But love, I was already yours

18+| F

[bambimunson]

ᰔ sweetheart!reader who has a big fat crush on eddie. you’ve mapped out your hallway schedule to get peeks at him in between classes, lingering by your locker just a minute too long if it means you can watch as he maneuvers through the crowd with jeff, those ridiculous rings glinting as he talks with his hands.

your attempts at convincing yourself it’s a silly, fleeting thing are futile because every time he actually notices you, your brain melts into something resembling warm pudding.

"thanks, sweetheart."

two words. he'd said them absentmindedly after you'd held the library door open for him last week. you've been living off them ever since.

you’re one of the students helping out with the upcoming bake sale; fitting for your sugar-coated personality. after a lot of pacing back and forth outside the cafeteria, you finally got the courage to make your way over to the boy.

approaching hellfire’s table had your stomach flipping— at least you were eased by the sight of mike, a boy you used to babysit courtesy of your friendship with nancy. eddie’s mid-laugh at something he had said and reaching for a pretzel when he spots you in all your feminine glory out of the corner of his eye. was that bile you felt in your throat?

you roll your shoulders, gathering two of the papers from the pile, “these are for next tuesday if any of you want to show.”

he looks at you, the orange and green flyers, then you again before carefully taking them from your grasp. there’s a brief pause as he scans the printed words. not his thing at all. not that he’d say that to your face.

he sticks his tongue in his cheek, “are you gonna be making anything for this?”

“…yeah. brownies.”

he meets your gaze then, big doe eyes blinking, “then i guess i have new plans.”

you flush at that. there’s an awkward pause that follows. with a nod, you finally spin on your heel, nearly tripping as you head to pass the rest of them out. you miss the smile that pulls at the metalhead’s lips.

[spacejjunk]

pretty in pink

pairing: eddie munson x shy! reader

w/c: 9.6k+

summary: you finally left your house to have a girls day. shopping, food, friendship- the works. robin and nancy always had your back but eddie- he was your best friend. hes the one who knew you inside and out. but is that all you wanted him to be? maybe a fashion show will change things.

warnings/tags: best friends to lovers, shy reader, typical eddie bullshit, fluff, comfort, alternating POV, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, eddie trying not to nut in 30 seconds, squirting)

masterlist // join the taglist

You were three stores deep into the kind of afternoon that only happened when Robin got bored and Nancy decided retail therapy was a legitimate coping mechanism.

Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of your jeans just as Nancy was holding up a soft gray sweater against you, head tilted in that critical way of hers. It's not your style but you like to appease her.

Eddie:

bored.

come over.

i have leftover chinese and a new playlist that will either heal your soul or destroy it. your pick.

You smiled at the screen before you could stop yourself. Robin noticed immediately.

“That’s the Eddie face,” she said, already leaning in. “What’s he want?”

“He wants me to come over.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to say no because…?”

You typed back while Robin peered over your shoulder.

You:

can’t. already at the mall with robin and nancy. not being a hermit for once.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Eddie:

the mall.

you’re at the mall???

and no one thought to invite me?

i’m hurt. actually offended.

also tbh you’re gonna get overwhelmed and start doing that weird thing you always do

i’m coming.

You stared at the message.

You:

eddie you don’t have to come

Eddie:

already in the van.

tell robin to stop making that face. i can feel it through the phone.

Robin was, in fact, making that face.

Twenty-seven minutes later you were standing near the big fountain on the lower level, arms full of bags. You'd dragged the two of them into Hot Topic and Spencers. Nancy had somehow convinced you that you needed new jeans— so you bought some black ones. Robin had dragged you into a candle store “just to smell things.” And then, because the universe had a sense of humor, the three of you had ended up in Victoria’s Secret.

You were still a little pink about that one.

The pink-and-black bag swung from your wrist every time you shifted your grip. It felt louder than the rest of them somehow. Like it was announcing itself.

Robin was mid-rant about this hot girl who keeps coming into her job when a familiar voice cut through the mall noise.

“Well, well, well. Look at this delinquent little shopping squad.”

You turned.

Eddie Munson was walking toward you like he owned the entire second floor, black jeans with the knees blown out, a faded Dio shirt under an open sleeveless flannel, rings catching the harsh mall lights. His hair was a little messier than usual, like he’d driven with the windows down the whole way. He had that grin on—the one that said he’d already decided this was going to be fun for him and mildly embarrassing for you.

Robin lit up. “Munson! You actually showed.”

“Had to make sure no one was bullying my favorite introvert into buying things she’ll never wear.” His eyes flicked to you, soft for half a second before the performance kicked back in. “Speaking of which… Jesus Christ, look at you.”

He stopped a couple feet away, taking in the armful of bags. His gaze snagged on the Victoria’s Secret one and stayed there just long enough for heat to crawl up the back of your neck.

“Wow,” he said, voice dropping into something almost reverent. “You actually went shopping. I’m proud. Also mildly concerned.”

Nancy smirked. “She needed jeans. And then Robin got involved. And she dragged us into her own stores. And then the lingerie section happened.”

Eddie made a wounded little sound, hand over his heart. “You took her into the den of sin without me?”

You shifted the bags, trying to hide the pink one behind the others. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“It’s a little dramatic,” he said, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cigarettes and that cheap cologne he always wore even though he claimed he didn’t. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”

You opened your mouth to say you were fine.

He just raised an eyebrow.

“…I’m a little overstimulated,” you admitted, quieter.

Eddie’s whole posture softened. He reached out without asking and carefully took two of the heavier bags from your arms, including the Victoria’s Secret one. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just hooked the handles over his wrist like it was nothing.

“C’mon,” he said. “We’re doing one more lap so Nancy can finish buying a new pantsuit or whatever, then I’m extracting you. Chinese food’s getting cold and my couch misses your weight on it.”

Robin grinned. “He’s so soft for you it’s disgusting.”

Eddie didn’t deny it. He just looked at you over the top of the bags, eyes warm and knowing in that way that always made the rest of the mall feel a little farther away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low enough that only you caught the full weight of it. “Somebody’s gotta make sure she doesn’t disappear into the void.”

He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours.

“Lead the way, shopping gremlin. I’m your official bag mule for the next twenty minutes. Use me wisely.”

By the time you’d made it halfway through the next stretch of stores, the worst of the overstimulation had started to loosen its grip.

It was Eddie. It was always Eddie.

He walked half a step behind you, still carrying the bulk of the bags like it was the most natural thing in the world, occasionally bumping his shoulder into yours just hard enough to make you stumble and then catch yourself with a laugh. Nancy and Robin had drifted a few feet ahead, deep in a debate about whether a particular pair of boots were too much for the upcoming summer and who wears boots in summer anyway? That left the two of you in your own little orbit, the mall noise fading into background static.

“You’re quieter when you're with them,” Eddie said, voice low enough that it stayed between you. “Not in a bad way. Just… smaller. Like you’re trying to take up less space.”

You glanced at him. “And with you I’m suddenly loud?”

“With me you’re you.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. “The version that likes to talk shit and snorts when she laughs. I like that version. Miss her when she’s gone.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat in it. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m correct.” He shifted the bags so he could free one hand and reach over, gently tugging the sleeve of your hoodie. “Look at you. Five minutes ago you were about to jump into the void. Now you’re about to roast me. Progress.”

“I wasn’t going to roast you.”

“Liar.” His grin was slow and crooked. “You were definitely going to say something about the way I’m carrying these bags like a peasant. Go on. I can take it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “You look like a Victorian servant who got lost on the way to a metal show.”

Eddie gasped, hand flying to his chest hard enough that the Victoria’s Secret bag swung wildly. “How dare you. I’ll have you know this is high fashion. Wore my favorite rings just for you.”

“Your rings make you look like you stuck your hand in an antique store display and just bought whatever stuck.”

“Rude.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping into that teasing register he only ever used with you. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mean. Otherwise I’d leave you here with all these bags and go find people who appreciate my good looks.”

You bumped him with your hip. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“You wouldn’t.”

"Try me."

"There's some mall rats over by Hot Topic. Bet they'd love you."

Eddie looked at you for a second too long, something softer flickering behind the performance. The kind of look that made your stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. He always looked at you like that when he thought you weren’t paying attention—like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your smile, or the way your eyes crinkled when you were actually relaxed. Like you were the only thing in the entire building worth staring at.

You felt it. You always felt it. And you looked back at him the same way, even if neither of you ever said it out loud.

Robin’s voice cut through from up ahead. “Are you two flirting or fighting? Because from back here it sounds like both and I hope she wins.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact with you as he called back, “We’re engaged in battle, Buckley. Mind your business.”

“Sure,” Robin said, entirely unconvinced. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Munson.”

He finally looked away, but the corner of his mouth stayed curved. He shifted the bags again and, without asking, reached over to take the last one from your hand so you were completely free.

“There,” he said, quieter. “Now you can actually exist without any extra weight in your hands. You’re welcome.”

You flexed your fingers, still warm from where the plastic handles had dug in. “You’re being weirdly nice today.”

“I’m always nice to you.” He said it like a fact, not a defense. Then, softer, almost under his breath: “Especially when you look like you’re about two seconds from disappearing into your own head again.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just walked beside him, the space between your arms brushing every few steps. Nancy and Robin had stopped in front of another window display, giving the two of you another pocket of privacy.

Eddie glanced sideways at you, rings catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bags.

“For the record,” he said, voice low and almost careful, “I like when you let yourself be loud with me. Even when you're being a butt head. Cause I know you're only like that with me. Makes me feel special."

You looked at him. Really looked.

And for a second the rest of the mall—Robin’s laughter, the distant music, the fluorescent lights—dropped away.

“Yeah,” you said, just as quiet. “I like it too.”

Eddie’s smile this time was smaller. Softer. The kind he only ever gave you when the banter peeled back and something truer sat underneath.

He didn’t say anything else.

The drive back was easy in the way things always were with him.

Eddie had the windows cracked just enough to let the warm spring air in, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he was half-tempted to reach over and take yours. He didn’t. He just talked the whole way—about how Robin’s taste in shoes was a crime against humanity, about how Nancy had looked at a seventy-dollar candle like she could actually afford it. You laughed more than you had all day.

His apartment was on the second floor of a tired brick building two towns over from Hawkins. The kind of place with a sticky front door and a hallway that always smelled faintly of someone else’s cooking. He’d worked doubles and sold half his vinyl collection to make the deposit after graduation. It showed in the way he talked about it sometimes—quiet pride mixed with the usual self-deprecation.

“Home sweet dump,” he announced as he kicked the door open with his boot, still carrying most of your bags. “Couch has been waiting for you milady.”

It was exactly as lived-in as always. Band posters peeling at the corners. A thrifted couch that had seen better decades. A kitchen table covered in sheet music and empty coffee mugs. The faint smell of the dragons blood incense he always used because you once said you liked it.

He dropped the bags by the couch with a dramatic groan and flopped down, immediately stretching his legs out and patting the cushion beside him.

“Sit. Argue with me. I’ve been waiting all day to be wrong about something.”

You sat. The couch dipped under your combined weight the way it always did.

It started with Iron Man versus Batman, because of course it did.

“I’m just saying,” you said, turning to face him fully, “Tony Stark would fold Bruce Wayne like a lawn chair. The man has an entire AI, flight, repulsors—”

Eddie held up a finger, rings glinting. “Batman has prep time. Prep. Time. That’s his whole thing. He would study every single one of Stark’s weaknesses, build a suit specifically designed to counter the arc reactor, and then—”

“And then Iron Man would still vaporize him from the air before Batman even finished monologuing.”

“You’re underestimating the power of pure spite and a utility belt.”

“You’re underestimating the power of literally being able to fly and shoot lasers.”

Eddie threw his head back against the couch with a wounded sound. “I can’t believe I’m friends with someone this wrong.”

You poked his knee with your socked foot. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right.”

“I’m mad because you’re smug about it.” But he was smiling, soft around the edges, the argument already losing steam in favor of watching the way your face lit up when you got competitive. He loved that version of you. The one that forgot to be quiet.

After another minute of half-hearted defense of Batman’s honor, Eddie finally held up both hands in surrender.

“Fine. Iron Man wins. Happy? You destroyed my entire worldview. I hope you’re proud.”

You grinned. “Extremely.”

He huffed a laugh, then his eyes drifted toward the pile of bags near the arm of the couch.

“Alright,” he said, voice shifting into something lighter, curious. “Show and tell. What’d you actually buy, shopping gremlin? Besides the jeans Nancy forced on you and whatever candles Robin convinced you to buy.”

You felt the heat climb up your neck almost immediately.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. His expression gentled, the teasing dialing back just enough.

“Hey. No pressure. You don’t have to—”

“Can I…” You hesitated, fingers twisting in the hem of your hoodie. The shyness was back, but different this time. Softer. Safe, because it was him. “Can I give you a fashion show?”

Eddie went still for half a second.

Then the slowest, softest smile spread across his face. The kind that made his eyes crinkle and his voice drop into something almost reverent.

“Yeah?” he said, quiet. “You wanna model for me?”

You nodded, small.

He sat up a little straighter, like he was preparing for something important. “Hell yeah you can. Go on. I’ll be the most supportive, least judgmental audience you’ve ever had.”

He gestured toward the short hallway that led to his bedroom. “Use my room. Mirror’s clean for once. Take your time.”

You stood, gathering the bags with slightly shaky hands. Eddie watched you the whole way, that same look from the mall settled deep in his eyes—like he was trying not to hope too hard, and failing.

Just before you disappeared around the corner, he called after you, voice warm and a little rough around the edges.

“And for the record… whatever you got in that pink bag? I’m already a fan.”

You didn’t answer.

But the door to his bedroom clicked shut behind you with a soft, anticipatory sound, and he leaned back against the couch, his heart doing something stupid and hopeful in his chest while he waited.

Eddie barely had time to scrub a hand over his face and pretend he wasn’t already halfway gone before the bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out in the black jeans first—ones that actually fit like they were made for you instead of the baggy shit you usually hid in—and a soft, flowy crop top that kept flashing a strip of skin every time you moved. You did a little half-turn, arms sort of awkwardly out like you weren’t sure what to do with them yet.

“Okay,” you said, voice still quiet. “First one. Jeans and… this. It’s kind of floaty. I don’t know.”

Eddie swallowed. His brain helpfully supplied approximately forty different compliments and zero of them felt safe enough to say out loud.

“Floaty’s good,” he managed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees so he had something to do with his hands. “Floaty’s very good. You look… hippie. Very Stevie Nicks. Ten out of ten. No notes. Except maybe do the turn again so I can fully appreciate the jeans.”

You huffed a tiny laugh and spun slower this time. The confidence was still shy around the edges, but it was there. He could see it.

God, he wanted to bottle that sound.

You disappeared again. He let his head drop back against the couch and stared at the ceiling like it might offer him strength. It did not. All it offered was a water stain shaped vaguely like a middle finger.

The door opened a second time.

Black mini skirt. Tight black velvet crop top, cut to look like a bat. The kind of top that looked like it had been designed specifically to ruin his entire life.

Eddie forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.

“Shopping for summer, you know?” you said, a little stronger this time, doing a small sway that made the skirt flip against your thighs. “Figured I should own at least one thing that isn’t a hoodie.”

“Summer,” he repeated, voice coming out rougher than he meant it to. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Summer. Very… seasonal. The bat is a nice touch. Extremely on-brand for hanging out with me. I’m choosing to take that as a personal compliment.”

You smiled—actually smiled—and did a full turn this time. The skirt flared just enough. The velvet caught the low light of his shitty lamp. Something in his chest went tight and warm and stupid.

Look at you. Look at you getting braver every single time you walk out here. Like you’re remembering you’re allowed to take up space. Like maybe you trust me enough to let me see it.

“You’re staring,” you said, but there was no real accusation in it. Just a little spark of something playful.

“I’m observing,” Eddie corrected immediately. “Very different. Scientific, even. For example… observation one— the skirt makes your legs look criminal. Observation two— I’m going to have dreams about that velvet bat. Observation three— you’re getting less shy about the spins and I am thriving.”

You laughed, bright and real, and the sound did something catastrophic to his heart rate.

Third time.

You kept the mini skirt. Swapped the velvet for a ridiculous shirt from Spencer’s—a bunch of dachshunds with the phrase "Everyone loves wieners" and it's so perfectly you that Eddie felt his face do that soft, helpless thing he could never quite hide around you. You struck a little pose in the doorway this time, one hand on your hip, the other up in the air like you had no idea what to do with it. You probably didn't.

“Behold,” you declared, voice full of mock grandeur. “The intellectual peak of my shopping trip.”

Eddie clapped. Actually clapped, slow and dramatic.

“Masterpiece,” he said solemnly. “I feel smarter just looking at it. The skirt and the wiener dog shirt combination is inspired. You’re a visionary. I’m obsessed. I hope you wear this exact combination to your next outing.”

You were grinning now. Fully. The shy little glances had turned into actual eye contact, like each outfit had peeled another layer of hesitation off you and left something brighter underneath. He watched it happen in real time and felt like the luckiest bastard alive for getting front-row seats.

You walked closer this time, stopping a few feet in front of the couch, doing a slow turn without him even asking. The skirt flared up, giving him the slightest glimpse of the supple curve of your ass underneath. Eddie’s hands flexed against his knees.

You’re going to kill me. You’re going to stand there getting more confident by the second and I’m going to sit here and fall harder every time you laugh at your own joke. And you’re never going to know, because I’m a coward who would rather keep you forever as my best friend than risk saying the quiet part out loud.

You stopped spinning and looked at him, cheeks a little pink but eyes bright.

“Okay,” you said, softer again, but steady. “Are you ready for the finale?”

Eddie felt his entire soul short-circuit.

He sat up straighter, tried to play it cool, failed miserably, and ended up just staring at you with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and a little wrecked. “I’m ready. Show me.”

The bedroom door opened again and Eddie’s brain helpfully decided it was obsolete.

You stepped out wrapped in the fluffiest pink bathrobe he’d ever seen in his life. It looked like someone had murdered a cloud and dyed it the color of cotton candy. Your hands were buried in the pockets, shoulders a little hunched, that familiar shy tilt to your head that always made him want to gather you up and hide you from the entire world.

“Okay,” you said, voice small. “Finale. Don’t laugh.”

“I would never,” Eddie answered immediately, and he meant it. His voice came out softer than he intended. “C’mon. Show me.”

You hesitated for half a second longer, then slowly tugged the belt loose.

The robe slipped open.

Eddie’s entire nervous system short-circuited so hard he was pretty sure he blacked out for a full second.

Hot pink. Barely-there hot pink lingerie that looked like it had been designed specifically to end him. A tiny bralette that clung to the soft curve of your chest, delicate straps, and matching bottoms that sat high on your hips and left almost nothing to the imagination. The kind of set that made every inch of bare skin look deliberate. Completely fucking lethal.

You didn’t even seem to notice the way his soul left his body. You just stood there in the middle of his living room like this was normal. Like best friends did this shit all the time. Like you weren’t currently rewriting every single one of his brain cells.

Jesus Christ.

He grabbed the nearest throw pillow and shoved it into his lap so hard. His jeans were already getting tight in a way that was going to be extremely obvious if he didn’t hide it. He tried to look casual. He failed.

“Holy shit,” he managed, voice cracking just enough that he had to clear his throat. “Okay. Wow. That’s… yeah. That’s the finale alright.”

You gave a tiny, embarrassed little smile and did a slow twirl.

The bathrobe slipped further down your arms, hanging loose around your elbows like a soft pink frame. The movement made the tiny scraps of hot pink shift against your skin. And then the smell hit him—your perfume, the same floral kind you've worn since the day you met him, the one that always lingered on his hoodie for days whenever you borrowed it. It wrapped around him like a second heartbeat.

Eddie dug his fingers into the pillow hard enough that his nails pressed little crescent shapes into the fabric.

You’re actually going to kill me. You’re standing there in the middle of my shitty apartment in the tiniest fucking lingerie set I’ve ever seen and you think this is just friend stuff. You have no idea. You have no idea that I’m two seconds from dropping to my knees and begging. That I’ve wanted to put my mouth on every single inch of you for months. That the only reason I’m still sitting here like a functional human is because I refuse to ruin the best thing in my life by being a horny idiot.

You finished the turn and looked at him, cheeks pink, completely unaware that he was actively dying.

“Is it too much?” you asked, tugging self-consciously at one of the straps. “I almost didn’t get it. Robin said the color was cute though.”

Eddie let out a sound that was half laugh, half wounded animal.

“Too much?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d just asked if the sun was a little bright today. “Baby— I mean. No. It’s not too much. It’s… fuck. You look unreal. Like someone drew you. The pink is doing something illegal to my brain chemistry. I’m serious. I might need medical attention.”

You laughed, soft and shy, and the sound went straight through him.

He adjusted the pillow again, very carefully, and tried to remember how to breathe like a person who wasn’t currently imagining peeling those tiny pink scraps off you with his teeth.

“C’mere,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. He patted the cushion beside him even though he was pretty sure sitting next to you right now was going to finish him off. “Let me look at you properly. Without you doing the nervous shuffle from six feet away.”

You stepped closer.

The perfume got stronger.

Eddie was so completely, utterly fucked.

The shyness came flooding back like a switch had flipped the moment you stood in front of him.

Eddie watched it happen in real time—the way your shoulders curled inward just a little, the way your fingers twisted in the loose sleeves of the bathrobe still hanging off your arms, the way you suddenly couldn’t quite meet his eyes even though you were standing close enough that he could see each mark on your body. Close enough that the heat of your skin felt like it was already touching him.

He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady.

“Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “None of that. You’re allowed to stand here looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had and still get a little shy. I can handle both.” He let his eyes flick down for half a second before forcing them back up. “You look… soft. And dangerous. And like I should probably be on my knees right now saying thank you, but I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman instead of a complete disaster.”

You let out a tiny, nervous huff of laughter. The sound went straight to his dick.

Eddie kept talking, walking that razor-thin line between honest and too much. “The pink is killing me, by the way. Like actually ending my life. And the way it sits on you—fuck—it’s not fair. You’re standing in my living room looking like that and I’m supposed to just… what? Act normal? Impossible. You’re making it impossible.”

You shifted your weight. The movement was small.

The left strap of the bralette slipped.

It slid down the curve of your shoulder in slow motion, delicate and pink and devastating, and Eddie’s brain broke in half so hard a low, wrecked moan tore out of his throat before he could stop it.

The sound hung in the air between you.

You both froze.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. The pillow was still crushed in his lap. His pulse was hammering so loud he was pretty sure you could hear it. Heat flooded his face so fast it felt like a fever.

You stared at him, lips parted, the slipped strap still resting halfway down your arm.

“…Did you really just do that?” you asked, voice quiet and a little disbelieving. A tiny, dangerous spark of something flirty flickered underneath the shock.

Eddie let out a strangled laugh that was half embarrassment, half pure desperation. “Yeah. Yeah, I really just did that. In my defense, the strap moved and— Completely involuntary. I’m a victim here.”

Your mouth twitched. “A victim.”

“Exactly.” He gestured helplessly at the strap still hanging off your shoulder. “Look at it. It’s torturing me. It’s doing it on purpose. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you said, but your voice had gone softer, warmer. You didn’t fix the strap. You just stood there looking at him like you were suddenly seeing something new.

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore.

The careful distance he’d been clinging to for years—the jokes, the looks he thought you never noticed, the way he always stopped himself right at the edge—snapped clean in half.

He surged up off the couch, pillow tumbling to the floor, and closed the space between you. One hand came up to cradle the side of your face, rings cool against your cheek, the other settling at your waist like he’d been dying to put it there for years.

“Fuck it,” he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was years of wanting poured into one desperate, open-mouthed press of lips. He kissed you like he’d been starving. Like the taste of you might actually save him. His fingers slid back into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it, and a low, broken sound rumbled in his chest when you made a tiny noise against his mouth.

The slipped strap was still hanging off your shoulder.

Eddie didn’t fix it.

You broke the kiss with a soft, shaky inhale, lips still brushing his as you pulled back just far enough to see his face.

Eddie’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-bitten and a little shiny. His hand was still cradling your cheek like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“How long?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “How long have you been thinking about doing that?”

His thumb stroked once along your cheekbone. He didn’t look away.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Eddie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, low and rough. “Jesus. Okay. No lying.” He swallowed. “Months. Longer than months. Since before I even had this apartment. Since you started doing that thing where you’d steal my hoodies and really all my clothes. I’ve wanted to kiss you every single fucking time you walked into a room since the moment I met you.”

Your heart did something violent behind your ribs.

You didn’t think. You just lifted your hand and gave his chest a playful little smack, right over the faded print of his shirt.

Eddie jerked back half an inch, eyes wide with pure betrayal. “What— why? What was that for?”

“Because I’ve liked you too, you absolute idiot,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. Heat flooded your face but you didn’t look away. “I’ve been sitting here in this dumb pink robe thinking this was just normal best-friend fashion-show territory while you’ve been dying over there with a pillow on your lap. We’ve both been ridiculous.”

For a second Eddie just stared at you.

Then a helpless, disbelieving grin broke across his face, soft and a little wrecked.

“We’re both idiots,” he said, voice thick with something that sounded a lot like relief. “Complete, hopeless idiots.”

And then he was kissing you again.

This time there was no hesitation. One of his hands slid down to your waist, the other still tangled in your hair, and he pulled you with him as he dropped back onto the couch. You went willingly, knees bracketing his hips, the fluffy robe slipping further down your arms as he settled you fully into his lap. The tiny scraps of hot pink lace were the only things between you now, and Eddie made a low, punched-out sound against your mouth the second your weight settled over him.

His hands found your bare thighs, rings cool against overheated skin, and he kissed you like he’d never get the chance again—deep and open and a little desperate, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real and in his lap and kissing him back just as hard.

You sank down harder into his lap and the kiss turned messy, open, wet. Eddie’s hands slid higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath the edge of the hot-pink lace. Every time you shifted, the thin material of the bottoms dragged against him, and the second it slipped to the side you both felt it—heat against denim, almost nothing left between you.

Eddie broke the kiss with a ragged sound, forehead dropping against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you. So pretty. Always so god damn pretty.” His voice was low, reverent, already half-ruined. “I’ve wanted to worship you for so long it makes me feel stupid. Wanted to get my mouth on every soft inch of you and take my time. Make you feel how gone I am. Hope you're okay with that or I'm about to look like the biggest jackass in the world.”

You rolled your hips once, slow, and watched his eyes flutter.

The unspoken rule sat between you both like a ghost. You never talked about anyone else. Neither did he. No stories, no casual mentions, nothing. You’d always told yourself it was just boundaries. Now, with his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear, you understood. It had never been about boundaries. It had been about not having to picture each other with anyone else. About protecting something neither of you had been brave enough to name.

Eddie seemed to realize it at the same time. His expression went soft and a little pained.

“We never talked about it,” he murmured, thumb stroking along the waistband of the lace. “Not once. I used to think it was because you didn’t… you know. Because you never brought it up. I thought maybe you hadn’t… done much. And I didn’t want to push.” His laugh was quiet, self-deprecating. “Turns out we were both just trying not to break our own hearts.”

"Think you're right about that."

"I'm always right sweetheart."

You ground down again, deliberately this time— partially to shut him up and also because it felt so damn good. The lace shifted fully out of the way. The friction dragged a broken noise out of both of you. Eddie’s head tipped back against the couch, throat working.

“Jesus Christ—”

His hands slid up your back, fingers finding the clasp of the bralette with surprising care. He unhooked it slowly, like he was unwrapping something sacred, and the hot-pink scrap loosened. You shrugged it off the rest of the way. The second it hit the floor Eddie went completely still.

He stared.

No jokes. No dramatic commentary. Just pure, speechless hunger as his eyes dragged over you—bare chest, flushed skin, the way the remaining lace sat low on your hips and did nothing to hide how wet you already were.

“Holy shit,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “You’re… fuck. You’re perfect. Look at these.” One hand came up to cup the soft weight of your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple like he was testing whether you were real. “Soft and pretty and already so fucking responsive for me. I’ve been dying to see you like this. Dying to get my hands and mouth all over you and make you fall apart.”

He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, then lower, dragging his lips over the curve of one breast while his other hand squeezed gently at your hip, encouraging you to keep moving against him.

“Keep grinding on me like that,” he murmured against your skin, filthy and soft at the same time. “Use me. Wanna feel how wet you are through these tiny little things. Wanna make a mess of both of us before I even get my mouth between your legs.”

"What if I want you now Munson? What then?"

Your voice was wrecked. And the way he looked up at you—like you were something holy and filthy all at once—made it very clear that Eddie Munson planned to take his time worshipping every single inch of you.

Eddie moved like a man possessed.

He broke away from your chest just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it somewhere behind the couch. His jeans were next—belt undone with clumsy, impatient fingers, zipper dragged down, fabric shoved past his hips until he could kick them off. He left the black boxers on— the hard line of his cock already tenting the front obscenely.

You reached between you without thinking, palm sliding down the plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around him. The second you pulled him free of the last bit of fabric, your breath caught.

He was thick. Heavy in your hand. Bigger than you’d let yourself imagine in all those late-night thoughts you never admitted to.

Eddie watched your face and let out a low, breathless laugh that was pure nerves and ego all at once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I get that look a lot. Don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll go slow. I’m not trying to ruin my favorite person on the first night I finally get to touch her.”

