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════ ⋆★⋆ ════
welcome to my blog !
☆ navigation ☆
☆ eddie munson (stranger things)
☆ lo’ak and neteyam sully (avatar: the way of the water)
☆ thomas shelby (peaky blinders)
☆ bradley “rooster” bradshaw (top gun: maverick)
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
I think he knows
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader x Steve Harrington Wc: 10.3k
Description: Eddie accidentally walks in on Steve fucking you in a WSQK storage closet. He thinks he’s doomed to a life of fantasizing over you with the only company of his right hand, until…Steve himself offers him a golden ticket straight to your bed: a threesome.
Warnings/tags: threesome smut, all are adults, fem!reader, established relationship with S5!Steve, no spoilers, Eddie survives S4 bc I say so, mentions of his scars, voyeurism, eddie fantasizes a lot, he jerks off a lot more, porn with plot, dry humping, oral male rec, fingering, piv sex, reverse cowgirl, both men are whipped for you.
Note: Surprise, new boy in the harem✨ No I don’t know how this happened, or how it ended up being so long but all I can say is merry early christmas my dears, enjoy the filth!! 🫦
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he’s so obsessed with me and boy I understand
Eddie Munson had never hated the sun before.
Not until he saw it in your smile.
You were standing in front of him at the crawl meeting, giggling at something Robin had said, soft and golden in the way that only you could be, wearing Steve’s stupid jacket that by this point was pretty much your own.
Because he was.
Steve Harrington, Mr. Perfect Hair himself, asshole turned part time hero, was the guy who got to hold your hand in public. Eddie didn’t hate him. Not really. He wanted to, wanted it bad sometimes, when the jealousy itched too deep to scratch.
He’d hated him at some point, when Dustin wouldn't shut up about how incredible his friend was. But alas, after everything they’d been through last year and Steve being the one who got him out of that hellhole, he really couldn’t hate him anymore.
So, he hated the sun. Because he couldn't have it.
Eddie also hated himself for not speaking up sooner. For watching you fall in love with someone else while he sat in the background. And maybe that was his punishment. Maybe that was the price for every time he chickened out, every time he saw you in the hallway in that little cherry red jacket and panicked, ducking behind his locker like a coward.
Maybe if he hadn’t been, you would be wearing his jacket now.
“Dude, wipe your face. You’re one drool away from filling the bucket,” came a voice from beside him, and undoubtedly by the tone–it had to be Henderson’s.
Eddie snapped out of his trance by the sharp nudge of Dustin’s elbow. Shit. He hadn’t even realized he was watching.
“I’m not,” he lied, even as he tilted his head just enough to catch another glimpse of you, this time laughing as Steve tried to sneak a kiss and Robin dramatically fake gagged next to you.
Jesus, Eddie was about to gag for real.
“You’re staring again,” Dustin chuckled, walking away after patting him condescendingly on the back.
Eddie shot him a glare but didn’t argue back. Because what was the point?
All he could do was fantasize when it came to you. You would never look at him the same way you look at Steve.
You just looked at him like he was funny. Your metalhead friend. And Eddie? Eddie looked at you like you hung the goddamn stars.
Things were finally looking up for Eddie. For once.
Aside from his not so little crush situation, everything else seemed to be getting better.
After almost dying being devoured by supernatural creatures–which, in his opinion would’ve been a very metal death–his uncle’s trailer had gotten split in half, and he’d gotten piles and piles of medical bills from his long recovery. Which led to him having to find a part time job as a mechanic besides his little dealing business.
Oh! And how could he forget? The police department was still investigating him about the murders from last year.
Between that, his job, the incessant crawls every week, and his therapy–both physical and psychological–he had absolutely no time to host hellfire anymore. Dustin had tried to keep it alive, but bless his soul, no one compares to Eddie Munson when it comes to being DM.
But last week, by some miracle, he’d finally, finally been cleared as “innocent” due to lack of evidence and was able to start living a normal life again. His therapy sessions had been reduced to once every two weeks, and he’d also repaired a few fancy cars that earned him a pretty juicy commission.
So yeah. Things were finally looking up for him after whatever the hell ‘86 was.
So, with a pep in his step, he walked through the doors of the WSQK headquarters holding a cardboard box with all his stuff for that day’s campaign. Robin had told him they had a spare room on the back, and Steve said he could go earlier to set everything up. He even whistled as he strolled through the empty hallways of the radio station.
He saw two doors at the end, figuring he’d open both and find out which one he was supposed to settle in.
But as all Munsons tend to run out of luck at some point, it seems like the curse finally hit him again when he opened the wrong one and changed the course of his entire fucking life.
Because what he didn’t expect, what absolutely no one warned him about, was that you and Steve liked to use the storage closet to fuck like bunnies before anyone arrived at the station.
He froze at the door, the box in his hand hanging on for dear life as he took in the scene in front of him.
There you were.
Propped up on a stack of cardboard boxes with Steve between your legs, your skirt was bunched around your hips, and your knees high on his waist. Your face was flushed, hair a mess and you were letting out choked little gasps because you couldn’t form words anymore.
Eddie’s heart stopped. He might’ve as well died for real this time.
You let out a startled sound, grabbing Steve’s shoulders to hide yourself the second you saw Eddie standing there. Steve just glanced back over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop.
“Dude. Do you mind?”
Eddie slammed the door shut.
He walked out of WSQK like he’d seen a ghost. Didn’t even say a word to Dustin, who was just pulling up on his bike.
He just got in his van, and drove straight into the woods far enough to be alone. And for the next ten minutes, the only sound in that van was the furious pumping of his hard cock into his hand and his broken, desperate moans repeating something.
Your name. Again. And again.
And again.
Then, after going back and giving a poor excuse to his boys as to why he couldn’t host that day and had to leave immediately (one that actually meant sorry guys! Gotta jerk off like 10 more times!) He went to repeat the same routine back at the small place Wayne managed to rent after the “earthquakes” had destroyed his trailer.
He turned off the lights of the room he called his now. Lit a blunt just for something to do with his free hand. Threw on a loud tape to drown out the grunts and the pathetic moaning, and his fist went to town–again–to the memory of you.
The way you looked in that closet.
The arch of your back against the boxes. The sound of your voice breaking as you moaned his name–not Eddie’s, no, the one you belonged to. Steve. The way your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, as if he wasn’t deep enough. And your face…
God. Your fucking face.
Blissed out and flushed, swollen lips parted, eyes half-lidded and completely lost in it. No cheap porn film he’d ever watched compared to that. No–you were the most obscene thing Eddie had ever seen in his life and it was burned into him now. Engraved into the insides of his lids. No amount of blinking could unsee it.
No amount of jerking off could erase it.
(He tried. Many times.)
People had sex all the time. This shouldn’t be on his head 24/7. But…Eddie couldn’t believe that was you.
He’d always seen you as soft. As the sweet girl giggling at Steve’s dumb jokes while playing with his stupid perfect hair. As the one who would mediate when a crawl meeting got too heated when someone didn’t agree with the plan. As the one who always listened to everyone…even him.
You even called him Eds once, so softly, that he’d walked around with chest pain for a full day like a goddamn lovesick teenager.
But now?
Now he couldn’t stop imagining how your voice sounded when it wasn't innocent. Couldn’t stop remembering how your legs looked parted open, how your thighs shook as Steve thrusted harshly into you.
He should’ve known better though, that was on him. He should’ve known that someone who once held the title of “King Steve” would be the one to corrupt a girl like you.
Who wouldn’t want to?
He couldn’t stop wondering what it’d feel like to be the one between your legs. To have you whimpering like that. To see you fall apart and know he did that. That he got you that high, that far gone…that wrecked.
He was fucking haunted by the fantasy. And it wasn’t lust, it was worse than that. It was curiosity, obsession, need.
The need to be the one who fucks the sweetness out of you.
But now you were probably curled up in Steve’s bed, fast asleep on his hairy chest, wearing one of his shirts and dreaming about getting fucked by him, while Eddie dreamt of you after he didn’t have anything left to milk out.
He dreamt of your hand in his curls. Your thighs around his waist. Your voice in his ear breaking with his name over and over and…over.
Eddie tried to be normal after that. God, he tried.
At least you seemed to be normal. You walked into Thursday movie night at Nancy’s like nothing had happened, dropping onto the couch next to Steve with a bag of popcorn, listening to whatever Robin said, still sweet and smiley and wearing one of Steve’s jackets.
He told himself not to stare. Repeated it like a goddamn mantra.
Don’t look, Munson. Don’t fucking look. You’ll just embarrass yourself. You’ll make it weird.
But then your eyes met, and you smiled at him, and…Eddie forgot his own name.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a squeak that could’ve been the start of a sentence, or a heart attack. He pretended to cough into his fist and buried himself deeper into the armchair.
And Steve? Oh he noticed.
Not just Eddie’s reaction, but all of it. The way Eddie’s eyes had locked onto you from the moment you walked in. The way they dropped lower every time you shifted. The way his fingers gripped the armrest.
And the weird part? Steve didn’t get mad. He just smirked, knowingly, even amused by the whole thing.
The next time something altered Eddie’s brain chemistry, was at the diner.
He’d arrived late, mainly because he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go in the first place, but the thought of seeing your smile was enough to convince him to walk through that door, and soon it was just him, Robin, and the perfect couple.
Eddie looked at you from across the booth, wearing an outfit that he was sure would ruin his life later when he was alone back in his room. You were sipping from your milkshake, the pink straw pressed between your lips, as you let out a hum of contempt at the sweet taste. All Eddie could think was that could be something else.
Thank God for Robin’s need to ramble about everything that happened on her date with Vicky that weekend, that you and Steve were focused on her and not on Eddie’s anxious leg bouncing under the table.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
“Eds, take some fries,” you offered sweetly when Robin ran out of air, pushing the plate you’d been eating from with Steve toward him.
Eddie hadn’t ordered anything, he wasn’t hungry–at least not for actual food–and of course you’d noticed and offered him some of your own.
“Yeah man, go ahead,” Steve chimed in with a smile that was enough to freak him out. “I don’t mind sharing,” he added with a shrug, placing an arm around your shoulders, hazel eyes piercing into Eddie’s with a devilish glint.
The implication left Eddie frozen in place, hand hovering over the fries as you began talking with Robin again, unaware of the way your boyfriend’s comment had left Eddie stunned.
Steve didn’t say anything else. Just kept looking at him, head tilted, like he knew something. Like he felt it now.
The shift.
Eddie almost got up and left, but then he caught Steve’s eyes, and the bastard just winked.
Jesus Christ.
You’re still breathless when Steve flips you onto your back again, mind stuck somewhere between heaven and passing out as your sore body still feels every inch of him buried deep inside you.
He drapes you across his chest knowing you can’t hold yourself up anymore, bare skin sticky with sweat, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat. Steve's hand goes to your thigh, fingers brushing softly where he’d held you down minutes ago.
You don’t want to move. You never want to after he’s done with you. So you just cling tightly to him, letting out a dreamy sigh and nuzzling closer, planting a soft kiss over his racing heart.
Steve smiles, shifting just enough to see your blissed out face. “You okay over there?”
“Mmhm,” you hum. “Can’t feel my soul. Congratulations, Harrington.”
That makes him chuckle. He kisses the top of your head. “Anytime, baby.”
As his room settles into silence and you begin drifting off in his arms before he can drag you into taking a shower, Steve’s chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks again.
“Hey,” he whispers, absentmindedly playing with your hair which doesn’t help your heavy eyelids closing.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever notice the way Eddie looks at you?”
Your eyes blink open immediately.
You don’t say anything at first. Just start tracing lazy little circles on a particular scar on his ribs, pretending to think about it, but you already know the answer.
“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve noticed.”
Steve hums, hand still resting on your thigh.
“It’s probably just a silly little crush,” you add, as if you didn’t know how Eddie’s voice breaks every time you spare a glance at him. Or the way his hands shake when you ask him to hand you a drink on movie night. “He’s just… traumatized from the time he caught us back at the station,” you chuckle.
“Oh, baby. You should’ve seen his face in that closet.” Steve snorts. “You were extra loud that day, you really put on a show for him–the lucky bastard.”
“What?” You ask, straightening up on his chest. “You knew he was going to get there earlier?”
“I was hoping he got there earlier."
You smack his arm with your mouth wide open, but a smile tugs at your lips. He grins like the bastard he is, shifting to ease you again into his embrace.
“Don’t worry baby, I might have a way to fix him right back up,” he says smugly, those impossible hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “…Remember that talk we had a while back? Couple months ago. About maybe…bringing in a third?”
Your heart thumps so fast against your chest that you’re sure Steve can feel it on his.
“…Yeah,” you say. “I remember.”
“What if…it was him?” He shrugs, like he’s discussing what movie to watch. “I’m just saying, we’ve both noticed. And maybe…” His hand drifts lower down your thigh, finding that place where you’re still sensitive. “Maybe it’s fun to imagine what he’d do if we invited him.”
His fingers press against your wet folds, easily sliding in and drawing a gasp out of you. His eyebrows shoot up, like he’d managed exactly what he wanted.
“See? Don't you want to show him again how pretty you sound?”
