shit, frankly.

"A catch? Me?" He snorts.

"A catch." You confirm. "You're funny, you're smart when you're not being a dumbass, and you're... you're loyal. You're a good person."

"You just described a dog."

"A really, really good looking dog." You correct him, stepping closer.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his breath hitches in his throat. He's not deflecting anymore. He's just… watching you. Waiting.

"You don't have to do this." His voice is a low rumble, a last-ditch attempt at giving you an out. "Just 'cause I'm an idiot and said that out loud... you don't owe me anything. It was just... I misspoke. I don't...I don't want that from you."

It feels like a cold shower.

No, It feels like a cold tidal wave.

'I don't want that from you.'

"Oh. Okay." You drop his hands and take a step back, the space between you feeling like a canyon. You cross your arms over your chest, a pathetic attempt at holding yourself together.

"I mean," he says, stepping forward again, trying to backtrack. "That's not..."

But you've already closed yourself off. The heat in your cheeks is gone, replaced by a cold wash of shame.

"No! No... it's fine. Just..." You turn to your bed away from him, pretending to fuss with the blankets. "I think I just want to be alone. Like I said. For my birthday." You need him to leave. Right now. Before you start crying in front of him.

"Wait. That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm so bad at this." He's behind you, a pleading in his tone that would normally make you melt. Right now, it just grates.

"I'm just tired." You lie.

"Okay," he says, and you hear him back toward the door. The rejection stings more than you expected it would. More than that, the embarrassment, the sheer mortification of putting yourself out there and being shot down so cleanly, it was a new kind of pain. A hot, prickling feeling behind your eyes.

You hear the jingle of his keys as he picks up his jacket from the chair. "Happy birthday, by the way."

The door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.

It’s short lived.

"You know what? No. Nope."

Your door opens a moment later and he's pointing like he has a point to prove, before he flicks it shut.

"What are you..."

The jacket it's thrown over your chair once again and two large, ringed hands frame your face, callouses grazing your temples.

His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. Soft and firm, like he's been thinking about it for a while.

He tastes like the cookies your mom baked and mint, and he pulls back before you can really taste him.

"What... but you just said..."

Your brain is spinning and you know your confusion bleeds into your expression. Because Eddie's eyes are wide, like he's not sure he should have done that but is so glad he did.

"I'm an idiot." He states, and you nod a little in agreement. "I wanted it. I want you. I just didn’t want it if it was some pity thing. That's what I meant to say. I just... panicked. But then you looked so sad and I knew I fucked up. Because trust me, I have wanted that for longer than you probably want to know. Because if I say that out loud... it makes it real. And I... I'm bad at real. Real gets you punched by angry husbands in a bar parking lot." He's speaking in a rush, words tumbling over each other to get out.

"That wasn't real." You say, trying to calm him. "That was just... stupid. And not your fault."

"This." He gestures between the two of you. "This is real. This is us. And I'm terrified of screwing it up."

"I don't have a secret husband. I promise." You say, your hands coming up to rest on his wrists, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse against your fingers.

His gaze drops to your lips. "That's good to know."

He's not moving, though. He's still waiting. For you. Always for you.

So you close the distance.

This kiss is different. It's you who leads, a slow, deliberate press of your lips against his. You pour everything into it—years of unspoken feelings, of late-night comfort, of shared laughter.

"You think I'm good looking?" He says muffled by your lips, a dumb little smile forming as he kisses back.

You can't help but laugh into his mouth, a real, genuine laugh that breaks the tension into a million pieces.

"Shut up," you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You have terrible timing."

"I have great timing. It's your birthday. I'm giving you what you want."

"You don't know what I want."

"Yeah, I do." His thumbs stroke your cheeks, the gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. He looks in your eyes like he's searching. "I'm not the most experienced guy but you know... I'm also not gonna..."

He makes a little DJing motion with his fingers and you groan, remembering what you said earlier. "Oh my god, please stop."

"Right, sorry." He grins, leaning in to kiss your nose. "But seriously, what do you want? Your big twenty-one. Whatever it is, we can do it. Hideout crawl? Diner milkshake until we puke? Or... we can stay here."

The last part is a question, hanging in the space between you. He's offering you the choice, the control, and it's the most Eddie thing in the world to do.

He leans in, breath hot on your ear, voice lower. "Let me make you feel good on your birthday. Let me try."

You're nodding before you even realize it, a small, almost imperceptible motion. It's all the permission he needs.