You stroked him once, just to feel the weight of him, and his hips jerked up into your fist with a punched-out little sound.

But he didn’t let you keep control for long.

Eddie gently caught your wrist and guided your hand away, eyes dark and focused. “My turn first. Been dying to get my mouth on you. Need to get you nice and open for me before I even think about putting that in you.”

He moved with surprising care for how wrecked he looked—hands on your waist, guiding you down until your back hit the couch cushions. One of your legs was carefully lifted and draped over the back of the couch; the other he guided down so your foot rested on the floor. The position left you completely spread for him, the tiny scrap of hot-pink lace still clinging to the side of your cunt.

Eddie knelt between your thighs on the floor and just stared for a long second, hands resting on the insides of your knees like he needed the anchor.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re really here. In my apartment. In that tiny pink shit. Legs open for me like this. I can’t— Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Then he leaned in.

The first drag of his tongue over your clit was slow and filthy, broad and wet. He moaned against you like the taste alone was enough to ruin him. One hand stayed splayed on your lower stomach to keep you still while the other stroked up the inside of your thigh, fingers teasing along the soaked edge of the lace.

“So wet already,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick. “All for me. Gonna take my time opening you up, okay? Want you dripping before I even try to fit.”

He licked another slow stripe through your folds, then sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked gently while one long finger pressed inside. The stretch was easy—you were already so ready—but he still worked it carefully, curling and stroking until your hips twitched. A second finger joined the first sooner than you expected, scissoring gently, stretching you while his tongue kept up that steady, filthy rhythm on your clit.

“That’s it,” he breathed, glancing up the length of your body. “Look at you taking two already. So fucking pretty like this. Can you give me one more? Want you nice and ready for me.”

The third finger pressed in slow, the burn sweet and deep. Eddie groaned like he was the one being stretched, forehead dropping against your hip for a second as he felt you clench around him.

“Fuck— there you go. Three. God, you’re perfect. So tight and hot around my fingers. Keep breathing for me, baby. Gonna keep working you open just like this 'til you’re shaking.”

He curled all three fingers and rubbed firmly against that spot inside you while his tongue flicked faster over your clit, wet sounds filling the quiet apartment. His free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise, holding you spread wide open while he worshipped you with his mouth and hand like he’d been starving for it.

You were already shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his head, when the need finally spilled out of you in broken little pieces.

“Eddie— please— I need— fuck, I need you, I can’t— please just—”

He lifted his head immediately, mouth shiny, three fingers still buried deep inside you. His eyes were almost black.

“Yeah?” His voice was wrecked. “You need me right now, baby? Need my cock instead of my fingers?”

You nodded frantically, hips twitching down against his hand. “Please. Now. I need you inside me—”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then surged up over you. One hand shoved his boxers the rest of the way down while the other stayed braced on the inside of your thigh, keeping you spread exactly the way he wanted.

He knew you had an IUD—he’d driven you to the appointment months ago, sat in the waiting room with his knee bouncing, bought you a milkshake afterward like it was the most normal thing in the world. So no condom. Nothing between you.

He wrapped a hand around himself and dragged the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds once, twice, coating himself in how wet you’d gotten for him. Then he lined up, the blunt pressure of him settling right against your entrance while your legs stayed open—one hooked over the back of the couch, the other dangling toward the floor.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered, voice low and shaking with restraint. “Gonna go slow. You’re so fucking tight and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was immediate, deep, almost overwhelming. Eddie’s mouth fell open on a broken sound as the head of him sank inside you, and he kept going—inch by thick inch—while a steady stream of praise spilled out of him like he couldn’t stop it.

“Holy shit— look at that. Look at you taking me. So fucking pretty stretched around my cock already. That’s it, baby, just like that. You’re doing so good. S' good for me.”

His hands gripped your thighs harder, rings pressing into soft skin as he sank deeper. Another inch. Another. His stomach was trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Fuck, you’re s' warm inside. Sucking me in so perfect. Knew you’d feel like this. Dreamed about it. God, you’re taking every inch like you were made for me— almost there, almost— there. That’s all of me. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

He bottomed out with a punched-out groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed completely still so you could adjust. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice cracking with pure awe. “You’re perfect. So tight and wet and mine. Just stay right here and let me feel you for a second. Let me feel how you grip me when you’re full.”

He kissed the side of your throat, soft and reverent even while his cock throbbed deep inside you, and kept murmuring filthy, worshipful praise against your skin like he never planned to stop.

Your cunt clenched around him—tight, wet, perfect—and Eddie’s brain short-circuited all over again.

“Move,” you whispered, voice wrecked and needy. “Please, Eddie, move.”

He lifted his head, eyes searching your face even as his hips twitched with the desperate urge to thrust. “How do you want it?” he asked, voice low and rough. One hand stroked up your side, grounding both of you. “Tell me. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Soft,” you breathed. “Start soft. Then… rough when I’m close. When I’m about to come.”

Eddie nodded like you’d just handed him sacred instructions.

“Soft first. Got it. I can do soft.”

He pulled out slow—dragged every thick inch of himself almost all the way free until just the head stayed tucked inside you—then pushed back in just as carefully. The wet heat of you swallowed him again and a broken sound punched out of his chest. He did it again. And again. Deep, rolling strokes that kept him buried to the hilt for a long second each time, letting you feel every ridge and pulse of him.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth, kissing you between words. “I could die happy here. So fucking soft and warm inside. Look at you. Perfect. You’re fuckin' perfect.”

He kissed you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in the same lazy rhythm as his hips. One hand stayed braced on the back of the couch near your knee, keeping that leg hooked high; the other cupped your breast, thumb stroking over your nipple in time with every slow thrust.

Internally, Eddie was losing his entire mind.

Holy shit. Holy shit, this is real. You’re under me on my shitty couch in that tiny pink lingerie, stretched around my cock, telling me exactly how you want it. I’ve jerked off to this exact fantasy so many times it’s embarrassing and now you’re actually here, actually clenching around me, actually letting me have this. Don’t you dare fuck this up, Munson. Go slow. Make it good. Make it so good she never wants anyone else. God, the way she feels— dripping down my balls already. I’m not gonna survive this. I’m going to come embarrassingly fast if I keep thinking about how long I’ve wanted to be right here.

He kept the pace steady and deep, every thrust deliberate, every kiss lingering.

“You feel unreal,” he whispered against your lips, voice shaking with restraint. “So tight every time I push back in. Think your body’s trying to keep me. Fuck— I love that. Love how wet you are for me. I'll give you anything you ever need baby.”

He rolled his hips again, grinding against you at the end of the stroke so the base of his cock rubbed your clit, and another filthy, worshipful groan spilled out of him.

Don’t rush. Don’t you dare rush. She’s trusting you. She’s asking for soft first. Give it to her. Worship her. Make her come so hard she forgets anyone else ever touched her. God, I still can’t believe she’s mine right now. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if—

He kissed you harder to shut his own spiraling thoughts up, and kept moving—slow, deep, devoted—exactly the way you’d asked.

Eddie's hand under the thigh that was still draped over the back of the couch lifted you up and pushed it higher, folding you open even more. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust, and he groaned into the side of your neck.

He leaned in fully, chest pressed to yours, and put his mouth on your throat.

Soft kisses first—open and wet along the column of your neck—then the careful scrape of teeth. He found a spot just under your jaw and sucked hard enough to leave a mark, then another lower, closer to your pulse, worrying the skin between his lips until he knew it would bloom purple later. Every time he bottomed out he did it again, marking you like he needed proof this was real.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “Gonna leave these all over you. Want everyone to know I had you like this. Want you to look in the mirror tomorrow and remember how deep I was.”

Your hand slipped between your bodies.

Eddie felt the moment your fingers found your clit—felt the way your cunt fluttered hard around him in response—and his hips stuttered.

“That’s it,” he breathed, lifting his head just enough to watch. “Take what you need angel. Let me feel it. Wanna feel every bit of you.”

She’s getting close. Fuck, she’s getting close and I’m still inside her and she’s touching herself and I can feel every single clench. Don’t come. Do not come yet, you absolute fucking idiot. She asked for soft until she’s about to finish. Give her that. Hold it together. Think about literally anything else— guitar tabs, the broken latch on the van, the way Robin would mock you forever if you finished in thirty seconds flat— anything except how perfect and hot and wet she is around you.

Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, still rocking into you in those same controlled, deep thrusts even as his thighs started to shake.

“You’re tightening up on me,” he whispered, almost in awe. “I can feel it. You’re getting close, aren’t you? Keep rubbing that pretty clit. Wanna feel you come on my cock. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. Just let it build.”

He kissed you again, messy and open, and kept moving exactly the way you’d asked—holding that leg high, marking your neck, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to snap his hips and chase his own release—while your cunt kept clenching tighter and tighter around him.

“Harder,” you breathed against his mouth, fingers still working between your bodies. “Eddie— harder, please—”

The magic words.

Eddie pulled almost all the way out and then snapped his hips forward, the slow, worshipful pace shattering as he gave you exactly what you wanted. He kept the build gradual at first—each thrust a little faster, a little deeper—until he was driving into you with real force, the hard wet slap of skin on skin filling the apartment. The new rhythm forced him against your cervix on every stroke; he felt the firm resistance and the faint, unmistakable nudge of your IUD against the head of his cock and he did not give a single shit.

Not when you were taking him like this.

“Fuck— there it is,” he groaned, voice wrecked as he held your leg higher and leaned into every thrust. “Feel that? That’s as deep as I can get. Taking every fucking inch like you were built for it. God, you’re perfect— so perfect—”

Your cunt clenched down around him so hard it punched the air from his lungs.

Then you gushed.

Hot, sudden wetness flooded around his cock, squirting in pulsing waves that soaked his stomach, his thighs, the couch cushion beneath you. The sound was filthy and unmistakable. Eddie’s eyes went wide, a broken, awed noise tearing out of his throat as he watched and felt you come apart under him.

“Oh my god— you’re— fuck, you’re squirting on me—”

That was all it took.

The tight, rhythmic pulse of your cunt milking him while you kept spurting around his cock ripped his orgasm out of him with zero warning. Eddie buried himself to the hilt and came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. He kept thrusting through it—short, messy strokes that forced his cum deeper while you were still gushing around him—mouth open against your neck, one hand locked under your thigh, the other braced on the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“Shit— shit, baby, I- fuck— feel that? Feel me filling you up while you’re still making a mess of me? Fuck, you’re incredible— so wet and tight and perfect—”

He stayed inside you through the aftershocks, cock twitching as the last of your squirting eased into trembling little pulses. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath coming in ragged, disbelieving gasps, every muscle in his body still shaking from how hard he’d finished.

The couch was ruined.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Eddie stayed exactly where he was—chest to chest, cock softening in the wet heat he’d just filled. His breath was still coming a little uneven against the side of your neck. One hand stayed hooked under your thigh like he wasn’t ready to let you close your legs yet.

He lifted his head after a long moment, eyes dark and a little dazed, and looked down at you.

“…Did you know you could do that?”

His voice was rough, still wrecked around the edges, but there was pure curiosity underneath it. And a little bit of awe he wasn’t even trying to hide.

You blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Eddie stared.

“Yeah?” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that made his softening cock twitch inside you. “You’ve been walking around knowing you can do that and you just… never mentioned it? Not once? We’ve talked about every stupid thing under the sun and you never thought to bring up the fact that you can soak a couch?”

You shrugged as much as you could with him still on top of you. “I didn’t know it was gonna happen with you.”

Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Then dropped his forehead back to your shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“Oh my god. You’re serious. You actually didn’t know.” He sounded personally offended and deeply smug at the same time. “So what you’re telling me is that I did that. Me. Eddie Munson. Made you squirt. On my couch. And how often does that happen?”

"By myself? A lot. With other people? Not as much."

"So you're saying I'm a sex god?"

"I'm not not saying that."

He lifted his head again, grinning now—soft and a little filthy, hair a mess, lips still kiss-bitten.

“I’m never recovering from this. You’re never living this down. I’m going to be so insufferable about it. Just warning you now.”

He shifted his hips the tiniest bit, still half-hard and sliding through the mess of both of you, and made a low, content sound at the feeling.

“Also,” he added, voice dropping into something warmer, “for the record? That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You just— just… gushing all over me while I was coming? Jesus Christ. I thought I was going to black out. You ruined me. Completely.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, lazy and fond, and didn’t pull out.

“We’re gonna need to burn this cushion,” he murmured against your lips, clearly not sorry at all. “And probably the whole couch. Worth it. So fucking worth it.”

Eddie cleaned you up with a care that made your chest ache.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a warm washcloth, still bare and soft-eyed, and wiped between your legs with slow, gentle strokes like you were something precious. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee when he was done, then another to your hip, and helped you stand on slightly unsteady legs.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice still rough. “Bed. Couch is a crime scene and I’m not making you sit in it.”

His bedroom was dim and lived-in—unmade sheets, a pile of band tees on the chair, the faint smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. He dug through a drawer and tossed you a soft black shirt that was definitely his and a pair of boxers that hung low on your hips. You pulled both on while he watched, something warm and possessive flickering across his face when the shirt settled over you and the boxers disappeared under the hem.

Then he tugged you down into the bed with him.

You ended up half on top of him, head on his chest, one of his arms wrapped solidly around your back while the other worked the remote. Some random late-night show played at low volume, the light from the screen flickering across the ceiling. His fingers traced idle patterns along your spine under the shirt. Every so often he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head like he couldn’t help it.

The quiet stretched long enough to feel safe.

You traced a fingertip over one of the tattoos on his chest and finally asked, voice soft, “What are we now?”

Eddie let out a short, incredulous laugh that rumbled under your ear.

“Are you serious?” He shifted just enough to look down at you, dark eyes soft and completely certain. “You’re asking me that while you’re in my clothes, in my bed, still smelling like me and sex? Baby. I’m not letting go of you now. Not after that. Not after years of wanting you and finally getting to have you.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You’re my girl. That’s what we are. Official. Permanent. Whatever word makes it sink in. You’re mine.”

He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then your mouth—slow and sweet.

When he pulled back there was a familiar crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Also,” he added, “I’m keeping those ruined little pink panties. They’re mine now. Evidence. Trophy. Whatever. I’ll buy you a new set. Hell, I’ll buy you ten new sets if it means I get to ruin them the same way. Fair trade.”

He settled back against the pillows, tugging you more firmly against his chest, and turned the volume on the TV up just a little.

“Now quit overthinking and watch the show with me,” he murmured into your hair, already sounding half-asleep and completely content. “My girl needs rest. I’ve got you.”

taglist: @gem-writes @hamilhansen @5lutforeddie @beasbrain @julxsxx @shecleansup @jinxispunk @s1mp-4-ga11y @a-villain-vying-for-attention @sweetstatic @qardasngan @arcticmazecrystal @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @wolfqueenxxx @doodeesstuff

[sirxlla]

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 (𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆)

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: fluff

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: Eddie x fem reader, he treats your daughter like his own.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1070

[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]

-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-

It was high school when you got pregnant; the father was a friend...or he claimed to be. You'd known him so long that you'd assumed he'd never do that to you, never use you like an object...why would he ruin such a deep friendship? But he did... You got pregnant and became the talk of the town, the girl no one wanted to be around because she "couldn't keep her legs closed."

Eddie was always there for you; he'd always tell people to fuck off when they got too close or bitched about you breastfeeding at school, even though they couldn't see anything cause he'd covered up Ella with his jacket. Eddie was there for it all, the birth where you squeezed so hard he was afraid that you'd crush his hand into dust.

"Okay, Killer. Careful there, that's the hand I play with." He had said before, earning a groan of pain from you, and that shut him up because he quickly realized you had been in pain. Eddie stayed all night in the shitty chair beside your bedside to watch over you and your little girl.

The nurse had asked if he was the father, and before you could say anything, he signed his name on the birth certificate. Of course, this wasn't random or overstepping; you had spoken to him extensively about the fact you didn't want her birth father on the paper; he didn't deserve it. Eddie was more than willing.

The endless nights in the small "home" that you two share after she was born, where Ella would scream and cry at night, but he didn't wake you unless it was for feedings because you "needed the rest," no matter how much you insisted. Eddie would get up every day regardless of how tired he was and go to work without a single inch of a complaint. This wasn't something you discussed because he'd always act like it was so natural. Eddie taught you it's okay to want help, that you should demand it when it comes to the people that claim to "care" about you.

That was years ago though, and nothing has changed for the worse, but he's on tour now. You and Ella are at home because she has school, but without fail, no matter how late the night gets or how tired he is, without fail he calls you to check up on you both. "How's my beautiful girls?" "How's your day been, Baby?" "How'd her soccer game go?" "They won?! Oh my god, I knew they had it in them."

A few months on tour actually passed by quickly, thankfully, and he's now pulling into the drive as he blasts his music.

"Daddy! Daddy's home!" Ella screams with her eyes already watering at the thought of him. Eddie and Eddie had never put labels on any of your relationship, never told her not to call him Daddy, and you never corrected him when he had started calling you Babe or a brush of the hand against your back had become a kiss on the lips, making out or having sex when Ella was out.

Eddie scoops her up with one arm, his other hand dragging in a suitcase. This suitcase was not full of his own things. No, that one is still in his truck. This suitcase is all the things he's bought for you and Ella. A bear, bubbles, a yo-yo, a doll, and so many other little toys he's found in the shops while he's missing his girls. Ella, of course, jumps down from his arms and gets into the bag as she's done before.

"Daddy, what is this?" She holds up a little square box, and he stiffens a little; this is not how he wanted you to find out he had gotten you a ring or that he wants to marry you.

"I- Um...I guess now's as good as any time." He grabs the box from her and kneels in front of you; you're already in complete shock...not only is he home, but he's going to ask you to marry him. "Bear with me, the box is kinda a pain to open, Honey." He fiddles with it for a good few minutes, awkward but so very cute. "Ah okay, got it." He opens it, and it's a bat-shaped ring.

This is something you'd offhandedly mentioned when the TV had turned to those all-night infomercial types where they try to sell things to people. You had been wrapped up laying against his chest, one of the few nights that Ella slept in her own room since she sometimes psychs herself out and then she can't sleep.

"Look at that one, you want an old granny ring, Baby?" He had asked as a joke as he ran his hands through your hair, down your back, and down to your ass before going back up your body.

"No, God. I want something unique like a bat or something. Like most women get these big diamonds and shit, and I can only imagine how upset I'd be if I lost it."

"Hey? Earth's down here..." He waves a hand in your face, and you focus back on him. "Will you marry me or do you wanna wait until the state declares us married because we've lived together so long?" Eddie jokes with a nervous smile. Of course he's sure the answers yes but there's always the off chance you say no.

"Yes! Oh my god. Yes!" You kneel with him, kissing his face softly as he slips the ring on your hand.

"Mommy, I get to be flower girl?" Ella had been your friend's flower girl, and she had loved it so so much. Your friend had commented about how maybe Ella could be flower girl again once "Mommy gets married." And I guess that's now.

"Yes, of course." You reassure her. I guess forever with him is official, even if forever started ages ago when you sat next to the "weird" guy in high school who never has and never will judge you, the same way you won't judge him. DND campaigns, rock concerts, very odd yard decor, and everything else. He's been Ella's dad and your lover way before either of you fully knew what it meant. Forever would never be enough time with him, but it sure is a great place to start.

-> 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

[augusts-mom]

Please, not her (I’m not her) pt.3

eddie munson x reader

⋆˚࿔ Summary: Eddie is your best friend and reveals that he has a date. You're very unsure about your feelings towards it, and you're desperate to find out why.

⋆˚࿔ Wc: 3.37k

⋆˚࿔ Tag list: @bonnieprincess @need-a-life-or-grass @angeldestress @theladyhellfire

⋆˚࿔ Tags: Best friends to lovers, jealousy, unknown feelings, oblivious!eddie, slowburn, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, no y/n, stoner!reader, lmk if I missed any!

⋆˚࿔ A/N: I am so embarrassed that this took me so long!! I'm so sorry, life is so insanely busy and it seems as though the fanfic curse has gotten to me LOL. ANYWAYS, I did want to ask, should I post this fic to ao3 as well? Lmk! I hope you guys enjoy and please lmk if you'd like to be tagged in the next one!!

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Chapter 3

The walk home felt excruciating—calmness from the same route now replaced by street lights illuminating a small portion of the sidewalk as guilt ate at you worse than it had before. With adrenaline still pumping through your veins, your heart beat against your chest so hard that it rung in your ears. A slight early Spring chill in the air caused a shiver to run down your spine and your muscles to slow just enough for you to slightly panic. Who knew? Eddie could be half way down the path already, chasing you down and demanding answers because you would never leave without saying something.

You couldn't shake how much shame buried itself in your stomach or how many times you had to choke back a sob to stop it from alerting elderly couples enjoying their night under yellow porch lights. A couple of tears would escape the corners of your eyes, and like clockwork, you'd wipe your cheeks with damp sweater sleeves, cursing for letting yourself get so worked up over something that, from the outside, would seem incredibly insignificant. How pathetic were you—tip-toeing in close to pure darkness to your parents house after running away from the only real home you'd had.

Home is what you called it as you repeated the words over and over in your head, at least. It's what felt the most fitting. You ran away from home, from Eddie, and instead of the relief that you desperately grasped at in the first place, something worse shoved it's way past and refused to leave—a feeling that felt all too familiar now, but you wouldn't have been able to place a couple of weeks prior. Nausea swirled in your stomach, attacking every time another sensitive thought would make it's way into your brain. You felt as though you could throw up at any moment, but truthfully, you didn't have enough emotional capacity to prepare for it—throwing up all over the sidewalk felt like the least of your worries.

A step in the pavement caused you to lose your footing and you tripped, a rough yelp escaping your throat as you threw yourself out of your spiral for a moment; you caught yourself before you could face plant into the concrete.

It felt as if every single thing that happened to you that day was the universe out to get you—spiteful and determined to kill you before the week ended—or, maybe, everything was simply soaked in Eddie, the thought of him laughing at your clumsy mistake flashing into your brain before you could anticipate your next thought. He'd think it was hilarious, busting into deep laughter. He'd probably call you a million mean names and tease you about your carelessness—but Eddie wasn't there.

Telling him the truth could be the answer to fixing whatever funk you'd been thrown into, logically. Holding something in—something that had consumed every part of your being, paralyzing you with the fear that your entire life could flip in an instant—it wasn't sustainable; not for a long period of time, or anywhere close to the amount of time you felt you needed. Something deep down whispered that telling him would inevitably be the only option, your body attempting to convince you that the only way to feel normal again would mean Eddie never looking at you the same, but it didn't reach the surface enough to be a valid argument. You'd rather kill yourself than have to face him after a conversation like that.

A small exhale of relief left your nostrils as the front door came into view, and you practically tripped over the curb in a rush to get out of the open, sickening outdoor air.

With careful steps, you shuffled down the driveway and up the solid brick stairs, wood planks creaking beneath you before you could make your way inside. Based on the light illuminating from above you, you knew your mom hadn't finished closing up the kitchen for the night.

Mom stood by the stove, movements coming to a halt as she noticed the door opening. Without turning around, she planted her feet, continuing to wipe the granite counters, voice coming out soft and careful, "Where were you?"

"Eddie's." You replied dryly, eyes not meeting hers as you clicked the lock behind you, pulling your sweater over your head and tossing it onto the floor.

"We've been over this so many times. I don't mind you going over there, but I'd like for you to be out of that trailer park when the street lights come on." Mom stated, slight annoyance in her tone, her voice dipping low in obvious disappointment as you stepped closer to the kitchen island.

Mom brought the subject up almost every week, rambling on and on about how a girl your age shouldn't be out after dark and bad intentions, but she never enforced anything. You'd come up with a theory a year ago that she didn't really see a problem with it—Mom only filled an obligation that mothers were supposed to fill. Truthfully, she liked Eddie, even though she didn't see him often. She worked forty-seven hours a week, and Eddies place, over the years, became the obligatory place to go when the two of you hung out—Uncle Wayne didn't mind when you'd hotbox Eddies room, whereas your mom forced you to keep the door open with him over.

Part of you felt bad for not really responding, but exhaustion fell stronger as you hummed and made your way through the kitchen and hallway. The only thing calling your name, now, was your bed and the sweet, sweet release of sleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔

Eddie didn't call you once he realized you were gone, and you didn't know whether it was better or worse that way, even though you did find yourself staring at the phone until late hours.

Once Saturday finally rolled around, you decided that he'd forgotten about you. During the two days that you didn't speak to him, you'd almost called fourteen times, picking up the reciever and dialing every digit except for one before you slammed it down and screamed into your pillow.

Spring Break wasn't supposed to look like this. You and Eddie spent weeks making an entire bucket list leading up to it, planning meticulously so that you'd have enough time to check off all seventy-seven items. Nothing could have prepared you for the spiraling until four AM, staring into the ceiling and wondering if one stupid realization would cost your entire life, or the fact that you'd waste an entire two days not even saying a word to him.

Oh, how glad you were that you didn't have to face him at school—at least, not for the next four days. You didn't know what your game plan was for Thursday, when you'd have to resume classes and pretend you still stood on solid ground. But that was future you's problem. For now, you could think of all of the ways that everything could go wrong and not have to answer to a single soul.

Bon Jovi played lowly from the corner of your room, blocking out some of the worse thoughts that found it's way through the lighter ones. It felt almost sickening to think about how much time you'd spent rotting behind the same four walls. It wasn't like you. You rarely spent any time in your room on a normal day.

Your gaze drifted towards the bright red numbers displayed on your night stand. 11:07, which meant it had been three minutes since the last time you'd checked. It almost felt as though you were waiting for something, checking the countdown before something disastrous detonated. You'd felt it all day—the worsening feeling of impending doom—and it twisted in your stomach since the moment you opened your eyes. Stupidly, you just then realized why: Eddie would either call you to tell you how his date went, or he wouldn't. Both possibilities made you want to pull the phone out of the wall.

Your decision didn't take long—but as your fingertips brushed the white cord, ribcage stretched and folded over the bed, the handset erupted in a loud ring. You jumped, a wince escaping your lips as you hit your head on the underside of the table—but physical pain was the least of your worries. You knew exactly who it was, and before you could think about it too hard, the reciever pressed cold against your ear and rustling sounded from the other end.

"Hello?" Your voice betrayed you as you spoke, breaking whilst an overwhelming wave of sickness washed over your body.

"Oh my God, she lives!" Eddie slurred, and more rustling sounded from the other end. "I have had the greatest night… I'm calling you from a payphone, ow— stop."

Nothing could capture the absolute heartbreaking and nauseating rush that flooded every corner of your body as he laughed. You didn't speak—you couldn't trust that you wouldn't break down the moment you spoke again. No part of you could've ever guessed that one of the worst emotions you'd ever experienced would be caused by the happiest you'd ever heard Eddie be.

"Sorry." A deep chuckle erupted from his throat, "I haven't heard from you in a couple of days! I was gonna call you when I got home, but I think… It's late, already, and I don't think I'll be home anytime soon—"

The abrupt ring of the phone startled you as you slammed it back down, a choked back sob escaping before you were able stop it. Immediate hot tears began to stream down your cheeks and you immediately reached for your pillow, stuffing it against your face to hopefully muffle the rough sounds escaping your already dry throat.

It felt undeniable now—it would forever feel this way. You would never be able to look at Eddie the way you did as that shy kid in the woods did again. Not now. His smile—his laugh—would forever be tainted with this feeling—with this memory. Would you ever be able to face him again? Would you have to hold in these same thoughts that have nearly paralyzed you for the rest of your life? If they could end so abruptly, did all of the years you'd centered around Eddie even happen? Would he fight to keep you in his life if you could stop yourself from calling? Would it be easier if he didn't?

Will you wear these scars for life?

⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔

Moms voice, yelling your name across the quiet home, caused you to jerk awake and slip back into consciousness. Disoriented, you coughed to get rid of the overwhelming dryness in your throat. You didn't even remember falling asleep—one moment you weren't, and the next your eyes burned as you forced them open.

The sound of heavy footsteps—too heavy to be Moms—carried down the hallway and stopped in front of your door, two agonizingly slow knocks against the wood following. You waited, hopeful that whoever stood at the other side of the door would decide it wasn't worth the wait—but it didn't last long. Twelve seconds later, the same two knocks sounded.

Slight frustration bubbled in your stomach as you exhaled a sigh, pushing yourself to your feet and shuffling your socks along the carpet, the metal doorknob cold against the palm of your hand.

As the hinges opened, Eddies frame appeared on the other side of the doorway, hair unbrushed and still in his baggy pajama pants you'd assumed he wore to bed the night prior. Your stomach dropped so fast that you felt dizzy, room spinning around you and the 5'10 man in front of you. For a moment, all you could do was blink, eyes darting across his tired face as he stared at you with a look you couldn't quite place. He unraveled his crossed arms and took a step closer, wrapping them around your frame gently.

Instinctively, you embraced it without saying a word like you'd always done, huffing a long exhale out of your nose. You couldn't have guessed the night prior that you'd wake up to Eddie at your bedroom door, hugging you without muttering a single word of context, but something about it felt refreshing. For a split second, all of the worry, the pain, the self-loathing disappeared, and something softer lingered instead.