Maybe it’s the overstimulation of Steve fingers pumping in and out of your pussy like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked it minutes prior, that the word comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“Yes,” you exhale in a shaky moan.
The thought alone thrills you. Because the truth is, you’ve been feeling it as much as Steve has. You've been wanting it as much as Steve has.
The forbidden.
Because it is fun to imagine. You guiding Eddie’s hand. Steve watching and telling you what to do. You crying out between the two of them.
God.
“So…Eddie?” You pant, unsure if you’re asking or you're moaning out his name just to try it out on your lips.
Steve just smirks.
“Yeah,” he says, pumping faster. “Eddie.”
The moment that sealed Eddie’s fate was a random Thursday.
He should’ve known better.
The second you said movie night was at your place, he should’ve backed out. Should’ve faked a headache or a gig or even a freak accident involving his uncle.
Anything.
But–like the fucking idiot he was–he’d walked right through your front door that night.
You’d picked a shitty movie on purpose. Something slow without any action scenes, full of long silences and artistic shots that made Robin snore into the couch cushion, with Nancy and Jonathan falling right behind.
Steve sat beside you the whole time, like always, hand on your thigh, like always. Looking casual, almost innocent.
Eddie was on the floor, sitting too close to the TV just so he wouldn’t look at you.
He’d been too busy picking at the skin of his thumb and lost into the mazes of his head, that he didn’t notice you’d disappeared with Steve until he glanced over to the couches and only found the girls and Jonathan dead to the world.
He sat there for a few more minutes pretending to care about the stupid movie, but then–like a fucking idiot, again–he decided to get up, quietly leaving the room like he was going to the kitchen.
He took a hard left to the stairs instead.
Eddie knew where your bedroom was. He’d been there before when you’d asked him to bring more blankets on movie night a few months ago. He still remembers the cute little nightlight plugged into the wall.
As he tiptoed to the top of the stairs like a freak, the hall was dark, but a sliver of light came out of your room through the slightly open door.
Eddie dragged his feet on the carpet, guided by shushing voices and a noise of what he was sure was the creak of a bed. Once he reached, he braced himself for the scene he was about to encounter as he peeked through the door, but no amount of breathing techniques could have ever prepared him for the image before his eyes.
Oh, fuck.
You were on your stomach, face pressed into the mattress, Steve standing behind you with both hands gripping your hips. Your ass–god, your ass–lifted high to meet every thrust.
Your skirt was bunched around your waist, panties pushed to the side, but nothing really hid you from the pervert on the door. Not even Steve’s body blocked the view of him disappearing into your dripping pussy, filling you so deep Eddie could see it, see the way your walls opened for him.
The nightlight glowed behind you, casting just enough light to make it worse.
Pink and soft and obscene.
Eddie’s eyes went over the curve of your spine. The shake of your thighs. Your fingers twisting in the floral sheets, holding on for dear life as your body kept being pushed forward.
And the sounds. Jesus Christ, the sounds.
“Steve,” you gasped, “please–more–don’t stop.”
“Shhh baby, I know,” Steve cooed behind you, doing the exact opposite of what you asked and stopped. “But you gotta keep it down, don’t want to wake up your guests do you?”
The fucking hypocrite then slammed back into you so hard the headboard bumped the wall. You moaned–no, cried out, trying to muffle it against the sheets as Eddie bit down his fist just to keep himself from making a sound.
“Oh baby, you wanna be loud?” Steve chuckled, as he kept thrusting hard. “Go on then, I want to hear you.”
“I–fuck–I love your cock, Steve” you choked the words out. “‘S–s’ so deep.”
Eddie froze at the crack of the door, heart pounding out of his chest as he watched you getting fucked within an inch of your life.
The sweet girl. The sun. The angel he thought he knew. Gripping her sheets like a sinner. Moaning filth like she wanted the guests to hear.
Maybe you wanted him to hear.
Eddie’s hand slipped inside his jeans, he couldn't stop himself. Not after that. He stroked himself fast and hard and desperate, watching your body take it, and your mouth beg for it.
It didn’t take long for Eddie to come harder than he’d ever had in his life. He made a mess in his hand, his pants, and he was sure some of his cum dripped onto the carpet below, but he was too high and too far gone to care.
He nearly collapsed against the stairs wall as he rushed back down, panting, already half hard again within seconds.
The movie was still rolling, the guys were still fast asleep, but he had been changed forever–once again.
Seriously, who the hell leaves the door open? Or unlocked? For two people who seemed to fuck like bunnies none of it made sense.
Unless…you’d wanted him to watch.
Eddie was in the middle of jerking off when someone started pounding on his front door.
Of course.
He’d found his rhythm, music blasting, hips grinding into his palm, eyes squeezed shut and in his head, his filthy, freaky little head, you kept running your dirty mouth over and over.
He’d been at it for twenty minutes. Maybe more. His dick was red and raw but he didn’t care because the only thing worse than jerking off to the memory of you was not jerking off to it.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Jesus–fuck,” he curses, pulling up his briefs with a groan, finding a pair of jeans from the floor as the knocking continues.
“EDDIE!!” A familiar voice calls over the music.
Oh no.
Eddie walks out of his room shirtless, crosses the hall in dragged strides, and opens the door wide enough to peek out, and yeah, there he is.
Steve fucking Harrington.
The absolute last person on earth he wanted to catch him red handed with his dick in his hand fantasizing about his girlfriend.
“Hey, man,” Eddie manages, clearing his throat when his voice cracks a little. “Uh…what’s up?”
“Hey!” Steve beams, that preppy boy smile spreading wide on his face. “Mind if I come in?”
Eddie hesitates only for a second, then opens the door wider and steps back. Steve walks in, glances around, his gaze landing on Eddie’s bedroom. More specifically, on the bottle of lotion on his nightstand and the constellation of crumpled paper tissues on the floor next to his bed.
Steve chuckles. “Sorry man, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wh–what?”
“You know. That thing you were doing.” Steve smirks, nodding his head toward the room. “Thinking about my girl?”
Eddie’s whole face goes red. “Dude, what the fuck–”
“You like her,” Steve says plainly, not as a question, not mad, not teasing. Just a matter of fact. “I know you’ve always liked her. But now you’ve seen her like I have. And now you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Eddie stands frozen in the middle of the living room, unsure of what he’s supposed to say to save his case. Although, given the evidence, there isn’t much to hope for.
“Is this the part where you punch me?” Eddie asks, almost bracing for the impact.
But Steve just laughs in his face.
“No, man. No punches.” He shakes his head, amused. “You know…she likes it when you stare.”
You like it when he stares? You know he stares?
“Alright Harrington, if you wanna hit me, just do it. Don’t fuck with me.” Eddie chuckles bitterly, already wishing he could just go back to his little twisted fantasies instead of hearing this bullshit.
“Don’t you get what I’m saying Eddie?”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “No…?”
Steve sighs, then steps closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m saying…she wants you to fuck her.”
There’s a moment of deafening silence where Eddie questions if he actually speaks the English language, because there’s no fucking way in the world he heard that right.
“...What??”
“She does,” Steve repeats, then chuckles again, “Hell, even I want you to fuck her.”
“You’re not being serious,” Eddie accuses, backing off from Steve’s grasp to pace in circles with his hands on his hips.
“Fucking hell man,” Steve groans. “Look–I’ve seen the way you look at her. And I get it, okay? She’s a dream, I know.” He laughs, but Eddie keeps pacing like a madman, shaking his head. “Dude–you ever wonder what she tastes like when she’s already come twice?”
That makes him stop right in his tracks. He turns to Steve in disbelief, but once again he doesn’t see anger, or teasing. He’s genuinely asking him if he fantasizes about his girlfriend.
“Man, I wonder about everything,” Eddie finally blurts out, exhaling like he just lifted a weight off his chest that’s been dragging him down for weeks.
Steve grins.
“I wouldn’t offer you this if I didn’t trust you with her.”
He walks closer to Eddie–again–but this time he doesn’t place his hand on his shoulder, just looks at him dead in the eye as his grin turns darker.
“You’d be gentle with her, wouldn’t you, Eddie?” He asks, pupils taking over the hazel of his eyes. “You wouldn’t fuck her too hard the first time, right? She’s too sensitive after–and trust me, you’re gonna want her to keep going.”
Eddie is speechless for the 124378th time in that month. Which should be an achievement, considering he likes to talk as much as Robin does.
“I’m not gonna say it twice, Munson.” Steve lifts a hand to clap him on the shoulder. “But she really wants it. So are you in?”
Eddie doesn’t even think anymore. He just nods frantically.
Oh, he’s so in.
Oh, he’s so having a full blown existential crisis.
He hadn’t slept the night before. Who could sleep after that conversation? Steve, poster boy for everything Eddie is not, just casually walked into his place, dropping that line like it was no big deal:
She wants you to fuck her.
Which is how he ended up now, standing outside your goddamn house, sweating through his jacket and wondering if he’d actually never woken up from the demobats attack and this was all a coma dream.
Because now you apparently wanted him.
In your house. In your bed.
On those stupidly adorable floral sheets he couldn’t stop thinking about. That’s what he came thinking about. That’s what he dreamed about every night.
Steve’d said to just “roll by tonight.” Well, tonight is here, and Eddie stands outside the door contemplating his options.
Does he knock? Does he just open it and walk into a fucking orgy?
Jesus.
He adjusts his jacket, runs a hand through his curly hair, and tells himself it’s going to be fine. He’s already been through things someone his age should never have to in their entire lifetime. Strange things. He can handle a little threesome.
Right?
He rings the doorbell before he chickens out like he’s done his whole life.
Eddie hears footsteps approaching the front door. He expects you, for some reason, but instead it’s Steve who opens it, shirtless, barefoot, only wearing some sweatpants, and smiling bright as if he’d just invited Eddie over to watch some sports game.
“Hey, dude! Glad you made it,” he beams, stepping aside.
Eddie walks through the threshold, and stops in the middle of the entrance hall pressing his lips tight.
“You want water or something?” Steve offers casually, noticing Eddie’s looking around nervously. “She’s upstairs. All ready.”
“She’s what?”
“All ready,” Steve repeats with a grin. “You know, for you.”
Steve laughs at Eddie’s loss for words, claps him reassuringly on the back, and gestures toward the stairs.
“Come on, man. Don’t leave her waiting.”
He walks up the stairs with Steve trailing behind. Eddie’s already hard under his ripped jeans, stopping right outside your door thinking what on earth does ready for me mean?
Are you naked? Are you touching yourself? Do you know how hard he is? Can you feel him on the other side of the door?
He can even see the damn nightlight is on behind it. His hand hovers over the doorknob, but for one second, the doubt comes crawling back in.
What if this is a joke? What if he opens the door and all your friends are inside pointing at him and laughing like “Look who actually believed it! You’re a pervert, Eddie!”
Wouldn’t be the first time someone pulls a cruel prank on him–or calls him that. Wouldn’t even be the worst. But–
“You gonna open it, Eddie? Or are you too scared of my girl?” Steve’s teasing voice cuts off his spiraling thoughts.
Eddie takes a deep breath, finally twists the knob, and he swears time slows down when he sees you there.
You’re sitting–no, half kneeling on the bed in the center of the room. Those floral sheets are bunched under your knees. And you’re wearing a little dainty lace set. The fabric is barely there, but the little bows on the straps make it sweet enough for Eddie’s mouth to go dry. Your exposed skin looks soft under the warm pink glow the nightlight casts against the walls.
You’re all ready for him.
Eddie nearly fucking dies. Again.
You smile when you see him. It’s soft and warm and welcoming, like always. Except–nearly naked. Not like he hadn’t seen your guts getting rearranged about two times too much these past weeks anyways.
“Hi, Eds,” you say, waving your hand as if you aren’t currently rewiring his entire nervous system.
He stands frozen in the doorway as Steve brushes past him, casual as hell. He walks straight up to you, bends down just enough to pet your chin with two fingers, making you laugh softly.
“Hi again, baby,” Steve whispers sweetly. “Let’s give him a warm welcome, hm?”
You hum in agreement, watching Steve walk away and drop onto the puff in the corner of the room, manspreading like a king waiting for his entertainment to start.
But Eddie…Eddie’s still standing by the door like 🧍🏻
“So uh…what–what are the rules?” He stammers. “Or, like boundaries? Or–fuck, I don’t know, a safe word?”
He means it for him, of course.
You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh my god. Eddie, you're adorable.”
Steve is not as delicate as you, “Dude,” he snorts. “You can’t be serious. Relax. No one's handing out instructions.”
Eddie shifts anxiously on his feet. “I–there should be instructions.”
When the hell has ever cared about those?
“You’re here to make her feel good, that’s it.” Steve says quite harshly, crossing his arms over his chest, then looks at you and everything in him softens. “You decide how far he goes, baby.”
You melt. Right there on the bed. Blow him a kiss and then turn your full attention to the very shy boy at your doorstep.
“It’s okay, Eddie. Can you come closer?” You ask, extending your arm and gesturing toward the bed.
Eddie gives one step, that’s all he manages.
You smile wider, just enough to coax him. “Closer, Eddie. Please.”