His lips find yours again, and he's backing you up to the bed. You stumble a little when the back of your knees hit the frame, but you sit with a giggle.

He pulls back to look down at you, smiling softly. Before you can say anything, he's already sinking to his knees in front of you.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" You ask, your voice a little breathy.

"Shhh." He runs his hands up your thighs, squeezing gently. "Let me."

His fingers hook into the waistband of your sweats, and he looks up at you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod again, a little more confidently this time, and he tugs them down your legs.

The air is cool on your skin, and you shiver. His eyes are dark, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart pound.

His hands are warm on your bare thighs, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, then your inner thigh.

"What I lack in experience..." he says, trailing kisses upward. "I make up for in enthusiasm."

It’s a joke, a deflection, but it lands softer than it’s meant to, a genuine confession of sorts.

"You're doing okay so far," you whisper, your hands tangling in his hair.

He looks up at you, a small, proud smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leans in, and you feel his breath, warm against the cotton of your panties. "You smell so ready for me."

He groans as he nuzzles into your panties, your clit throbbing with the need for direct contact. The slight stubble of his chin catches the fabric, sending a jolt through you.

"Eddie," you breathe out, your hips rocking forward, a silent plea.

He pulls back, looking up at you. "You want me to take these off?"

You nod, unable to form words.

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and slowly, carefully, slides them down your legs. He’s careful with you, the way you’d expect him to be with something precious.

Once they're down, he's looking at you so intensely, it almost makes you nervous.

"Is... something wrong?" You whisper.

Did he not like what he saw? Or maybe it wasn't what he was used to seeing, if he'd only seen porn. Maybe you weren't enough.

"Wrong?" He asks, his eyes wide. "No. Nothing is wrong. I just... I can't believe this is happening."

He's on his knees in front of you, looking at you like you hung the moon.

"You're... wow."

"Thanks," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

He leans in again, this time with no fabric between you. His breath is warm against your core.

"I've never done this like... came close one time before. But uh...contrary to my academic record, I am a quick learner. " He confesses.

"You have to stop telling me your sexual experience stats." You say, but it's without heat. "I'm not a job interview."

"Okay," he says, looking up at you with a grin. "But you are the job I want."

You almost laugh at the cheesy line, but then his tongue is on you and all thought flies out the window.

It’s not hesitant. He’s not tentative. He’s confident.

His tongue flattens against your clit, and he licks a broad stripe up, then circles the sensitive nub. Your small sounds are driving him nuts and he pauses just to look up at you.

"Never heard you make that noise before." He says, a proud look on his face. "I like it."

Before you can respond, his tongue is back on you, more insistent this time. He’s exploring, learning you, committing every gasp and shiver to memory.

He pushes one of your legs up and over his shoulder, opening you up more to him. The new angle allows him to go deeper, and he takes full advantage, licking into you with a focused intensity.

Your hands tighten in his hair, holding him to you as he works. His hands never stop touching your thighs, the callouses and metal rings making each sensation feel new, making it feel like him.

"Does that feel good?" He asks, his voice a low rumble against you.

You nod, unable to speak, and he takes that as his cue to continue. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, gently at first, then a little harder.

A sound escapes you, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

"Fuck," he whispers, pulling back just enough to look up at you. "You're so sensitive, baby."

The pet name is new, but it sounds natural coming from him.

He leans back in, a little more confident now, a little more sure of himself. He’s less a nervous student and more an eager apprentice. He's listening to your body, learning what makes you tremble, what makes your breath catch.

Your hips begin to rock against his face, a slow, involuntary rhythm. He doesn't shy away from it. He meets it, encouraging it with a hand on your ass, pulling you closer. The move shocks you a little and you let out a breathy giggle mid moan.

He pulls back to look up at you, eyes full of genuine adoration, lips quirked into a soft smile, glistening with you.

"Why'd you stop?" You pant out, trying your best not to seem needy, but you deeply craved how his mouth felt a moment ago.

"I love your laugh." He says softly, still looking up at you from the floor. "I've been trying to get you to laugh like that for years."

Your brain scrambles for a witty comeback, something to cut through the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of his words, but you come up empty. All you can do is stare at him, at the earnestness in his eyes, at the way he's looking at you like you're the most important thing in the world.

"I mean, I have. Made you laugh. Plenty of times. But... there's these moments where you just..." He trails off and you frown a little.

"Where I what?" You ask, just as soft.