"You alright?" Eddies voice came out low, cutting through the quiet that surrounded the two of you. He didn't pull away.

"Mhm." Your voice cracked as you hummed, nodding your head against his sleeveless shirt. Something sparked in your chest, which you coughed up to being guilt from lying to him once again—but you'd lied to him about much worse, recently, so you didn't keep count.

"I'm so fucking hung over." Eddies smile stretched against your hair as he chuckled, his chest rising and falling and unintentionally pulling you tighter. He patted the middle of your back twice before pulling back, arms falling to his side. A couple of awkward seconds passed as the two of you looked through each other, gaze seemingly avoiding each other—as if they met—something delicate in the air would crack.

If you'd had anymore tears to cry, they would've spilled out, throwing out words you'd already sworn to secrecy. Somehow, you were grateful for your breakdown the night prior; at least you could feel numb today.

"Yeah, I can imagine." A sound—somewhere between a huff and a laugh— exhaled through your mouth, gaze dropping as you spun on your heel and stepped towards your bed. The mattress dipped below your weight as you sat down and began to tap your still trembling fingers lazily against it. You could still hear your heartbeat—rapid and unsettling—and you wondered if he could hear it, too.

"Did I wake you last night? God, I was—I was just fucked, dude." A grin snuck it's way back onto his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, heavy boots pacing along and making prints in the carpet.

"No, I was up." Your voice fell soft, barely above a whisper as your brows drew together, two small nods emphasizing and making up for your gentle tone. Eddie stopped suddenly in front of you, and you lifted your gaze to meet his. Surprise struck—you didn't know your chest could beat quicker than it already had, but as his brown eyes picked your facial expression apart, you were swiftly proved wrong.

"I called you last night. I mean, it was a payphone outside the pizza place, so the connection must've…" Eddie trailed off and shrugged, rubber shuffling against the floor until warmth took it's place beside you. Heat radiated onto you in what felt like the cruelest ten seconds of your life, until Eddie scooted a couple of inches away and gave you space.

"Yeah, must've." The words felt wrong as they struggled to leave your mouth, along with a dry laugh in some attempt to not sound like you were spiraling.

"I felt bad that the only thing open after the show was…" Eddies grin faltered slightly as he trailed off, leg bouncing anxiously against the floor as something flickered across Eddies face—somehow, even with your brain going two-hundred miles per hour, you could still see when he was holding something back. The way he tried to play it off, shrugging his shoulders and hiding behind a mask he most likely hadn't even noticed himself—it was obvious.

You knew that the socially acceptable thing would've been to respond, but no matter how many seconds you'd spent rapidly scanning your brain for a response that wouln't raise questions, it was no use.

"I had a lot of fun last night, if you're up for hearing it. I mean, I don't remember half of it, but the details I do remember are pretty cool." Something about Eddie's expression switched, making you believe he was aware of how thick the air felt.

Relief hopelessly spilled out of you as his words registered, stomach sinking and mouth drying. How could he ask something so cruel? How did he expect you to muster up some type of excuse to explain why you didn't want to hear about the number one thing that best friends are supposed to talk about?. Sure, you could blame it on lack of sleep, or feeling ill, but how many times had you used those lines before?

 You swallowed, eyes floating anywhere except for his, the only noise able to crawl it's way out of your mouth being a string of "um's".

"What's up with you?" Eddies voice cut through your struggle urgently, his shoulders sinking as he retreated almost immediately, obviously uncomfortable with the confrontation.

A shaky breath escaped your mouth as you struggled to find something to say. It felt like there wasn't a correct answer that didn't end in destroying everything you'd spent building—but on the other hand, watching Eddie with glassed over eyes, nervously fidgeting with his rings with an obvious look of hesitation across his face filled you with the worst guilt you'd ever felt. You violently fought the urge to scream at the top of your lungs, every part of your body so desperately wanting to tell him everything; anything to get that look off of his face.

But nothing came out—only a dodgy question while you attempted to maintain some sort of composure, followed by a nervous laugh that Eddie could see right through, "What do you mean?"

Uncertainty tugged at the corners of Eddies mouth, the urge to ask further evident in his gaze, painfully locked in with your flushed cheeks—but Eddie never pushed. He blinked twice and lifted his shoulders, shaking his head dismissively, "Nevermind. Do you wanna come over later tonight, or…? If you're busy, then—"

"Yeah, uh, maybe." You forced your lips to curl into a half-smile, gaze awkwardly dropping to your lap as you fidgeted with your sweats.

Eddie didn't feel like this, you thought. Not once, in all the years that you'd known him, did the air ever feel this thick—so much so that it made you hot, your body either rejecting the right amount of oxygen, or the atmosphere withheld it. It felt worse, somehow, than the night prior; in that moment, you realized that he felt it, too, in some capacity. Based on his body language, you figured it felt awkward for him, too, but you wondered why. What did he have to be awkward about? He'd just had the night of his life, while you laid hopelessly in bed, secretly wishing he'd throw pebbles at your window and tell you she was a mistake.

Eddie was the first to break the long stretch of silence as he placed his hands on his knees to push himself back up to his feet, taking a step backwards and clearing his throat, "I guess I'll see you, then. Call me, okay?"

"Okay." You nodded and swallowed, vision scanning his disheartening expression. Nothing felt worse than being the sole reason for it, and part of you wished you'd had the strength to stand up and reassure him that everything would be alright—that you would be alright, but it felt difficult to believe yourself. Silently, as you watched Eddie stand in front of you for another three agonizing seconds before he turned to leave, you'd silently convinced yourself that you'd told him in some way—every secret you'd tried so hard to hold from him, spilled because you couldn't completely keep your composure.

Eddie planted his heel and turned again, nodding once and mumbling a final, "Bye," before his footsteps audibly disappeared. Something about the click of the door behind him felt final, as if it meant that nothing really would never be the same. Before, you'd just assumed, creating theories in your head about where you stood with him. One thing for sure, Eddie sensed you were off somehow, and it now felt like your job to fix it.

[milkyykiddo]

dirty little secret

★Ch 11/23 | masterlist | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

thefreak!eddie x valedictorian-to-be!fem!reader

[4.1k words] *You've been avoiding him for weeks. Eddie is desperate. He formulates a plan to get back within your orbit that works a lot better than he'd expected.

NSFW/MDNI- slow burn, frenemies to lovers, secret relationship trope, eventual smut, sorta-kinda mentions of religion, no monsters/upside down, canon divergence, characters are in high school, reader is of the age of consent, suggestive & sexual content

Chapter 11: One Way or Another

Eddie never claimed to be an honest man.

More often than not, he was lying about something. Fibs about late shifts at a job he didn't even have to get out of detention for his chronic tardiness. Tall tales of sickly relatives that didn't exist to get extensions on assignments he'd never end up turning in anyway. Made up trysts with fictional groupies from the Hideout and fabricated affairs with married women just to get props from his friends who knew better than to believe a word he said. It was so easy for him. The lies slipped right off his silver tongue. Sure, no one ever actually believed half the bullshit he spewed, but it was still fun for him regardless. As Eddie saw it, lying was one of the few simple pleasures in life that even the rich man couldn't gatekeep.

Though he'd never typically think twice about his dishonesty, for whatever reason, deceiving you felt like taboo. Just considering it had a guilt he wasn't quite used to tying his guts into knots. He'd never thought himself a godly man either, but he imagined a special seat in hell reserved just for him for the sin of taking advantage of your goodness.

As bad as he might've felt, it still didn't deter him any. He could atone for it in the afterlife for all he cared. Presently, Eddie was desperate.

 You hadn't talked to him in three weeks. Well, you had, technically, but Eddie didn't think a rushed 'hey, can't talk right now' counted as quality conversation. You were busy. He got that. With everything you put on your plate, the self-inflicted hell of student clubs and extra credit and whatever else AP students spent their weeknights doing, you were spread thin. Adding illicit fraternization with the town's pariah on top of all that, it was a marvel to Eddie that hypertension hadn't taken you out yet.

But this was getting out of hand. Every single time he'd approached you, he was quickly rebuffed, left gawking in the middle of the hall like an idiot as you scurried off to wherever your presence was, apparently, desperately needed before he could even finish asking how you were.

Contrary to popular belief, Eddie wasn't completely hopeless. He was more than capable of putting two-and-two together and all trains of thought led back to that kiss on the couch.

He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. You'd kissed him. He'd reciprocated. What else was he supposed to do? Even if he'd come off as a bit too eager, which was entirely possible knowing his track record with the few unfortunate souls who'd been stupid enough to give him the time of day, you didn't seem that put off by it after the fact. You seemed pretty normal about it, actually.

The end of the night went exactly as he'd expected it to. A few yawns, an offer to drive you home. You'd laughed at his shitty jokes during the drive, glared at him when he'd said something dumb and sort of offensive. The usual. Though, it was sort of awkward when he'd pulled up to the curb two houses down from yours and got the bright idea to try to kiss you goodnight. You'd turned your face away. His lips pressed into your hair. That he'd just brushed off as shyness on your part. In the days since, he'd started to rethink it. All of it.

Originally, he thought he'd just cut his losses. If you wanted nothing to do with him, so be it. Graduation was only a few months away, and after that, he was getting the hell out of Hawkins anyway. He could settle for bitterly staring at you from across the cafeteria until June. No big deal.

That resolve lasted all of two days before Eddie startled awake with clammy skin and sticky boxers, one eye peeled open and vaguely set on the fuzzy image of his uncle stood in the doorway, reaming his ass for oversleeping again.

"You know you can set an alarm on that fancy digital clock you got there, right?" Wayne had bitched and all Eddie could do was nod dumbly in response, his half-baked brain still lingering in the liminal realm of a wet dream that you'd been the star of.

Eddie stared at himself long and hard in the bathroom mirror that morning, utterly repulsed with himself. But by the end of his cold shower, it was decided: he was going to get you to talk to him, one way or another.

The idea had come to him in first period calculus.

Mr. Collins, an antique from the nineteenth century, had stood at the front of the room, complaining about the class's unsatisfactory performance on last week's test. As he spoke, his dry tongue continually darted out to drag over his dry lips, missing the smear of cream cheese at the corner of his mouth every time.

"O-kay," Mr. Collins announced in his weak, wobbly croak of a voice, drawing the single word out slow enough that each syllable sounded like their own distinct thought. He slowly hobbled over to his desk, gathering a stack of papers into his arthritic, liver-spotted hands. Each trembling movement made him appear fragile, like he was constructed of paper mache. His crepey face scrunched up as he squinted through thick lenses at the papers. "Let's see."

He turtled around the room, making it as far as the second row of desks before giving up and instructing everyone to just pass the tests around amongst themselves. The girl sitting in the seat in front of Eddie's held his paper between her index finger and her thumb at the very corner of the page as she passed it back to him, like she thought something that belonged to him must've been diseased.

Just as Eddie had expected, a big fat 'F' was penned in shaky script at the top of the page. Rather than balling it up to be immediately forgotten like he usually would, he marveled at it this time, drinking in every little red 'X' crisscrossed beside each problem like they were individual answers to his prayers.

The second the bell rang, he was up from his seat, barreling into the hallway like the place was on fire. Hotfooted, he rounded the corner just in time to catch your retreating frame following the stream of students towards the west wing of classrooms. Shouldering past god-knows-who and stepping on what's-her-name's foot on his way, he caught up to you, taking a firm hold of your elbow before wheeling you around into a nearby alcove between locker rows.

"Christ on a cracker!" you griped, startled and semi-breathless, your hair swept into your face. With both hands pressed firmly to Eddie's chest, you shoved him back. "What's the big idea?"

Eddie reveled in the sound of your irritation, a welcomed reprieve from your detached snubbings. He grinned at the sight of your flushed cheeks, your impatient glare as you brushed your hair behind your ears. He was so delighted to finally be acknowledged by you again, he'd had to remind himself to manage his excitement.

Schooling his features into something he hoped resembled glumness, he began the charade. First came the sordid tale of yet another failure despite his best efforts, then the anxiety that he would end up flunking for a fourth time. A made-up threat from a guidance counselor he hadn't spoken to since August that his chances at graduation hinged on administration-mandated tutoring was his grand finale. It was complete hogwash, hardly passable by Eddie's usual standards of fibbery, but you were eating it up, nodding along solemnly to every fraudulent word.

He was on a roll, and by the time he'd proposed that you be the one to tutor him, you were practically leaping at the opportunity to help. Of course you were. Eddie hadn't expected anything less from the sweetheart of Hawkins High herself.

***

Eddie leaned back against his headboard, legs crossed at the ankle, still basking in the success of his ploy. There you sat on the foot of his bed, flipping through your own calculus notes saved from the year before. His textbook lay heavy in his lap, opened to a glossy page of foreign symbols beside numbers and italicized letters. You'd tasked him with attempting the first problem from a sample set to assess his proficiency, what concepts he had a grasp on and where he was lacking, but the lined notebook page in front of him remained pristine. Not even a scribble in the margins.

He couldn't focus. Not on indefinite integrals, anyway. He was too absorbed by the crunch of the eraser end of your yellow #2 pencil between your teeth. The chimerical image of your mouth pulled into a pleased 'o', shimmering behind a gauzy dreamlike film, was still seared into his brain. Not entirely unwelcome, but distracting nonetheless. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

You peeked up from your old notebook, depositing your pencil into the crease between the pages. Obliviously, you smiled at him. "Done already?"

"Hm?" he hummed, his gaze quickly flicking up to meet yours. The tips of his ears felt hot. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

Thankfully, you seemed to misread his preoccupation as ineptitude. Understanding as ever, far more than Eddie was deserving of, you murmured, "I get it. It's tricky."

You set your notes aside and crawled across the bed to him.

"Here," you said quietly, slipping his pen out from his clammy fist. You peered over his shoulder at the first problem on the page, leaning in close to his side. Close enough that he could smell the light, airy scent of whatever laundry detergent your family used wafting off of your cable knit cardigan. Eddie had to bite the inside of his cheek just to ensure that he wouldn't accidentally let an embarrassing sound slip out. "I'll do this one and explain the steps as I go."

You reached across him and copied down the equation from the book onto the notebook page. Slowly, you went through the problem, notating the derivative operator off to the side, giving a brief, yet thorough review of derivatives and anti-derivatives and the like. The same stupid shit that Mr. Collins had discussed ad nauseum in class. Though, for the first time, Eddie was actually absorbing what was being said. Not because your explanation made any more sense than that crotchety little bastard's had, but because he felt he had no choice but to pay attention, not trusting himself to look anywhere other than at your slanted handwriting in front of him.

"And so that's where the indefinite integral expression comes into play," you murmured, drawing a definitive circle around your final answer. You smiled encouragingly at the side of Eddie's face, handing the pen back to him. "Now you try."

Eddie obeyed, copying your steps for the second question, all the while trying to ignore your nearness. Close to his ear, you hummed, and in his peripheral, he saw you nod slowly. Then, you said, "good. Keep going," in a low tone that made his mind wander to a place he wished it wouldn't with you sitting so close.

The tips of his ears burned hotter and he shook his head to make his hair conceal the effects of your soft spoken praise. He felt self-conscious as he worked, knowing you were watching, until you scooted back to nestle into his lumpy pillows.

Quietly, he went through the lengthy problem set, finding that each question was easier than the last, that he'd actually learned something. A positive consequence of his trickery, he supposed, one that he'd use to plead his case when he arrived at the gates of hell. Eventually, though, he grew antsy in the silence, each moment without conversation feeling like a waste when you were finally next to him again.

"How are things?" he asked between questions. Unable to help himself, he hinted at your recent elusiveness. "You've seemed super busy lately."

With a soft huff, you sunk deeper into the lumpy pillows behind your back. "You know how it is. Spring musical auditions next week. Fundraisers that need organizing. The paper being a pain in my ass. The usual."

The exasperation in your tone made the corner of Eddie's mouth quirk up, your complaints about obligations no longer a bore to him, but something he savored now after weeks of being deprived of them. He doodled a crude rendition of a spiderweb in the margin of the page as he asked, "What're you covering this time?"

"No clue yet," you answered dryly, the expected response. Eddie bit his lip and peeked at you over his shoulder.

"Write about the Hellfire Club," he suggested, not for the first time. Like all the other times before, you rolled your eyes and shook your head. Undeterred, he pressed on. "Why not? It'd be a hell of a lot more interesting than some Student Honor Society food drive."

At the mention of your piece from the last issue in December, the first issue that you'd managed to make this school year, your eyebrows ticked up towards your hairline. Your eyes glimmered with mirth as you scoffed out, "Since when do you read the school paper?"

"I skim it every now and again," Eddie shrugged halfheartedly. In truth, he'd snatched up every issue put out since you'd started talking to him regularly, searching frenziedly for your by-line on the grayscale pages. But he'd never readily admit to that. "That's not the point. The point is, you should consider it."

"What's in it for you?" you asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"Exposure," he mumbled. "And, y'know, we'd get to hang out more."

Unconvinced, you snorted, good-naturedly teasing, "I think we hang out plenty enough."

Half-stung, Eddie winced, snickering lowly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His tone dripping with lighthearted accusation, he asked, "Do you even like me at all?"

"Eddie," you chided, deflecting like always. "Focus."

"But it's so boring!" he protested, laughing again. A strange warmth blossomed in his chest when you mirrored his grin. Quieter, braver, he murmured, "maybe I just need a bit of incentive."

Warily, you eyed him, your smile dropping completely. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean," he countered lowly, offering you a smirk that appeared much more self-assured than he felt.

His heart was in his throat and his palms were so clammy he had to wipe them off on his jeans. It wasn't too late to chicken out and backpedal, he knew, but how far had that gotten him in the past?

Not very.

So, hoping for the best, Eddie rolled for charisma.

"Each question I get right?"

Eddie waited on bated breath as he watched you gnaw on your lip with your brief contemplation, already thinking up a graceful response to your inevitable rejection.

You exhaled slowly, and even slower, a coy sort of smile unfurled across your face. An unequivocal sign that he hadn't lost you all the way just yet. With feigned reticence, you muttered, "Whatever will get you to focus, I guess."

Eddie didn't need to be told twice. He returned to his work with enough gusto to have you chuckling uneasily at him. Beside him, you shifted, propped up on one hand pressed into the mattress behind his back as you peered down at his paper, watching him go.

The first correct answer earned him a kiss on the cheek.

"That's it?" he complained, pressing the back of his hand against the sticky kiss-print your lipgloss had left behind.

"Don't push your luck," you warned, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

"Yes ma'am."

After another problem solved, he looked at you, meeting your hesitant gaze with playfully puckered lips. You huffed out a soft breath through your nose, rubbing your lips together. Then, chaste as a Catholic schoolgirl, you pecked his mouth.

You pulled away quickly and placed your hand on his shoulder, resting your chin on your knuckles, eyelashes kissing your cheeks with every slow blink you made at his paper. Though the warmth of your breath against the side of his neck made his skin prickle all over with excitement, Eddie chose to behave for once.

He had gotten what he'd wanted from you, but felt none of the expected triumph. If anything, he felt sort of like a scumbag, pushing you like this. The game was no fun without your enthusiasm. Having it ruined so soberingly, he didn't want to play anymore. In solemn silence, he answered a third question, then moved onto the fourth without ceremony.

Ever-so-gently, you squeezed the meat of his shoulder as you murmured, "Hey, you got that one right."

"I know," Eddie said, strained, continuing on with the problem he was solving.

Where Eddie's courage had run out, yours had been enough to make up for it, evidently, as you placed two fingertips onto the side of his chin and turned his face towards yours. His dark eyes flitted over your features quickly. Your gaze remained unwaveringly on his mouth. In the midst of his anticipation, he panted like a dog.

When your mouth pressed gingerly to his parted lips, he let out a choked sigh. His fingers curled into a tight fist on the rumpled sheets beside your hip. He ached to touch you, but forced himsef to take only as much as you were willing to give.

He half-expected it to end there, a polite sort of kiss to humor him, to stave him off until the next. But you lingered, opening your mouth just slightly against his. Even Eddie wasn't stupid enough to pull away first.

He sat as still as he could manage with his restraint thinned to tissue paper, dumbly following along with the torturously slow pace you had set. He kept his hands to himself, even as your own flattened against his cheek to gently cradle his jaw.

The tip of your tongue just barely grazed the seam of his lips, quick and, from the feel of it, wholly incidental. The second the sensation registered in Eddie's troglodytic brain, stars burst behind his eyelids like he'd been punched between the brows.

All bets were off.

With a quick swipe of his arm, the calculus textbook was flung from Eddie's lap onto the floor. The thud reverberated through the trailer and you flinched, jolting back just slightly. Eddie chased your mouth, clumsily crashing his lips into yours again. His hand flew to your hip, blindly shimmied up beneath the hem of your shirt to grip onto bare, supple flesh. Cold fingers against warm skin, you gasped softly against his bottom lip. Eddie was quick to take advantage of the gap, his tongue sliding into your mouth without much finesse. He was rusty, admittedly, his kiss unskilled in its urgency. You didn't seem to mind as you opened your mouth wider to accommodate his tongue's desperate intrusion.

You held tight to the nape of his neck, fingernails gently scratching against the base of his scalp. A shiver rippled up Eddie's spine and he groaned softly into your mouth. You answered him with a soft, stifled sound as he prowled over you on his knees and crowded you back into the pillows. On one trembling elbow, Eddie leant his entire body's weight beside your head. His sweaty fingertips traced along your hairline, a gentle contrast to the harshness of his kiss.

Beneath him, your chest heaved with your ragged breathlessness. You seemed to lag a millisecond behind, unable to keep up with the impatient rhythm he'd unwittingly forced unto you. In the back of his mind, Eddie vaguely considered the possibility that he was overwhelming you in the midst of his own desperation, but he couldn't seem to make himself slow down.

Just slightly, you tilted your chin down, forcing Eddie to allow you to suck in a quick, much needed breath. A thin thread of saliva stretched between your mouths; he broke the fragile tether with a gentle swipe of his thumb over your wet bottom lip. Through half lidded eyes, he drank in the close up view of your flushed cheeks.

Gently, you tugged on the back of his neck, urging him back to you. He obliged your silent request, meeting your mouth slower this time. After a firm, lingering press, he gently nudged your face to the side with his soft hold on your chin. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. He dragged his lips along the line of your jaw, following it to the soft, tender space beneath your earlobe.

An experimental kiss to this spot left you shuddering. He parted his lips, licked the salt from your skin, and you squirmed under him. Your knee grazed the inside of his thigh, just barely missing where he twitched in his jeans. He hissed out a sharp breath.

When he thoughtlessly sucked the delicate flesh between his teeth, you made the most glorious sound he'd ever heard.

A greedy bastard like him, he wanted it again, and all the others he could coax out of you. He sucked harder, earning a breathless excuse of a gasp. Your nails clawed into the sleeve of his flannel, pulling it taut around his bicep. Against your skin, he grinned before laving his tongue over the faint mark he'd left behind. His lips trailed lower, another nip given on the side of your neck.

"Eddie," you whispered, hot and tremulous against his ear, making his head spin. He could've died right then and there a happy man. Or, if the universe willed it, after he'd at least gotten your shirt off.

His hand, having a mind entirely of its own, slid back beneath the hem of your shirt, skating slowly up your stomach. The tips of his fingers just barely brushed against the underwire of your bra. It seemed that was as far as the universe would allow him to get.

The trailer shook with the slam of the front door. Eddie froze on top of you, mouth still opened wide over your pulse point. A soft grumble under breath came next. Then the clang of keys being thrown onto the coffee table.

Wayne.

You reacted first to the untimely interruption, quick to shove Eddie off of you so that he fell heavily onto his back, the mattress creaking and swaying with the momentum. As you hastily pushed yourself up to sit, pulling the sleeve of your sweater over your hand to wipe the slobber from the side of your neck, Eddie rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. His gaze swung to the open doorway of his bedroom, seeing Wayne stood stiffer than usual in the living room.

The old man's widened eyes shifted from Eddie to you, back to Eddie, then back to you in a rapid succession.

"Well, hello, miss," Wayne addressed you gruffly, but politely all the same. He swiped a hand over the belly of his wrinkled denim shirt. "Pardon my shabby attire. I wasn't expecting company."

With that, he looked at Eddie pointedly.

"She's a friend from school," Eddie supplied not all that helpfully.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," you said primly, charming as ever, albeit a bit strained. "I've heard nice things."

Nice things? Eddie resisted a scoff as he pushed himself up onto his knees.

He resisted looking at you all together as he mumbled, "We're studying."

Wayne looked at the textbook thrown open and face-down on the carpet, then to both of your flushed faces. His sun-weathered face crinkled with a sort of stifled grin as he nodded slowly. "Sure."

With that, he shuffled a few steps back and turned towards the wall of trucker caps. He nicked one from its hook, inspecting its frayed brim before fitting it over his graying head, as if that's all he'd come in for.

"Well," Wayne muttered coarsely before shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging back from whence he came, closing the door gingerly behind him, as if making a point at his offering of privacy.

In the following silence, Eddie and you sat on his bed, staring at the emptied hallway, listening to the slam of Wayne's truck door, the sputter of the old engine, the crunch of gravel beneath his retreating tires.

Asking to pick up where he'd left off seemed pathetic, even to Eddie, and the few inches of bedsheets between him and you seemed wide as a gulf now anyway. Accepting his humiliation and the fact that the mood had been effectively killed, he leaned over the edge of the bed for his textbook.

"Where did we leave off?"

[perfidious04]

But I'm Not Like Her

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female reader

word count: 4.9k

Summary: Insecurities after Eddie casually mentions the perfection that Chrissy Cunningham is. What if the unspoken feelings are mutual between the two?

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, smoking, insecurity, comparison, happy ending

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The furious scratching of your pen halted when Eddie's voice broke through the silence.

"Do you think I could ever do Mrs. Wheeler?" Your head snapped up, disbelief flashing across your face. Eddie leaned back, blunt dangling between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his grin. That grin always managed to look both reckless and stupid while remaining devastatingly charming.

"What." The word came out flat, sharp, your chest tightening at the audacity of his question.

He exhaled slowly, eyes glinting with mischief. “You heard me. I mean, do you think I could realistically bag Mrs. Wheeler?”

You licked your lips as you stared at the man in front of you. The old wooden table creaked as he shifted to face you fully, curls falling into his eyes. You stared at him, trying to find the right words, trying not to betray the fact that you were hopelessly and irreparably in love with him. No matter how stupid his questions could be.

"No."' you shrugged your shoulders a bit and looked at the now deflated smile on your best friend's face. A triumphant smile creeping up on your own. All this before looking down at your sheet of paper, going back to writing the essay you had been putting off, one that you would surely have to convince Eddie to do.

“Why not? Think about it- me and Mrs. Wheeler would be the hottest couple in Hawkins.” His voice carried that theatrical cadence, the voice that painfully screamed Eddie. The same one he used when narrating Hellfire campaigns, except now it was about Nancy Wheeler's mother not to mentions mikes mother.

You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself. “Okay, number one: she’s Mike’s mom. Two: she’s married. And three: she’s waiting for me to turn a respectable age so she can leave her husband and marry me.”

Eddies mouth a gap. Eddie Munson's theatrics came in full kick.

Eddie’s jaw dropped, hands flying wildly in protest. “You’re insane. She’d pick me over you any day. I’m her dream man.”

“You don’t have boobs, Eddie. Everyone likes boobs. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight- boobs are boobs.”

The argument spiraled, your essay forgotten, laughter and sharp words bouncing between you. Then, in a rare moment, Eddie passed you the joint.

A rare occurrence for Eddie Munson. When he first met you, he noticed you hated the smoking. He always noticed the way your nose scrunched when he smoked, the way your eyes lingered on the burning paper. He offered every time, and sometimes you accepted. Not because you liked it, but because it felt like sharing the blunt was sharing something deeper, something intimate. Like every inhale was a kiss you’d never get to have. You hated the idea and sight of him burning up his lungs and ruining them. You constantly joked about how he would die with his lung suddenly bursting and him blowing up.

It started when life got harder, and you needed comfort, that, and you just felt that it brought you closer to Eddie as if the high bonded your souls together.

Eddie rambled on, his theatrics pulling smiles from you despite the heaviness in your chest. But then his tone shifted.

“I’m gonna need you to write down Cunningham’s name in that list thing you keep.” His gaze landed on your face once again, scanning over you as he played with his rings, his untamable curls framing his face.

Your head snapped towards him. “Cunningham? As in Chrissy Cunningham?”

He nodded, lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “Yep. That one.”

Your brows furrowed. “She’s buying?” You had never heard of or imagined perfect little Chrissy Cunningham near Eddie, much less buying from him.

“Yeah. Shocked me too.” His grin widened, rings glinting as he toyed with them.

“And you’re selling to her?” Your voice was sharper now, suspicion lacing every word. Your eyes squinting at Eddie to see if it was one of his thoroughly played out jokes

“Yeah. We talked earlier. I was debating it, though. I wouldn’t want to ruin her.”

The words hit like a punch to your gut.

Wouldn’t want to ruin her.

Your stomach dropped. The sudden spiral of thoughts going through your head overwhelming every sense of your being. Did Eddie think you were ruined? Damaged goods because you occasionally smoked with him, always laughed with him, and lived in his chaotic orbit? Was Chrissy untouchable, pure, while you were already a damaged good? Were you a lost cause for not being an untouchable being that Eddie couldn't obtain?