Fuck.
He takes another step, then another, until he’s right by the edge of the bed, so close he can see the pattern of the fine lace of your lingerie, the way your chest rises when you breathe, the way you’re giving him the most deadly case of bedroom eyes he’s ever seen in his entire life.
You don’t look shy, or unsure, you look…eager.
Before he can overthink it, you slide off the bed to round him, and gently push his chest to sit down. Eddie falls easily, his body already knowing it’s not in charge anymore. The mattress dips under his weight, bouncing softly along with the curls in his head.
“Kick those shoes off,” you say.
He obeys. Oh–he obeys. A little clumsily, but they’re off in less than three seconds.
Only then you climb onto his lap. Eddie’s breath comes out in a shaky exhale when your ass lands on his thighs. His hands hover uselessly at his sides. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t really dare yet. He doesn’t even know where to look. His eyes dart from your shoulder to the wall to Steve, who has now thrown his arms behind his head like he’s watching his favorite movie.
“Well, don’t mind me,” he says. “Just enjoying the show.”
You cradle Eddie’s face to get his attention back to you. All he can think is your hands are warm, and too soft for his own good. Your thumbs brush his cheeks in such a normal, easy way, that still feels deeply intimate.
“Pretty boy,” you whisper, smiling at him. “Such pretty eyes.”
Eddie’s heart does an entire somersault routine. He can feel the little feet of the people inside his head running around to process the compliment.
We’re starting already???
He doesn’t even finish that line of thought when you lean in and kiss him. The kiss is slow and unrushed, but so so passionate. Your soft lips move against his, showing him you know exactly what you’re doing. Eddie melts into it instantly. He kisses you back desperately, starving, because he’d been feeling withdrawal for something he never had, and now–holy shit now he’s finally getting his fix.
Still, he doesn’t touch. Not until you take his wrists and guide them yourself, first on your waist, but then trailing down, lower, to where the lace sits and barely covers anything. His hands pinch your skin when he realizes what he’s touching.
You.
“Oh,” he breathes in to the kiss, and had you known Eddie let out those pretty little sounds, you'd have brought him in sooner.
You smile against his mouth and roll your hips, just a little, just to get more out. Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, you grind down on him. Slow at first, just gentle little moves that made Eddie’s head tip back, and a symphony of broken sounds left his throat. Every grind of your body made his cock throb harder against his jeans. His eyes went between your chest, your mouth and the way your lashes fluttered when you finally found the spot.
“Jesus–fuck yes, use me angel.”
He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until you let out a little whimper at the pet name, and picked up the pace.
You are used to terms of endearment from Steve, he’s the sweetest with you, but never in the years of your relationship has he ever called you something so divine as angel.
Alas, your boyfriend still knows you better than anyone. You keep moving on top of Eddie, and even though his hard cock under the jeans is already making you see stars, there’s something…missing. By this point Steve’s fingers would already be deep inside you without even having to ask.
Across the room, he watches your frantic moves and hears your moans getting needier. Eddie doesn't notice at first, but he does.
“Hey man,” he calls casually. “Play with her.”
Eddie, too lost in the way you keep rolling your hips, blinks like he misheard. “–What?”
Steve chuckles, “She’s used to it. Go on, don’t make her wait.”
Eddie turns back to you, but you don’t say anything, just look at him, chest rising faster, lips parted, a thin sheen of sweat starting to gather at your temples. And when his eyes search yours for permission, you nod.
That’s all it takes. Eddie’s hand slides down your stomach, dipping lower and lower, until he finds the paradise between your legs.
Oh fuck.
“Baby–you’re soaking through my jeans,” he groans, trailing the wet patch seeping through your panties.
You giggle, but the second his fingers go past the lace and brush over your clit, you let out the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. A little gasp of surprise, hips bucking slightly since you've been waiting for him to touch you right there all night.
Eddie almost comes in his pants. “Jesus–you’re perfect.”
He doesn't slide his fingers in yet, he doesn't need to, your slick is already dripping onto his jeans, smearing over his rings. You just grind into his hand, chasing your high. Every sound you make goes straight to his dick, every breath, every flutter of your lashes, every soft whimper of his name. He’s about to put a finger in when–
“Stop.”
Eddie freezes at your firm voice, his hand stills as panic takes over his chest. “Did I–did I do something wrong?”
Steve’s already standing from the couch, ready to lift you off Eddie’s lap if you need him to. But you just let out a sweet little laugh and shake your head.
“No, you’re perfect. I want you to take your shirt off first,” you shrug, as if you hadn't caused both men a near heart attack.
Steve exhales, muttering something about “always testing him” as he plops back onto the puff. You smile at him apologetically, he just shakes his head pretending to be annoyed but you see the smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh,” Eddie says, blinking a few times before actually breathing again. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, sweetheart.”
He fumbles a little, taking off his vest first, then his jacket, then–he hesitates for a second. It’s not that he’s insecure about his chest, but his tattoos now have fresh new roommates in the shape of multiple scars scattered across his skin from where he’d been attacked. And he doesn’t know how you’ll react to them.
You notice the doubt flashing across his eyes as his hands stop reaching for the shirt. “Are you okay, Eddie?” You ask, and now you’re the one wondering if you did something wrong.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to not sound too pathetic. “It’s just–my…my scars,” he says, avoiding your gaze.
You hum softly, “Steve has them too.”
Eddie’s head perks up at that, and his eyes go to the shirtless man on the couch.
“Yeah man,” Steve breathes, straightening up, pointing at the lovely little bite marks the bats had left on his skin.
Eddie squints and sees them washed in the glow of the nightlamp. He’d been so busy freaking the hell out when he arrived that he hadn’t even noticed that Steve’s chest indeed had marks. But not as many as him, and at least the hair around it makes up for it, he’s not sure his pale chest–
“Eddie…” You cup his face to gently guide it towards you. “You can keep your shirt on if you feel more comfortable that way, but know that I don’t care about what’s under there. I just want to feel your skin closer,” you reassure.
Eddie almost proposes right there and then.
Okay–maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. But shit. He decides it’s wiser to just nod, and peels off his shirt in one rough pull. You look him in the eyes before looking down, and he nods again. Your eyes go down his bare chest, pale as you expected, not as filled out as Steve’s, and not nearly as hairy–but the tattoos and the scars make him the most badass rockstar you’d ever seen.
Eddie’s breath stills as you look at him like you like what you see. Like he’s the prettiest thing in the room. And then you make sure he hears it.
“You’re so pretty, Eddie,” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss. Your hands smooth over his skin, fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, the scars down his sides, the happy trail leading to a happier place. “So hot.”
You whine into the kiss, hips rolling again making him forget about the fact that he’s shirtless in front of you and instead he remembers–right. His fingers.
Eddie reaches for you, pulling your panties to the side again. He slides two fingers between your folds, slow enough to drink every second of the way your jaw drops when you feel his rings deep inside you, the way your eyes flutter shut, how you let out a desperate little sound that goes straight to his cock.
“Eds…” you moan, walls clenching around fingers and metal.
“You feel–fuck, baby, you feel so good…so tight…”
He finds his rhythm easily, all insecurities set aside by how fast you’re falling apart on his fingers.
Eddie knows what he’s doing. Those hands–those guitarist fingers don’t play. They move with instinct, with intention. His fingers curl, dragging quickly through your walls before pressing back in. The rings are a plus, cold metal against heat, and you gasp when one of them hits the spot.
“Oh–Eddie–”
“That’s it angel, keep dripping all over me,” he coos, pumping harder. “Can feel you clenching when I talk like this. You like being a good girl for me?”
You nod, it’s all you can do. Steve just watches. Watches the way your body moves. The way your face twists with pleasure. The way your mouth drops open with every stroke.
But he catches something else. He always does.
Your head tips forward, forehead pressing into Eddie’s shoulder, breaths coming out in little broken sounds against Eddie’s skin as he works every inch of you. You keep grinding your hips, chasing more even as it starts to overwhelm you. A sudden wave makes your moan turn into a whimper, and your nails dig on his shoulder instinctively pushing him away.
You cry out, that’s when Steve speaks.
“Hey–easy, Munson,” he calls out, not angry, but still firm enough that it makes Eddie slow down. “Remember what I said about going easy the first time? You go too rough too soon and she’s gonna be shaking for the rest of the night.”
“Sorry–” Eddie says immediately, but you cut him off.
“It’s okay, Eds. We’re still learning each other,” you reassure, still giving him that dazed, happy look. He exhales in relief. “Just…a little slower, that’s all. I’m not really used to the rings.” You say it so sweetly, that he just nods like a little puppy eager to please.
“You’ll get used to them soon, sweetheart. Promise.”
He pulls his fingers back in slower, watching your face the whole time, memorizing every reaction. It doesn't take long before you’re grinding his hand again and letting out soft moans of pleasure as you find a more comfortable rhythm.
“There you go,,” Steve chuckles, approving. “She’s squeezing you, isn’t she?”
Eddie chuckles back, because he can feel how close you are. Your forehead presses into his shoulder again, mouth brushing his skin as you let out a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
“Hmm, that sound,” Steve hums, leaning further into the puff, stroking over his crotch. “She sounds like that when she’s about to come.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, curling his fingers just right. “Are you close, angel?”
You whimper, hiding your face knowing exactly what they are talking about, but it only makes it hotter for both men to see you like that.
“Don’t you wanna tell him, baby?” Steve asks from his spot, but all that comes out of your mouth is another moan against Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey–eyes on me.”
You obey, turning to meet those wide, hazel eyes. You’re barely holding it together, already breathless. A literal mess on Eddie’s fingers.
But Steve just smiles, wide and bright when you look at him. “Now tell him what you need, sweetheart.”
Your eyes keep locked on your boyfriend as you whisper, “I–I wanna come, Eds…please.”
“Then come, baby. Drench my fucking rings,” he groans in your ear. His raw voice and another curl of his fingers is what gets you there.
Your whole body tenses when the orgasm hits. You let out a broken moan that vibrates in Eddie’s chest and your walls clench around his fingers so tight he thinks you might break them. Your wetness coats his rings, soaks into your panties, his jeans, everywhere.
You collapse, arms flailing to hold on to him, but before Eddie can catch you, you’re already falling back.
“Whoa, hey–” Eddie’s arms scramble to hold you, but Steve is faster.
He’s behind you instantly, steadying you with one hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head easing you back into Eddie’s lap.
“She goes all soft after,” Steve says, with that fondness he always uses when referring to you. “You gotta hold her up for a second.”
Eddie’s arms wrap around you immediately, as you curl into him still trying to catch your breath. Steve leans to see you, brushing your hair back. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead that makes you smile.
“Hey,” he whispers, eyes scanning your flushed face. “You okay?”
You nod against Eddie’s chest.
“You wanna keep going?”
You nod again.
“Words, baby,” Steve coaxes, and you let out a little breathless giggle when he pinches your side.
“I do,” you whisper, loud enough for both to hear. Then you turn to him. “Thank you.”
For catching me. For checking on me. For letting another man fuck me while you watch.
You don’t even have to say it out loud for Steve to know what you’re thinking. He just brushes your cheek, with an amused smile on his face. “Anytime, baby.”
You shift on Eddie’s lap, turning back to him, lips brushing his cheek before placing your hands on his chest to look at those pretty brown eyes. “Thank you too, Eds. You made me feel so good.”
“Y-Yeah?”
You hum, patting the spider tattoo on his left peck. Once you feel like you regained your strength back again, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees in front of him.
“That’s my girl.” Steve praises. So pretty on her knees.”
He rounds the bed to grab a small pillow, then drops it to the floor next to your knees, nudging it with his foot until you shift just enough to be on top of it. You lean to kiss the back of his hand as a silent thank you.
Eddie is too busy remembering how to breathe for the 100th time to say anything.
You settle between Eddie’s legs, hands resting on his thighs, your lashes fluttering as you look up with all your attention back on him. “I wanna thank you properly.”
Eddie laughs nervously, then whistles low. “Shit–then go ahead, sweetheart.”
Your fingers go to his belt–because of course he wore a fucking belt–and Steve chuckles from your side, one judging eyebrow raised. “Why did you even wear a belt, dude?”
“I thought I was coming over to watch, not to get fucking blessed,” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, pushing himself up to help you lower his pants.
His ass barely touches the mattress when your hands are already tugging his briefs. He laughs, out of sheer nerves and excitement, lifting again to take off the last piece covering him.
He springs out.
And just as you thought. Just as you dreamed, he’s big. Eddie fucking Munson is packing a thick, flushed pink, already leaking cock just inches away from your face.
Pretty boy with pretty eyes and an even prettier dick.
You let out a sweet, pleased little dreamy sigh, when you feel his heaviness in your hand. “So pretty,” you praise, then lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.
You reach out, eager, hand wrapping around him to guide him toward your mouth like a lollipop. Eddie makes a noise no one in that room knew he was capable of.
Eddie sees heaven. Sees the clouds, hears all the symphonies and shit.
“Jesus fuck–”
Steve steps behind you again, crouching down. He runs his fingers over your spine, drawing delicate circles that don’t match the words that come out of his mouth.