His eyes soften and he starts to aimlessly drum his fingers against the soft fat of your ass.

You know that fidgeting. He's nervous.

"Where you uh... you just kinda let go. Stop caring about anything except the current moment. And, well hell, you know. You have to know." He shakes his head a little, wistful look on his features. "You look... you're so beautiful when that happens."

It makes your breath hitch before you even realize it. The way he looks up at you, from his knees, no less, is something else. He's not trying to be anything or anyone but himself. Raw, open, and completely at your mercy.

The idea of him thinking about you like this, of him cataloging your laughs and your moments of unbridled joy... it was a secret you never knew you were keeping. You can't find it in yourself to be mad that he's been holding this in.

"You're a sap." You whisper, running a hand through his hair again. But your tone is far from teasing. It's gentle and so fucking fond.

He looks like he's calmed down a bit from the weight of the confession.

"Yeah well, you're easy to be sappy for." His eyes close and he kisses his way back up your inner thighs, alternating between them. "And God..."

Another kiss, closer to where he was before.

"You taste so fucking good."

His mouth is on you again but it's teasing, in between words.

"I watch a lot of porn like this. Not gonna lie. The girls... they always look like they really like this part..."

A kiss to your clit, but not with the flat of his tongue. A closed-mouth kiss. A tease.

"But the guys are always so... clinical. Like they're trying to find a leak in the sink. Or like they're too focused on fucking up." He's mumbling into you. "But doing this for real? With you? I'm just... I'm so hungry for it."

He licks a stripe up your center and your whole body shakes.

"Eddie..." You plead for more quietly

"Hmm? Baby, I'm trying to have a very sinful makeout session here. Don't be interrupting."

You can't help it. A real, uninhibited giggle bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained.

"Fuck... yeah that's the one." He groans, finally flattening his tongue against you. "Right there. That's the laugh I was talking about." He licks against you. "So pretty when you laugh for me."

His praise is dizzying, and the new confidence in his touch is even more so. He is a different person now that he knows he has your permission to be this way with you.

He wasn't lying when he said 'makeout session' either. Now he's fully in it, his tongue exploring you with a purpose, learning your folds and dips. He circles your clit again, this time slower, more deliberate. He's drawing it out, savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. The sounds you make.

The hands on your ass are no longer idle, they're kneading, encouraging you to rock against his face again as he groans against you.

You comply and he rewards you so, so kindly with his tongue delving into your entrance, a gasp from your lips follows.

You've thought about his tongue more times than you care to admit. In fantasies just like this. Every time he made a dumb face or licked an ice cream in the summer, your mind wandered for just a second.

And now, here he was, practically fucking you with it.

Eddie's enthusiasm is intoxicating. He's not trying to perform a scene from a movie, he's just... feeling. His movements are clumsy in their earnestness, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow, but always, always sincere. It feels amazing and the thought alone is so overwhelming that it pushes you closer to the edge.

He's moaning into you, getting lost in the taste and the feel of you, and the vibrations send another jolt through your body. You can feel the wetness building, the pressure in your core tightening, and you know you're close.

He can feel it too.

His eyes flick up to you as he's messily devouring his new favorite treat, and you can't look away.

Your eyes are locked as you come undone on his tongue. The pleasure is overwhelming, a wave of sensation that crashes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. You're not quiet, and you don't even try to be. You let go, just like he said, letting the sounds of your pleasure fill the room.

He holds you so close to him, like he'd be a fool to waste a single drop, and it's that thought that has your body twitching from overstimulation. He finally pulls away, chest heaving, face slick and flushed.

"Wow." He says, looking up at you, a dazed, happy expression on his face. "That was... wow."

You're still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He pushes back his hair, almost a baffled look on his face. "God... I just made you... I mean, me? Holy hell. I kinda hate any guy who saw that before me."

You're a little dazed still and let out a sound that may be a laugh. He snaps out of patting himself metaphorically on the back and moves to lay next to you on the bed.

"You okay?" He asks softly, rolling onto his side to face you.

You nod, your brain still a little fuzzy. "More than okay."

"Good." He's grinning again. "That's what I was going for."

You roll onto your side to face him, mirroring his position. The air between you is charged, but it's a comfortable kind of charged, the kind that comes from years of unspoken feelings finally being put into words.

When you glance down, just taking in the sight of him, you can see how painfully hard he must be.