You swallowed hard, his voice fading into background noise as he rambled about Hellfire.

I wouldn't want to ruin her.

wouldn't.

want.

to.

ruin.

her.

Sure, the comment was made with no malice behind it, but you knew about Eddie's middle school crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You had met Eddie in 8th grade. Well, his 8th grade your sixth. You only realized your crush on Eddie in the 8th and his sophomore year.

But the words hung in the air. You swallowed.

Did Eddie think he ruined you? Were you damaged goods now that you indulged and hung around him? Was Chrissy this untouchable being pure of sin or whatever made you ruined? Did the smoking make you broken or ruined? Did he mean to say that Chrisy was worth more to a degree, or was she held to a higher pedestal than you because she was Chrisy?

"They have no idea what's coming, I mean, I have been working on this for weeks-" Eddie, being caught off guard by the look on your face.

"Ruin her?" the slight hurt and pit in your stomach fighting hard to be masked and hidden away, or at least attempted to be hidden from Eddie.

"You think you will ruin her with weed?"' confusion took over, rather than that overbearing feeling in your chest.

Eddie froze, wincing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean… she’s Chrissy. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. Not that it’s bad. It’s just… she’s Chrissy.”

He gave a half smile, still wincing as he heard his own response leaving his mouth.

"Oh." you swallowed hard trying to shake the sinking feeling in your gut.

Shes Chrissy.

You felt yourself slipping into your head and rubbed your fingers against the table. Eddie opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed.

The name echoed in your head, heavy and cruel. You weren’t Chrissy.

You smiled up at him with a tight line.

"So, at what time is your next campaign I need to know what Henderson has to say about it."

Eddie hesitated, guilt flickering across his face, but then he launched back into his rant, words tumbling out with his usual flare. You nodded, pretending to listen, eyes drifting back to your paper.

But the essay blurred, meaningless. All you could hear was the echo.

She’s Chrissy.

its Chrissy.

She's Chrissy, its different.

You aren't Chrissy.

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A week had passed since you had become hyperaware of Chrissy Cunningham's existence, your eyes would linger as she passed by the halls. Chrissy Cunningham’s name had become a ghost that haunted every hallway, every classroom. Your eyes lingered on her without meaning to, tracing the way she laughed with her friends, the way she seemed untouchable. Even when Eddie’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, the warmth that used to feel protective now burned with doubt. It wasn’t the same flare of happiness it once sparked it felt hollow, like a reminder of what you weren’t. You told yourself Eddie didn’t think of you as ruined, that he loved you in his own way, maybe not the romantic kind you dreamed of, but something deeper, something platonic and safe. And wasn’t that better than nothing? Better to be loved in fragments than not at all. Still, the words hung in the air. I wouldn’t want to ruin her, echoing like a curse, twisting every smile into a question you couldn’t answer.

Movie nights with Eddie were your sanctuary, the one place where the world blurred into laughter and comfort. You couldn’t always afford the tapes, but somehow Eddie always managed to pull one out of thin air, grinning like he’d just robbed the universe.

“Alright, sweetheart, tonight’s feature presentation: low-budget horror with questionable acting and even worse wallpaper choices,” Eddie announced, throwing his arms wide as if he were on stage.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. Who paints their kitchen lime green?”

“The true horror isn’t the killer, it’s the interior design, blind, I tell you. All of them blind,” Eddie quipped, leaning forward with mock seriousness.

The movie played, but Eddie was louder than the actors. He imitated the protagonist’s screams, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh no! I’ve been stabbed! Tell my story, Y/N!”

You shoved him, laughing. “You’re such a dork, Munson.”

“Correction: I’m a loser and a dork. I'm a double threat, sweetheart. We have to get my title right.” He lunged at you, and suddenly, you were wrestling on the couch, laughter spilling out of both of you. His fingers dug into your sides, tickling mercilessly, and you squealed, begging him to stop.

"Eddie Munson i mean it, stop it right-" your breathless laughs and heavy breaths being pushed out of your chest without your permission.

You flipped him, breathless, hair falling into your face, and Eddie grinned up at you, curls wild, eyes shining. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.” His voice dipped, teasing, but there was something in his gaze that made your stomach twist with butterflies.

You tickled him back, Eddie yelled and screeched, telling you to cut it out.

Both of you breathlessly lay there, you on top of Eddie. The floor of his trailer digging into his back. Your hair falling into your face, tickling at eddies cheek from the proximity.

For a moment, the world stilled. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you leaned down, heart pounding, breaths mingling. His lips brushed yours, soft, hesitant, electric, and you felt yourself melt into the warmth of him. The kiss lingered, the feeling electric despite your lips not connecting yet, the feelings you bottled up for so long making their way up, ready to be released with a kiss.

Then the phone rang.

You both jolted apart, hearts racing. Eddie gave you an apologetic smile, exaggeratedly groaning as he dragged himself to the wall phone. Your chest still buzzed with childlike excitement, the thought screaming in your head: you almost kissed Eddie Munson. A breathless laugh leaving your chest.

Eddie picked up the phone, his smile and frizzy hair making him look all the more breathtaking, the moment still fresh and new to both of you. You watched him smile brightly on your face, still feeling the proximity both of you shared. But then his smile faltered, voice dropping. “Wait… Chrissy, slow down. What happened?”

And just like that, the butterflies died. The pit in your stomach returned, heavier than before. Chrissy’s name hung in the air, and the comfort of Eddie’s laughter dissolved into something sharp, something that reminded you....

She’s Chrissy. You’re not.

You sat on the couch, chest heavy, the movie flickering across the screen like it was mocking you. Every scream, every chase scene blurred into background noise against the sound of Eddie’s voice on the phone. You tried not to listen, tried to let the static drown it out, but Chrissy’s crying bled through, sharp and undeniable. Each word Eddie spoke carved deeper into you.

“It’s going to be okay, Chrissy, I promise I-”

“Wait, no. Don’t apologize. You needed someone to hear you. There’s no need to-”

“Chrissy, you aren’t a burden. I promise.”

Your stomach twisted, sinking into itself as you stared blankly at the screen. The protagonist was running toward safety, the last survivor, her blonde hair catching the light, her delicate smile untouched by the horrors she lived around her. She looked like Chrissy. She looked like everything you weren’t.

“No need to thank me. Bye, Chrissy. I’ll talk to you soon. Good night.”

Eddie sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up. His mood was dampened by Chrissy's situation, but he couldn't help the giddy feeling in him. He turned, eyes finding you on the couch, hair tangled, face half-lit by the glow of the TV. For a moment, he just stared, like he was memorizing you, before he let out a dramatic groan and flopped across the couch, sprawling until his head landed in your lap.

“Jason’s a real prick, holy crap,” he muttered, looking up at you with a grin that carried a glint of something unspoken. His eyes lingered, analyzing you, searching for a reaction you refused to give. You kept your gaze locked on the TV, pretending the movie mattered more than the ache in your chest.

“Sooooo… about that thing earlier, I think it was-”

“It’s getting late, Eds. I should head home.” Your voice was steady, but the words cut through him. His smile faltered.

“What? Why?”

“It sounded like Chrissy needed you. And we finished our movie. Besides, I need to brush my hair.”

His brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to argue. “You can always spend the night. I mean-”

“No, it’s okay, Eds.” You stood, brushing off your shorts, forcing a smile. “Thank you for the movie night. See you tomorrow. I hope Chrissy’s okay.”

“Wait-” His voice cracked slightly, softer than usual, but you didn’t let yourself turn back.

You left, practically running from Eddie’s trailer, the night air biting at your skin. Only when you were far enough away did you let out a tired sigh, clutching at the stitch in your side. “Shit, I really have to work on my cardio.” The words came out bitter, half a laugh, half a sob.

And still, the thought gnawed at you: did Chrissy ever feel this way? Did she ever have to wonder if Eddie Munson would choose her over the rest of the world?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hadn’t really heard from Eddie all weekend. The silence gnawed at you, every hour replaying that almost-kiss until it drove you insane. By Monday, when he waved at you in the hallway, his small smile felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

“I didn’t hear much from you this weekend, Eds.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was busy.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “Chrissy really needed to talk. We kinda smoked, I showed her around town. I was gonna call, but… I needed her advice. Then Jason didn’t drive her to practice, it was this whole thing.”

Your chest caved in. That moment between you and Eddie hadn’t stopped replaying in your brain, the proximity, the way your thoughts short-circuited. And now it was all overshadowed by Chrissy Cunningham. Again.

He kept talking, voice casual. “Then the cheerleaders are having these tryouts since one of them broke her leg. They’re looking for a replacement and…”

That was when the idea hit you. If Eddie liked Chrissy so much, if he cared about her practices, maybe he could care about yours. Maybe if you were more like her, he’d look at you differently.

“I’m actually trying out.”

His head snapped toward you. “What?”

“I’m trying out to be a cheerleader.” The words felt foreign, heavy, like they didn’t belong to you. Your stomach turned, but the thought of Eddie caring about your practices the way he cared about Chrissy’s made it worth saying.

“Since when do you like cheerleading?” His tone wasn’t cruel, nor was it meant to mock you, but it stung.

“What, you don’t think I can make it?” The defensiveness hit before you could stop it, insecurity clawing at your chest.

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… I didn’t think the whole prep thing, skirts, pompoms, makeup, was your thing.”

Maybe the issue was that you weren’t feminine enough. You liked who you were, you thought Eddie did too. But in that moment, you realized he liked those things in a friend, not in a partner.

So for the next two weeks, you worked. Stretching, practicing, forcing yourself into routines that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie asked if you were sure, more than once, his voice carrying doubt you couldn’t shake. The pit in your chest grew. The feeling in your stomach continuously sank as anxiety and insecurity crept up.

Tryouts came. Everything was going well, you felt your palms sweating, your heart beating ringing in your ears. Everything was fine everything was perfectly fine, the anxiety you felt was nothing, or so you told yourself.

That was until you slipped, crashing hard onto the gym floor. Eddie was in the bleachers, you hadn’t known he’d be there. He wasn't supposed to be there. Your heart dropped when you realized he was there for Chrissy. His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he almost jumped from the bleachers.

Chrissy ran forward, concern etched across her features. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine kindness in her voice a panic rising behind her. genuine concern was all that her features showed. And you understood why Eddie liked her. She was light, effortless.

But Eddie’s voice cut through, frantic. “Oh my god, are you okay? Hey, look at me.” His eyes locked on yours, wide and terrified.

Your pride burned hotter than your knee. “Yeah, I’m fine."

They continued asking, especially about your knee, the pain throbbing from it almost distracting you from the humiliation that you were currently facing. Tears burned in your eyes, you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away, anxiety making its way back up.

"That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” Your voice shook your heart beat overwhelming you.

Chrissy shook her head. “Don’t apologise. Don’t stand on it, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Eddie reached out to steady you, but you pulled back. “I promise I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, voice breaking, eyes pleading.

Both Eddie and Chrissy crowded in too close, their voices overlapping, Chrissy’s soft, careful questions and Eddie’s frantic insistence that you weren’t fine. Their concern pressed down like a weight, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. Every word felt like pity, every touch like proof of how small and fragile you must have looked sprawled on the gym floor. Your pride burned hotter than the pain in your knee, humiliation clawing at your chest until it spilled out sharp and raw.

“Eddie, stop it! Just stop already — I get it, okay? !” The words tore from you before you could stop them, tears blurring your vision as both of them froze, their kindness suddenly unbearable.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Eddie froze, startled. “What do you mean? Hey, hey, look at me. You’re okay.”

“Just stop.”

You turned, limping out of the gym, leaving Eddie and Chrissy behind. The parking lot was empty except for his van and a few teachers’ cars. You sat on the sidewalk, knee throbbing, tears burning. You hated being seen like this. You hated that you’d snapped at Eddie when all he’d done was care. You hated that Chrissy was everything you weren’t.

The gym doors slammed behind you, and Eddie stood frozen, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to spiral like that. He hadn’t meant for you to think Chrissy mattered more. Hell, he hadn’t even come for Chrissy, he came because he knew you’d be here, because he wanted to see you try, wanted to be the one cheering you on.

But then you fell. And the look on your face when you pulled away from him, that hurt worse than anything.

He grabbed the ice pack from the nurse’s office, snagged some painkillers, and pushed through the doors into the parking lot. The night air was heavy, and there you were, sitting on the curb, shoulders shaking. Eddie’s chest tightened.

He walked over, slow, uncertain, holding the ice pack out like it was some kind of peace offering. You didn’t look at him, but you didn’t push him away either. He sat down beside you, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

You sighed, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, eyes locked on you. “Don’t be. You think I came here for Chrissy?” His voice was quiet, raw, stripped of its usual theatrics. He winced slightly as he asked.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curls falling into his face. “ I don’t care about cheerleading, or pompoms, or whatever. I care about you. I wanted to see you out there because it mattered to you. Because you matter to me. I wasn't there for Chrissy. I was there for you”

His words hung in the air, heavy and trembling. He wanted to reach out, to steady you, to make you believe him. But he stayed still, afraid you’d pull away again.

“I know you think Chrissy’s perfect. And yeah, she’s kind, she’s sweet. But she’s not you. She’s not the one I spend every night with, laughing at dumb horror movies, wrestling on the couch, and always wondering if it's the right time to kiss you or hold you close. I mean we almost-” He stopped himself, biting his lip, heart racing.

Eddie glanced at you, eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. “I don’t want you to change. Not for me, not for anyone. You’re already… you’re already everything.”

The silence pressed down again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged, aching, full of everything Eddie couldn’t quite say.

"I'm sorry", your voice small.

Eddie’s eyes softened, his voice quiet but steady. “Don’t be. I was there for you, not Chrissy. And I’ll always be there for you.”

He swallowed hard, curls falling into his face as he leaned closer. “And you aren’t ruined. That came out so wrong. You’re the most perfect person I know, and it scared me half to death. I love you. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

Your breath caught, eyes burning as the insecurities that had weighed you down seemed to lift, replaced by something warmer, lighter. Tears welled fresh, but this time they carried relief. You smiled through them, voice trembling. “I love you, you big loser.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his, and Eddie met you halfway. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were afraid it might shatter. But then it deepened, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, the taste of smoke and sweetness lingering as your lips moved together. It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that felt like home. Every second carried unspoken promises, every breath shared like it was something sacred.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you smiling through the tears. “I think I fucked my knee up. We might have to go to the doctor. And I hate cardio.”

Eddie laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, breaking the heaviness in the air. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to a doctor before you start running laps out here.”

He helped you up carefully, his arm steady around your waist, and for once the pain in your knee didn’t matter. Because Eddie Munson was holding you, and he wasn’t letting go.

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a/n: As always, comments and suggestions are always welcomed I hope you enjoyed.

LOTS OF LOVE, YALL

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[beasbrain]

"Boyfriend"

description: your parents are very strict and would never approve of your new college-aged boyfriend, darren. so, nancy comes up with the perfect solution: introduce them to your "boyfriend", eddie munson, first. compared to the town pariah, darren should look like prince charming... if only fake dating eddie was as easy as you thought it'd be.

pairing: "boyfriend"!eddie munson x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie munson x you, soft! eddie munson, fake dating, fake relationship, autumn/fall vibes, friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff as fuck, holding hands and forehead kisses "for the bit", eddie is a gentleman, drive-in movie date, acts of service! eddie, matching halloween costumes, darren never stood a chance, SO FUCKING FLUFFY PREPARE FOR TEARS OF JOY :D

TW: just go ahead and make your dentist appointment now tbh

WC: 8.3k (i'm SORRY i really loved writing this one, okay!?)

A/N: AH HELLOOOO!!! It's been a while since I've had a fic that I feel this deeply for, but here we are nonetheless. I am also leaving on Sunday for a much, much, much-needed 9-day vacation, so I'm going to try to feed you all with one or two more fics. reblogs are ssososososossoooo appreciated :) <3 enjoy my loves xoxo

"It's impossible, Nancy. Utterly and completely impossible."

You let your forehead fall dramatically against the cafeteria table with a soft thunk, your tray rattling beneath the impact. Across from you, Nancy barely looked up from the sad excuse for a school lunch she was methodically picking apart. 

This wasn't the first time she'd listened to you spiral about your parents, and judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she doubted it'd be the last.

"Oh, will you stop whining?" she said, stabbing at a few peas with her plastic fork. "They cannot be that bad."

You lifted your head just enough to shoot her a look. "They're dictators."

"They're parents."

"They're prison wardens with a mortgage."

Nancy rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the girl whose mother once grounded her for getting a B-plus."

"That was one time."

"And she still brings it up."

Nancy couldn't exactly argue with that. With a sigh, she abandoned the mystery meat on her tray altogether and leaned back in her seat, folding her arms as she studied you. 

You looked genuinely stressed, far more stressed than someone who'd only been dating a guy for a couple of months should've been.

"Darren's in college," you muttered, absentmindedly peeling the label off your milk carton. "He's already got one strike against him. Then there's the fact that he's older than me, which is strike two. By the time they actually meet him, they're going to have convinced themselves he's some twenty-five-year-old biker with a criminal record who's dragging me into a life of organized crime."

Nancy let out an amused snort. "You know that's not true."

"I know that's not true," you groaned. "But they don’t."

"You know what your issue is?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I've got several."

"You haven't given them anyone to compare Darren to."

"...What?"

"They've got nothing to measure him against." She gestured with her fork as if the answer were obvious. "You're terrified to introduce him because, in their minds, he's going to become the blueprint."

You blinked. "I don't follow."

Nancy leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the fact that nobody around you was paying the slightest bit of attention.

"You need to introduce them to someone worse first."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "...Worse?"

"Someone so unbelievably incompatible, so ridiculous, so catastrophically wrong for you..." A slow grin spread across her face. "That when they finally meet Darren, he'll look like the most respectable man on the planet."

You stared at her. "Nancy..."

"I'm serious."

"You want me to fake-date someone my parents would despise?"

"I want you to let them think you're dating someone they'd despise."

Silence. Then, almost against your own will, you felt the gears in your head begin to turn.

"...That's actually..."

"I know."

"...Kind of genius."

Nancy's smile widened. "I know."

Just as you were about to ask the far more important question: who on earth could possibly fit that description?...a familiar voice suddenly echoed across the cafeteria.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The two of you turned instinctively toward the source. "Oh, Christ," Nancy muttered.

Across the room, standing on top of one of the cafeteria benches as though he were addressing a crowd of thousands instead of a room full of teenagers trying to eat lunch, Eddie Munson threw his arms dramatically into the air.

"I would once again like to address the blatant discrimination against the Hawkins High Hellfire Club—"

You looked at Nancy, and Nancy looked at you, neither of you saying a word.

"...Him?" you asked slowly.

Nancy's grin returned. "Oh, definitely him."

“...Shit.” You mumbled under your breath. Before you could overthink it, you pushed your chair back from the table. The legs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. 

Taking one steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and started weaving your way through the maze of lunch tables toward the growing crowd surrounding Eddie's latest performance.

"Wait—" Nancy hurried after you. "I wasn't expecting you to do it right now."

"If I don't do it now," you muttered over your shoulder, "I'm going to lose my nerve."

"Right."

By the time the two of you reached the edge of the crowd, Eddie was still going strong.

"—and furthermore, if Hawkins High truly believes forcing Hellfire to relocate every other week is somehow constitutional—"

You exchanged one last glance with Nancy, so she gave you a tiny nod. Go.

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat, you carefully stepped through the cluster of students until you were standing close enough to reach him.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself…you gave the sleeve of his jacket a gentle tug. The effect was immediate, causing Eddie to stop midsentence.

"...constitutional ri—" His words died in his throat. 

Slowly, almost cautiously, he looked down, and there you were. For a brief moment, he genuinely wondered if he'd imagined you. Because girls like you didn't usually interrupt his lunchtime speeches.

Hell, girls like you usually walked around him. He knew exactly who you were, of course. Everyone did.

You were one of those people whose name seemed to carry itself through the halls without any effort. Honor roll. Friends with Nancy Wheeler. Pretty enough that half the boys in school had, at one point or another, convinced themselves they had a chance before reality quickly corrected them.

You carried yourself with a quiet sort of confidence that made you seem untouchable. Not in a snobbish way, but in the way stars looked untouchable from Earth.

And now...you were standing in front of him. His brain, normally overflowing with smart remarks and sarcastic comebacks, came to a screeching halt. Eddie blinked once, then twice.

"...Uh..." He cleared his throat. "...Hi."

"Hi." You offered him a nervous smile, suddenly far less certain about marching over here than you'd been thirty seconds ago.

"Eddie," you began, tilting your head back slightly to meet his eyes. "Can we... uh... talk to you?"

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "...Me?"

"In private," you added quickly, gesturing toward the audience that had practically doubled in size now that the two of you had approached him. More than a few people had abandoned their lunches entirely in favor of shamelessly eavesdropping.

Eddie glanced over your shoulder at the crowd.

 "...I..." He rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to process whatever bizarre alternate universe he'd apparently wandered into. "...Yeah."

A crooked grin finally found its way onto his face. "Yeah, I think I can pencil you in."

Without another word, he hopped down from the cafeteria bench with an exaggerated flourish, dusted imaginary dirt from his jeans, and threw a dramatic glance toward the rest of Hellfire.

"Boys," he announced solemnly, "the revolution will have to wait." He shot you an almost sheepish smile as he caught up beside you.

"So..." His curiosity was practically radiating off him now. "...Lead the way."

The three of you didn't stop walking until the cafeteria noise had faded into little more than a dull echo behind you. The hallway sat blissfully empty during lunch period, save for the occasional locker slamming shut somewhere in the distance.

Eddie rocked back on the heels of his sneakers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans before glancing between the two of you.

"So..." he drawled, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Am I being recruited into a cult, or are you guys finally here to tell me I've won some sort of popularity contest?"

Nancy snorted. "Neither."

"Damn."

She exchanged a quick look with you before deciding to rip the bandage off.

"So, uh..." she started. "Eddie... how would you feel about being a fake boyfriend?"

Eddie blinked. "...Come again?"

"A fake boyfriend."

He frowned, eyes drifting toward Nancy. "...Wait."

"Aren't you and Byers still together?" His eyebrows knitted together in genuine confusion. "I mean..." He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Sure, you're cool and all, Wheeler, but I kinda respect the guy."

Nancy stared at him for exactly half a second before letting out an exasperated groan.

"Oh, my God." She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Not for me."

Eddie rubbed his arm dramatically. "Ow."

"For her," Nancy clarified, throwing both hands toward you like a game show host revealing the grand prize.

His head snapped in your direction so quickly you were surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "...Her?"

You gave him an awkward little wave. "Hi."

"You..." he said slowly, pointing at you as if he needed to make absolutely certain everyone was talking about the same person. "...want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

"I know how insane that sounds."

"No, no." He held up both hands. "I'm just making sure I didn't hit my head getting off that cafeteria bench."

Nancy folded her arms. "Well?"

Eddie's bewildered expression slowly melted into one of pure curiosity. “I’m intrigued. What does this entail?”

You sigh, rocking on your heels. “Basically, I’ve been seeing this college boy, Darren. I’ve never ever been allowed to date, so I haven’t had a boyfriend yet. And considering he’s already in college, my parents would be uber pissed and never let it happen. So Nancy came up with this plan—”

“That you go out with me, your parents think he’s the golden boy, is that it?” He interrupts.

You pause abruptly, suddenly coming to the realization of how messed up and flat-out mean this all sounds. 

“No— uh, shit, yeah, kinda. I’m sorry, this was such a bad idea. Forget I even asked—”

“Woah woah woah, I’m not saying no. I’m all for sticking it to the man or whatever. Just, what do I have to do? Movie dates and rides home?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda. We’d have to be together in every aspect. You know how people in this town love to talk. We have to sell it, y’know?”

Eddie's grin only grew wider.

"So..." He tilted his head. "We're talking the full boyfriend package."

You nodded sheepishly. "Pretty much."

He let out a low whistle. "Movie dates."

"Mhm."

"Walking you home."

"Probably."

"Holding your hand?"

You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks. "...If people are around."

He hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin like he was negotiating a business deal worth millions.

"...You realize," he said, unable to suppress the grin threatening to split his face in two, "if we're gonna sell this..."

He leaned in just a fraction. "...I'm gonna have to be the greatest fake boyfriend Hawkins has ever seen."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Oh?" Eddie asked, feigning offense. "You underestimate my dedication to the craft."

"I think I underestimate your ego."

"That's fair."

Nancy glanced between the two of you, already regretting how well you seemed to bounce off each other.

"So..." she interjected. "When exactly were you planning on starting this little social experiment?"

You looked back at Eddie. "Tomorrow."

His eyebrows shot up. "...Tomorrow?"

"My parents drop me off every morning."

"And?"

"And tomorrow..." A small smile tugged at your lips. "They won't have to."

The next morning started like any other. Alarm at 6:30 on the dot, shower, brush your hair and teeth, do your makeup, pick an outfit, and head downstairs for breakfast.

Your mother was in her usual spot in the kitchen, making the same eggs and whole-wheat toast. Your father sat at the head of the table, glasses low on his nose as he read the newspaper, mug of coffee steaming next to him.

“Morning, Hun,” he hummed. “We have to stop at the post office before school today. I gotta mail out my case notes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Dad.” You said nervously. “I, uh, have a ride today.”

“Oh, did Nancy finally get her car fixed?” Your mother chimed in.

“Oh, uh, yeah, but…it’s not Nancy. Eddie’s actually picking me up.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your father slowly folded up his newspaper and placed it on the counter. “Eddie? As in, Eddie Munson, Eddie?”

You winced. "...Yeah."

Your mother blinked. "The young man with the... leather?"

You almost laughed. "I think it's denim."

"The one with the chains?"

"...Probably."

"The long hair?"

"...Yes."

"The Hellfire Club?"

"...Yes."

"The one who's in detention every other Tuesday?"

You sighed. "...That's the one."

Your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was somehow calmer than yelling would've been.

"And..." He clasped his hands together. "...Why, exactly, is Eddie Munson picking my daughter up for school?"

Your heart hammered against your ribs. “Because we’ve been…seeing eachother.”

Absolute, unwavering silence followed. Your mother and father exchanged looks before answering in unison:

"...What?"

You cleared your throat. "Eddie and I have been... seeing each other."

Your mother's wooden spatula slipped from her fingers, clattering against the stovetop. Your father stared at you as though you'd just announced you were dropping out of school to join the circus.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I must've misheard you."

You forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "You didn't."

"Since..." your mother began carefully, "...since when?"

"A little while."

"A little while?" your father echoed.

You nodded. "Mhm."

"And you neglected to mention this because..."

"I knew you'd react like this."

"We're reacting because you just informed us that you're dating Eddie Munson."

"I know."

You opened your mouth to argue more, but before you could, a loud, unmistakable rumble echoed from outside. It sounded like someone had awakened a dying dragon in your driveway.

All three of you turned toward the front window. The familiar roar of an aging engine settled into a rattling idle.

Your father slowly stood from the table. "...Is that him?"

As if on cue: Honk. One short beep, then another.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

From somewhere outside came a voice that carried far too well through the quiet neighborhood. "Take your time, sweetheart!"

You whipped around toward the window in horror. "Oh, my God."

Your father walked over first, carefully pulling back the curtain with two fingers. Your mother joined him a second later.

"...Harold," she whispered.

"I see him."

"He brought flowers."

Your stomach dropped. Flowers? That wasn't part of the plan. Slowly, you walked toward the window yourself, peering over your father's shoulder. There, parked halfway into the driveway in the unmistakable rust-speckled Munson van, was Eddie.

He'd traded his usual leather jacket for his battle vest over a black T-shirt, his sunglasses perched on top of his head despite it barely being eight in the morning. And, resting casually against the side of the van like he'd rehearsed it in a mirror...

...was the single ugliest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen. Half of them looked dead, one of them might've been plastic. There was definitely baby's breath sticking out at an angle it wasn't meant to.

The second your eyes met his through the window, his face lit up. He flashed the biggest, cockiest grin imaginable before lifting the bouquet high into the air with an exaggerated little flourish. Then he gave you an enthusiastic wave.

Your father slowly let the curtain fall shut, and he turned to face you. "...He's brought you funeral flowers."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "...I think they're supposed to be carnations."

You let out a slow, defeated sigh. "...I'll be home after school."

Neither of your parents responded. Your father simply stood with his arms folded across his chest, while your mother wore the same expression she'd had ever since the words Eddie Munson had left your mouth. It was somewhere between confusion and preparing for the worst.

Grabbing your backpack from beside the front door, you slipped your shoes on and reached for the handle. "Love you," you offered hopefully.

Your mother managed a weak smile. "...Love you too."

Your father nodded once. "We'll... talk tonight."

You swallowed. "...Sounds good."

The second the front door swung open, Eddie spotted you. He straightened from where he'd been leaning against the van, tucked the pitiful excuse for a bouquet behind his back with an almost comical flourish, and plastered on the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"There she is!"

You had to physically stop yourself from laughing. He walked toward you with the confidence of someone arriving at prom instead of a suburban driveway at seven-thirty in the morning.

"Good morning, beautiful."

Beautiful? You'd known Eddie for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already improvising.