“You think you can take another, baby?” He asks, kissing the back of your neck. “Getting bored of just watching…”
You glance back at him, hand still wrapped around Eddie’s cock, and look down to see the fabric of his pants barely containing his.
“Let me take care of you too, babe,” you chuckle, lifting your free hand to reach sideways, tugging Steve’s sweats and briefs down in one pull. He steps forward, letting you take him in your hand like you’ve done a hundred times.
Now you have two, very hard, very beautiful, very yours, dicks in your hands.
You give Steve one long, wet stroke with your tongue that makes him drop his head back and groan. Then, with a little giggle, you turn and give Eddie the same treatment.
“Fucking hell, Harrington,” he gasps.
Steve smiles, watching you go from one the other, teasing both. “Oh, I know.” He cups the back of your head, stroking your hair. “Show him, baby. Show him how good you are.”
You hum with Eddie in your mouth, the sound vibrating just enough to make him curse under his breath.
You begin taking turns. Your lips are glossy and warm and full, as you switch between them.
Steve. Then back to Eddie. Then back to Steve again.
Your hand stroking one while your lips wrap around the other. Back and forth. Eddie’s thighs start shaking with the effort of not coming in the first thirty seconds of this glorious torture.
He’d never seen anything like it.
He has both hands fisted in the floral sheets, barely keeping himself together as you take him halfway down and then pull away with a soft, wet pop that makes his vision go white, only to switch to the one who’s supposed to be your man.
And if it wasn’t enough, Steve hands reach behind your back when you put him in your mouth, bending over you with his cock so going deep it makes you gag, to unclasp your bra, freeing your titties for both of them.
He’s fighting for his soul at this point.
You split apart from Steve, taking a deep breath to recover from his dick touching the back of your throat, and wipe your mouth before looking up at Eddie with a smile.
“Hey Steve?” You call, eyes fixed on Eddie’s to catch his reaction. “Why don’t you get the camera?”
The…camera???
“Wait–what?”
“Don’t you want a little souvenir?” You tease, titling your head.
“What the fuck–what–do I want a–?”
“Steve likes it,” you shrug.
“Oh yeah,” Steve chuckles, already crossing to the bookshelf in the corner of your room. “I like it–but she loves it, man,” he adds smugly,
“You have photos…doing it?”
“Whooole collection.” Steve drawls, finding what he was looking for. “You’d go crazy.”
He is going crazy.
Steve walks back over holding a black Polaroid camera, and hands it directly to Eddie, who’s still gripping onto the sheets for dear life.
“I–” He stammers, looking at you.
You shrug. “My hands are busy,” you smile apologetically, too damn sweet for the situation.
Eddie finally takes the camera after a deep exhale, and leans back to lift it. He frames your pretty face between his thighs, lips parted open, spit shining on his cock. Then your mouth wraps around his tip again, and Eddie moans, loud and shaky, nearly dropping the camera.
He captures the grip of your lips, the way your tongue flicks over his slit, the stretch of your mouth when you sink deeper. Then you pull away and take Steve into your mouth instead, and Eddie moves the camera closer, watching your throat move, your hand still stroking him at the base.
It’s a miracle you are alternating, because if it had been just him, he would’ve busted in your mouth in under a minute.
You feel flash after flash after flash. Picture falling one after another, scattering on Eddie’s thighs.
“Holy shit,” Eddie chuckles. “This is filthy. God, you look so fucking good like that.”
Another flash. Another picture falling next to his balls.
You pop off of him with a messy sound and a smile at the compliment, licking your lips as you turn to Steve.
“Your turn, baby,” you whisper.
Steve steps closer, and you feel the way he starts twitching in your mouth. It doesn’t take long before he grabs your hair, and starts thrusting to get himself off.
Eddie’s eyes widen, pulling the camera aside to enjoy the view. The way Steve holds you there. The way he fucks into your mouth, chasing his release, his fist tangled in your hair, his chest rising hard and fast as you take all of him.
Steve finally comes in a few strangled moans, making sure he stays inside until you swallow every drop of his cum. He strokes your cheek with one hand, pulling out, reaching down to wipe the corner of your mouth. “There you go, baby,” he praises, still breathless. “So good for us.”
You don’t take more than a few seconds when you turn to Eddie, chest heaving, but before you can lean down again his hand comes up, stopping you.
“Wait!” He says, coming off a little louder than he means to.
Your brows furrow. “Are you–are you not enjoying it?”
“No no, Jesus–no,” he rushes, “You’re–you’re perfect. You’re actually heaven. I swear. It’s just…if you keep going like that…I won’t last.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, immediately understanding where he’s coming from.
Eddie wants to save his cum for when he gets lucky to actually fuck you.
Steve steps forward, helping you get to your feet. “Well,” he says, amused, “you’re a lucky bastard, Munson. I’m a man of my word, so I’m gonna let you fuck her properly now.”
Eddie gulps. Your eyes light up.
“That’ll get you going just fine.” Steve adds.
He takes the camera from Eddie’s side, then walks back to settle onto the puff in the corner again, naked, angling the Polaroid camera like a professional.
You take a moment to get rid of your panties, before pushing Eddie back onto the bed, making him crawl back until he’s in the center on the mattress, his curly hair draping over your multiple pillows. You climb over the pictures and his body until you’re hovering over him.
Eddie doesn’t expect you to turn around, but there you are, moving away to straddle him in reverse, giving him a perfect view of your ass. His heart is racing so hard he can hear it in his ears, yet a devilish chuckle still comes out before he can stop it.
“You want Steve to see your face while you bounce on my cock, sweetheart?”
You nod, biting your lip even if he can’t see you–because Steve sure can–lifting yourself up with your hands on his thighs. “God, yes.”
You reach to line him up beneath you, teasing the tip only for a second because you can’t wait any longer than that to feel him inside.
You sink down without giving him any warning.
“Holy–fuck,” Eddie groans, throwing his head back onto the pillows. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so tight–”
He only shuts up when he hears the moans you let out as he stretches your walls so painfully good. He feels as huge as he looks, he fills you as well as you thought he would. He’s balls deep inside you. Your knees are on either side of his hips, ass to his stomach, fingers digging into his thighs as you begin to fuck yourself on him.
From the corner, Steve lets out a low hum of approval as you bounce harder on Eddie’s cock, chasing your second orgasm. He strokes himself with one hand, the other snapping shots of the way your tits bounce, the way your face twists every time you sink down, the way you never stop looking at him.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Tug. Tug. Tug.
“Fuck yes, baby–look at you. You look like a fucking porn star.”
You smile at him, then turn over your shoulder, just a little to see how your other boy is doing.
Eddie’s falling apart.
His eyes are glued to where your bodies meet. To his cock disappearing inside your folds. And if the sounds were obscene before–they’re so much worse now. Between Eddie’s grunts, your moans as you ride him, and the clicking sound of Steve’s camera, this was a full blown production.
A priceless one.
And then you make that sound again.
The same sound you made the second time Eddie saw you fall apart on Steve’s cock. The sound you made with his fingers deep inside you. The sound that haunted his fucking dreams.
“You’re getting her there, man,” Steve says, stroking himself faster to the next series of whimpers you let out. “Make her feel good, then cum inside her. She loves that shit.”
Eddie nods. “That okay, angel? Want me to fill you up?”
You can't even speak. You just nod frantically, gasping as your rhythm begins to falter, and your thighs start shaking.
“You gotta come again first, sweetheart,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, grabbing your hips to push himself up into you. He can feel you pulsing around him.
“Steve–fuck–I’m gonna–”
“Then do it, baby,” he growls. “Come on his cock.”
You come harder than the first time. Your mouth drops open in a choked moan as your orgasm tears through you. Eddie nearly comes from how tight you clench around him.
But no. He still wants more from you. Needs it like he needs oxygen.
This time he does catch you when you slump forward, sitting up still buried inside you, placing a kiss on your shoulder as you both catch your breath. But the quiet doesn’t last long. He’s still hard inside you, and the devil on his shoulder tells him to finish what he started.
He earns a sudden yelp from you when he flips you, pushing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and lining himself up again from behind…just like he’d seen you that day. Face in the sheets. Ass up. Wet pussy glowing under the nightlight. Floral sheets wrinkled under your body.
Deja vu.
But this time, it’s not Steve–no, he’s just watching. Eddie is the one pushing his cock deep inside you with a harsh thrust that makes your whole body rock forward.
He’s not that gentle anymore. Not in a mean way. Never in a mean way, but in a I-need-to-come-inside-you-now way. His hands are gripping your skin, knuckles going pale, holding you down as you become a mess under him.
He looks up to the couch, and he expects to see at least an ounce of the jealousy he’d felt the day he saw you with him, but all he sees is Steve’s fist going up and down furiously on his cock. The camera had been dropped as soon as your cheek had hit the mattress.
He wanted to see it. See you fall apart.
“…Holy shit, dude, go for it,” Steve whistles low in approval, chuckling when he hears your strangled gasps every time Eddie slammed into you. “Let him, baby,” he coos. “Be a good girl and take all of it.”
He really gives you all of it.
Eddie’s sure he only survived ‘86 just to see the way your tight little asshole contracts with every thrust he drills into your swollen pussy.
“Eds–Eddie–”
“I know I know. Almost there, angel. Gonna fill you up real good,” he coaxes over your small whines, “wanna see you dripping with my cum.”
Eddie slams into you once more, then groans so loud it echoes across the wallpaper walls, and finally spills inside you with a cry.
Steve comes in his own hand as Eddie pulls out of you, slapping your ass a few times with his cock before you collapse onto the bedsheets. Eddie falls right behind you, blinking up at the ceiling, coming down from his high.
In the middle of all the panting, your chests rising up and down, he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do next. Part of him expects to be handed his clothes and a polite “thanks for coming.” But instead, you instinctively roll over to him, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face against his chest.
Steve just chuckles, finding his briefs on the floor and throwing them on, then finally walking over to where you’re cuddling Eddie, running his hand through your hair with a little smile.
“She gets kinda clingy after.”
You don’t even lift your head. “Don’t be rude.”
Steve grins wider. “Sorry, baby. Cute is the word. She gets cute after.”
You hum again, approving this time. Then, you let out a sigh of exhaustion, voice muffled in Eddie’s chest, “you guys are fucking crazy.”
Steve snorts. “We are crazy?”
“I didn’t exactly suggest a threesome, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, hugging you tighter.
“Whatever,” you giggle. “Just…don’t let me fall asleep like this.”
Steve kneels beside the bed and rubs your back gently. “Want a shower, baby?”
You shake your head. “Bath.”
“Bath it is.”
He places a kiss on your shoulder, then stands and walks to your bathroom. A few moments later, Eddie hears the water running.
He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With you curled into his arms, naked with his seed still inside you, surrounded by the filthy pictures he’d taken of you. His hand comes up hesitantly, brushing your hair back with the same tenderness he always sees Steve do it.
Where does this leave him though? Is this a one time thing? A hit and run? How can he go back to his normal life after this?
He’d already been losing his mind over you for weeks. He’s never getting over this.
“Are you okay?” You ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Me?”
“Yeah, your heart is beating really fast,” you say, hand resting lightly on his chest, right over it.
Eddie laughs under his breath. “Uh. Yeah. I’m just…kinda expecting for someone to tell me to get up and leave?”
You hum softly, nuzzling closer to him. “I don’t want you to leave, Eds…”
He doesn’t get to say anything before Steve returns, a pink towel slung over his bare shoulder as he stands on the bathroom door.
“Well, dude,” he says. “You bringing her or what?”
Eddie looks down at you, all cozied up in his arms. You don’t say anything, but you smile, soft and sweet and welcoming as always.
The sun in his arms.
He's not sure what the hell is next for him now. But at least for tonight, he’s staying.
And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows
Thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed 👀🤭
Feedback is always appreciated 🤍
Eddie is the opposite of a nonchalant boyfriend
Masterlist
Context: Nonchalant boyfriend was an internet phenomenon where girls were talking about their, you guessed it, nonchalant boyfriends avoidant attachment style lowkey saying things like, "when he's nonchalant and u never know if he actually likes you or if he doesn't even care abt ur existence" and, "pov: dating a nonchalant guy who never compliments you when you're a words of affirmation girl"
Asks are open, please for the love of god talk to me about Eddie.
Warnings: mentions of a period, a pinch of spiciness, that's it.
WC: 1.8k
A/N: Have this thought that turned long while I continue writing my magnum opus, it is an Eddie x Popular!Reader enemies to situationship to lovers based on the song imgonnagetyouback by Taylor Swift. It's currently at 14k words and I haven't even hit the real drama yet lmao. If anybody applies the slightest bit of pressure on me I will fold like a wet noodle and give you guys an excerpt. I've been planning it out and drafting it this whole week so it should be a well-structured story unlike my other long one.
Eddie declares war on all nonchalant boyfriends.
He’s never been nonchalant about anything in his entire life, and he’s not gonna start now, not with you.
No longer will you wonder if your boyfriend thinks you look pretty or if he thought about you that day.
With Eddie, he thinks about so many things during the day, you included, that he has to write the ones about you down so he can tell you later when you both get home from work.