He follows your gaze and chuckles lightly, licking his lips. "Uh... you don't need to worry about him. He's been... patient for a while. He'll live." He's trying to make it a joke, but there's an undercurrent of something else, a sincerity that makes your chest ache.

"Eddie," you say, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw with your finger.

"Really, it's okay, " he says, cutting you off gently. "This wasn't a... transaction. I didn't do that to get something back. I did it because I wanted to. Because I've wanted to for a long time."

He takes your hand from his face, lacing his fingers through yours. His are so much bigger, the rings cool against your skin.

"And... look," he continues, his gaze serious. "Maybe one day we could-"

You don't let him finish, you hands palming him over his jeans.

"Fuck-!" He hisses.

"Do you want to sleep with me?" You whisper, nearly against his lips now.

His incredulous face makes you stop your ministrations.

"Woman, I want to date you. I want to take you out on dates, and hold your hand at the movies. I want to meet your parents again, but as your boyfriend this time. I want to drive you to class, and then go to my own bullshit classes, knowing you're mine." The list falls from his lips, a torrent of romanticism that is so purely Eddie. "I mean, if you'll have me. Of course."

You smile against him, a real, genuine smile that feels like it’s been waiting years to break free. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

And then you're kissing again, slow and deep and full of all the words you haven't said yet.

His hands are on you, one in your hair, the other tracing patterns on your back, learning the landscape of your body. You begin to palm him again, this time with more intention, a slow, steady pressure that has him gasping into your mouth.

He doesn't try to stop you this time. Instead, he shifts, giving you better access, his hips rocking into your touch in a silent, desperate plea.

"Okay," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Okay. Your parents are downstairs though and I know the TV is loud but I don't want to risk everyone in the house seeing my dick."

"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago."

"I was a little busy."

You laugh. "Right. My bedroom door has a lock."

"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago." He throws your own words back at you with a grin.

"Touché."

You lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. He pushes you gently away for a second.

"Pause. Let me utilize that lock."

He's painfully quick about it, and you settle against your pillows, taking off your shirt and bra as he turns back around.

"Wow." He says, frozen in place.

You were suddenly very aware of how you looked. Naked on your bed. For him.

He seemed to be trying very hard to keep his gaze on your face. He failed. His eyes trace your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, with a reverence that is both thrilling and a little intimidating.

"You sure it's not my birthday? Cause this feels like a gift."

You can't help but laugh, a light, airy sound that fills the room. "Get over here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He's on the bed in an instant, caging you in with his arms, his body hovering over yours.

"Hi." He says, his voice a low rumble.

"You're overdressed for this event." You smile up at him.

"Ah, so you do want to see the beast." He jokes, but there's a nervous energy to it.

"I want to see you, Eddie. All of you."

The words hang in the air, a promise, a permission slip he didn't know he needed. He sits back on his heels, shrugging off his flannel and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

He reaches for his belt buckle and starts to hastily undo it but stops midway through.

"You're sure about this? I mean... this is a whole other..." He can't find the words.

You push yourself up to sit in front of him, your hands covering his on the belt buckle.

"Eddie. Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, a storm of nerves and want swirling in their depths.

"I have been sure about this since you tried to explain the entire Lord of the Rings lore to me in the back of a van, even though I kept calling the hobbits 'the little guys'."

"I could be bad at it. Like, shockingly bad." His honesty is a punch to the heart, because you know it's not a trick to get you to say 'no, you'll be great.' He's genuinely terrified, admitting a vulnerability.

"I'm really not worried about that."

"Okay." He says softly, letting you help him with the belt and the button on his jeans. "Okay, then."

He shucks them off along with his boxers, and there he is. All of him. Not the 'beast' he joked about, just... Eddie. Pale skin, a scattering of dark hair, a trail leading down from his navel.

You trail your fingers down his stomach and he sucks in a breath, a sharp, audible sound. You follow the path your fingers just took with your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin just above his hip.

"Hey," you say, looking up at him. "Relax."

"I'm trying," he says, a little breathless. "It's just... a lot."

"I know."

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his other hip, mirroring the first. His hands come to rest on your shoulders, a gentle, grounding touch.

"Can I...?" You ask, your gaze dropping to his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach.

He nods, a little jerkily, and you take him in your hand. He's hot and heavy in your palm, and you give him a slow, experimental stroke.

A choked sound escapes him, a mix of a gasp and a moan. "Oh, God."

You smile, a private, triumphant thing. You like seeing him like this, undone and a little helpless. You like knowing you're the one doing it to him.