He stopped in front of you, producing the bouquet from behind his back like a magician revealing his greatest trick.

"For my lovely lady."

You looked down. They were somehow even uglier up close. One carnation had snapped clean in half.

"...You bought these?"

"I rescued them."

"From...?"

"The clearance bucket outside Melvald's."

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. 

"They were seventy-five percent off."

"How romantic."

"I know."

You accepted the bouquet, shaking your head. "They're hideous."

"I picked the worst ones."

"I can tell."

"Proud of me?"

"...A little."

His grin widened. "Excellent."

Then, before you had time to react, he reached out, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness…and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. It was quick, sweet, and almost innocent.

But if anyone happened to be watching from inside, it looked incredibly convincing. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. When he pulled away, he leaned in just enough to whisper: 

"...Sorry."

You blinked. "For what?"

"I panicked."

"...You panic by kissing people?"

"Apparently."

Before you could answer, the front door creaked open behind you. Both of your parents stepped onto the porch.

Eddie immediately turned, the picture of charm. "Mr. and Mrs!," he called cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

Your father looked him up and down. "...Is it?"

Eddie didn't miss a beat. "It certainly is for me, sir."

"So..." your father began slowly. "You're Eddie."

"The one and only."

"I've heard... things."

Eddie rested a hand dramatically over his heart. "I'm hoping only the good ones."

"I sincerely doubt they were."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Probably."

You could actually see your father's brain trying to determine whether Eddie was genuinely this odd or simply putting on a performance. Spoiler alert: it was both.

"So," your father continued, "you're driving my daughter to school."

"I am."

"You'll obey the speed limit."

"Absolutely."

"No reckless driving."

"Never."

"No funny business."

Eddie frowned slightly. "...Define funny."

You closed your eyes. "Eddie..."

"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm asking for clarification."

Your father's expression remained perfectly flat. "You know exactly what I mean."

Eddie's own smile softened. "I do."

Then, for the first time since he'd arrived, he answered without a trace of sarcasm. "I'll get her there safely, sir."

The sincerity in his voice caught everyone a little off guard; hell, even your father seemed surprised. After a moment, he gave one curt nod.

"I expect you will."

"I will."

With that, Eddie walked around to the passenger side of the van and pulled the door open with an exaggerated bow. "Your chariot awaits."

You rolled your eyes. "What a gentleman."

"I have my moments."

Climbing into the passenger seat, you waited until he rounded the front of the van and slid into the driver's seat before the two of you looked at one another. There was exactly half a second of silence, then you burst into laughter.

Eddie looked over, trying and failing to suppress his own smile. "...What's so funny?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You kissed my forehead!"

"You said we had to sell it."

"I did not say before eight in the morning!"

"You never specified business hours."

You laughed harder. "And those flowers?"

He gasped dramatically. "They cost me a dollar twenty-five."

"They looked like they'd already attended a funeral."

"They did."

You stared at him. "...What?"

"I may or may not have bought them from the cemetery."

Your jaw dropped. "Eddie!"

"I'm kidding!"

"...Were you?"

"...Mostly."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I have made the biggest mistake of my entire life."

He shifted the van into gear, a smug grin settling onto his face. "Oh, sweetheart."

The engine rumbled to life. "We're only on day one."

The drive to school had only been the beginning. Once Eddie committed to something, it quickly became apparent that he didn't know how to do it halfway.

The second the first bell rang, he'd slung his backpack over one shoulder and casually fallen into step beside you as though the two of you had been doing it for years.

"History first?" he'd asked.

"Mhm."

"Excellent."

You'd expected him to walk you halfway there, maybe to the end of the hallway. Instead, he'd walked you all the way to your classroom, leaned casually against the doorframe while you gathered your books, and smiled down at you.

"I'll see you after second period."

"...You know my schedule?"

He'd pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from his pocket. "Made a copy."

You stared. "...When?"

"Nancy."

You looked over your shoulder at her, so Nancy simply shrugged. "He asked."

"You gave it to him?"

"He was very persuasive."

Eddie tucked the paper back into his vest. "I'm an actor, sweetheart. Continuity is everything."

Sure enough, the moment second period ended, he was already waiting outside your classroom. Then again after third. Then fourth. By lunchtime, the entire school had noticed.

Girls whispered when you walked past. Basketball players openly stared. Freshmen practically dove out of Eddie's way when he slipped an arm lazily over your shoulders while walking through the hallway.

If anyone had doubted the relationship that morning, they certainly didn't anymore. Which was exactly why you found yourself carrying your lunch tray toward the Hellfire table instead of your usual seat beside Nancy.

You stopped dead in your tracks. "...People are going to think I've lost my mind."

Eddie looked up from unwrapping his sandwich. "They already think that."

"...Helpful."

He scooted over and pulled up a chair for you. "C'mon."

With a resigned sigh, you slid in beside him. Almost immediately, the rest of Hellfire fell silent. Gareth looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at Mike. Mike looked at Dustin. Dustin's eyes darted between you and Eddie so fast you were surprised they didn't get stuck.

"...Holy shit," Gareth muttered.

"It's real," Jeff whispered.

Eddie looked offended. "You doubted me?"

"We doubted her."

You couldn't even blame them. A few minutes later, Nancy and Jonathan wandered over, trays in hand.

"Mind if we join?" Jonathan asked.

"Please do," you replied. "I need normal people."

Eddie gasped dramatically.

By the final bell, your social battery had all but evaporated. Being the center of attention all day was exhausting. You were halfway through stuffing books into your locker when Nancy appeared beside you.

"So..." she began.

You looked up.

"I think Phase One was a success."

"You think?"

"I've already heard three different people say they 'always knew' you and Eddie had chemistry."

You groaned. "People are unbelievable."

"They're bored."

"Fair."

Jonathan joined the two of you, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Speaking of bored..."

Nancy suddenly snapped her fingers. "Oh!"

She looked between you and Eddie. "I almost forgot."

"What?"

"The drive-in's doing a horror double feature tomorrow night."

Eddie perked up immediately. "...Seriously?"

Jonathan nodded. "I drove past this morning."

"They're showing The Evil Dead and A Nightmare on Elm Street."

Eddie's jaw practically hit the floor. "No way."

"Way."

"They never play good movies."

"I know."

Nancy smiled. "Jonathan wanted to go..."

Jonathan looked over at her. "...Did I?"

"You do now."

He chuckled. "I guess I do."

She turned back toward you and Eddie. "You guys should come."

You blinked.

"As..." She wiggled her eyebrows. "...A couple."

You looked instinctively toward Eddie.

"A public date," he mused. "Excellent for maintaining the illusion."

Nancy laughed. "See? He's getting it."

"Oh, he got it the second he showed up with cemetery flowers."

"They weren't cemetery flowers," Eddie defended.

"They were discount flowers."

"There's a difference."

Jonathan smiled, shaking his head. "So..."

He looked between the two of you. "Tomorrow night?"

You glanced at Eddie, and he gave a tiny shrug. "I'm free."

"...Yeah." You nodded. "I think we'd like that."

The following evening arrived far quicker than you would've liked. Somewhere between surviving an entire day of whispers at school and convincing your mother that, yes, you really were just going to the drive-in with "friends," the reality of the situation had begun to settle in.

You were going on your first date. Granted, it was fake. But somehow that only made your stomach twist even more.

After changing into a pair of jeans, one of your favorite sweaters, and throwing on a light coat for the chilly October air, you gave yourself one final look in the hallway mirror.

"Ready?" your mother called from downstairs.

"As I'll ever be."

The words had barely left your mouth when the doorbell rang. Your father looked up from his armchair.

"That'll be him." You exchanged a quick glance with your mother before making your way toward the front door, only for your father to beat you there. "I'll get it."

The door swung open, and standing on the porch was Eddie.

His curls had clearly been tamed…well, as much as Eddie Munson's curls could ever be tamed.

He'd swapped his usual ripped Hellfire shirt for a plain black waffle long-sleeved shirt. His jeans were still ripped, his boots still scuffed, and there were just as many rings decorating his fingers as always.

He'd made an effort, in the most Eddie way possible.

The moment he saw your father, he straightened. "Evening, sir."

Your father regarded him carefully. "...Munson."

"Eddie works."

Your father didn't smile. "I'm sure it does."

You quickly slipped between them before things could somehow become awkwarder than they already were. "Hi."

The second Eddie looked at you, his entire expression softened. "...Wow."

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. "What?"

"You..." He smiled to himself before shaking his head. "You look really nice."

"...Thanks."

Your father cleared his throat, and Eddie immediately remembered where he was. 

"Right." He clasped his hands behind his back almost like a soldier awaiting inspection. "So..." 

Your father folded his arms. "So."

"I understand we're going to the drive-in."

"We are."

"And I understand Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler will be there."

"They will."

"Good."

"You'll have her home by eleven."

Eddie nodded immediately. "Absolutely."

"If plans change, she calls."

"Of course."

"If that van breaks down—"

"It won't."

Your father raised an eyebrow. "It might."

"...It might."

"And if it does?"

"I'll call."

"You won't let her walk home alone."

"I wouldn't let her walk across the parking lot alone."

Your father's posture eased... just a fraction. "Good."

He stepped aside. "You kids have fun."

"We will, sir."

As you stepped off the porch, Eddie quietly reached for your hand. You glanced down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at him.

He leaned over just enough to murmur, "...Audience."

You looked back toward the front window, and sure enough, your parents were watching through the curtains. "...Right."

The drive itself was surprisingly easy. The windows were cracked just enough to let the cool autumn air drift through the van while some old rock station played quietly over the speakers.

You talked about school. About Gareth somehow managing to fail another chemistry quiz. About Dustin insisting he'd seen a UFO behind Family Video. By the time the glowing marquee for the Hawkins Drive-In appeared in the distance, you'd almost forgotten this wasn't real.

Eddie paid for both of your tickets before steering toward the back row.

You frowned. "...Shouldn't we park closer?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

He killed the engine before hopping out of the driver's seat. "C'mere."

Curiosity getting the better of you, you followed him around to the back of the van. He swung the rear doors open with both hands.

"...Ta-da."

You stopped walking. "...Eddie."

The inside of the van looked nothing like you'd expected.

The back seats had been folded flat, replaced with what looked like every blanket he owned layered over an old mattress pad. Pillows were piled against the sides, making a little nest beneath a strand of warm white battery-powered string lights he'd somehow managed to drape across the ceiling.

There were even two lawn chairs folded neatly in the corner in case you wanted to sit outside instead.

"...What..."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."

You climbed a little closer, running your hand across one of the impossibly soft blankets. "You did all this?"

He shrugged like it was no big deal. "I figured drive-ins are more fun when you're comfortable."

Your eyes wandered farther; a little cooler sat tucked against the wall. Curious, you opened it. Inside were glass bottles of Coke, your favorite cherry licorice, peanut M&M's, movie theater butter popcorn. Even the little strawberry candies you'd absentmindedly mentioned liking while sitting at lunch two days ago.

You looked back at him. "...How do you even know all of this?"

"You told Gareth those strawberry candies reminded you of your grandma."

You blinked. "...You remembered that?"

"Sure."

Still speechless, you reached into the back again.

"...Is this..." You pulled out a folded gray sweatshirt. "...Mine?"

"Nah." He laughed. "It's mine."

You looked at him, confused.

"It's supposed to get cold later."

"So?"

"So..." He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "You complained yesterday that you always underestimate how cold October gets."

"...I did."

"So I brought an extra sweatshirt."

You stared at him. "Eddie..."

For the first time since you'd met him, he actually looked a little shy. "What?"

"I thought this was supposed to be fake."

"It is."

"You didn't have to do..." You gestured helplessly toward the cozy little setup he'd somehow built in the back of the van. "...all of this."

A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh."

He leaned casually against the open door. "...This?"

You nodded, and he shrugged. "Fake boyfriend package."

You laughed. "No."

"What?"

"This is way above the fake boyfriend package."

He feigned offense. "You wound me."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

He pointed into the van. "Blankets."

Another finger. "Snacks."

Another. "Emergency sweatshirt."

He spread both hands proudly. "I'm providing a premium service here."

You laughed so hard you had to grab the side of the van to steady yourself. "I'm going to have to leave you a five-star review."

"Damn right you are."

Then, quieter, his grin softening into something far less performative.  

"I just..." He looked over the little setup. "...Figured if we're pretending to date..."

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "...You should get at least one really good date out of it."

The drive-in ended up being surprisingly perfect. Neither of you paid much attention to the first movie.

Instead, the two of you spent most of it making sarcastic commentary under your breath, sharing popcorn, and arguing over whether The Evil Dead was genuinely terrifying or just "creative low-budget filmmaking," as Eddie insisted.

By the second feature, the October air had turned considerably colder. Without saying a word, Eddie reached behind him, grabbed the sweatshirt he'd packed, and draped it over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain.

You'd rolled your eyes as he'd simply grinned. "Premium service."

By the time the credits rolled, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

True to his word, Eddie pulled into your driveway at exactly 10:50, ten whole minutes before your curfew. Your father was already waiting on the porch, arms crossed, watching.

Eddie climbed out first, walking around to open your door before helping you step down from the van with an exaggerated flourish. "Milady."

You curtsied dramatically. "Thank you, kind sir."

He placed a hand over his heart. "My pleasure."

Your father watched the exchange carefully as the two of you walked toward the porch. "You made good time."

Eddie nodded. "Told you I would."

Your father checked his watch. "...You're early."

"I figured ten minutes was a safe buffer."

"...Smart."

It wasn't exactly praise. But coming from your father, it was pretty damn close.

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Eddie."

You glanced between them. "...Goodnight."

As you headed inside, you couldn't help but notice your father watching Eddie climb back into the van.

Your mother appeared beside him. "So?"

He kept his eyes on the driveway. "...He was respectful."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Respectful? From your father? Maybe hell really had frozen over.

One fake date somehow became two, then three. Then somewhere along the line, the lines started blurring.

Eddie still picked you up for school almost every morning. He still walked you to every class. He'd started carrying your books without asking. Holding doors open. Stealing fries off your lunch tray despite insisting he "didn't want any."

You'd retaliated by drinking half his chocolate milk whenever he looked away. A silent war had begun that neither of you intended to lose.

The town, of course, ate it up. Mrs. Thompson at Melvald's gave the two of you a knowing smile every time you stopped in after school. The librarian had started saving romance novels "for the young couple." Even Principal Higgins had caught Eddie kissing the top of your head outside English one afternoon.

Instead of detention, he'd simply sighed. "Keep it appropriate, Munson."

"Always do."

The moment Higgins rounded the corner, Eddie looked down at you. "...That counted, right?"

You laughed. "I think we sold it."

"Excellent."

The phone calls hadn't been part of the plan. It started because Eddie called one evening to ask if your father had "bought the hand-holding today."

That conversation lasted fifteen minutes. The next night became thirty. By Friday, the two of you had somehow spent nearly two hours talking about everything and absolutely nothing.

Favorite movies. Childhood stories. Music. Why Garfield was objectively the funniest comic strip ever printed.

You'd started waiting for the sound of your phone ringing around nine every night. And like clockwork, you’d always answered.

Before long, pretending started feeling easy and dangerously comfortable. Sometimes you'd catch yourself laughing before Eddie even finished the joke. 

Sometimes he'd bring you your favorite soda without asking. Sometimes he'd absentmindedly reach for your hand crossing a parking lot before either of you remembered there wasn't actually anyone around to witness it.

Neither of you acknowledged those moments; you simply kept the "bit" going.

"So." Jonathan leaned back in his cafeteria chair one afternoon, looking around the table. "I heard something."

Nancy looked up from her sandwich. "...Should we be worried?"

"Probably."

Eddie nodded approvingly. "I like where this is going."

Jonathan ignored him. "My friend at community college said there's a party this Saturday."

That immediately caught everyone's attention. "A college party?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan nodded. "Apparently one of the fraternities is throwing a Halloween thing."

You, Nancy, and Eddie exchanged glances. None of you had been to a college party before. Jonathan noticed the exchange and smiled.

"I was thinking..." He pointed between the two of you. "You guys should come."

Nancy perked up immediately. "Oh my God, yes."

"It'd be fun," Jonathan continued. "Nobody there knows either of you, so there's no pressure. Just music, some booze..." He shrugged. "Besides, Darren goes there, doesn't he?"

Your stomach flipped. "...Yeah."

Jonathan smiled. "Perfect."

Nancy's eyes widened as the implications dawned on her. "Oh."

"Oh."

Nancy was the first one to put the pieces together. Her eyes widened as she looked between you and Eddie. "...Wait."

You glanced over.

"If your parents think Eddie's taking you..." She pointed toward Jonathan. "...Then they'll have absolutely no problem letting you go."

You nodded absentmindedly. "...I guess."

Jonathan shrugged. "And if Darren happens to be there..."

The name hit you like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over your head.

Darren. Right.

For a brief, almost embarrassing moment, you'd forgotten. Not forgotten him, exactly. Just forgotten that he was the entire reason any of this had started.

Your mind flashed back to the phone call you'd had with him a few nights earlier. The conversation had been nice, comfortable even.  He'd asked how school was going. You'd told him "good." He'd told you about a biology exam. You'd wished him luck.

Then, before hanging up, you'd mentioned you couldn't talk much longer because Eddie was supposed to call in a few minutes. Only after you'd said it had you realized how naturally the words had come out.

You blinked. "...Oh."

Eddie noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. "What?"

You looked back at the table. "...Nothing."

Jonathan continued, oblivious. "He'll probably be there somewhere."

“Yeah…” You said, sinking into your seat. "Probably."

By the time the night of the party rolled around, you were equal parts nervous and excited. The excitement, however, had very little to do with the party itself. It had everything to do with the ridiculous argument you'd had with Eddie three nights prior.

"If we're going," he'd said over the phone, "we're wearing matching costumes."

You'd laughed. "No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"We're a couple."

"A fake couple."

"A distinction with very little importance."

You'd groaned into the receiver. "Eddie..."

"We have to sell it."

"We're already selling it."

"No, sweetheart." You could practically hear the grin in his voice. "We're raising the bar."

Which explained why you were currently standing in front of your bedroom mirror wearing a black, studded mini dress layered over a fishnet top, ripped tights, and heavy combat boots. A spiked choker sat snug around your neck.

Your hair had been teased and left wild, half-pinned back with a chain clip Eddie had insisted on adding himself earlier.

“Needs more attitude,” he’d said, concentrating like he was defusing a bomb.

You’d called it ridiculous; he’d called it perfect.

A knock sounded downstairs.

"He's here!" your mother called.

You grabbed your leather jacket, shrugging it on as you hurried downstairs. The second you rounded the corner into the foyer, Eddie looked up and promptly forgot how to speak.

Gone were the ripped jeans and Hellfire tee. Instead, he wore black skinny jeans, a sleeveless band tee layered under a distressed denim vest covered in patches, and heavy boots that looked like they’d seen more than one mosh pit.

Eddie had somehow managed to style his own hair into a wild, voluminous mess of teased curls and waves, half of it pulled back with a chain and leather wrap, the rest spilling around his face like he’d stepped straight out of a metal album cover.

A few strands fell into his eyes, but he didn’t brush them away. He just stared at you.

"...Holy shit."

You smiled. "What?"

"You..." He shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite process it. "You actually did it."

"You look like you belong in a band."

"I do belong in a band."

"You belong in a very loud band."

He grinned, stepping closer. "You look..." His voice softened just slightly. "...Really good."

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. "You don’t look so bad yourself."

Your father chose that exact moment to clear his throat. The two of you jumped apart as though you'd been caught committing a crime.

"Evening, Eddie."

"Sir..."

Your father looked him over. "...Interesting costume."

Eddie glanced down at himself. "Thanks."

"You know..." Your father folded his arms. "...People in bands tend to make questionable life choices."

Eddie nodded seriously. "Yeah, I’ve heard that. I’m trying to keep my record clean tonight, sir."

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of your father’s mouth.

"So," your father continued, "college party."

"Yes, sir."

"You understand there’ll be drinking."

"There probably will be."

"You won’t be."

"No, sir."

"You’ll make sure she isn’t."

"I will."

"And if anything feels off..."

"We leave." He finishes.

Your father studied him for another second before nodding. "...Midnight."

"We’ll be back before then."

He looked toward you. "Phone?"

You held it up.

"Wallet?"

You patted your pocket.

"Keys?"

Eddie jingled them.

"...Have fun."

The fraternity house was impossible to miss. Music thumped loudly enough to rattle the windows while clusters of college students spilled across the front lawn, laughing beneath strings of orange lights and fake cobwebs. The moment the four of you stepped out of the van, heads turned.

Jonathan leaned toward Nancy. "...I think they win."

Nancy smiled. "They absolutely win."

One college girl walking past pointed excitedly. "Oh, my God!" She laughed. “Sharron and Ozzie!"

Eddie immediately slid an arm around your shoulders. "See?" he murmured. "Worth it."

"...Debatable."

Inside, the house was somehow even louder. A surprising number of people in ripped band tees and eyeliner that looked suspiciously rushed. You spent the first hour simply existing.

You danced exactly once, mostly because Eddie refused to accept no for an answer.

"You have two options," he'd informed you.

"Dance..." He held out one hand. "...Or I throw a fit in this living room."

"...Those aren't good options."

"They absolutely are."

You’d taken his hand before he embarrassed both of you. Nancy had laughed so hard she’d nearly spilled her drink. You were having genuine amounts of fun, almost enough to make you forget why you were there in the first place.

"I'm gonna find the bathroom," you announced after another song ended.

Finding the bathroom proved far easier than finding your way back. You’d barely stepped into the upstairs hallway before a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

"...Babe?"

Your heart skipped, and slowly, you turned around. "Darren?"

He smiled, equally surprised. "I thought Jonathan said you might be coming."

"I almost didn't."

He laughed. "I didn't think I'd actually run into you."

"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You look nice."

You smiled politely. "Thanks. You too."

His eyes drifted over your costume. "...Metal?"

"Mhm."

"Cute."

"So..." he asked carefully. "How've you been?"

Meanwhile downstairs, Eddie checked his watch. "Huh."

Jonathan looked over. "What?"

"She's been gone a while."

Nancy frowned. "...You're right."

"I'll go find her."

"You know where the bathroom is?"

"I'll figure it out."

He checked one door, and then another.

Then, "...Oh."

His footsteps stopped because halfway down the hall stood you. Laughing, talking with a guy: college-aged, a little taller than him, and standing much closer than Eddie would've liked.

Darren. Of course. This was literally the entire reason any of this existed. 

His grip around his cup tightened as he watched Darren smile at something you said and watched you smile back. 

What had he expected? That you’d forget about the guy you’ve been trying so hard to introduce to your parents?

That this fake relationship had somehow...He cut the thought off before it finished. The cup slipped through his fingers, and it clinked softly against the floor.

Your head whipped toward the sound. "Eddie?"

Your eyes had met then, and he stared at you solemnly for a second before shaking his head and scurrying away. 

"Eddie!" 

You looked back at Darren only long enough to offer an apologetic smile. "I'm... I'm sorry. I have to go."

Before he could answer, you were already hurrying after the retreating figure, disappearing down the staircase.

“Eddie! Hey…Jesus Christ, you walk fast—Fuck, hey!”

You finally caught his wrist just as he pushed through the front door of the fraternity house; the October air hit both of you immediately.

"Eddie."

He stopped walking, and for a second, you swore he'd turn around. He didn't. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose, staring out at the sea of cars parked along the lawn.

"...You should go back inside."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I was literally coming to find you."

"No." He laughed once, humorlessly. "You were talking to Darren."

"I was saying hello."

"Mhm."

"Eddie."

He finally turned around then, his eyes glossy. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but somewhere dangerously close. "You don't have to explain yourself."

"What?"

"You don't owe me an explanation."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"No." He shook his head. "Seriously."

He laughed a short and almost bitter laugh.  "You don't."

You frowned. "You're my—"

He cut you off. "Fake boyfriend. 

“You were talking to the guy you actually like." He shrugged. "I get it."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"No—"

"I was just..." He rubbed both hands over his face before letting out another disbelieving laugh. "Jesus Christ."

His shoulders slumped. "What the hell did I think was gonna happen?"

"Eddie..."

"What?" he asked, throwing one hand into the air. "That I actually convinced myself the prettiest girl in Hawkins High was gonna wake up one morning and decide she wanted me?"

He wasn't looking at you anymore; his gaze was fixed beyond your shoulder, talking more to himself than to you.

"I'm the fucking freak."

"Eddie—"

"And somewhere along the way..." He shook his head. "I forgot."

You stepped closer. "You forgot what?"

"That this..." He gestured between the two of you. "...was never real. You know what the worst part is?"

"Eddie..."

"I started believing it. I started believing all the stupid little things."

He counted them off on his fingers. "The phone calls. The drive-in. You stealing my fries. You laughing at my dumb jokes."

He laughed again. "I started thinking..." He stopped himself. "No."

"Eddie, finish that sentence."

"I started thinking maybe..." His jaw tightened. "Maybe you actually enjoyed being around me."

"I do."

"You have to."

"No."

"You literally have to!" he exclaimed, his voice finally rising. "That's the whole deal!"

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"I don't have to."

He blinked as you took another step forward. "I call you because I want to."

He stared.

"I laugh because you're funny. I go to the record store with you because I like going. With you."

"Eddie..." You swallowed. "I would've kept talking to Darren for maybe another minute."

You gestured toward the house. "I chased after you. Like, I've barely thought about Darren this entire month."

Those words surprised both of you, mainly because you hadn't meant to say them out loud.

"I..." You frowned. "I don't know when that happened."

"Eddie..."

He looked away. "I really don't want you to say something just because you feel bad."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

He let out another dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don't have to spare my feelings."

"I'm not trying to spare your feelings, you idiot!"

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you searched for the right words. "I don't know how else to say this."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Yes, I do."

"Eddie..." Your voice softened. "I like you."

He smiled sadly. "I know."

"No." You shook your head. "I don't think you do."

He frowned.

"I like you. Like..."

You let out a nervous laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. "Like, I genuinely like you."

He froze so much so that you could almost see the sentence replaying itself in his head. "...What?"

"I like you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I really, really do."

He stared at you as though you'd started speaking another language. "You came up with this whole fake dating thing because of Darren."

"I know."

"You wanted me to make him look better."

"I know."

"You've been trying to introduce him to your parents for weeks."

"I know."

"So..." He gave another confused laugh. "How the hell does this happen?"

You laughed through the tears threatening to form. "I don't know."

"I think..." You looked down at your shoes before meeting his eyes again.

"I think it happened somewhere between you showing up with those horrible flowers..."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"...And remembering my favorite candy."

You smiled weakly. "And the drive-in. And the phone calls. And you walking me to every class. You remembered all the little things I said without me ever asking you to."

"You made pretending feel so easy that..." You shook your head. "...I forgot we were pretending."

His lips parted. "I almost forgot Darren existed."

The admission hung in the cool night air.

"I went the entire time without thinking about him once." You laughed softly to yourself. "And then Jonathan mentioned the college party..."

You shrugged helplessly. "...And I realized I'd spent more time wondering what costume we would wear rather than seeing Darren."

"So..." You offered him the smallest, most nervous smile he'd ever seen.

"I guess somewhere along the way..."

You reached down and gently took his hand. "...I stopped fake dating you."

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, then back up at you. "...You're serious."

You nodded. "I've never been more serious."

He smiled so wide it almost looked painful. "...Guess I'm gonna have to start putting in some real boyfriend effort now, huh?"

“Should I be afraid to find out what that entails?”

“Oh yeah. Very much so.”

me giggling and kicking my feet at how cute ts is

since ik you all far too well and love adding more projects for myself...

part 2?🫣

pls bea i beg u

no bc im lame

Voting ended onAug 14

taglist:

@midgardian-rogue @julxsxx @doomdabss @doodeesstuff @cicibananaaa @peterhollandkait @gunnersaurusrex @lisl0velettxrs @5lutforeddie @a-villain-vying-for-attention  @fapqueen @sadgirl-bee @bowie-frommars @milescrypt  @bitterestwillow @lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs @abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @kylorensbaby @raeyas-ghost @lilyquinnmunson @this-issam @acrloved @ghoulishjewels @sespe08 @djoshairychest @foxygrrl @mortalselfprojected

[perfidious04]

Last time, Munson.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: an ongoing cycle that you and Eddie have to break out of, eating at both of you alive. When jealousy and hurt crash, who is there to pick up the pieces?

Warnings: cussing, slightly toxic behaviors, smoking, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending.

Word Count: 10.8k

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Eddie, stop", you laughed as he grabbed at your side, water slightly slapping against your lips, small waves rippling from his movements, the moon spilling silver light over lovers' lake.

“Stop? You’re laughing, sweetheart. That’s not stopping,” Eddie teased, curls plastered to his forehead, grin wide and mischievous. A glint of light reaching his eyes.

''Oh, you love me sweetheart'' he said, wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you close. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, your arms snaking over his shoulders, his hair a mess of wet curls.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though your lips found his anyway. Eddie groaned into the kiss, pulling you impossibly close, as if he could fuse you together.

Your hands are threading through his hair, and Eddie’s sliding lower on your waist. Both of you tangled in each other’s arms, intoxicating one another with the chaos that made you you.

Eddie pulled away first, his forehead leaning onto yours.