He runs down the paper like it’s his grocery list, “Okay, first of all Joe was playing the radio in the shop today and Queen came on and it made me think of you.”
Your heart flutters at the sentiment, “Aw, what song was it?” You’re curious to know what it was so you can go listen to it, even though you’ve more than likely heard it a million times. You just want to listen to it from his perspective, imagining what lines made him think of you.
You giddily wonder if it was Killer Queen, you do have an insatiable appetite for him. Or maybe it was Somebody To Love, you swoon at the thought of Eddie hearing the choir-like chanting, ‘Find me somebody to love,’ knowing he’s coming home to you. His somebody.
Your rose-colored thoughts are dashed when he quips his answer.
“Fat Bottomed Girls,” he’s got a proud grin stretched across his face before he looks at his lengthy list once more, quickly moving on.
Your eyes deaden, lips pressed into a thin line, “Okay.” A tone of defeat saturating the word, you should’ve known better. That’s about right for Eddie, your perpetually horny boyfriend.
He continues as if he’s presenting on a time limit, too much to say, please hold all questions ‘til the end.
“Okay, up next, I stopped at Bradley’s Big Buy on the way home and bought you a new bag of tootsie rolls.” He reaches into the paper bag on the chair beside him and plops the huge bag of the sugary treat on the counter. “I checked the pantry this morning and saw we’re running low. Plus, your period is supposed to come this week and I can’t be without my greatest allies.” He finishes by patting the crinkling bag.
You furrow your brow, jerk your head back, eyes flutter-blinking in a questioning manner, how did he know you’re supposed to get your period this week?
“Oh don’t look at me like that,” he waves off your confusion as if it’s preposterous, “I keep up with my girl, and my girl’s girl.” He gestures vaguely to your lower half, it makes you snort.
“Did you just refer to my vagina as sentient?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes alight with mirth.
He shrugs, “You know me.” He’s so blasé with it, as if those three words explain everything.
What you don’t know is he keeps a little pocket calendar that he uses to mark your menstrual cycle. He wants to know when his girl isn’t feeling very good, but he also wants to know when his girl is feeling extra good.
“Moving forward,” he shouts with a finger up in the air, turning his nose up as if frustrated by your incessant interruptions. Such a drama queen, you think.
“Gareth asked me if we want to go on a double date with him and Jenna this Friday, I told him I’d ask the old Ball & Chain.” He’s grinning when he says it, preparing for your inevitable smack.
And you do smack him, right on his shoulder. “Hey! I’m not a Ball & Chain until you lock it down,” is your only response, you can’t help but smile at the glee in his eyes when you mention being his forever.
“You’re so right, my dearest, how very silly of me.” He says it in a stilted overly-formal voice like he’s a 1940s business man puffing on a cigar. “But mark my words, you will be my Ball & Chain,” he says in a playful threat, “When you least expect it, that’s when I’ll strike.”
You shake your head, smiling at his stupidity. He’s smug at the fact that you don’t know he’s been wearing the engagement ring he bought you around his neck, beneath his clothes, for the past four months just waiting for the perfect moment.
“Yes, let’s do dinner, what’s next,” you question, craning your neck forward to get a glimpse at his chicken scratch writing.
He jerks the paper away from your view, it’s then that you realize he’s written all of this on the back of a purchasing request from the shop. You see the logo for ‘Joe’s Cars’ at the top of the page, god, you hope they didn’t need this document for their files.
He holds the paper to his chest, reprimanding you like you’re a nosy kid, “No peeking!”
You laugh as you settle back into your stance in front of him, waiting for what he has to say next.
“On my way home I saw a banner on the mall advertising a sale at the Gap and I figured we could go get you that dress you saw in the catalog the other day. Maybe you can wear that to dinner with Gareth and Jenna,” he suggests.
It’s so straightforward the way he says it. He’s waiting for your response, but you’re nearly choking back tears at the way he loves you. The way he sees you.
You had shown him the dress last week while he was building you a shelf for your joint bedroom. The shelf would be a place for you to put your romance novels, a lot of Jilly Cooper and Jackie Collins, something your ex would’ve never done. He always made you feel bad for reading those types of books, but not Eddie. Eddie built you a place to display them proudly in your room, no longer having to dig under the bed to reread them.
When you showed him the dress, you didn’t think he actually remembered the interaction. He gave you his attention when you talked about how pretty it was and how much you liked the pleated skirt, but you just thought it went in one ear and out the other. You thought that he was probably nodding, ‘oo’-ing and ‘ah’-ing until you’d go away, leaving him to work.
But here he was a week later, having remembered the exact dress and the exact store, offering to buy it for a silly little dinner.
You smile at him with watery eyes, nodding, “Yeah, I’d like that very much,” you move to kiss him, but he holds up his hand to stop you. A pinch of worry squeezes your heart before he says, “Hold on I’m not done yet!”
His hand still held in the air, he dutifully looks at his list as if he’s reading something lengthy, preparing to recite the next thought he had at work that he needed to share with you.
He takes a big breath in before turning to you to share the last thing, “And- I love you.” He says it with the sweetest smile on his face, just happy to talk to you, happy to come home to you.
It takes you a minute to grasp what he said. That was it. That was the last thing he thought at work that he needed to tell you. Wrote it down and everything.
He stopped your incoming kiss and affection to tell you that, he gave you pause thinking you rudely cut him off again. But he just wanted to tell you he thought about how he loves you while at work.
He’s so stupid, you think fondly. He’s your stupid, silly, dramatic, lover boy.
Your close-mouthed smile is so big it makes your eyes squint shut, nose scrunching as you shake your head at his antics. A huffing laugh leaves your nose as you reach for him, his arm pulls you in for the sweetest kiss, the one you get to have every day with him.
“I love you too, stupid face.”
You love your non-nonchalant boyfriend.
Bonus:
On Friday, you’re getting ready for the double-date in the bathroom, touching up your makeup in preparation to show Eddie.
“Teddie!” You call out the fond nickname, he loves when you call him that, it liquifies his insides. You always make him melt.
You can hear his soft thudding steps into the bedroom, a slight squeak of the bed as he sits down.
“You ready to see?” Your voice echoes from behind the door, he can hear the smile in your voice and it makes him smile.
“So ready,” he grins, “Gimme my prize, baby. Show me what’s behind door number one!” His imitation of a game show host is weirdly good, he blames it on Wayne’s addiction to old reruns of Let’s Make A Deal.
You open the door, stepping out, nervously brushing the nonexistent wrinkles out of the skirt with your hands. You look up at his face, asking a hesitant, “How do I look?”
He’s frozen in his spot, his eyes are wide as they take in the angel in front of him. He finds you sexy any way you come, but he does love when a gift is covered in pretty wrapping.
Your confidence grows at his speechlessness, you know him well enough to know it's good speechless.
He stands up abruptly, “Excuse me- I gotta-hold on-,” and he’s out the front door. You have no idea where he’s going, but knowing him, this is for dramatic effect. So you sit down on the bed and wait, crossing one healed leg over the other, leaning back on your arms, bobbing your foot idly.
When he comes back in thirty seconds later his black suit is disheveled, his hair no longer neat in a ponytail. The shorter curls are windswept as they frame his face, he’s unbuttoned his dress shirt to his sternum, he’s breathing hard and ragged. You stand at his entrance, hands on your hips, an amused glint in your eyes.
His cheeks are pink with exertion and sweat beads at his hairline, “Sorry, you’re so hot I literally had to take a lap, I’m back now, we’re good to go. You look amazing, by the way.” He leans in to hold you in a kiss, but you put your hands up to stop his body from touching yours.
You're giggling at his antics, ‘Ew, you’re all sweaty now,” you whine.
He grins mischievously, “Oh good, then it won’t matter if I get even more sweaty.” Next thing you know he’s clumsily grabbing the sides of your head, pulling you in for a comically sloppy kiss, and pressing his body to yours desperately. You can feel his leg hitch onto your body like he’s about to climb you like a damn tree.
You break the silly kiss with a loud laugh, tossing your head back, “Eddieeeeuhhh!”
A/N: please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed it. Comments encourage me to write more, they're like a shot of espresso to my heart.
I can confidently say that this is my absolute favorite way I have EVER seen anyone write Eddie.
𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)
summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity
warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly
notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)
The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.
College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.
Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky.
You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message :
[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;]
that you knew you had nothing to worry about.
She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma.
It wasn’t your scene.
You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced.
And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way.
“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?”
Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.”
She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie.
“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans.
Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?”
“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?”
—
And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement.
The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples.
Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now.
The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom.
Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.
How can people drink this shit?
Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs.
A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.
Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor.
The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer.
The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust.
You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland.
The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm.
A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.
Watching porn together.
You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity.
The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies.
What the fuck?
How could a frat house not have a bathroom?
Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were.
“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!”
Bingo.
Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!”
Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee.
A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it.
“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”
A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall.
“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.”
But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes.
A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection.
It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already.
His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt.
“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!”
Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here.
His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos.
“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.”
You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.”
Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.
A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door.
You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him.
Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture.
He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.
“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.”
His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk.
Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty.
You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?”
You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…
“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”
“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?”
He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”
This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble.
“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.”
Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?”
Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her.
“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place.
Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.”
He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well.
“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”
You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve.
“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”
He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.”
You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.”
“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out.
“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.”
You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.
“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.”
Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.”
“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief.
“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.”
“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.
“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?”
He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?”
“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”
“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?”
You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”
“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.”
“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.”
Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?”
His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh.
He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…
“Lead the way.”
—
Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement.
“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!”
Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.
Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?”
Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull.
You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!
And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…
So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse.
“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity.
His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer.
But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house.
Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?”
—
The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”
You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you.
Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored.
Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc.
Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him.
You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did.
Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes.
The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.
Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him.
Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes.
“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?”
Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine.
He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.”
“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.”
Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.”
His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.
“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers.
“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.”
The music changes and a throwback song
comes on, one you haven’t heard in years.
“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!”
You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids.
“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?”
Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.”
“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him.
It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves.
His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him.
Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.
And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most.
When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.”
He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more.
You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard.
One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle.
Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game.
“Fucking kiss me alrea—”
His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you.
When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat.
Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound.
You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top.
Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’.
Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.
“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.
Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.
And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure.
He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.
“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.
“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.”
Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.”
Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before.
“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.”
That did it for him.
Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick.
Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall”
“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle.
The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened.
The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you.
“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.”
You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals.
“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?”
You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.”
“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.”
Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.”
Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”
“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.”
“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.”
Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”
Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted sugar on Eddie’s tongue.
“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted.
Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier.
His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity.
He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color.
Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples.
You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.
“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.”
Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.”
You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before.
He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips.
“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.”
You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”
“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”
You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”
“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!”
You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake.
Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.
When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs, Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time.
But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most.
Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless.
“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove.
Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his.
“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear.
You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more.
He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”
And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep.
His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you.
“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!
You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face.
He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”
“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.”
His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.”
“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.”
His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy.
The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest.
Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that.
He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight. — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July.
Nope.
He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that.
When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught.
Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone.
Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear.
His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?”
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
This piece contains 18+ content
Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader
Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]
A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.
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It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.
Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.
The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.
“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want.
Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.
“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.”
He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.
When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you.
“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?”
You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t.
He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer.
“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.”
You hum. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. Don’t be.
“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.
“Shit. I left it in the van.”
You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away.
When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook.
Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction.
“Eddie…”
“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..."
A smile finally breaks across your face.
“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.
The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages.
When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.
“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.
"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part.
After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so.
•••
The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits.
Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.
The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists.
“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?”
When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawings with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed.
It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed.
Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.
When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter.
“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint.
In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately.
After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you.
“Can’t help it,” you murmur.
Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them.
"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.
Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand.
“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”
You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.
It hadn’t even taken much.
His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down.
“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him.
Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet.
Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.
Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need.
His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement.
“This is—”
“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks.
You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs.
His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.
“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours.
“Teddy,” you coo back.
He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs you the most.
His breath hitches. “Baby—“
A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.
Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit.
Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part.
“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?”
Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.”
You wouldn’t dream of it.
As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes.
With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand.
You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features.
He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.”
You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards.
After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches.
No sooner do you move forward to straddle his waist, on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch.
“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours.
“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance.
He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. Both his hands find your hips again as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge.
You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right.
“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.
For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him.
Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist, a silent encouragement.
Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips.
A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him.
“Oh—shit,” he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same.
All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing.
“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him.
You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words.
“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.”
Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.
You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge.
“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.
Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips.
You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your dewy forehead to his.
“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—”
The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release.
Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place as aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness.
A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not.
Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but.
Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask.
He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes.
“Promise?” you ask.
“I promise, sweetheart.”
He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth.
-
Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!
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the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)
the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.
summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.
pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.
wc: 13.3k+
happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.
If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.
And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.
The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.
He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.
Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.
And then, there was Eddie.
Eddie fuckin’ Munson.
“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”
Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”
“Cut the pet names, Munson.”
You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.
Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.
Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.
And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.
You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.
“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”
You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.
“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”
You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.
It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.
That’s just how the friendship worked.
The friendship.
Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”
“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”
“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”
He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.
You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”
“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”
“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.
You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.
“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”
And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.