"You've got a dirty smile, you know that?" He says, a low growl of a thing that makes your stomach clench.

"Only for you," you murmur, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the tip. He curses under his breath, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"I... I won't last long if you keep doing that," he warns, his hands tightening on your shoulders.

"There's condoms in my nightstand." You say, pulling back slightly. "I'm on the pill but... you know."

He looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he leans over you to rummage in the drawer. He comes back with a foil packet, his hands shaking slightly as he tears it open.

"Here," you say, taking it from him. "Let me."

He watches, transfixed, as you roll the condom down his length, your touch slow and deliberate. When you're done, you lean back against the pillows, pulling him with you.

"Come here," you whisper, and he follows, settling between your legs. He's heavy, a warm, solid weight that feels more right than you ever could have imagined.

His cock nudges against your entrance, and you both still, the reality of the moment crashing over you.

"Hey," you say, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, wide and dark with want.

"It's just me," you say, your voice soft. "It's just us."

He lets out a slow, shaky breath, and you can feel the tension drain out of him.

"I'm really glad it's you. And I'm really glad it's us." He says, then, as if to prove it, he slowly pushes inside.

The stretch is a slow burn, a pleasurable ache that has you arching your back, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He goes slowly, giving you time to adjust, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

"Jesus... fuck, are you always this wet or is it just me?" He asks, the question a breathy whisper against your neck. He's trying for a joke, trying to deflect, but the awe in his voice is unmistakable.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. "It's you."

A choked sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a groan. "Don't feed my ego. I'm already at risk of developing a complex."

You can't help but smile, a real, genuine smile that feels like it's been waiting years to break free. "Good."

He starts to move then, a slow, shallow rhythm that's more about connection than anything else. Each thrust is a question, and your body answers, meeting him, pulling him in.

He's not silent. He's never silent. He's talking, a constant stream of whispers and praises that are just so… Eddie.

"You feel... God, I didn't know it could feel like this."

"Is this... is this okay? Tell me if it's not okay."

"I'm trying to go slow, I swear, but you're making it really, really hard."

That last one makes you smile, mid moan. "You don't have to be so careful with me."

He stops, buried deep inside you, and looks down at you, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Are you sure?" He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I don't want to... you know."

"Hurt me?" You finish for him.

"Yeah. That."

"You won't."

"Okay." He says, and he seems to take you at your word.

"I know what you're into." You tease.

The choked moan that escapes him is devilish. "I swear I will cum right now if you keep talking to me like that."

"Promises, promises."

He looks down at you then, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. It's the same grin he gets right before he hits a particularly killer guitar solo, the one that says he knows exactly what he's doing and he's going to enjoy every second of it.

He pulls out almost entirely, then slams back into you, a sharp, deliberate thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

"Oh," you gasp, your eyes flying wide.

"Yeah?" He asks, a smug look on his face even when it's twisted in pleasure.

He does it again, and again, setting a pace that's anything but careful. It's rough and demanding, and it's exactly what you wanted.

He's kissing you all over your face as he hikes your thigh up over his hip. It's sloppy and wet and it's perfect.

"I'm not hurting you? You can tell me to stop." He insists, but he doesn't stop.

"Keep going." You pant out, digging your nails into the expanse of his back.

"I am, I am." He says as you both watch his dick sink in and out of you, a filthy, hypnotic rhythm. When he looks up and meets your eyes his lips are parted and his bangs stick to his forehead, but he's never looked more attractive to you.

That's when you feel it. That familiar coiling in your stomach, a tightening that promises a second release.

"Shit, I think I'm gonna..." you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he hits a spot inside you that makes your vision white out for a second.

"Yeah?" He asks, a smug, breathless grin on his face. "You gonna cum again? For me?"

His words are a final, delicious push over the edge. Your body tenses, pulled taut, and then it snaps. The orgasm crashes through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. You pull him down by his neck, lips crashing onto his.

The moan that he lets out into your mouth is sinful as he stills inside you, spilling into the condom with a shudder, a final, deep thrust that leaves you both breathless.

For a moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and heaving chests, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the distant hum of the TV downstairs. He collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting pressure, and you bury your face in his hair, breathing in the scent of him.

His hands are rubbing your thighs, feeling them still slightly twitch from your orgasm.

"Thank you... fuck, thank you." He says into your neck before he pulls out, making you both wince a little.