“We should skinny dip next time,” he grinned, eyes sparkling like it was the best idea he’d ever had.

You snorted, smacking his shoulder lightly, sending water splashing across his face. “You’re such a perv, Munson.”

He laughed, shaking his head, water dripping from his curls. “Perv? Please. I didn’t know it was a crime to want to be close to my royal highness.” He bowed his head dramatically, voice dripping with mock theatrics.

“Being nude in Lovers Lake at midnight would definitely make the town happy,” you shot back, a smile spreading onto your lips. “I bet the sheriff would love catching us out past curfew.”

Eddie’s grin widened, eyes glinting. “Then let him. I’ll tell him it was all my fault. Freak’s honor.”

The kiss that followed was rough and soft all at once. Yet the grin spread across Eddie's face, unmistakably bringing out a smile of your own.

--------------------

The strong smell of sweat over the weak, cheap cologne that hung on to the players. Eddie Munson hung around the entrance of the gym, back flushed against the door he saw you sitting on the bleachers while the game went on. His gaze locked on you, unrelenting, holding you in a trance. You tried not to show the way your insides were putty and how you secretly adored being under his gaze.

You hated how you knew that Eddie strived to be seen by you. The way he would worship you behind closed doors, how you loved every moment with him, no matter how secret it had to be. the glances, the glares, the smirks, the eye rolls. All part of a constructed game of pride, both of you clawing and fighting to stay on top.

Eddie hated the “social hierarchy” of Hawkins High. He hated how you played into it, hated how you sought approval even when you swore you didn’t.

You hated Eddie’s rebellion against it. You knew if he ever tried to fit in, he’d lose what made him Eddie. You would have never gone for Eddie or paid him mind if he played into this stupid game. But you also hated how exhausting it was to defend him, snarling at Jason, telling his friends to back off, watching fights break out, which always led to him losing and being left black and blue. You hated how reckless he was, how little he seemed to care about himself. Whether it was his grades, or risking it all to sell, or even risking it all to not let one of Jason's friends one up him. You knew Eddie went out of his way to take the beatings for his friends, and it all caused more stress on you.

You loved him, Eddie just seemed to be a magnet for trouble. The trouble coming from his simple existence and his lack of self-care.

And then there was Chrissy. Sweet, soft Chrissy Cunningham. She defended him gently, where as you defended him with all guns on the table. She was everything you weren’t: gentle, forgiving, kind. At least when it came to Eddie, the contrast between you two became apparent.

She would defend him so softly in front of everyone, while you were biting at his defense. Chrissy was what you can call the embodiment of gentleness.

Your jaw clenched at the thought. You hadn’t noticed you were still holding Eddie’s gaze until Brianna tugged your arm. Chrissy whispered something about needing to leave mid-game. You frowned. Why would Chrissy leave now?

You looked back just in time to see Eddie push off the door, opening it wide for her. Chrissy shot him a soft smile, and Eddie threw one back. Your stomach twisted, jealousy burning hot. Eddie’s grin dropped slightly when he caught the scowl on your face. You trusted Munson, you really did, but after he and Chrissy struck a deal, they seemed to be getting closer and closer.

You were going to murder Munson.

Or at least you would if you didn't love the stupid freak.

He knew what he was doing. He could sense it. You never spoke of your jealousy, but Eddie wasn’t stupid. He loved rattling you, loved seeing how far you’d bend before snapping. He wanted you to come forward and, for once, see a crack in your composure, not directed at his lack of self-care but at your actual emotions and feelings. He wanted to know if you felt as deeply as he did when he couldn't have you in front of everyone, while the people he hated most stayed around you at all times.

--

You walked out of the gym, the parking lot of Hawkins high long empty now. Outside, the night breeze bit at your legs and arms. The gym bag you held helped to no avail bite off the cold. You scanned the cars, hoping to see the run-down van. The broken rattly van that Eddie refused to get rid of.

A small smile formed as you thought back to the door that he would fight to open on the passenger side, where you would normally occupy. Always a gentleman.

Yet the van was nowhere in sight, and you bit your lip, frustration settling in your gut. You let out a breath and started your way up the road. Walking home, it was.

The walk was quiet, your Walkman forgotten on your bed, the forest pathway stretching endlessly into the night. The woods pressed in around you, shadows heavy, an eerie chill settling in your gut. Each step felt louder than it should, nerves crawling over your skin.

.You heard the sudden rumble of an engine, tearing down the road like a madman. your pulse jummped,excitment rising depite yourself, eddie loved speeding in his stupid van.

The car slowed. You turned, a smile fighting its way onto your face, one you refused to let Munson see. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much joy and relief it brought you, even with jealousy gnawing at your chest.

But as your eyes caught the headlights, the smile faltered, joy draining instantly. It wasn’t Eddie.

It wasn't eddies crazed van, it was Billy Hargroves stupid Camero. Your stomach dropped at the realization. you'd heard about Billy Hargrove from a multitude of people, some good, some bad. You had heard about his temper, his love for drinking and his constant smoking. Locker room whispers about how he was good in bed, girls giggling over his tight jeans.

The thought made your jaw tighten. You turned back around, refusing to linger, and continued walking.

“Where you going this late?” his voice called from the car.

The Camaro caught up with you, continuing forward, matching your pace.

“Do you need a ride or something? It’s a pretty far walk.” Your pace continued constant.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” his voice turned stern.

You swallowed. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m just heading home.”

He smiled, looking you up and down. “And where’s home?” You bit your lip, refusing to respond.

“Come on, I’m feeling extra generous tonight. I promise I don’t bite.”

He moved the car so that it blocked the road ahead. “Get in, sweetheart. I’m not leaving.”

“I promise, I don’t bite. Now get in.”

Billy didn’t seem his usual self, his tone softer than expected, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You noticed a faint bruise on the side of his face.

“I don’t know you,” you said flatly.

“Well, I don’t know you either, sweetheart. Yet here I am, helping. It’s cold outside, and I know that skirt isn’t doing anything to cover you. Get in. I’m not asking again.”

With that, you climbed into the car. Billy sped off, laughing, your fingernails curling into your palms at the speed. You could feel the crescent moons forming on your palms. Eddie never drove this badly, not when you were in the van with him.

“So, what’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked, cigarette balanced between his lips.

“Nothing,” you muttered.

“You always this uptight and bitchy?” he pressed, smoke exhaling from his lungs.

You noticed him pull into a barely lit gas station, a small panic rising in your chest. “Billy, I don’t-”

“Relax, I just need to buy more cigarettes,” he muttered, stepping out and slightly slamming the car door.

You sighed, sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, the back of your foot aching where your cheer shoes had begun to bruise from the long walk. You stared out the window, jealousy and frustration settling heavy in your chest. Suddenly, every inch of clothing felt unbearable, the socks creasing against your skin, the fabric of your shirt clinging wrong. You hated it all. And you hated Eddie for not picking you up, even though you’d secretly hoped he would.

He wasn't obligated to, but you hoped.

Then, headlights cut through the dim lot. A van pulled into the rundown gas station. Your breath caught as you recognized it instantly, Eddie’s rattling van.

Wild curls spilled out as he climbed from the driver’s side, laughing in his stupid, shameless way. He made his way theatrically to the passenger side, performing an exaggerated bow. From it, Chrissy Cunningham stepped out, a shy smile on her face.

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The universe had to be fucking with you.

--

eddie had seen the way you stred across the court, a small guilt settling into his stomahc. the truth was, eddie loved you, almost violently obssed with you. he would bend at your will wheneber you wanted, no matter how hard he tried to play it off.

His thoughts snapped out of it when Chrissy Cunningham made her wayover. a faint smile grzed his features, but his eyes immediately flicked back to you. he caught the scowl, the clench of your jaw, and sent you a tight lipped smile before leaving.

He was going to hear about it. Not directly, but in the little ways you always let him know, the microaggressions, the sharp snaps, the cold remarks. Maybe you’d tell him you didn’t care, maybe you’d push him away, but he knew how it would end. He’d kiss you, listen until the anger drained, and you’d both fall back.

Eddie knew you hated this arrangement. Both of you were hard headed, but never enough to truly hate each other, never enough to stay apart. It was always the same: too prideful to let your walls down, too intoxicated with each other to let go.

god he knew what awaited him. he hated how you wouldn't leave the hierarchy that despised him, but Eddie wasn't stupid. He understood why you stayed, he knew how your parents would react, how hard you worked to accomplish your dreams, and how every ounce of effort was poured into making something of yourself.

Eddie also knew you hated the way he wasted his potential, his lack of care for himself. Every fight, every snarl, every shove, every pull, it was all part of the vicious cycle. You both promised to let go, but always ended up back together, whether wrapped in each other’s arms or tangled between the sheets.

He knew he was yours. Always yours. No doubt in his mind. But Eddie couldn’t say the same about you. He knew you wanted him, yearned for him, burned for him, but he couldn’t see why. He couldn’t understand why someone like you would choose someone like him.

Eddie knew he loved you. He knew you did everything to keep him safe. Yet in his own way, he loved his self-sabotage. He believed you were too good, too far above him, and that it was only a matter of time before you ended up with someone above his level.

In a way, Eddie thought you were trying to force him into the perfect person you wanted. But deep down, he knew you cared about him, and only pushed him for his benefit, not yours. It wasn’t selfish, it wasn’t about appearances. Still, Eddie sometimes didn’t want to be better. He felt he couldn’t amount to it, couldn’t fit the idea of “better” that you longed for.

Eddie pulled himself out of his head as he walked with Chrissy toward his van, his flamboyant persona slipping back into place.

“So, what shall your poison be today?” he grinned, opening the door and practically jumping into the driver’s seat, his lunchbox sliding from the back.

“We’ve got all these options… or are we seeking our evil grass?”

Chrissy chuckled lightly. “I think I’ll stick to the soft stuff, Eds.”

Eddie sighed dramatically, throwing his head back. “Fine. No adventures of Ms. Cunningham tonight.”

Time slipped away without Eddie noticing. He had driven Chrissy out for a smoke, and she talked about Jason, all about how crappy he was.

“Y/N has been in a bit of a mood lately with all the picking, though,” Chrissy said casually. Eddie’s attention sparked.

“What could have possibly wounded the queen bee?” Eddie asked in his theatrics, taking a drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around his smirk.

“I think it’s a boy… or Jason bugging her. She’s been snapping at the guys a lot, especially over fights or beating on people. I think she might secretly like you.”

She said it so casually that Eddie froze, lips pursed, waiting for her to continue.

“I mean, she gives me hard stares when I do it. I try not to notice, though. Jason got into an argument about how he had to have a short dick and makes up for it by being an ass to people, especially you. She sticks up for you a lot. I don’t think anyone’s noticed but me.”

“I tried talking to her the other day, and she snapped at me.”

“Sounds like her highness herself,” Eddie muttered, masking the flicker of hope with sarcasm.

Chrissy chuckled softly, shaking her head. She liked talking to Eddie; he was a breath of fresh air. He was free.

It became dark before they knew it. Eddie panicked at the realization.

“Shit. What time does your game thing end?”

Chrissy looked down at the delicate watch on her wrist. “It ended maybe half an hour ago.”

Eddie winced, silently cursing himself.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Chrissy, ever sweet, noticed. “Everything okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry... we need to pass by the school really quick, okay?”

Chrissy gave him an odd look but only nodded, smiling faintly. Eddie sped into the school parking lot, seeing everyone gone.

“Shit.”

Chrissy shot him a worried glance, biting her lip softly. Maybe something had gone wrong.

Eddie looked down at the steering wheel and noticed the almost empty line on the gas gauge.

“Shit,” he muttered. He needed to make the most of this, maybe buy you your favourite snack, some chocolate, and head to your house after dropping Chrissy off.

“Our next stop shall be the sacred shop of mystical treats and gas,” he announced theatrically. “If that’s okay?”

Chrissy laughed. “Okay, Eds.”

Chrissy smiled. Eddie had to fix this.

------

Their laughter up to the entrance of the store rang through your ears. God, this was torture. Where the hell was Hargrove?

As Eddie opened the door, he came face to face with Billy. Eddie, ever the performer, stepped aside with a mock bow, his theatrics dripping from every gesture. His eyes, however, followed Billy closely.

Billy tossed his stuff carelessly into the back seat and drove away like a madman. Eddie’s brows furrowed, unease twisting in his gut. For a split second, he thought he saw you in the passenger seat. His stomach tightened, breath catching, but he wasn’t sure.

--

“So, where is this house you were so eager for?” Billy asked, voice sharp.

“I need a break.” You dug through your bag on the floor, pulling out a joint Eddie had given you earlier, for when you felt extra bold and adventurous.

“Hey- not smoking that shit in my car.”

You looked at him. “Then pull over. I’m getting off.”

“Or,” he smirked, “you can wait and share. We’ll hit a little spot, hang out, and you can tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist.”

“No. I think I’m getting off.” The car sped up.

“Billy, I’m serious. This is kidnapping. Stop being an ass and let me out.”

The arguing was useless. He snapped back, and you snapped at him, the tension dangerous. Your eyes caught the road a few blocks from your house, far from any homes, perfect for disappearing.

“Get out.” He killed the engine.

He lit the blunt in your hand, and you took a drag. Billy leaned against his Camaro.

“So, what’s got the royal bitch in a mood?”

“Back off, Hargrove. Not right now, okay?”

“No. I want to know.”

“It’s nothing. Drop it.”

“Come on, it’s the least you could do for the ride."

" I’m sharing my weed," you snapped.

" Just talk, Jesus.”

You sighed, smoke leaving your lungs. Maybe it was the high, maybe desperation, but you told Billy everything. The on-and-off, the sex, the kissing, the “I love yous,” the fights, the pushing, the pulling, all of it.

“Really? Munson?” He took a drag, holding the smoke in his lungs.

“Don’t you shove him and shit? All that petty crap you girls do when you’re trying to be a pain?”

“He talks shit, too, okay? He yells it to the world, calls me names in front of everyone. It’s mutual, Hargrove, not one-sided.”

“So you guys just fuck it out? Is it like foreplay for you?”

You grimaced but couldn’t help laughing.

“No. I actually care about him. Sadly. Like, really care. We always promise it’s the last time, but we go back to each other. Some deranged cycle. He’s with Cunningham right now, though.” Your nose scrunched at the thought.

Billy passed the blunt.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Munson saw you in my car, if that helps.”

You sighed. It didn’t help. You knew Eddie and his antics; you could already feel the fight brewing.

“You better not tell anyone we fuck, Hargrove. I mean it.”

“You’re too caught up in the freak to even let me kiss you. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a cunt. A vicious bitch at that.”

------------

Eddie waited. It had been nearly an hour since he dropped Chrissy off. He parked his van a block down and climbed through your window, snacks and apologies ready. He sat on your bed, looking around the room. He rehearsed his apology anxiety spiking within him.

Worry started gnawing at him. Were you walking? Was it really you with Hargrove? His thoughts spiraled, impatience and agitation creeping in. He hadn’t meant for him and Chrissy to be out long, it was just supposed to be unwinding and a sale.

It had only been a week or two since you both had called it quits again, but you’d already kissed and made out in his van a week ago, fixing things in your own messy way.

Anxiety prickled at his spine. The jabbing roar of an engine cut through the silence. Eddie peeked out the window and froze, you were stepping out of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro.

His jaw locked, tongue running over his teeth, insecurity spiking hard. He saw you flip Billy off as the car sped away, saw the sigh leave your chest as you made your way in, gym bag slung at your side.

The anger, the anxiety, the guilt, the apology, all of it bubbled inside him. He could feel how it would snap, how it would turn ugly if he didn’t get control.

---

The house was dark, your feet ached, everything felt heavy and lighter all at once. Your chest sank, shoulders rounding under exhaustion, the thought of Eddie not showing up pressing harder than the walk itself.

You made your way up the stairs.

Your door was closed, but when you stepped inside, a figure sat waiting. A startled sound almost escaped your chest, until you saw the wild curls.

He was on your bed, the lamp flickering on. Eddie stared at you long and hard.

He took in your appearance, the tired eyes, the bitter look, the faint scent of marijuana clinging to you. His scowl deepened. You sighed when you saw him.

You sat on the bed, pulling off your shoes, blisters forming at the back. Eddie’s eyes softened at the sight, but you refused to break the silence.

“So… Hargrove now?” His voice was bitter, accusatory.

“Don’t start, Eddie. I’m not in the mood.” You peeled off your socks.

“I was over here rehearsing apologies for my screw-up, but there you were with Hargrove.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t leave to be with my dream girl, the princess of Hawkins- did I, Eddie?” You let out a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s rich. Switch it up on me.”

He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face.

“Eddie, you left with Cunningham. You left me stranded knowing my parents weren’t home. You do understand how far my house is from school, right?”

“I didn’t mean for that, okay? I went to get your favorite snacks, spent the whole time thinking of how to make it up to you.”

“Okay, Eddie.” Your eyes felt tired, your heart heavy.

“Okay? That’s it?” His hands moved as he spoke, frustration spilling. He stood, pacing.

“Fine. Did you get in her pants, since you apparently want me to know every detail about you and Cunningham?” you snapped.

“Real rich coming from you. You were with Hargrove.”

“Eddie, I didn’t do it on purpose. If you weren’t so busy snuggling up to Chrissy, maybe I would’ve gotten home to be with you like I planned. But no, no, you insist on shoving things in my face.”

“I’m not sleeping with Chrissy. I don’t even like her that way.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

“Okay? Really, okay again?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m jealous, that I’m hurt, that I just want us to be okay without arguing?”

“What do you want me to say, Eddie? I defend you, I fight for you, and you’re over here taking and taking. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Eddie stared. “I want us to be together. But every time we’re okay, you always find something better in some way. In school, in clubs, in people”

“Eddie, I love you. And if you can’t see that, you’ve got bigger issues.”

“You don’t want to date, don’t switch it up on me.”

“Eddie, I would date you in a heartbeat. You just hate yourself too much to realize when people care about you.”

“Oh, okay. Real rich coming from you, talking about self-hatred. You hang out with people you hate just to make yourself feel better.”

“I’m trying to move forward, Eddie. That’s not fair. Just because you refuse to grow, refuse to do something for yourself that doesn’t involve sabotaging everything, doesn’t mean you should hold me to your standard.” Your voice wavered, tears threatening to drop from your eyes.

it had turned to screaming, voices colliding, accusations flying across the room. Back and fourth, a game both played too well.

It always found its way, the cycle, the chaos, the venom wrapped in love. Because both of you loved each other, that much you knew.

And maybe, just maybe, loving each other wasn’t always enough.

Because love isn’t always enough.

“Eddie…” He kept going on about how he didn’t mean to, how it all blew up for no reason.

“Eddie.” Your voice was quiet.

He sighed, frustrated, but his features softened when he saw the fight leaving your face.

“Can we just not right now? I wanted to spend today with you. I’m not ashamed of you the way you think I am. I don’t want you to change, I just want you to care about yourself. And whether you want Chrissy or me, I can’t decide that for you. But I’m tired, Eddie. I’m sad, and I’m hurt.”

You swallowed as tears fell, your lip quivering, emotions breaking through against your will.

“Please leave. I really can’t right now. I want to shower and sleep. My feet are blistering, and I just want my bed.”

Eddie saw how tired you were, guilt crawling up his gut. His instincts screamed at him to hug you, to comfort you in every way he could. He wished he could cure it all with kisses and stupid words that once made you smile. He wanted to make it better, to see that grin you gave when he said something ridiculous.

Eddie wanted to hold you close, kiss the crown of your head, and promise you’d get through this together, because you always did. He knew you more intimately than he knew himself sometimes, and you knew him better than anyone else. It felt like he was losing you with every passing second.

He realized now what you felt was exhaustion. His jealousy had flared at the worst time. He knew you didn’t want Hargrove, the only reason you were with him was because Eddie wasn't there, not because you wanted to shove it in his face. He realized it wasn't a petty fight.

Eddie’s stomach twisted. He just wanted it to be better. He wanted you to feel better. His own eyes began to water.

“Sweetheart, I’m-” He stepped toward you, but you stepped away, shaking your head as tears fell.

“Go home. Please.” Your voice sounded broken. Eddie knew this wasn’t just about the ride or Chrissy. He knew it was one too many screw-ups, piling up until you couldn’t carry them anymore. He knew you tried. He knew you’d be with him in a heartbeat if only he could see what you saw.

Eddie swallowed, nodding. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll drive by… or call.”

You didn’t answer, only sniffled, standing in the middle of the room. Eddie left, shutting the door behind him.

Walking down the stairs felt heavy. With each step, he realized more, his wrongs, your wrongs. The issue always being that he cared too little, and you cared too much for him.

He was going to fix it. No one could take your place. and the thought of even trying or being with anyone else hurt.

--------------------------------------------------

It had been two months. Graduation loomed just a month away.

You’d seen Eddie around school. He looked tired. Sometimes he waved, sometimes he just stared while talking with his friends. You’d drift your eyes away… or hold his gaze for a few beats longer than usual.

He hadn’t called the next day.

Eddie thought the whole drive home after the fight, replaying it until his head spun. He collapsed into bed without even taking his clothes off. He was left with his thoughts, the image of you with someone else ate at him. He told himself maybe you’d both run your course. And that it was for the better.

But then, he wanted to change his mind. Because it didn’t feel right. He wanted to see you smile, he wanted to see it even if it meant leaving. He decided you deserved happiness, maybe for good this time. You deserved that, and so much more.

You tried to talk to him once, and only once, in that stretch of silence. It was during one of his campaigns, his friends crowded around the table. After practice, you stepped inside the auditorium. Eddie saw you and winced. He stood awkwardly and said maybe you two shouldn’t drag it out any longer, that, despite the wonderful moments, it wasn’t worth hurting you.

And that’s how it ended.

You grew quieter around Jason and his friends. The cheer team no longer felt like comfort or cover. Eddie had been right, you hung around people you hated just to build yourself up.

You occasionally talked to Hargrove. Not friends, not really, but you both understood you could say things to each other. You still thought of him as a shitty person, but knew there was softness buried deep. He thought of you as a stuck‑up bitch with a hard exterior and soft insides.

Chrissy noticed. She was ever so observant. She saw the shift in you during practices, the unhappiness you carried. She saw Eddie, sad and distracted, and it drove her mad, not understanding what was apparently hurting you both so deeply.

One day at lunch, she made her way toward Eddie. Everyone stared. Jason sneered, commenting on what she was doing, going to the freak, had she lost it? He stood, ready to beat Eddie down.

Chrissy snapped. Her voice rang out, sharp and trembling, cutting through the cafeteria noise.

“Jason, stop! You’re being an asshole.”

Everyone stared. Jason froze, stunned that Chrissy Cunningham, quiet, sweet Chrissy, had raised her voice.

She swallowed hard, her shy nature fighting against the fire in her chest.

“He’s smart, he’s kind, and he’s my friend. You don’t get to treat him like garbage just because you think you can.”

The cafeteria went silent. Jason sneered, but Chrissy stood her ground, cheeks flushed, hands trembling.

Eddie looked startled, almost disbelieving, as Chrissy turned toward him. Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed steady.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Everyone stared. She swallowed, her shy nature fighting against the fire in her chest. Eddie looked startled. Chrissy turned to him and asked if they could talk.

You didn’t know what was happening. You only saw them walk out of the cafeteria. The bitter thought settled in your mind, maybe that was why it ended.

You looked back at your food, ignoring the gossip swirling around the table.

“So what’s gotten into you, Eddie?” Chrissy asked, worry lacing her voice.

“What do you mean?” Eddie muttered.

“Everything’s changed. I’ve noticed you staring at Y/N. She’s been all over the place lately. No one notices but me. Well… everyone notices her. She drifts, she snaps at people when she isn’t with Hargrove.”

Eddie felt guilt. He knew he’d been the cause.

“I just… I messed up.”

And then it all came out. Eddie told her about you, how you’d been seeing each other for a year, how it started with late‑night talks, the walks, the kissing, the dates, the hangouts. How he let you into every crevice of his life, and how you let him into yours.

Chrissy listened, quiet but steady.

“You’re passing your classes. You’re graduating this year. You’re getting a job. I can help you.”

Eddie looked at her, confused.

“She wants you to care about yourself the way she cares about you. So do it. Then talk to her. Try to get her back. Because clearly both of you are suffering, and it’s killing you both.”

With that, Eddie decided he would get you back. He just needed to better himself first. That’s what the two months of silence had been for. And that’s what the month leading into graduation would be about.

--------

The camera flashed, the light bothering your eyes, a smile painted on your face. Your mother insisted on more pictures despite the hundreds she had taken already.

“Mom, we still have the rest of the day,” you laughed softly.

“You just grew up so fast. Now stand over there for another picture.”

The day blurred after that. You sat in the field, classmates laughing or crying as the speeches continued. You smiled. Everything felt so bittersweet.

You looked to the stands, saw your mom cheering and waving, a smile tugging at your features. Your eyes moving against the crowd. A few rows down, you spotted Wayne. Your brain halted for a moment.

Your brows furrowed as names were called left and right, until one made your heart leap.

“Edward Munson.”

Your head snapped toward the stands. There he was, Eddie Munson, wild curls tucked under his cap, gown draped awkwardly, grinning in all his glory. Your smile widened despite everything. He looked around the crowd until his eyes found yours. His grin stretched further as he lifted his diploma high.

Wayne’s cheering rang out as Eddie turned, showing it off proudly.

Finally, your name was called. Your pulse picked up as you walked across the stage. You saw your family, your mom, and then the crowd. Billy Hargrove clapped but rolled his eyes teasingly. And then there was Eddie, cheering louder than anyone, the biggest grin on his face. Your heart skipped a beat. This was it, this closed high school forever.

Tear‑eyed goodbyes on the field, families meeting graduates. Your mom stayed behind, giving you time with your friends, if only she knew.

“So, graduate,” Hargrove strolled over.

“Yeah, who knew you’d manage? I thought you were too busy showing off your ass to the school,” you teased.

“One of my many talents,” he rolled his eyes.

He gave you a quick hug. “Congratulations.” His gaze lingered.

“What?” you asked, brows furrowed.

“I think someone wants to congratulate you.” With that, Billy walked away toward a red‑haired girl.

You stood confused. You didn’t think anyone cared enough to come up to you.

“All these tears, as if we don’t live in the same town and have a whole summer ahead,” Eddie’s voice came casually from beside you, though his fingers fiddled with his rings.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, nothing more emotional than not seeing each other in school but running into each other at the mall. Truly heinous way to go.”

You turned to him, smiling. “You made it. I knew you could.” Your eyes glossed, you were proud of him, truly proud. Maybe you had never been so proud of someone before as in this moment.

“I did it,” he said softly, looking down.

“And look at you. You made it too,” he added, eyes flicking to your cap and gown.

“Yeah, I did.” A smile tugged at your lips.

“Listen, I-”

“Y/N! Oh my baby, you finally graduated!” Your mom’s voice cut through, pulling your eyes away from Eddie’s intense stare.

She hugged you tightly, words spilling out. Over her shoulder, you caught Eddie’s smile, proud, tender, watching someone else love you the way he did.

Eddie felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Wayne, pride written all over his face. Wayne pulled him into a hug, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Your mom insisted on a picture of both of you. You stood awkwardly side by side.

“Oh, stop it, you two,” she scolded, signaling for you to hug.

And you did, pulling each other into a side embrace, smiling for the camera as the flash went off.

You turned to him, your stomach twisting at the goodbye.

“I’ll see you around, Eddie,” you said as your mom started toward the car.

---------

The Hawkins summer was already beating you down, and it was barely the first day.

The day after graduation, everything felt bittersweet. You secretly fangirled at the fact that Eddie had spoken to you, proud of his achievement. Whether he made it with or without you, you were still proud.

The afternoon sun settled heavy, your shorts doing little to relieve the heat, when a knock came at the door. You made your way down, confusion lacing your featues.

You opened it, greeted by wild curls, a nervous smile, and Eddie Munson waiting.

He held flowers. A small bouquet clutched in ring‑littered hands.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing.

“Eddie… I didn’t expect you.” Your heart raced in your chest.

“Yeah, yeah. These are for you.” He held the flowers out awkwardly. You furrowed your brows but took them anyway, your fingers brushing his, electricity sparking up your arm, your pulse quickening.

He cleared his throat. “I love you.”

The words tumbled out quickly, unexpected, a spontaneous symphony to your ears.

“What?” Confusion laced your tone.

“I said I love you. I love you so much. I wanted to prove I could be something, that I could care the way you cared. Because I love you. I never want to let go of you. I can’t live without your temper, your sarcasm, the way you roll your eyes at my jokes.” His breath was uneven, every word spilling out raw.

Your face froze. Your rib cage felt on the verge of breaking.

“These past few months have been hell. Every day I thought of you. I’d see you smile, but I wanted it to be for me. If you let me, I won’t screw up anymore. I’ll keep fixing things, keep working toward something. Because I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like this.” His eyes glossed, his confession consuming him.

He stared at you, eyes burning, yearning.

In a swift movement, you pulled him in, face pressed to his chest as you embraced him tight.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I love you so much, Munson.”

Eddie pulled you back just enough to grab your face and kiss you.

The kiss was long, sweet, tender, beautiful. Every emotion, the anger, the love, the ache, all encapsulated in a single kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, until laughter broke you apart.