There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.
His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.
Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”
Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.
Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”
Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.
It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.
—
Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.
You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.
Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.
Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.
“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”
“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.
“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”
“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”
“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”
You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.
“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.
When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.
The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.
He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.
And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?
Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.
“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.
You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.
You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.
Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”
“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.
The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.
“You think I’m pretty?”
It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.
You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.
“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”
“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”
You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”
He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?
And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.
His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”
“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.
You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.
“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”
He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.
In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.
He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.
It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.
“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”
“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.
“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.
You should probably behave yourself.
“No.”
But this is more fun.
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”
“No,” you confirm a second time.
And you’re done with this game of back and forth.
The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”
Damn right, you know about the hat rule.
You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”
“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
Perfect.
You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.
“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”
And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.
You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.
Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.
You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.
When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.
Good.
—
The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.
Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.
You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.
Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.
Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.
Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.
“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”
“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”
Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?
He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.
“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”
Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.
Where the fuck is Eddie?
“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.
Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”
Fuck.
As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.
“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”
“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”
“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”
“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.
You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.
“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”
The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.
You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.
“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.
He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.
“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”
Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.
“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”
You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.
He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”
The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”
You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.
You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.
“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”
“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”
Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.
“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”
He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”
Over my dead body.
You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.
You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”
As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.
From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.
“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”
Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?
You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.
Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”
Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.
“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”
“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”
“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.
You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”
It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.
“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.
A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.
—
You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.
You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.
A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.
You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.
That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.
You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.
You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.
When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.
“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”
“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”
“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”
You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.
Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.
“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”
Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.
“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”
With that, you make your grand escape.
Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-
“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”
You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.
“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”
“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”
You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”
“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”
“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”
“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”
“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”
Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”
“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.
And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”
You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.
Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.
“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”
At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.
The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.
He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.
And fuck, you really want this.
“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”
He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”
“Yep.”
Another ding, another buzz of your phone.
Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.
“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.
You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”
“And you remember the hat rule?”
Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”
“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”
His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.
You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.
“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.
In that case, that’s my pussy now.
You hope he ruins you.
In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.
Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.
Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.
Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.
Eddie simply fucking your brains out.
Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.
The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.
It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.
Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.
You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.
He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.
You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.
“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”
He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.
His thigh.
Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.
You’re looking straight ahead.
There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.
You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.
“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.
His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.
“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.
And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.
By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.
You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.
And then he flips the script.
You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.
Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.
Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.
“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”
As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.
You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Still playing games I see.”
In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.
When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?
You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.
He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.
“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.
“Never.”
You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.
But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.
You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.
The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”
You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.
“I-”
“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.
“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.
A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.
You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.
He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.
“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.
“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”
You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.
Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.
You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.
You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.
“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.
“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”
That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.
It sends your clit throbbing.
You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”
He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.
No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.
You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.
One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.
Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.
Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”
A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.
Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.
“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”
Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.
His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”
Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?
Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.
And - oh.
Oh.
That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.
You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.
He wants this. You want him.
“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.
His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.
“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”
Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.
You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.
“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.
“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”
A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.
But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.
Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.
He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.
“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.
You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.
You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.
His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.
“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”
He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.
The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.
“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”
His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.
“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”
When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.
“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”
“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”
Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.
“What?”
Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.
He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?
Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”
“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”
Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.
“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”
“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”
“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”
He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”
“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”
His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.
That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.
He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.
“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”
You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.
Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.
“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”
“Whatever you say, cowboy.”
You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.
He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.
You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.
You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.
“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.
“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”
“Take off the vest, Eddie.”
Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.
“And the boxers.”
You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.
The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.
He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.
Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.
“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”
He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.
He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.
Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.
Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.
You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.
The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.
“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”
“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.
You don’t answer him as you both moan out.
You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.
It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.
“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”
Nice. And. Slow.
Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.
“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”
His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.
“Do it like this, sweetheart.”
He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.
Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.
The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.
This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.
At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.
You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.
Just like a cowboy.
“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.
“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”
You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .
A hand on your throat.
He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.
“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.
You nod.
“Tell me with your words,” he commands.
“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”
When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.
“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”
“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”
When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.
It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.
Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.
You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.
Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.
It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.
“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, Eddie.”
Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.
Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.
Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.
Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.
“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”
You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”
His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.
Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.
“You didn’t cum.”
“What?”
“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”
You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.
“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”
“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”
And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.
“Get on all fours for me, baby.”
Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.
When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.
You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.
A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.
You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-
“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”
“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.
He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”
You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.
“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.
Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.
“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.
He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.
“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”
And let him hear you, you do.
Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”
Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”
You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.
More, more, more.
There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.
Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.
You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.
Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.
You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.
You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.
He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.
The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.
You cum hard for him.
You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.
He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.
Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.
“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”
One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.
“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”
“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”
You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.
“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”
Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”
“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.
The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.
All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.
He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”
“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.
“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”
“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”
You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.
Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.
Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.
this is the end of me
look if any of you weren’t here for these moments then i feel sorry for you, it was the era.
although if you are seeing them for the first time, then honestly i hope you find yourself as giddy as I still am seeing them for the 5000th time.
this right here is a baby.
our chocolate button eyed baby.
Literally ANY time a new pic surfaced we were all feigning 😭 miss this era
My favorite thing ever is watching people get annoyed that Joseph Quinn is casted in something and then IMMEDIATELY switching up as soon as they see him actually play the character. For example, when people found out he was playing Emperor Geta, everyone was so annoyed that “Eddie Munson” was going to be in a big franchise. And then everyone saw him and was hey? This is really good actually. We saw the same thing with Johnny Storm, people were so upset he was casted and even went as far as saying he was going to do terrible. The teaser has been out a day and people are already taking it back. Moral of the story…Joseph Quinn continues to prove everyone wrong every time.
multiples.
eddie munson x fem!reader
“Multiple? Multiple what?”
cw: smut blurb about eddie making sure you arrive properly. ref to period pain, fingering, oral (m & f receiving)
18+ MDNI 2.7k
Eddie has a problem.
No, no, no—not a problem. That makes it sound like there was some issue he had to resolve or a task he had to complete. This is more delicate than that. A conundrum, maybe? A dilemma? Whatever he called it, it had consumed him for weeks now. And it boiled down to one thing:
He was pretty sure you weren’t coming.
At first, it was difficult to put a finger on what exactly was throwing him off.
When the two of you got together, he was thrilled. Like, running through the streets naked, jumping on top of moving cars, Wilhelm screaming, over the goddamn moon kind of thrilled. He’d been into you since forever and had always felt totally comfortable around you. You were hilarious and cool and probably definitely the smartest person he knew, easy—not that the rest of his friends were like Rhodes scholars or anything.
Still, it kind of blew him away that someone like you was actually interested in him.
The longer you saw one another and the closer you got, he only liked you more and more. Then you guys started doing stuff and he sort of kind of lost his fucking mind. He’d never been with a person that felt so much like home; someone he felt like he could spend forever with, if you’d only have him. And the sex was…unbelievable.
You let your bodies have long, in-depth conversations that lasted into the night and then picked right back up again in the early morning. He hadn’t ruined this many sets of sheets since he was a snot-nosed pre-teen first discovering the loving embrace of his own fist. But as the fog of your initial sex haze dissipated, he couldn’t shake this one thought that kept coming back.
He didn’t want to toot his own horn or anything, but Eddie had it on pretty good authority he was above average when it came to making girls arrive. And with you…
Well, it was just different.
You were pretty quiet, for one. Which was kind of odd, considering how brash and brazen you could be normally. Eddie thought maybe you were just more subdued during sex. Sometimes it was the quietest, most mousy-looking girls who rattled his trailer roof the hardest. So maybe the reverse was also true? And there was nothing wrong with that, if it was. Just because he was vocal in bed, it certainly didn’t mean he expected you to be.
But when you came—or rather, when you said you were—it just didn’t quite feel like he expected.
He was no expert, mind you. But after having dealt so much in theatricality and role play, he’d developed quite an ear for insincerity. And you are anything but insincere.
When he had you pinned underneath him, his hips snapping as he drove you into the mattress, the way you squirmed and writhed and squeezed around him was pure fucking bliss. But then, just when he thought he was getting you going, you would be wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in close so he could hear your heated whisper.
“Gonna come for me, beautiful?” he’d ask, his hand dipping between your bodies to rub at your clit. You’d nod, almost too blissed out to speak.
“I did, I did,” you told him, more breath than words. “I came already—I wanna feel you.”
And, well, when you say it like that…it’s all he can do not to blow his load on the spot.
It’s not that he doesn’t believe you. He just thinks maybe you don’t know what it feels like to really come. So it’s not that you’re faking—something is definitely happening down there—it’s just not an orgasm. At least not a decent one.
At least not one he wants to claim.
Considering the guys you’d dated, he’s not all that surprised. They all sounded like losers who worried about themselves first and only. Dumb jerks who thought their dicks were magic wands that made girls come as soon as they set foot in the lobby. He didn’t want to be like them.
He wanted to take you to the fucking penthouse.
But it’s tricky. He can’t just bring up something like this, can he? He doesn’t want to offend you. He doesn’t want you thinking he’s saying there’s something wrong with you. Because of course there isn’t. And he doesn’t want to keep going without you knowing what he’s trying to do.
Like he said…it’s delicate.
So the next time he had you over, he let you lead. He made no move to change your course as you kissed down his bare inked chest, over the sparse patch of hair that swirled just beneath his navel, and pulled him hot and leaking from behind his blue checkered shield. And even as his instincts screamed in protest, he let you take him into the warmth of your mouth and bob on his cock until he came—a shuddering, whining, blubbering mess as he filled your throat.
All part of the plan. All part of the plan.
It took a bit of time for him to recover and he spent every second of it loving on you—each graze of his fingers and lips leisurely, but thorough. He kissed all the parts of you he thought might have been left unattended too long: the undersides of your breasts marked by the indentations of your bra; the soft span of skin that ran along the inside of your forearm to the crease of your elbow; the sides of your ribcage that quivered at the tickle of his warm breath.
And he watched your face every step of the way, studying you until you dropped fully into that deeply relaxed state. He let his hand drift down between your legs, skimming them over the sensitive skin there, making you tremble all over in anticipation. Alright, this was it.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, a low rumble between kisses along your collarbone.
“Yeah?”
You hummed out your reply, looking down at him with heavy lidded eyes, half gone already. It made Eddie grin, his smile all teeth.
Oh, this was gonna be fun.
“I was wondering if you’ve ever had a multiple?”
The question made your brow wrinkle and you frowned slightly. “Multiple? Multiple what?”
“Multiple orgasms,” he said with a light chuckle. “Like if I fingered you until you came and then went down on you until you came again. Made you come over, and over, and over…”
You gasped as his tongue traced the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your body.
“Can that…does that happen?” you asked with a breathy sigh. He just smiled at the adorably incredulous look on your face and nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “I think that’s like the main thing you guys have going for you in this arena. Something to make up for all the annoying shit you have to put up with from your body.”
Another chuckle makes his chest shake as he rubs a hand over your lower belly, remembering how you’d asked him once just to press on it with his strong, warm palm and offer some relief from your cramps that were particularly bad one night.
“Oh. I mean…I’ve heard that, I guess. I kind of always thought it was a joke.”
“Well, I might not get you there,” Eddie said, giving you a smile he hopes is reassuring. “And if it doesn’t feel good or it hurts or anything, just tell me and we’ll stop. No harm, no foul.”
You pinched the edge of his comforter between your fingers and tugged at it, twisting it into a little peak at your side. “That sounds…really good,” you told him quietly.
“So, I can try?” he asked, brow lifting. “It’s okay?”
“I mean, yeah…” You chewed your lip, still a little hesitant. “But what about you?”
Eddie smirked, all sly and wily as he brushed the backs of his fingers along the softness of your cheek. “We did me already,” he reminded you.
Your cheeks heated at the memory, the taste of his come still sitting warm on your tongue as you swallowed thickly. Admittedly, you’d been kind of surprised when he let you go down on him first and actually finished in your mouth. Normally he was tugging you off him as soon as he felt himself losing it, grunting out something about not wanting to go too quickly.
“Okay,” you said with a small smile. “It just seems a little unfair”
“How’s it unfair if it’s what I want?” he murmured, voice dropping back to that low rumble.
Hard to argue with that, you supposed.
A beaming smile spread across your face and you twisted your fingers in the ball chain necklace that dangled around his neck to pull him closer. You answered his question with the press of your lips against his own, inhaling a shaky breath when you pulled away. Eddie’s nose nudged against yours, mashing into the softness of your cheek to resume the kiss. His hand came up to cradle your jaw and his mouth moved in that slow, sensuous way that made your insides dance and leap and spin like an entire company of ballerinas.
The kiss itself is so dizzying, you almost forgot about Eddie’s initial intentions until you felt his fingers begin to gently glide through your soaking folds. He swallowed your little mewl of relief as two of them finally sank inside your warmth while his thumb brushed teasingly light over your clit. It doesn’t take long at all for your arousal to coat his fingers, for your body to gush for him.
“Ed, I’m…I’m coming,” you breathed out, tingling with that initial burst of pleasure.
“Thats it, baby,” Eddie nodded, going along with it one last time. “You’re doing so good for me.”