He gets up and pads across the room to your trash can, and you watch him move in the dim lamplight, all long limbs and pale skin, a smattering of dark tattoos scattered on his body.

He comes back to the bed, and you expect him to reach for his clothes, to pull away now that the moment is over. But of course he doesn't. He isn't any of your exes or a hook up.

He lays next to you, both of you fully naked, and pulls the blanket up over your bodies. He pulls you into his chest, and you rest your head on his heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other coming up to play with your hair.

"So... " He says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "New birthday tradition?"

You can feel the vibration of the words in your cheek, the beat of his heart a steady, reassuring thrum against your ear. A tired, happy laugh escapes you, a puff of warm air against his skin.

"God, I hope so," you mumble, your words muffled by his chest. "I don't think I can go back to just cake and ice cream after this."

"Yeah, well, we can do both." He kisses your forehead. "And I could even be persuaded to do this more than once a year. Just saying."

You shift, propping your chin up on his chest to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, all sharp angles smoothed out by the lamplight and the aftermath. He looks... content. A little dazed. A lot happy.

A thought bubble pops into you head and you look over at the nightstand.

"I never opend your gift.." you say softly, reaching for the small package.

"I'd say you opened a far better one," he says, waggling his eyebrows, the gesture so quintessentially him.

"You're ridiculous." You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as you sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist. The package is small, wrapped in what looks like the classifieds from the paper.

You carefully peel back the tape, trying not to rip the wrapping. He watches you, his hands tracing lazy patterns on your back.

Inside is a small, wooden box, no bigger than your palm. It's plain, unadorned, but you can tell it's handmade. There are small, imperfect tool marks around the edges, a little burn mark here and there.

You run your thumb over the lid, feeling the smooth, worn wood.

"My uncle," he says, answering your unspoken question. "He's into woodworking. He taught me a few things. I uh... I made the box. He just helped with the... technical stuff."

You open the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded, red velvet, is a guitar pick on a thin silver chain. It's black, with a small, white skull-and-crossbones etched into it. It's worn down, the edges smooth, the center slightly concave from use.

You look up at him, your throat tight.

"It's my favorite one," he says, his voice quiet. "I've used it for... God, years. Almost every show. It's kind of lucky, I guess. I wanted you to have it."

You lift the necklace from the box. The silver chain is cool against your fingertips, the plastic of the pick warm and familiar. It's such a simple thing, but it feels like the most intimate gift you've ever received. A piece of him, of his music, of his soul.

"Eddie..." You start, but the words catch.

"I had this whole...uh, fantasy I guess that you'd suddenly...I dont know, realize how I felt or something. When you opened it. And it would be this big, romantic moment." He laughs a little, a self-deprecating sound. "And instead I had a full-blown panic attack and nearly left. And then came back and ate you out on your bedroom floor."

You can't help but laugh, and winces a little.

"Which, I mean," he continues. "Arguably also a big fantasy of mine. I just..."

You can see him worry that it wasn't a good start to this new chapter for you two and you want to fix that right away.

He's sitting up now, the blanket pooled around his hips, looking at you with those big, anxious eyes.

"Here," you say, holding your hair up and turning your back to him. "Put it on me."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head. He's thinking about the weight of it, the meaning. Then, you feel the bed shift as he moves closer.

His fingers are a little clumsy as he works the clasp, the metal cool against the nape of your neck. You can feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the slight tremor in his hands. He's nervous, even now.

When you turn back he gets to see you, fully nude in nothing but the necklace he made for you. You watch his eyes follow the chain down to your sternum.

"It looks..." He starts, then stops, as if the words are too big for his throat. He just shakes his head, a slow, awestruck movement. "It looks right."

You reach up, your fingers closing around the pick. It's smooth and familiar, a piece of him resting against your skin. "Thank you," you say, your voice softer than you intended. "It's perfect. All of this...it was perfect."

He reaches out, tracing the chain with one long finger. "I was worried I'd..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "I don't know. That I'd be bad. Or that it would be weird. That we'd be weird."

"We're a little weird," you concede, a small smile playing on your lips. "But we were weird before. This is just... a new flavor of weird."

He laughs, a real, unburdened sound that fills the small space between you. "Yeah. Okay. New flavor of weird. I can live with that."

a/n I wasn't sure where this was going exactly when I wrote it, but I truly hope you guys like it!

and don't worry, I see the hype train. the next post is gonna be steve and his massive gift to the world.