“We can go to the lake and catch up. As my girlfriend this time.”

“Is nudity the catch?” you teased, the joke reminding you of your last time together.

“No catch. Just you and me.”

The drive was spent in laughter. The flowers were left in a vase, the van rumbling to life.

Eddie laughed as you stripped off your shorts and shirt, racing him into the lake. The cold water splashed against your skin, goosebumps rising in the summer heat.

“Shit, that’s cold!” Eddie complained, chasing after you. He grabbed your waist, turning you toward him.

“I got you, sweetheart. And I’m not letting go this time.” He leaned in for a kiss, only to be met with water as you splashed him.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He flung water back at you, laughter echoing across the lake.

The afternoon was spent in that cycle, splashing, laughing, kissing.

“That was the last time I was ever letting you go,” His eyes softening.

“I love you, Eds,” sincerity lacing your tone.

He kissed you again, water embracing you both, the sun long gone. The worries of the world forgotten.

Because in that moment, it was just you and him.

And no one could take that from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: It's a little bit of everything. I took some inspiration from a few songs to write this, and it really changed the initial plot of what I had in mind, but as always, this is all a lot and new to me sooooooo I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND LOTS OF LOVE.

[spacejjunk]

like fine wine

pairing: older coworker! eddie munson x reader

w/c: 10.7k+

summary: youve always had this...problem when it comes to sex. youve never made it across the finish line like...ever. you intended on keeping this a secret. especially from your older coworker eddie but your best friend had to just open her stupid mouth and now hes on a personal mission to right the wrongs of the universe.

warnings/tags: 2002 au, age gap (15 years), bartender! eddie and reader, pining, smoking, smut (oral f receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, breast worship, multiple positions, praise, big dick! eddie, aftercare)

masterlist // join the taglist

The bar was a goddamn ghost town at three in the afternoon. Half the stools still had yesterday’s coasters stuck to them. The jukebox was stuck on some early 2000s alternative bullshit that no one had the energy to change. You were wiping down the same stretch of sticky counter for the third time when Jess leaned her elbows on it, chin in her hands, eyes gleaming like she’d just gotten away with murder.

“I’m serious,” she said, voice low and conspiratorial even though the only other person in the place was Eddie, restocking the well bottles with his back to you both. “This guy. Last night. I don’t even remember his name. Doesn’t matter. He went down on me like it was a calling. Like he’d been training for it since puberty. I came so hard I thought I was gonna black out. Twice. In like twelve minutes.”

You snorted into the rag. “That’s disgusting. And also… congratulations?”

“Thank you.” Jess preened. “I’m glowing. Look at me. Post-orgasmic radiance.” She tilted her face toward the neon Bud Light sign like it was a mirror. Then her expression softened into something more pointed. “Speaking of which… you still having your little problem with men?”

You froze mid-wipe. “Jess—”

“What problem?”

Eddie’s voice cut across the bar, casual as anything. He didn’t even turn around at first, just kept lining up the Jack and the Jim like he hadn’t been listening the entire time. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow was already arched high under the messy fall of his hair. He always looked unfairly good—black band tee stretched across his shoulders, silver rings flashing every time he moved, that perpetual half-smirk that made it hard to tell if he was about to roast you or flirt with you. Probably both.

Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know. Her problem.” She jerked a thumb in your direction. “She’s never came from a dude before.”

The bottle of whiskey in Eddie’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “Jesus Christ, Jess—”

“What?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You’ve told me like six times. And he’s right there. He’s basically part of the furniture at this point.”

Eddie set the bottle down with deliberate care and turned fully, resting his forearms on the bar. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Never?” he repeated, voice low and amused and way too interested. “Like… ever? Not even the accidental ones? The ‘oops I moved wrong and something happened’ variety?”

Heat crawled up your neck. “Can we not—”

“Nope,” Jess said cheerfully. “We’re airing it out. Self-awareness is in bitch.”

Eddie tilted his head, studying you like you were a particularly fascinating puzzle. The long hair, the rings, the faint scar through his eyebrow—everything about him was unfairly magnetic, and he knew it. He’d always known it. The way his eyes lingered a half-second too long when you reached for the top-shelf bottles. The way yours did the same when he stretched to change the lights over the pool table.

“Huh,” he said eventually. “That’s… tragic. Actually tragic. Like Greek tragedy levels of tragic.”

You glared at him. “It’s not tragic.”

“It is,” he insisted, deadpan. “You’re twenty-one. Peak prime. And you’re walking around out here unsatisfied like it’s some kind of personality trait. That’s criminal. Someone should fix that.”

Jess grinned. “See? He gets it.”

“I get nothing,” you muttered, scrubbing harder at a non-existent spot on the wood. “And for the record, it’s not like guys haven’t tried. They’re just… bad at it. Or distracted. Or weirdly determined to go for the Olympic gold in thrusting while forgetting the rest of the body exists.”

Eddie made a soft, wounded sound. “Ouch. Collectively roasting half the male population. Bold.”

“Deserved,” you shot back.

He leaned in a little, elbows sliding closer across the bar. The metal of his rings clicked against the wood. “So what you’re saying is… every single guy who’s ever had the privilege has been mid at best.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And none of them managed to, y’know—” he made a vague, elegant gesture with one hand, rings flashing, “—get the job done.”

Jess was delighted. “God, this is better than daytime TV.”

You pointed the rag at her. “You started this.”

“And I’m thriving.”

Eddie ignored her completely, eyes still locked on yours. There was something sharp and curious under the teasing now. Something that made your stomach pull tight.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re taking notes for later.”

His grin spread slow and wicked. “Baby, I’ve been taking notes for months. This is just the first time the subject’s come up in conversation.”

Jess actually clapped. “Oh my god.”

You felt your face go hot. “Eddie—”

He straightened up, palms raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Hey. Just saying. If the bar’s this dead every afternoon, maybe we should start a support group. I can lead the hands on portion of the presentation.”

You threw the wet rag at his chest. He caught it one-handed without even flinching, laughing under his breath as the damp fabric slapped against his shirt.

“You’re the worst,” you told him.

“And yet,” he said, tossing the rag back onto the bar between you, “you keep looking.”

Jess made a delighted little noise and stage-whispered, “I live for this shift.”

Eddie just winked at you—slow, deliberate—and turned back to the bottles like he hadn’t just set the entire afternoon on fire.

The next two hours crawled by in that special brand of dead-bar purgatory where every glass you washed felt like a personal insult. A couple of regulars drifted in, ordered cheap beer, and left again. Jess kept shooting you meaningful looks every time Eddie got within ten feet, which was constantly, because the universe had decided you two were stuck on the same side of the bar for the rest of the shift.

He waited until Jess disappeared into the back to change a keg before he started.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and conversational as he dried a pint glass with unnecessary care. “Pop quiz time. You ever come from oral? Like, someone actually knowing what they’re doing down there.”

You nearly dropped the bottle of vodka you were restocking. “Eddie.”

“What? Scientific inquiry. I like to learn.” He tapped his temple with one ringed finger. “Answer the question.”

You glanced toward the empty booths, then back at him. “No. Not really. It’s usually… fine. Then they get bored or their jaw starts hurting and they switch to something else.”

He made a soft, wounded sound like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Christ. The bar is in hell. Next question—missionary. Ever gotten there that way?”

“No.”

“Doggy?”

“Eddie—”

“Answer.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Once I thought I was close. Then he asked if I was okay because I went quiet and the whole thing died.”

Eddie actually stopped drying the glass. He stared at you for a second, then set it down very carefully. “I’m going to need a list of names. Ban them from the bar. They're never allowed in your presence again.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m invested,” he corrected, leaning a hip against the counter. The afternoon light caught on the silver at his knuckles. “Okay, reverse cowgirl. Ever tried that one?”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re just listing positions now.”

“It’s a thorough survey. I’m a thorough guy.” His mouth curved. “What about when you’re on top and you actually get to control the angle?”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “Still no.”

“Against a wall?”

“No.”

“Bent over something?”

“Eddie, oh my god.”

He held up both hands, rings flashing, but he was grinning like a man who’d just found a new favorite hobby. “Okay, okay. Solo work. You can get yourself there, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. That’s… the only reliable method, honestly.”

Something shifted in his expression—still playful, still teasing, but there was a new sharpness underneath it. Like he’d just filed that particular answer into a mental drawer labeled Important.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “So the equipment works. The operators just suck.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He reached past you for a clean stack of coasters, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and stale tobacco. His voice dropped even lower. “How do you do it, then? Fingers? Toys? Pillow humping like a teenager?”

You shoved a coaster into his chest. “I’m not answering that.”

“Coward.”

“Voyeur.”

“Guilty.” He caught the coaster before it fell and spun it between his fingers. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll just have to hypothesize.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same intense focus he’d given the whiskey bottles earlier. “I’m guessing fingers. Two, maybe three. Slow at first, then faster when you get close. You go quiet. Bite your lip. That soft little sound you make when you’re frustrated with the register? Probably the same one.”

Your face went hot enough to fry an egg. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m observant.” He flicked the coaster onto the bar with a soft clack. “And currently constructing a very detailed theory about what it would take to fix this tragic situation.”

You turned away to grab a new bottle of well tequila, mostly so he wouldn’t see the way your mouth wanted to smile. “You’re plotting.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re thirty-six. Shouldn’t you be plotting, I don’t know, retirement or something?”

Eddie barked a laugh. “Baby, I’m in my prime. And right now my prime is extremely focused on the fact that you’ve never been properly ruined by another person and that is a personal offense to me as a man who takes pride in his work.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Your work.”

“I’m a multi-talented individual.” He winked, slow and filthy. “Bartending is just the day job.”

Jess chose that exact moment to reappear from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at the two of you—Eddie’s smug expression, your flushed face—and grinned like Christmas had come early.

“Oh, this is gonna be a great closing shift,” she announced.

Eddie just hummed, turning back to the glasses with the air of a man who had all the time in the world and a very specific plan forming behind those dark eyes.

The night stretched on like it had a personal grudge.

By eight the place finally woke up—college kids with fake IDs, regulars who lived three stools down from alcoholism, a table of guys who kept trying to get Jess’s number and failing spectacularly. You and Eddie moved around each other like you’d been doing it for years, hips brushing when the space got tight, fingers grazing when you both reached for the same bottle. Every time it happened he shot you a look that said noted, and every time you pretended not to notice.

He waited until you were both stuck behind the bar during a rush to lean in close, voice low under the music.

“So when you’re alone,” he said, pouring three shots of Jameson without looking, “how long does it usually take?”

You nearly over-poured the vodka in your hand. “I’m not answering that while I’m making someone a vodka soda.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Eddie.”

He slid the shots down the bar with a practiced flick of his wrist and turned just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “I’m building a timeline. Important data. Is it a ten-minute situation or a ‘I’ve got the apartment to myself for an hour’ situation?”

You shouldered him back an inch. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you’re still answering.”

“I’m not.”

“You will.”

By eleven the crowd thinned enough that Jess could handle the floor alone. That left the two of you restocking the back bar, bodies close in the narrow space between the ice well and the speed rack. Eddie handed you bottles one by one, rings clicking against glass, and every time your fingers touched he held on a second longer than necessary.

“Okay, new category,” he said, passing you the triple sec. “Toys. Yes or no.”

You set the bottle down harder than you meant to. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s a none of your business.”

He grinned, slow and sharp. “So yes. What kind? The little bullet ones that die after six months or the fancy ones with remote controls that costs like two weeks pay?”

You stared at him. “How do you even know about those?”

“I have lived a full and varied life, sweetheart.” He leaned past you to grab a fresh stack of napkins, chest brushing your shoulder. “Also I have internet access. Shocking, I know.”

“You’re still this much of a menace. That’s actually impressive.”

“Thank you. I try.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You go quiet when you’re close, don’t you? Even by yourself. I’ve seen the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating on the register. Same energy.”

Your face went hot again. “Stop studying me like I’m a lab rat.”

“Can’t. You’re the most interesting thing in this entire shitty bar.”

Midnight came and went. The last wave of drunks stumbled out around one-thirty. Jess clocked out early with a pointed “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and a look that promised interrogation tomorrow. That left just the two of you closing—chairs up, floors mopped, registers counted in the weirdly intimate quiet of a bar after hours.

Eddie wiped down the last section of the counter while you counted the till. He waited until you were halfway through the twenties before he spoke again.

“Last question of the night. Promise.”

You didn’t look up. “You’re a liar.”

“Probably. But still.” He tossed the rag into the bin and came to lean against the register, arms crossed, watching you. “If someone actually knew what they were doing—knew exactly how to get you there and refused to stop until it happened—do you think you could?”

You paused with a stack of bills in your hand. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the back the ice machine kicked on with a loud clatter.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Maybe.”

Eddie’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous all at once. “Good answer.”

You finished the count in silence after that, the weight of his attention sitting warm against the side of your face. When the drawer finally balanced you locked it and straightened, rolling your shoulders. Your feet ached. Your lower back ached. It had been a long-ass day in every possible way.

Eddie was already shrugging into his leather jacket, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the cool 2 a.m. air.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like he hadn’t spent the last nine hours conducting a very public interrogation about your sex life.

You locked the door behind you and turned to face him under the streetlight. “You’re not done with the questions, are you?”

He smiled—slow, crooked, full of intent. “Not even close.”

The next day Eddie walked in looking like he’d made an actual effort, and it threw you off so hard you nearly dropped the stack of clean glasses you were carrying.

He’d clearly showered. The usual faint haze of cigarette smoke and bar soap that clung to him was gone, replaced by something warmer, cleaner—like cedar and maybe sage? underneath. His hair was still long and messy, but it looked deliberate this time, pushed back from his face like he’d actually run a comb through it. Black jeans, a soft worn black shirt that fit a little too well across the shoulders, and those same silver rings. He looked… intentional.

Jess noticed first. She mouthed what the fuck at you from across the bar the second his back was turned.

You just shook your head and tried not to stare.

He didn’t launch into the interrogation the second the shift started. That was the weirdest part. No pop quiz. No filthy little comments under his breath every time you bent down for a bottle. He just… worked. Smooth, quiet, efficient. When the bar got busy he moved around you like he’d memorized the shape of your body in the space, hand settling briefly at the small of your back when he needed to slip past, voice low and easy when he called out drink orders.

It should have been a relief.

It felt like standing too close to an open flame.

You floated through the night in a strange, charged quiet. Every time your eyes met across the bar something tight pulled low in your stomach. He caught you looking more than once and just smiled—small, private, like the two of you were sharing a secret no one else was in on.

Closing came faster than it should have.

Jess clocked out with a pointed look and a whispered “text me if you die” that made you want to throw a lime at her head. Then it was just the two of you again, stacking chairs in the low light, the jukebox finally silent.

Eddie wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over.

“You wanna come smoke?”

The question was casual. The way he said it wasn’t.

You usually said yes. Half the time after closing the two of you ended up on the back steps sharing a joint and talking shit about customers until the sky started getting light. Tonight the air between you felt thicker. Like the question meant something else entirely.

You still said, “Yeah. Okay.”

He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer, and grabbed his jacket.

You followed him out to the employee lot after locking up. His van was the same beat-up black thing it had always been, but even that felt different under the streetlights. He unlocked the passenger side for you without a word, then climbed in himself. The engine rumbled to life. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was loaded.

Eddie’s place was a small rented home ten minutes from the bar, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better decades. He parked in the cracked driveway and killed the engine. For a second he just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at the dark porch like he was deciding something.

Then he looked over at you.

“You good?”

You nodded. Your pulse was doing something stupid in your throat. “Yeah.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “Cool. C’mon.”

You followed him up the steps. The porch light was out. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could walk in first. The living room smelled like him—leather, weed, stale cigarettes. A couple of amps in the corner. Records stacked in uneven piles. A couch that had definitely seen better days.

Eddie tossed his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his jacket. The clean scent of whatever he’d put on earlier drifted toward you again.

He glanced over his shoulder, that same small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You wanna sit outside or in here?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been.

You met his eyes.

You nodded toward the dark backyard. “Outside.”

Eddie grinned like you’d given him the exact answer he wanted and jerked his head for you to follow. The backyard was small and overgrown, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs near the fence and a milk crate that clearly doubled as a table. He dropped into one of the chairs with a satisfied groan and pulled a little tin from his pocket.

“Got some really good shit tonight,” he said, already breaking up a dense little nug between his fingers. “Friend of a friend. Sticky. Smells like a forest fucked a skunk and they both loved it.”

You snorted and took the other chair. “Poetic.”

“I try.” He packed the bowl with practiced ease, silver rings flashing under the porch light that barely reached this far. When he lit it the first hit made him cough once, sharp, then he laughed and held it out to you. “Careful. This one sneaks up.”

You took it. The smoke was thick and sweet and immediately made your head feel softer around the edges. You passed it back and watched him take another hit, the way his throat moved when he held it in.

A few quiet exhales later you tipped your head, studying him.

“What’s up with the get-up today, by the way?”

Eddie blinked, all faux innocence. “What get-up?”

“Don’t play dumb. You smelled different. Looked different. Like you actually owned a bottle of real cologne instead of just rolling in whatever was on the floor of the van.”

He waved a hand, smoke curling around his fingers. “I showered. Revolutionary concept, I know. Sometimes the hair gets washed. Sometimes the shirt isn’t the same one I wore three days in a row. It’s called being a functional adult.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious. Zero effort. Pure coincidence.”

You took another hit and exhaled slowly, watching him over the rim of the bowl. “Well… I liked it.”

The change was instant. His whole posture shifted—shoulders loosening, that slow, pleased grin spreading across his face like you’d just handed him a trophy. He sat up a little straighter, eyes bright even in the dark.

“Yeah?” he said, voice warmer. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You walked in smelling like you had somewhere better to be.”

Eddie laughed under his breath, low and a little giddy, and ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t help himself. “Shit. Okay. Noted. I’ll keep that in the rotation then.”

You passed the bowl back, lips curving. “I like normal you too, though. The regular version. The one who smells like your van and talks too much and leaves guitar picks in the tip jar.”

He went quiet for a second, turning the bowl between his fingers. When he looked at you again the playfulness was still there, but something heavier sat underneath it.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rougher now. “I just wanted you to notice the effort. Because if I ever get my hands on you…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to know there’s gonna be full effort there too. No half-assing it. No getting bored halfway through. I’m talking dedicated. Thorough. The kind of focus that makes you forget your own name for a little while.”

The air between you went tight.

You raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and let a small, challenging smile pull at your mouth.

“That a promise or just talk?”

Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving—and shook his head like you’d just dared him to jump off a roof.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice full of dark delight. “You’re gonna regret asking me that.”

Eddie set the bowl down on the milk crate with a soft clink, still grinning like you’d just handed him the best idea he’d ever heard. Before you could even process the shift in his expression he was out of the chair and in front of you, hands already sliding under your thighs.

“Wait—Eddie—”

Too late. He hauled you up in one smooth, practiced motion and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world tilted. Your hands flew to his back for balance as he started walking toward the house, one arm locked firm around the backs of your legs.

“Eddie, put me down—” you laughed, smacking the solid muscle of his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole, oh my god—”

“Mm. Keep talking. It’s cute.” His free hand settled on the back of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively as he carried you up the porch steps and through the open door. “Been thinking about doing this since you told me no one’s ever gotten you there properly. Figured I’d start with the logistics.”

You twisted, trying to push yourself up enough to see where you were going, still laughing. “Logistics? You’re manhandling me—”

The sharp, open-handed smack landed right across your ass.

The sound cracked through the quiet house.

You went completely still.

The laughter died in your throat. Heat flooded low and fast, a sudden, traitorous pulse between your legs that made your breath catch. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. You didn’t make a sound.

Eddie stopped walking.

You felt the way his whole body went alert underneath you—the slight pause, the way his hand stayed right where it had landed, palm warm against the sting he’d just left.

“…Oh,” he said, voice dropping into something darker and deeply pleased. “There it is.”

He adjusted his grip and kept walking, slower now, like he was savoring every step. You could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.

“You went quiet real fast, sweetheart. That little problem of yours just get a whole lot more interesting?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your face was burning and the ache between your legs had gone from nothing to urgent in the span of one single slap.

Eddie carried you down the short hallway and into a bedroom that smelled like the real him. He bent and deposited you onto the mattress with surprising care, letting you slide down his body until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him.

He stayed close. Close enough that you had to tip your head back. One of his hands was still resting on your waist like he hadn’t fully decided to let go yet.

His eyes were darker than they’d been outside. The playful edge was still there, but it was sharper now. Focused.

“Yeah,” he murmured, thumb stroking once over your hip. “I saw that. Felt it too. You clenched up the second my hand landed.” He tilted his head, studying your face with open, hungry curiosity. “Interesting reaction for someone who’s never come with another person. Almost like your body already knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.”

He leaned in just enough that his next words brushed warm against your mouth.

“We’re gonna fix that.”

Eddie stayed right there between your knees, looking down at you like he’d already decided how the rest of the night was going to go. His hand was still warm on your waist, thumb tracing idle little arcs against the fabric of your shirt.

“Alright,” he said, voice light but serious underneath. “Before I do anything irreversible—you got a safeword?”

You blinked up at him, then huffed a soft laugh. “Jesus. You’re old. I’ve never needed one.”

His mouth twitched. “Charming. Really making me feel great about the age gap right now.”

“I’m just saying. Never came up.”

“Well it’s coming up now.” He reached past you, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it further up the bed like he was already planning ahead. “Pineapple. That’s the word. You say pineapple, everything stops. No questions, no attitude, I back off immediately. Clear?”

You stared at him for a second, then broke into a genuine laugh. “Pineapple? That’s the best you could do?”

“It’s memorable. And you’re not gonna forget it when you’re—”

You didn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he closed them in a firm, controlled fist. The pull wasn’t rough—just deliberate enough to tip your head back so you had no choice but to look straight at him. The sudden shift in control sent another low pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Eddie’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. His voice came out quieter. Rougher.

“How do you like it?”

The question sat heavy between you. You swallowed. Your scalp tingled where he held you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. Honest. A little breathless. “No one’s ever… asked. Or stuck around long enough to figure it out.”

Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. He leaned in closer, the grip in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Then you’re getting the whole experience,” he murmured. “Every version. Hard. Slow. Filthy. Whatever makes that pretty little problem of yours finally give up.”

He closed the last inch and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was deep and immediate, mouth open, the kind of kiss that felt like a claim. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting you further into it while the one in your hair stayed locked, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. You made a small sound against his lips and he answered it with a low hum, pressing closer until your knees had to part wider around his hips.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice was wrecked already.

“Yeah,” he said against your mouth. “We’re gonna take our time with this.”

Eddie kissed you down into the mattress like he’d been holding himself back and finally ran out of reasons to. The weight of him settled over you. His mouth never left yours for long, only breaking long enough for both of you to drag in air before he was back, deeper, hungrier.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt at the same time his found yours.

Fabric got shoved up between frantic kisses. You both laughed once against each other’s mouths when your arms got tangled, then the shirts were gone—his tossed somewhere toward the floor, yours pulled carefully over your head so he didn’t catch it on your hair. The second your bare skin met the cooler air of the room, Eddie went still.

His eyes dropped.

The tattoos you’d kept hidden under work shirts and bar aprons sat dark against your skin—delicate lines and soft shading that only showed when the fabric came off. He stared like he’d just been handed something private and important.

“Fuck,” he breathed. One hand hovered, then settled lightly over the ink on your ribs, thumb tracing the edge of a design. “You’ve been walking around with these under those little black tanks this whole time and never said a word?”

You felt heat climb your throat. “Didn’t come up.”

“It’s coming up now.” His voice had gone lower, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, then another a little higher. The metal of his rings was cool against your side as his hand slid up.

He paused there, mouth still brushing your skin, and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Can I take this off?” His fingers rested at the back clasp of your bra, waiting. Not moving until you answered.

You nodded.

Eddie kissed the same spot on your chest once more—soft, almost grateful—before he reached behind you. The clasp gave easily under his fingers, like he’d done it a hundred times and still treated it like it mattered. He drew the straps down your arms slowly, letting the fabric fall away, and sat back just enough to look.

The way his expression changed was quiet and thorough. No teasing. No smirk. Just open, focused appreciation as his gaze moved over you.

“Look at you,” he murmured. One hand came up to cup the side of your breast, thumb stroking once beneath it like he was learning the shape. “Hiding all this under work clothes every night. Perfect fucking girl. Trying so hard not to let anyone see.”

He leaned back down and pressed a slower kiss to the soft curve of one breast, then the other, voice still gentle against your skin.

“Gonna take my time looking at every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

He stayed right there, mouth and hands devoted to your breasts like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Soft, open kisses trailed across the full curves, lingering under the weight of them where the skin was most sensitive. His tongue flicked once over a nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked—gentle at first, then deeper when your back arched. The whole time he talked, voice low and warm against your skin.

“So responsive,” he murmured, switching to the other side. “Look at the way you push up into my mouth. You’ve been starving for someone to just… stay here and worship these for a while.” Another slow suck, a quiet hum of approval when you made a soft sound. “Perfect tits. So fucking perfect.”

You were soaked.

You could feel it—heat and slickness gathering between your legs until your underwear clung uncomfortably. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten this wet before. Not from kissing. Not from anything. Every drag of his tongue, every quiet, filthy-sweet word made the ache worse.

Eddie kissed lower, across the soft skin just beneath your breasts, then lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed careful.

“Can I take these off?” His fingers rested at the button of your jeans, waiting.

You nodded.

He popped the button and drew the zipper down slowly. You lifted your hips so he could work the denim down your legs and toss it aside. The second the cool air hit you, his gaze dropped—and locked onto the dark, obvious wet patch soaking through the center of your underwear.

His whole body went still.

You watched the thick outline of his cock twitch hard against the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric like it was trying to get to you on its own.

Eddie exhaled a rough, almost pained sound. “Jesus Christ.”

You swallowed, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Fair is fair. Take yours off too.”

He didn’t argue. He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down and kick them away, leaving him in dark boxer briefs that did almost nothing to hide him. The outline was obscene—long, thick, heavy against his thigh, the head clearly defined where it pressed against the cotton. Even confined like that he looked massive.

Your mouth went a little dry.

“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

Eddie glanced down at himself, then back at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth even as his voice stayed soft.

“Yeah,” he said, climbing back over you. “We’re gonna take this real slow, sweetheart. I’m gonna need you nice and open for me.” His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the edge of your soaked underwear. “But first I’m gonna make sure this pretty little problem of yours never stands a chance.”

Eddie kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to pour every filthy intention he had into your mouth. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled up against him, seeking friction, grinding the soaked center of your underwear against the hard line of his cock. The second you did it he groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hold you there for a second longer.

Then he pulled back.

“Greedy,” he murmured against your lips, almost fond. “Alright. I hear you.”

He started kissing down.

Your chest first—lingering again on the soft undersides of your breasts, tongue tracing the curves he’d already learned—then lower, across the plane of your stomach. Every open-mouthed press of his lips made your muscles jump. He nuzzled the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and exhaled like the scent of how wet you were was doing something to him.

You lifted your hips without being asked. Together you worked the soaked fabric down your legs until it was gone. The second you were bare, Eddie went quiet.

He sat back on his heels between your thighs and just looked.

His hands settled on the insides of your knees and slowly pushed them wider, eyes locked on the slick, flushed mess of your cunt. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing—glistening along your folds, dripping down toward the sheets. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, voice low and rough with sincerity. “Look at you. All pretty and shiny and soaked just from me playing with your tits. You’re beautiful like this.” His thumbs stroked higher along your inner thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Promise.”

Then he dove in.

No teasing. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through your center in one long, filthy stripe, collecting everything you’d made for him. The sound he made was almost pained—hungry and relieved all at once—before he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.

Your whole body arched.

Eddie hummed against you like the taste of you was exactly what he’d been after all night, and settled in like he planned to stay there for a very long time.

He started slow—long, flat strokes of his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way up to your clit, gathering every bit of slick that had already collected there. The sound was wet and filthy every time he dragged through you. He hummed low in his chest like the taste of you was something he wanted to memorize.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your folds, voice already rough. “So wet for me already. Been dripping since I smacked that pretty ass, haven’t you?”

His hands stayed firm on your inner thighs, holding you open exactly how he wanted. When he focused on your clit he did it with devastating patience—soft, circling licks that barely gave you pressure, then firmer ones that made your hips twitch. Every time your thighs tried to close he just pressed them wider and kept going.

You were already shaking.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. He lifted his mouth just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark and focused.

“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re allowed to get loud, sweetheart. Nobody’s here but me.” He dipped back down and sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder when your back arched. “Good girl. So sensitive. I can feel you throbbing on my tongue.”

He worked you in waves. Soft and teasing until you were rolling your hips up against his mouth, then deeper—tongue pushing inside you in slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against your clit. The wet sounds filled the room. Your hands found his hair and twisted, not sure if you were trying to pull him closer or survive it.

Eddie groaned like he loved the sting.

“There you go,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Use me. Grind on my face if you need to. I’ve got you.” He sealed his mouth back over your clit and sucked in a steady, relentless rhythm while two fingers finally slid inside you—curving, searching, pressing up into that spot that made your vision blur. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me already. So tight. So needy. Gonna make this little cunt come so hard for me.”

He didn’t rush the build.