He drew a single, high moan out of you—more like a gasp of relief as your body fully relaxed and all the stiffness in your shoulders and tension in your limbs melted away. You let your head loll to the side and smiled, almost dazed with the feeling. Pride surged in his chest from the way you looked at him sometimes—so perfectly content and elated because he was all yours.
The look he gave you was rapturous as he licked his lips and started to make his way down, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake that dotted across your chest, between the valley of your breasts, down your sternum and the soft pudge of your tummy. You propped yourself up to watch him as his mop of dark curls dipped between your thighs, fingers still sitting snug inside your warm, wet walls. Your chest rose and fell with each deep breath and he could only imagine how hard your heart must be pounding for you to try and slow it like you are.
“I’m gonna try for another, okay?” he soothed. “Stay relaxed for me, beautiful.”
You nodded back and let your head drop down, sinking deep into the embrace of your pillow.
Eddie pumped his fingers a few more times, faster now and crooking them upwards in search of that spot inside you that had eluded him far too long. The deftness of his touch coupled with the eager swipes of his tongue had your body heaving now as he traced a maddening pattern, swirling side to side and weaving it through your center.
Eyes suddenly fluttering open and closed, you whined softly and squirmed in his grasp as his tongue decisively swerved away from where you needed him most. The anticipation made your hips rock into his face, chasing more of the feeling as he teased you relentlessly.
His free arm promptly wrapped around your thigh, his hand gripping at the soft flesh to keep your legs spread apart. He was deeply thorough in his exploration, nose occasionally brushing against your clit that was practically crying out for his attention. His hot breath fanned along your inner thighs and he moaned deeply with each lick so you could feel the vibrations in your core.
You lost track of how long he was down there, allowing yourself to be swept away with the riot of sensations, realizing just a little too late your body was working towards something new.
The feeling creeps up on you, trickling through your muscles, causing all of them to twitch and spasm, tensing and releasing in waves. Little whines and pants of pleasure start to spill out of your mouth, the desperate little sounds like the most beautiful music to Eddie’s ears.
It makes him grind down into the bed, desperate to hear more.
“Feel good?” he asked, brow lifting behind sweaty bangs as round doe eyes look up at you.
“So g-good,” you panted, the sound almost pained with pleasure. “So sensitive…”
“You taste like heaven, you know that?” he murmurs to your cunt. “I could do this forever.”
He genuinely could, but it seems he won’t have to. You’re getting close now. He can feel it in the way your thighs start to tremble against his ears; the way another gush of you floods across his tongue. His eyes darted sideways to where your hand rests on the blanket, flexing with the need to grab onto something. Anything.
One last time, he squeezed at the meat of your thigh and then unwrapped his arm from around it to reach out instead and thread his fingers with yours. Your grip is bone crushing and only makes him hold on tighter as he points the tip of his tongue to increase its pressure.
“E-Eddie, it feels…something feels different…”
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, the pace of his fingers never faltering. “I’ve got you, just let go.”
He wished he could bottle the look on your face. Eyes scrunched up, brow furrowed as though you were deep in concentration. Lips parted in a wanton gasp as your chest swelled. His mouth came back to your clit, resuming the motions that had you clenching around his fingers.
“Oh…ohhh my…oh, fuck…”
When he feels you starting to unravel, feels that band coiled tight in your core start to snap, it takes everything he has in him to stay the course—especially when the hand of yours he’s not holding winds into his hair and you grasp desperately at his curls. The groan it elicits from him is deep and guttural, the sound of it radiating in the room. And finally he feels it happening—your pussy spasming around his fingers, threatening to snap them clean off you’re clenching so tight; hips bucking and stomach quivering with the effort of drawing breath.
“Fuck, Eddie, don’t stop!” you cried out. “That feels so good, holy fucking shit—”
So much for being quiet, Eddie thought mischievously.
Your head is pushing back into the pillow now, back arching under you, lifting you off the bed. He’s clamped tight against you though, his lips sealed around your clit and sucking like his life depends on it. In a way, it feels like it does.
“I’m gon…I’m gonna…I’m co—”
The words dissolve into a moan, the sound of it higher and louder than anything else Eddie has drawn out of you before. Pride explodes in his chest as he finally feels what he’s been waiting for—that exquisite vice around his fingers as he continues to stroke that sacred spot.
Your body floods with the feeling, waves of it surging through you, seeing white behind your eyes that are still pinched shut. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before—every synapse firing at once, every molecule in your body exploding like a tiny firework.
Distantly, you register his voice coaxing you through it as you reluctantly return to earth. Yes, baby, that’s it, thaaaat’s it—fuck me, you’re so fucking hot when you come, Jesus fucking Christ…
You opened your eyes, blinking through bleary vision as the world came back into focus.
Eddie grinned, smile almost wolfish when he lifted himself from between your legs. Triumph flashed in his dark eyes, his gaze roving all over as he began a slow crawl up your body, his cock now standing at attention with its vigor renewed.
“Okay,” he panted, dragging his hand across his mouth and chin that were slick with your spend as he leaned in to kiss you. “That’s one.”
I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+
Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.
Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.
Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie
I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)
-
As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.
Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”
Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.
“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.
You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.
“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.
Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”
He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.
You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.
Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.
Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”
“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”
“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”
“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.
He melts. “Sure.”
You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.
“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”
As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”
Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?
The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.
The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.
“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.
“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”
“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.
“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”
Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.
You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.
“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”
“Payback?”
“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.
“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”
You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”
“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”
“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.
“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”
Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”
“Eh, ten.”
You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.
The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.
The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.
That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.
Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.
The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.
The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.
You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”
Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.
“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”
“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”
You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.
Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.
“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”
You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”
“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”
You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”
“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”
You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”
“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.
“What?”
“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”
You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”
“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”
“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.
“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”
Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.
You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.
You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.
Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”
“Absolutely!”
-
Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.
Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.
At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.
The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”
He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”
He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”
Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”
He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”
Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.
It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”
A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”
“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”
Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.
“She asked you out?”
“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”
That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.
Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.
This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.
“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”
“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”
“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.
Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”
This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.
“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”
You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.
Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.
You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.
-
A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.
The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.
For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.
“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”
Your heart shatters. “That good?”
“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”
Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”
Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”
The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”
He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”
“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”
He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.
“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”
You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.
“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”
The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”
He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”
“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.
“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”
The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.
His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.
He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.
-
The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.
“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.
It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.
“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.
“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”
Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”
“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.
Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.
“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.
“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.
In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.
“Sure.”
As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.
On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.
The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.
The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.
The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.
That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.
His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.
By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.
Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.
“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.
“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”
Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”
You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”
“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.
Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”
“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”
How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?
“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”
Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”
“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.
The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.
“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”
Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”
You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”
After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”
“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”
You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”
Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.
The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.
Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.
The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.
Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”
You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”
“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.
“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.
“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”
“Why?”
“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”
You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”
“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.
“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”
He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”
“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”
“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”
“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”
“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.
“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”
“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”
No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.
“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.
You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”
“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”
“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.
“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”
“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”
“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”
“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”
“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.
“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”
“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”
“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.
“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”
“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.
Because it turned into hell.
-
As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.
It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.
Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”
“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.
He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”
“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.
“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.
You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.
The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.
Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.
Right?
The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.
It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”
“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”
“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.
She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”
“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”
“Yes please!”
You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.
“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”
As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”
You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.
“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.
“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.
“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.
“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.
“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.
The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.
She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.
You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.
Where she’s a friend.
You have to try.
“What are we watching?”
Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”
“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”
Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”
“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”
As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.
“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.
“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.
You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.
Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.
He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.
With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.
His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”
Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.
Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?
Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.
Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”
Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.
Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.
You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–
“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”
No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.
Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.
As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”
You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.
“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.
Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.
“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.
You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.
“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”
She nods.
“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”
“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.
“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.
Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.
“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”
Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.
“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.
“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.
“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”
“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.
“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”
“When did you start coming?”
“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”
“Why didn’t you want to go?”
Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”
Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.
Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.
Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.
The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.
“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.
“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.
Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.
“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”
“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.
“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.
“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.
“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”
“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”
“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.
In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.
The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.
As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”
The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.
Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.
Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.
“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”
Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.
Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”
“Hmm?”
“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.
“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”
If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.
“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”
That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.
-
There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.
On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.
Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.
Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.
She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.
“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.
“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.
You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”
“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”
“Sweet.”
“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”
“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”
“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.
You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.
“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”
You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”
“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.
“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.
She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.
You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.
Oh. He’s not going to.
“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.
Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”
Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.
If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.
Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”
You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.
You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”
Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.
-
Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.
“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.
“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”
“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”
You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”
“To who?”
You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”
“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”
“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”
“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”
That, you agree with.
“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”
You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.
You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.
That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.
The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.
It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.
It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.
As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.
Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.
Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.
As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.
A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.
Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.
The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.
You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.
Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.
His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.
She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.
Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.
You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.
The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.
The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.
When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.
You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.
-
The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.
Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.
He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”
You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.
“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”
“Hey. How was the cupcake?”
“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”
You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.
“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.
“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”
“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”
“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.
“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.
“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.
“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.
“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”
Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.
“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.
“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.
“Can we do something? Just you and me?”
He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”
…that never happened.
-
The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.
That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.
Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.
Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.
Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.
It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.
Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.
It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.
Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.
Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.
It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.
Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.
Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.
When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.
“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.
“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”
“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.
“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”
You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.
News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.
Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.
When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.
As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.
“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.
“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”
Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.
You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”
“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.
Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.
You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.
Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.
“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.
The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.
Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.
“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.
Daniel.
“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”
“Retribution.”
“Huh?”
He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”
What the fuck?
The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”
“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”
Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”
“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”
You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?
His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.
The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”
The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.
Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.
When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.
The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”
You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.
Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”
He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”
He stands there, blankly watching.
“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”
Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.
“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”
“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.
“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.
“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.
“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”
You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.
Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.
“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.
By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.
He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.
“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.
He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”
He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.
The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.
As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.
Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.
From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.
-
The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.
As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.
On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”
You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”
He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”
As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.
“Anything after that?”
You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.
“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.
“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”
“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?
Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.
“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.
Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.
“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”
Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.
Eddie.
“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”
“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.
Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.
“Is that all?”
He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”
That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.
From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.
The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.
Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.
Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.
For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.
Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.
This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”
You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.
“It’s me.”
You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.
-
Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.
He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?
You would think.
So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.
Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.
The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.
“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.
Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.
“I didn’t even know he was having one.”
She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”
He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.
He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.
By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.
He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.
Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.
Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.
He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.
Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.
“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.
His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.
The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.
Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.
Fuck this guy. Fuck him.
Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.
Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.
He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.
Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.
Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.
When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.
Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.
No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.
That conversation goes as well as can be expected.
In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.
Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”
“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”
“Is she okay?”
“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”
Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.
“Physically?”
Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”
“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”
“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”
Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”
“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.
“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…
Should Eddie have called the ambulance?
“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”
“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.
“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.
“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.
“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.
“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”
“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.
Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”
“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.
Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”
Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”
Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”
“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”
“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”
“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”
“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”
-
“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.
But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.
“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”
You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”
“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”
You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”
Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”
You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.
It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.
Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.
“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.
Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.
The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.
Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.
“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.
“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”
You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”
“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”
If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”
As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.
He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–
“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.
“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.
His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”
Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”
“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.
“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.
“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.
She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”
“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”
“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”
Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”
“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”
“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.
“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”
It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”
Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.
“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”
“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”
“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”
Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.
“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”
On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.
Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”
“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.
“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.
“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”
His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”
Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.
You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.
Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.
It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.
You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”
“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”
“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”
-
You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.
The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?
He’s more than willing.
When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.
Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”
You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.
White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.
The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.
As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.
It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.
The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”
You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”
You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”
You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”
You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.
He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.
The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.
Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.
“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.
You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.
“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”
Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”
“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.
His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”
“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.
“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.
You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”
His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.
Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.
His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.
The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”
You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.
You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.
Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”
It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”
“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.
“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.
Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”
The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.
He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”
“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.
“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”
“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”
Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”
Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.
It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.
Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.
“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”
“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”
Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”
You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.
He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”
You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.
“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.
On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.
The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.
You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.
Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”
He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.
There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.
Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.
All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.
Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.
“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”
You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”
“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.
“Probably.”
He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”
Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.
“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”
The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.
Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…
“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.
“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”
It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”
Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.
This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.
“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”
He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”
“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”
You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”
“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”
You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”
He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”
He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.
“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.
Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”
You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”
“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”
His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.
Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.
You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.
He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.
He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.
You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.
You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”
“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”
With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.
Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”
You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”
Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”
“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.
“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.
“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”
He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.
You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.
I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.
You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.
The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.
You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.
The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.
At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.
You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.
You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”
You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.
“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”
Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.
“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”
Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.
“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”
Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.
His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”
His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.
“What was that?”
He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”
You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”
“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”
A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”
You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.
He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”
You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”
You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.
“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.
You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”
“Mm, almost there, baby.”
“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”
Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.
You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”
“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”
“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.
“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.
“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”
“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.
Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”
You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.
“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”
You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”
You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”
He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”
Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.
His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.
“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.
“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”
“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.
“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.
“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”
“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.
Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”
His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.
He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.
“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”
“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”
“Fuck-you, y’sure?”
“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.
“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”
Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.
You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.
“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”
You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”
He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”
It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.
-
Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr
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bold means it wouldnt let me tag you so I DM'd you in private to you know.
This took me through the five stages of grief 😭
You Belong To Me Pairing: Geta x Reader Summary: Nothing to see here, just an average evening with the most normal couple in Rome. Contains: Whores, games, threats. Words: 700ish
Youths and ageless blogs who interact with this fic will be blocked.
I have a Geta-verse in the works. Is this a part of it? I don't know yet. But for now, have a short little something inspired by this gif. And let the record show that I am even less concerned with historical accuracy than Sir Ridley Scott.
Whores.
Whores everywhere.
The one you married, at the center of them.
You stand in the entryway of the massive room and try to maintain a neutral expression. You never know who's watching.
It doesn't take long for him to feel your stare. Your eyes flash when they meet the co-emperor's, letting him know that the fight he stormed out of this morning is far from over. His wicked tongue pokes through his lips before they curl into a smirk. He reaches back blindly and grabs the nearest whore, pulling her hand onto his chest, staring defiantly at you the whole time.
You scan the room, like you came here to do something other than get his attention, finding nothing of interest. Ugly old men who pretend they're important, and pretty little whores who pretend they want to touch them. Same as always. You hate it here.
You turn to leave without another look at him, taking the scenic route back to your part of the palace. He'll be there when you get back. You're sure of it.
It's nearly sunset when you return to your chamber. He's there, scowling at you from across the candle-lit room, but you don't acknowledge him. You simply turn to close the door.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him fly from his chair like he's been catapulted out of it. Sandals scrape across the floor, ringed fingers grip your arms and whirl you around, pushing your back against the wall and holding you there. You stare calmly into his fiery gaze and feel his hot breath on you, trying not to smirk at how easy it is to get him riled up.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" you ask innocently.
He growls, eyes flashing in the dim room and fingers digging into the flesh of your arms. You stare at him, unbothered and unemotional. That always seems to bother him more than anything.
You can't both fly off the handle at every minor annoyance.
Finally, his resolve cracks, and his mouth crashes to yours. Angry. Possessive. Desperate. You let him in but refuse to respond to his lashing tongue, reminding him that it takes two to play this game.
He pulls back, livid. The pale skin around his mouth shines with his own saliva from where he'd tried so desperately to make you kiss him back. The emperor hates it when he doesn't get his way.
You let him seethe for a few seconds before you strike, launching yourself at him and holding his stupid face in your hands so you can give him the kiss he craves. You advance, stumbling together until his back hits a wall, and press him to it. Your thigh slides between his spread legs, and he groans into your mouth when you rub against his erection.
You reach for his robes, pulling and pulling the annoyingly long fabric until you reach the hard, leaking, traitorous cock that's supposed to put heirs in you. You hold the fabric out of the way with one hand and wrap the other around his member, giving it long, slow strokes that make his breathing hitch and his eyelids flutter.
He could have had one of the whores take care of this.
But he came after you. He waited for you.
He moans when you circle his wet tip with your thumb, and throws his head back to hit the wall with a thud. He'll probably whine about that all night. You reach for his balls with your other hand, making him weaken in the knees and mewl at your soft touch.
He's so pretty when you're alone together. He'd die - and take you with him - if anyone ever found out what really goes on in the privacy of this home you share. That when the high and mighty Emperor Geta isn't screeching orders or arguing with the senate or consorting with whores, he's at your mercy.
Right. Whores.
Your grip on his bits tightens, and tightens, until his painted eyes pop open with a gasp.
He's even prettier when he's afraid.
"Rome may belong to you," you whisper, "but you belong to me."
Need this because I REFUSE to believe that Eddie Munson is just Joe Quinn in a wig.
someone who has watched hoard please tell me if it’s worth watching because it’s SO INTIMIDATING. i want to watch it because joseph quinn is in it but the trailer actually terrifies me. and ive seen gifs and clips that make me nervous lol. help.
Unpopular opinion: I didn't like the movie. The acting from all of the actors is outstanding. But I felt like not enough of Michael's background is shared to fully explain his and Maria's connection. They go from like 0-5,000 right off the bat and things get weird. I made my friend watch it with me the second time I watched it and she turned to me several times asking "why" and ended up saying "I hate that movie and I hate that you made me watch it". And I told her that I never said THE MOVIE was good, I said JQ LOOKED good.
I also didn't care for Make Up as a film, but 🤷🏼♀️
This is just me though
Thank you! I feel like this is an honest opinion about the movie, cause I too wasn’t sure about watching it. I love Joseph Quinn as much as the next Joseph Quinn fan, but I don’t think I can watch it, even if he’s in it looking as good as he does. 
I think it’s actually worth the watch!! Although it’s weird and a little freaky, I think it’s a fun time. I was hesitant to watch it and I probably won’t watch it again but his acting really is fantastic in the movie and I think it’s worth it to watch it at least once if you can get past the generally “gross” aspects of it
i've been so obsessed w innocent!virgin! reader and perv!experienced! eddie (maybe even mean!dom! eddie) dating and eddie can't wait to take her virginity🫠
ohhhhh brother don’t get me started
18+ — MINORS DNI
god eddie is so handsy. he’s handsy and impatient and honestly he doesn’t know how he’s lasted so long without just bending you over and shoving his cock in you.
but you’re so nice, feeling sorry for your poor boyfriend who has to go home and fist his cock because you’re not ready for the full thing. so, to meet in the middle, you let eddie do things. not very often, you’re still so shy about it and eddie’s got a thing for making you embarrassed so you can blush and whine.
but it took a long time for eddie to get you to say yes— nearly half a year. half a year to stick his head between your thighs and eddie would do it over a million times if he’s being honest.
it took a little longer for eddie to talk you into letting him rub his greedy cock through your wet folds. you were hesitant— but by that time, eddie had already showed you how good sex can feel and you selfishly wanted more, even if you couldn’t fully admit it, eddie could see it. could see it in the way you’d get all squirmy when he touched you, or how you clung to him when a kiss got a little heavier than expected, or in the morning when you would nuzzle up against him like you wanted to meld your bodies together.
he’s a good boy for the most part, doesn’t push you too much, but sometimes he just can’t help it— like now.
you’re just so pretty like this, laid out on his bed in his shirt, messy hair with swollen lips and glossy eyes that had only just fluttered open less than 10 minutes ago.
you’re clutching his sheets, eyes gazing down between your thighs to watch as eddie drags his cock through your wet folds, moaning and trembling when his thick tip nudges against your clit.
this is only the second time you’ve done this, let eddie stick his cock this close to your pretty cunt. usually, you suck him off or eddie fucks your thighs, because the last time eddie got his dick on your cunt he nearly lost it and just went in for the kill— you weren’t too happy with him then. and eddie doesn’t wanna upset his girl.
he tries to keep it together, ringed fingers clutching to the fat of your thighs as he presses them together to make a tight fit around him.
you whimper and eddie groans, curly strands falling over his face as he ruts into the wet heat between your thighs, timid not to get carried away and slip into you.
“fuck, you’re so wet— you sure you don’t want it?” he purrs.
you whine, eyebrows furrowing as you mewl and shake your head, “not today, eddie— please. i wanna wait, i want—“ “okay, okay,” he softly coos, his thumb caressing the skin of your thighs. “i’ll wait… i’ll fuckin wait,” he grits out the last part with a particularly strong thrust, groaning as he tosses his head back, “ah shit, squeeze your thighs together, princess— there we go.”
you’re so cute like this, whiney and pliant beneath eddie— he can practically see your brain melting out your ears. fucked dumb and you haven’t even stretched around the actual thing. god, eddie can’t wait to fuck you— really fuck you.
and he knows you like it nice and sweet, gentle touches and kind words, but sometimes he slips and his grip gets just a little tighter, his words get a little sharp and his movements get a little rough.
he leans over you, your thighs pressing to your chest as he plows through your folds, sharing the same breaths as he grunts against your lips, “look at you crying for my cock— can feel you weepin’, baby— fuck— look at me. look at me.” he demands.
your eyes flutter open, glossy and blown with lust and he nearly growls, his cock throbbing with the promise of release, “always knew you want it, naughty girl.” he teases and you whine, “tell me you want it.”
you huff around a moan and blissfully nod, “i want it, eddie.”
“you’ll let me have it.”
you nod again, “i will, i will— just n-not now—“
“shh, shut up,” he places a hand over your mouth, “shut up, just feel good.”
your eyes roll and eddie can feel you fluttering as you cum against him, your thighs shaking beside his ears. eddie never gets tired of seeing it— watching the soul leave your eyes. he dreams about it.
he can’t stop himself, not when you’re throbbing and fluttering like your pussy’s just asking for it.
he’s cumming and you’re breathless and oblivious, so he knocks your thighs open and he sits up, grabbing his dick and fisting it with fervor. his chest rises and falls quickly, his chin pressed to his chest as he looks at your quivering pussy, moaning when he takes his thumb and index finger to part your cunt, sticky arousal dripping from your hole as he presents it to himself.
god, he doesn’t last a second, placing his tip at your gaping hole, fighting every urge to push in as he cums in thick, white spurts.
you moan around a gasp, hips squirming at the sensation of eddie’s warm cum on your cunt, whining and telling him that’s enough, “no more, eddie—“ “i know, i know— ffuck.”
and yet your hips keep quirking, your cunt seeking him out like it knows what it needs. greedy little thing you are, even when you pretend otherwise.
yeah, he’s gonna fuck you sooner or later.
Yeah so I’m not okay after this?
someone who has watched hoard please tell me if it’s worth watching because it’s SO INTIMIDATING. i want to watch it because joseph quinn is in it but the trailer actually terrifies me. and ive seen gifs and clips that make me nervous lol. help.
Joseph Quinn on being a part of Gladiator II and working with some amazing cast mates.
this shirt on him saved lives
After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from porn…
Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.
So. So. So bad.
He’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. Like fully submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.
And it’s great for her, but terrible for camera.
They have to keep stopping him, telling him he needs to pull back, they need to see her pussy and they can’t with him in the way.
But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer, moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be and they’re calling “CUT” again.
And the girl is getting frustrated cos, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director like, “do me this solid, please.”
So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so that it’s obvious just how real it really is.
And so they can move on already.
Then they’re filming the fucking, and again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.
He’s not like slamming into her without any care, he’s not just using her to get off, he’s like trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her. Like so good she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.
(Her boyfriend of six years be damned)
And once they do wrap, he’s not quite “fired” but he is pretty sure he’s not gonna get hired again.
Except then the movie comes out and it BLOWS UP. People are obsessed—women are buying it in droves (who knew women even WATCHED porn?) and the VHS is backordered to shit, so the distribution company is like,
“We gotta lock this kid into a contract now.”
And just so we’re clear…
He does get that contract, but he (rightfully) feels like he’s got some juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again.
But he keeps butting heads with all these ass hats who keep trying to make him do it their way.
My buddy, my guy, my man you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s just not gonna sell. I know it worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.
So Eddie walks. And he’s this close to calling it quits entirely when you approach him.
Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. And you go to the production heads and tell them that if all they give you is a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson…you can spin some gold.
And you do.
You go to Eddie with your vision of porn for women. Story-based, realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. All the tropes done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless.
Something different.
And oh. He is so on board.
Back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling.
Because how in the world did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become an overnight sex symbol? A deal with the devil is the only explanation. Right?
Steve Harrington is LIVID.
He would have bet his college tuition on Eddie being a virgin, but now every babe who comes in the video store is renting that damn tape. And don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.
Robin teases him mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some decent moves. And like…Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know?People are just caught up in the novelty of it being someone they kind of sort of know.
Then he watches it.
And oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.
A) He wasn’t going down on them. He just wasn’t. He wasn’t like…against it, or anything. But like, he sort of didn’t know that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fucks sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines?
B) The girls he was with never sounded like that. And he didn’t realize just how fake all those other orgasms sounded until he heard the real deal.
Now he can’t un-hear it.
And from that day forward for like a few months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it in his bag and took it home.
For research purposes.
No, seriously.
Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.
The second you and he get together (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like some long-laid plan plotted from somewhere in the vast universe has finally come to fruition.
Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a major hit.
The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for her boyfriend’s poker game. He cancelled their date night for it and now she’s been sitting out here alone while they play in the other room.
Not on Eddie’s watch.
He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the counter top. The camera pulls in close on both of them—really giving the sense of Eddie as a person. He’s not just some disembodied guy with a nice dick (though his is very, very nice).
His personality shines through when he hitches up her legs to fuck into her deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own. And when he grins down at her as she’s trying to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear.
He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans until at last she just can’t hold the sound back any longer.
You have Lenny, the other camera guy, stand off to the side and call out “Babe, you okay in there?” as soon as she finishes, nothing but a trembling, shuddering mess on a black leather sofa.
Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.
Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.
Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.
The only thing you’re never short on is actresses. Since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) about him has spread. Rapidly.
And since you know a lot of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create.
Eddie trusts your judgement completely. He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.
The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s charming and funny and considerate almost to a fault.
He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to the moment you wrap for the day. And even after that, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay.
He has every right to be a total asshole. Literally this whole venture hinges on him and his magic cock, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon, but he doesn’t lose that unflagging decency that is so rare in this industry.
You pray he never will.
this has me BLUSHING