Every time you got close he eased off just enough to keep you hovering—switching to broad, messy licks, kissing the insides of your thighs, murmuring soft filthy things against your skin about how pretty you looked spread open and dripping for him. Then he’d return to your clit with single-minded focus, fingers working you open, tongue relentless.

Your stomach started tightening. The pleasure turned sharp and overwhelming. You could hear how wet you were—slick sounds every time his fingers moved, every time his mouth sealed over you again.

“Eddie—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said immediately, voice low and certain. He doubled down, sucking harder, fingers curling in steady, perfect strokes. “You’re right there. I can feel it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The orgasm hit like a wave you couldn’t stop.

Your whole body locked. A broken, high sound tore out of you as the pleasure crashed through—your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers, slick gushing out of you in warm, uncontrollable pulses that coated his mouth and chin and dripped down onto the sheets. Eddie moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept going through it, licking you through every spurt, every tremor, drinking you down like he was starving for it.

He only slowed when your thighs started shaking too hard to stay open.

Even then he didn’t pull away completely. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your oversensitive clit, your folds, the dripping mess he’d made of you, voice wrecked and reverent.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your cunt. “Look at that. Fucking beautiful. You came so hard you made a mess of me.” He licked a slow stripe through the wetness still dripping from you and groaned.

Eddie sat up just long enough to shove his boxer briefs down and kick them off the bed. His cock sprang free—a heavy thump against his stomach. After everything he’d just done to you, he looked almost painfully hard.

He crawled back over you and kissed you deep.

You tasted yourself on his mouth immediately—sharp and sweet and filthy. The knowledge that he’d just had his face buried between your legs made your stomach flip all over again. He licked into your mouth like he wanted you to taste how hard you’d come for him, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking slowly along your side.

When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Careful.

“Still sure you want this?” His eyes searched yours. “I already made you come. We can stop here if you need to. No pressure.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss—harder this time, open-mouthed and certain. Your other hand slid down between your bodies and wrapped around the thick length of him. He was so hot against your palm, so heavy, the skin soft over the rigid hardness underneath. Eddie groaned into your mouth like the simple touch of your hand almost undid him.

“Okay,” he rasped against your lips. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

He reached down and wrapped his own hand around his cock, guiding the broad head through the soaked mess of your cunt. The first drag of him against your oversensitive clit made your hips jerk. He did it again—slower—slicking himself up with everything you’d already given him, the fat head catching against your entrance every time he passed over it.

You were so wet the sound was obscene.

Eddie braced himself on one forearm and looked down between your bodies, watching the way the blunt head of his cock pressed against you. His breathing had gone uneven.

“Gonna go slow,” he promised, voice strained. “You’re tight as hell and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He pushed.

The stretch was immediate and intense—thick pressure that forced you open around him inch by careful inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way your body had to give to take him. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, a low, punched-out groan spilling out of him as the head finally slipped inside.

“Fuck—look at that,” he breathed, hips trembling with the effort of holding still. “Taking me so well already. You’re soaking my cock baby girl.”

He gave you another inch. Then another. The burn of the stretch mixed with the leftover sensitivity from your orgasm until your thighs were shaking around his hips. You could feel how deep he was already getting, the heavy weight of him filling you in a way nothing else ever had.

Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet even as his voice went filthy.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in, sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty cunt up until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

“Move,” you whispered.

Eddie exhaled like he’d been waiting for permission. He drew his hips back slowly—just an inch or two—then pushed back in just as carefully. The thick slide of him forced another soft sound out of your throat. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every subtle pulse of his cock as he sank deeper. The way your walls had to stretch and flutter around the heavy girth of him just to take it.

He kept the pace almost gentle.

Long, controlled strokes that let you feel the full drag of him pulling out and the slow, relentless push back in until he bottomed out against you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours. His voice never stopped.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “Feel how full you are. Taking all of me like you were made for it. S' tight. S' perfect around my cock.” Another slow thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Letting me open you up.”

The sweetness of it almost undid you more than the stretch.

Every praise landed low in your stomach. Every careful roll of his hips sent sparks up your spine. You could feel how wet you still were—slick sounds filling the quiet room every time he sank back in. But the longer he stayed that measured and deep, the more something restless started building under your skin.

You needed more.

Deeper. Harder. Something that matched the ache he’d already put in you.

Eddie must have felt the way your hips started chasing him, because he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed soft.

“I know,” he said. “I can feel you getting greedy again sweetheart.”

He sat back on his knees, still buried inside you, and hooked his hands behind your knees. In one smooth motion he pushed your legs up and open, folding you nearly in half until your thighs pressed against your own chest. The new angle made him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust. You gasped—sharp and high—as the thick head of him pressed against something that made your vision spark.

Eddie groaned low in his throat and held the position, hips rolling in the same unhurried rhythm, only now every stroke dragged against that deeper, more intense place inside you.

“There we go,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what you needed, huh? Deeper?” He thrust in again—slow, deliberate, grinding against the end of you. “All folded up and still sucking me in. Perfect girl. Just keep breathing for me. I’ve got you.”

He never sped up.

He just kept fucking you deep and steady, sweet words spilling out of him the entire time, like he had no intention of stopping until he’d ruined you completely.

Your voice broke on a high, frustrated sound.

“Eddie—please—harder. I need it harder, I can’t—”

He didn’t make you beg twice.

The second the plea left your mouth his whole demeanor shifted. The careful restraint he’d been holding onto snapped. His grip on the backs of your thighs tightened and he started fucking you properly—long, powerful strokes that drove him deep enough to punch the air out of your lungs every time his hips met yours. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. Your body jolted up the mattress with every thrust until he dragged you back down by the hips and kept going.

“Anything,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Anything you want. You need it harder? It’s yours. Need me deeper? Take it.” He snapped his hips in harder, the thick length of him dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your eyes rolled. “Fuck—listen to you. Whining for my cock like you were made for it. I’ve got you. Gonna give you everything.”

The intensity crashed over you too fast to stop.

Your second orgasm hit with almost no warning—sharp and overwhelming, your cunt clamping down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, thighs shaking violently in his grip while you came on his cock alone. The wet rush of it made every thrust louder, messier. Eddie groaned like he could feel every flutter and kept fucking you through it, never slowing, praising you the whole time in a broken stream of words.

“That’s it—come on my cock, just like that. Fucking beautiful. You’re soaking me. Squeezing me so tight I can barely move. Good girl. Perfect fucking girl.”

He only eased up when the aftershocks left you trembling and oversensitive.

You could still feel how hard he was inside you—thick and throbbing, nowhere near finished. The realization made something determined spark low in your stomach. You reached up and pushed weakly at his chest.

“Want to ride you,” you managed, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me.”

Eddie went still. His eyes searched your face, dark and concerned even as his cock twitched deep inside you.

“You sure?” he asked, already breathing hard. “You just came twice. You’re shaking. We can slow down—”

“I’m sure.” You held his gaze, stubborn and flushed and still pulsing around him. “I want to. Let me.”

Something hungry and soft moved through his expression all at once. He carefully pulled out of you—both of you hissing at the sudden emptiness—then rolled onto his back in one smooth motion. His cock lay heavy and glistening against his stomach— pulsing.

He looked up at you, hands already settling on your waist as you straddled him.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with restraint. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”

You braced one hand on his chest and reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the thick base of him. He was still soaked from you—slick and hot against your palm. You lined him up and sank down slowly.

The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Even after everything, taking him from this angle felt deeper, heavier. You had to work yourself down inch by inch, thighs trembling, until you were finally seated flush against him with his cock buried to the hilt. Your head dropped forward. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles like he was grounding you.

You swallowed, voice already shaky.

“What do you like?”

His eyes were almost black looking up at you. A breathless little laugh left him.

“Anything that makes this pretty cunt of yours cream all over me,” he said, rough and honest. “You want to grind slow and deep until you’re shaking? I’ll lie here and take every second of it. You want to bounce on my cock like a desperate little slut until your legs give out? I’ll hold you up and thank you for the privilege. Use me. Ruin yourself on me. I’m yours.”

So you did.

You started rolling your hips—slow at first, grinding him deep so every movement dragged against that spot inside you that made your stomach tighten. The wet sound of it was filthy. Eddie groaned under you, head tipping back against the pillow, hands sliding up to cup your breasts as you moved. You found a rhythm and stuck to it, lifting up until only the thick head remained inside you before sinking back down and taking every inch again.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice strained and filthy. “Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. I can feel you fluttering every time you bottom out. So wet you’re dripping down my balls. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how badly you needed to get filled.”

Your thighs started burning sooner than you wanted. The deeper angle made every bounce more intense, the stretch relentless, pleasure building sharp and overwhelming all over again. You kept going anyway—determined—until your legs began to shake so hard you could barely lift yourself. A frustrated little sound slipped out of you.

Eddie felt it immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped.

His hands locked hard around your waist. In the next breath he planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that drove his cock deep enough to punch broken moans out of your mouth every time. The new rhythm was relentless. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he slammed up into your soaked cunt, using his grip on your hips to pull you down to meet every stroke.

“That’s it—take every fucking inch,” he snarled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Sit on my cock and let me ruin you. This greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep I can feel it in my spine. Dripping down my stomach like a slut who finally got what she needed.” He thrust up harder, the force of it making your tits bounce. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. This is what was missing every time some useless asshole couldn’t make you come. A real cock. A man who knows how to use it.”

Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried against his neck, while he kept pounding up into you without mercy—praise and filthy encouragement spilling out of him in a continuous, wrecked stream.

“Come on. Squeeze me. Cream all over this cock while I fuck you stupid. You’re taking me so well I can barely think. Perfect fucking girl. My perfect fucking girl. Gonna keep this up until you forget how to walk straight.”

Eddie kept fucking up into you in hard, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your body jolted with every thrust. He was so deep it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside.

His voice came out rough against your ear.

“Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit while I fuck you. I want to feel you gush on my cock again.”

Your hand slid down between your bodies without hesitation. The second your fingers found your clit—swollen and oversensitive—you cried out. The dual sensation was almost too much: the thick, brutal drag of his cock splitting you open on every upward thrust and the tight circles you rubbed over your clit. Slick coated your fingers immediately. You were so wet it was obscene.

Eddie groaned like he could feel the way your cunt fluttered harder around him the second you started touching yourself.

“That’s it. Good girl. Rub that clit for me. Make a mess. I want to feel you soak my cock.” He snapped his hips up harder, the force of it punching broken, high sounds out of your throat. “Fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. This greedy little cunt doesn’t want to let me go. Come on. Give it to me. Third time’s the charm, sweetheart. Ruin yourself.”

The orgasm tore through you violently.

Your whole body locked up. A broken sob left your mouth as you came hard—cunt clamping down in strong, rhythmic pulses while a fresh gush of wetness flooded out of you around his cock. It was messy, uncontrollable, soaking his stomach, his hips, the sheets beneath you in a warm rush that just kept coming with every thrust he forced through it. The wet sounds turned filthy and loud. You shook apart on top of him, fingers still moving weakly over your clit as the pleasure dragged on and on.

Eddie cursed low and filthy, fucking you through every spurt until your thighs were trembling too hard to stay upright.

He didn’t stop moving, but his rhythm turned slightly more erratic—hips stuttering as he chased his own edge. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.

“Where do you want it?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me. Mouth, tits, stomach—where?”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, still pulsing around him, still dripping.

“Inside me.”

Something raw and hungry flashed across his face.

“Fuck—okay. Anything you want.”

He pulled you down flush against him and buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he finally let go. A long, guttural groan tore out of his chest as he came—hot, thick pulses flooding your cunt in heavy spurts. You could feel every throb, every rope of it painting you deep inside. He kept you locked there, hips pressed tight, cock twitching as he emptied everything he had into you with broken, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“Take it—take every drop. Filling this perfect cunt up. Made for this. Made to take my cum.” His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “Fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”

He stayed buried deep as the last aftershocks faded, still pulsing weakly inside you, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

You collapsed onto his chest like every bone in your body had given up at once.

Eddie stayed inside you for a few more long seconds, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head. His heartbeat hammered under your ear. When he finally moved, he did it carefully—rolling you both onto your sides, then easing out of you with a soft, wet sound that made you flinch. You felt the immediate rush of his cum starting to leak out of you and made a small, incoherent noise against the pillow.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and slipped out of bed. You heard the soft sounds of him moving around the dark room—drawer opening, water running in the bathroom—before he came back with a warm washcloth. The mattress dipped as he climbed back in.

Eddie was gentle about it. He wiped between your legs with slow, careful strokes, cleaning up the mess the two of you had made without any teasing. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and stretched out beside you, pulling you in until your head was on his chest and one of his arms was locked securely around your waist.

You were barely able to form words. Your body felt heavy and loose and thoroughly used. Every muscle hummed with leftover sparks. You managed a soft, exhausted sound against his skin and that was about it.

Eddie let the quiet sit for a while, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. Then, eventually, the familiar edge of amusement crept back into his voice.

“…So.”

You made a questioning noise that didn’t quite become a word.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly trying and failing to sound casual, “for someone who claimed she’d never come from a dude before, you just came two times on my cock and gushed all over my face like it was your job. I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself right now.”

You managed a weak, breathless little laugh against his chest.

“There she is,” he said, sounding deeply satisfied. “Thought I broke you for a second.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You good? Need water? A trophy? I’m open to suggestions.”

You pinched his side weakly. Your voice came out rough and quiet.

“Shut up.”

“Can’t. I’m having a moment. Do you understand the historical significance of what just happened in this bed? I should call Jess. Let her know the little problem has been thoroughly, scientifically solved.”

You groaned into his chest. “If you call Jess I will actually kill you.”

Eddie laughed—low and warm and completely unrepentant—and pulled you closer, tucking the blankets up around both of you.

“Fine. No phone calls. But I reserve the right to be unbearably smug about this for at least a week.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping softer even as the teasing stayed. “You did so good for me. Seriously.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue.

You just let him hold you, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, while the last of the aftershocks faded and the witty, insufferable version of him settled back in like he’d never left.

Two days later the bar was dead again—same sticky counters, same half-hearted jukebox, same mid-afternoon quiet that made the whole place feel like it was holding its breath.

Eddie had been insufferable since the second he walked in.

He didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t have to. It was in the way he moved around you—closer than usual, hand lingering at the small of your back every time he slipped past, that permanent little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was replaying the entire night on a loop. Every time you caught his eye across the bar he just raised an eyebrow, slow and filthy, and went back to polishing a glass like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire understanding of sex in his shitty little bungalow.

Jess lasted maybe forty minutes before she cracked.

She leaned across the bar while Eddie was restocking the back, voice low and delighted. “Okay. What the fuck happened.”

You kept wiping the same clean section of counter. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. He’s been floating around like he invented the orgasm and you keep turning the color of a stop sign every time he looks at you. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

Eddie chose that exact moment to reappear, carrying a case of beer like it weighed nothing. He set it down, glanced between the two of you, and the smirk widened.

“Talking about me?” he asked, all faux innocence.

Jess pointed at him. “You. Explain why you’re walking around like— like that."

Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar right next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like the same cologne from the other night. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just in a good mood. Weather’s nice. Tips were decent yesterday. Life is beautiful.”

You shot him a warning look. He ignored it completely.

Jess’s eyes narrowed, bouncing between the two of you. Then something clicked. Her mouth fell open.

“Oh my god.”

“Jess—” you started.

“You didn’t.”

Eddie examined his rings like they were suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t what?”

“You fixed the little problem,” she said, voice climbing with glee. “You actually fixed it. Look at her face. Look at your face. Holy shit.”

You dropped the rag and pointed at both of them. “We are not talking about this.”

Jess clasped her hands under her chin. “I need every detail. Immediately. Was it good? Was it life-changing? How many times did you—”

“I will quit,” you said flatly.

Eddie made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. “Y’know, I’m happy to provide a full report if she’s too shy. In the interest of science. And friendship. And the betterment of women everywhere who’ve been suffering under subpar—”

You shoved his shoulder hard enough that he laughed and had to catch himself on the bar.

“Do not.”

He held up both hands, still grinning like the cat that got everything it ever wanted. “Offer stands. Jess, you just say the word and I’ll give you the entire play by play. ”

Jess looked like Christmas had come early. “I’m listening.”

You grabbed the rag again and turned away, face burning, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile pulling at your mouth.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, loud enough for only you to catch the undertone, “I’m available for follow-up research whenever you want.”

The bar stayed dead for the rest of the shift.

Somehow that felt exactly right.

taglist: @gem-writes @hamilhansen @5lutforeddie @beasbrain @julxsxx @shecleansup @jinxispunk @s1mp-4-ga11y @a-villain-vying-for-attention @sweetstatic @qardasngan @arcticmazecrystal @my-fabulousness-has-arrived

[stardustrider]

The Taste of You

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Canon

Authors note: based on this lovely request. I'm truly sorry this was sitting in my inbox for so long. The summer was crazy busy and I'm just slowly starting to calm down. I hope you'll enjoy. It's been a while I wrote for Sihtric. Feel a bit out of shape

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), Sihtric is a sweetheart as always 🥰

Word Count: 3,6K

Summary: plot? never heard of it 🙈 pure smut, set in the S2 just before Uhtred's and Ragnar's troops attack Dunholm

Your eyes wandered slowly over the men gathered around the fire. They thought they hid it well, but you saw it as clear as the edge of a blade – that tension, nervousness tangled with eagerness, straining just beneath the surface. You caught it in the way fingers tapped at axe hilts, a touch too quick, a beat too restless. You saw it in their eyes, shimmering not only with the firelight but with that feverish gleam men wore before battle. Even their voices betrayed them – clipped, too sharp, cutting across one another like blades clashing in the dark.

You’d seen it often enough to know what it meant. With Dunholm almost within reach, this would be the last night for whetstones and whispered boasts, for trying to chase away uncertainty with laughter and firelight. 

It was not fear that thickened the air, but a charge, like the breathless stillness before a storm breaks and lightning tears the sky apart.

Glory or Valhalla. Your brothers were ready for either, eager for both. Dunholm must fall, whatever the risk, whatever the cost. And fall it would, of that, you had no doubt. 

The whetstone slid along the edge of your blade, steel rasping softly, while the men’s talk faded into a low, lulling murmur.

Uhtred and Ragnar leaned close, voices feverish, foreheads nearly touching as they argued over some detail. Off to the side, the witty Irishman sprawled on a fur, propped on one elbow, his laugh warm but pitched just a little too loud, a little too boastful.

The odd little band of Saxons who had followed Uhtred – priest, warrior nun, the red-faced chatterer with sly, scheming eyes, and the hulking, perpetually sullen huge fighter – kept mostly to themselves, whispering words you couldn’t quite catch.

And then there was the pair of eyes across the fire – large, expressive, alert – that followed your every movement as if spellbound. Sihtric. Kjartan’s bastard son. 

You felt them trace the slow scrape of the whetstone, climb the length of your arm, and settle on your face with a kind of restless plea. You let your own gaze drift deliberately elsewhere, as though you hadn’t noticed, but from the corner of your eye, you caught it all the same: the crestfallen flicker that pulled at the handsome lines of the young Dane’s face. 

You relished it, the way he burned with impatience, the way his expression faltered, sinking toward despair each time you turned away, you loved teasing him, drawing it out, letting him shift restlessly in his place. 

Lazy as a cat, you stretched while gathering your things, then rose to your feet, giving a small nod to your brothers, a wink to Finan, and then you were off, two desperate eyes trailing after you. Only once you had stepped beyond the firelight did you turn, offering him the smallest smile.

You knew you wouldn’t have to wait long.

The tent flaps stirred just as you stripped off your blade and set aside your armor. Strong arms slid around your waist, pulling you back into the solid heat of a chest pressed firm against you.

Sihtric’s breath spilled warm and unsteady against your neck, and you shivered at the way he inhaled you, as though you were something he could not go without.

He was all lean strength at your back, warm and solid, and you often wondered how he managed to hide it so well. 

The wiry frame, the hunched shoulders, as if he were always trying to fold himself smaller than he truly was – at first glance, no one would guess at the speed and power coiled beneath his skin. Just as no one would expect that warmth and passion buried behind that shy, bashful look in his big, beautiful, mismatched eyes.

But you knew.

You knew every inch of his scarred body and the equally scarred but beautiful soul within.

When Uhtred and Ragnar had first brought him to Winchester with the mouthy Irishman in tow, Sihtric had been little more than a shadow at their heels, yet you had noticed him anyway. 

Those beautiful, wide eyes had followed you day after day in unguarded awe, though he never dared to draw closer until that one night, when you had deliberately wedged yourself between Finan and Sihtric by the fire. 

You had only meant to show him you weren’t so unreachable as he seemed to think. 

Instead, he had twisted and shifted in his seat, crimson creeping up his throat with every word you spoke, every accidental brush of your thigh against his. Even the flickering firelight couldn’t hide it, until at last he bolted upright and fled the circle as though wolves were snapping at his heels.

“Hey.” Finan had laid a hand over yours then, mischief dimmed for the first time since you had known him, as his eyes, for once, were serious. “Go easy on him. The lad’s been losing his mind since the moment he first saw you.”

You had found him in the stables, back braced against a thick post, one hand buried in his trousers, muffled groans spilling into the dark.

He had looked ready to die of shame when your shadow fell across him. He scrambled upright, fumbling to fasten himself, chest heaving. For a heartbeat he froze, pressed flat to the timber like he could sink into it, wide eyes fixed on you as you stepped closer.

You stopped only when your breath hovered just an inch from his lips, close enough to feel the shudder that went through him. 

“Do you need some help?” your lips curled into something sly as you slid your hand past the loosened leather of his pants, fingers closing around him. 

His desperate, broken moan echoed off the rafters, as his head thudded back against the post, fingers clawing at the wood behind him. 

“What… what are you doing? Oh gods…” he stammered, breathing heavily, voice hoarse and shaky, hips bucking helplessly into your hand. 

Your kiss swallowed the rest of his words while your hand stroked the hard length of him. He trembled against you, the taste of his breath ragged on your tongue and every muscle in his body taut like a drawn bowstring.

It hadn’t lasted long. It couldn’t. He was too undone, too starved, the slick heat pulsing beneath your fingers building too quickly. With a strangled cry, he spilled into your palm, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking.

But it was the way he had looked at you afterward – so flushed and ruined, eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t fathom any of it had truly happened – that still made you smile. 

Later that very night, with your thighs trembling as you bounced wildly on his thick cock, you knew you had done the only right thing. You rode him hard, wild and hungry, your nails clawing at his chest as he clutched at your hips like a drowning man.

Every thrust, every desperate buck of his hips, every moan was a raw devotion, his mismatched eyes fixed on you as he came apart beneath you.

From that night on, he was yours – wholly, completely, and without reservation.

The most devoted, passionate, and attentive lover you could have ever imagined. A man who worshiped every inch of you, who treated your pleasure as sacred, who seemed to believe that every sigh, every broken cry he drew from your lips was proof of his worth, as if nothing mattered more than coaxing sighs and broken cries from your lips and filling the dark with your voice.

“Will you have me?” Sihtric’s voice was rough against your neck, his nose brushing the curve there as he drew you closer.

Even after all the nights he’d spent with his mouth muffling your moans, his cock buried so deep your stomach twisted and your body shook apart around him, he still asked. Always asked. Always waited. Never took your answer for granted.

It still looked as though he couldn’t quite believe you were here, as though he half-expected you to slap his hand away and laugh at him, and each time you smiled and gave in, each time you took his hand and stepped closer, there was that soft exhale of relief escaping him, that made your heart tighten a bit.

Beneath the hunger and the strength, he was still there, that shy, uncertain warrior who never knew where to rest his eyes, who fidgeted with the hilt of his seax or plucked at his armor as if it could shield him, and you loved that about him.

You tilted your head back, gave him space. His lips brushed your throat, soft, hesitant, more question than kiss.

Your answer was a slow grind of your hips against his.

He sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, I will,” you whispered, smiling as your hand slid down to cover his where it splayed across your stomach. His grip tightened instantly, fingers digging in, pulling you closer.

His mouth got bolder, open and hot against your skin, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. You felt him harden against you.

You turned in his arms, your palms flat against his chest, and kissed him, deep and hungry, your tongue slipping past his parted lips, hard enough to leave no doubt. He moaned into your mouth, relief and want tangling in the sound.

The laces of his armor didn’t last long under your hands, you tore at them, impatient, dragging the leather and linen down his arms until it thudded onto the floor. 

You shoved him back into the heap of furs, and he took you with him. You sank with him, legs tangling, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.

He groaned into your mouth – low, raw, starved – like he’d waited forever for this moment. His hands roamed everywhere, tracing your ribs, your hips, trembling like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed. Further over your back, down your thighs, like he needed to feel all of you at once.

His mouth kept moving, along your shoulder, down your arm, across your wrist, before he wrapped your hand around his neck. You arched into him, desperate, aching to feel him inside you, thick and deep, stretching you open until everything else, every worry, every thought, just disappeared.

But he didn’t move, his fingers just kept brushing soft, shaky lines across your skin.

“Last evening… ” he finally mumbled between kisses, but something in his voice made you still. “I mean…” he stopped and swallowed hard, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Sihtric?”

“There was talk,” he said, quiet, almost embarrassed. “The others were talking about…”

His voice faltered again and ducked his head, pressing his mouth to your pulse as if he could hide there.

“About… women,” he tried again, lips grazing your neck.

You stiffened. Your hands caught  his jaw, forcing his face up. “About women?”

He nodded too quickly, eyes darting everywhere but yours. “Yeah. The men were… talking. Joking...”

“Of course they were,” you snapped, sharper than you meant. “They’re always talking. About the sister who fights like a man but isn’t one. About whether I’m decent. Whether I even belong here.” You shook your head, heat rising in your cheeks. “Gods, Sihtric. I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t give a damn about that filth.”

Sihtric’s head shot up, eyes wide, panicked. “No! No…” his voice cracked. “It wasn’t about that.”

“Then what in Hel’s name are you trying to tell me?”

“They…” He swallowed again, throat bobbing. “They were boasting…”

“Sihtric.” You cut him off. “Are you seriously trying to tell me some drunken fool claimed he’d had me… and you listened? You believed that?”

His face went pale. “No! Gods, no.” The word burst out of him, and he shook his head so hard strands of hair fell loose across his eyes. “I would never believe that. Never. I mean… you could.”

His voice dropped, words rushing out. “You’re free, you’re strong, you’re... beautiful. You could pick someone else. Anyone… but… but you’d tell me, right?”

You stared, completely thrown, watching his face go redder with every word, eyes wide and  stricken.

“Sihtric,” you said slowly, pushing up onto one elbow, “is this your way of telling me you’re jealous?”

“No. I mean… yes. Sometimes. A little.”

He groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. “Why is this so hard?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “You want to maybe get to the point, warrior?”

“I want to try something,” he blurted, voice cracking. “Something they said… something a man can do… with his mouth.”

You blinked. “…You what?”

“A man can do a lot of damage with his mouth,” you finally snapped, eyes narrowing, still not understanding a damn thing. “Especially if he’s using it to spread filthy gossip.”

Your frustration unmistakably snapped through your voice, and you pulled from his arms and moved to rise. 

Sihtric’s hand shot out, catching your wrist. He yanked you back down onto the furs, body pinning yours.

“Please,” he muttered, voice rough, ragged. “Let me show you.”

You barely got a breath in before he shoved your undergarments out of the way, bunching the fabric high on your hips. His hands clamped around your thighs and pushed your legs apart, as he buried his face between them.

“Sihtric…” his name came out in a gasp, meant to stop him, but it cracked into a low hiss.

Hot, wet and hungry his tongue swept over your core, dragging a shaky path from your entrance to your perl. Your spine jolted off the bedding and you whimpered, hands clawing at the furs. 

The sound he made into you was raw, broken, starved. 

“By the gods… Sihtric…” you hissed but the words broke into a moan as his tongue slid through your folds again, flicking your pearl in frantic, eager strokes. 

Your hands tangled in his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth, chasing the mess of his rhythm, trying to adjust your body to the hungry worship in every move he made.

It was pure chaos. His mouth was everywhere, sometimes perfect, then too fast, too rough, suddenly too soft. His eagerness crashed over you in wild, uneven waves that made your thighs tremble and your breath catch. 

“Sihtric, slower… not so wild,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.

He froze, instantly. 

You felt his whole body rigid, as though terrified he’d ruined everything.

“I’m … I’m sorry…” he breathed against you, voice cracked and wrecked. 

You looked down and gods, what a sight it was! Flushed, trembling, lips slick, pupils blown wide, desperation written across every inch of him.

By Freya, you’d never seen anything so damn beautiful.  

You cupped the back of his head. “You’re doing fine, love. Just slow down, stay with me.”

A groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through you, and he obeyed instantly, his tongue dragging a long, slow stroke from your entrance up to your pulsing bundle of nerves.

You moaned, hips twitching into his mouth.

“Like this?” he asked, voice muffled against your heat.

“Yes,” you gasped, arching up, fingers fisting in his hair. “Gods, yes. That’s it. Just like that.”

He did it again, tentative, testing, then again, with more pressure when your breath hitched.

His eyes flicked up for a split second, desperate for approval, and you gave it to him with a moan so broken it made his cock twitch against the furs.

That was all he needed.

He went in harder, tongue flat and firm as he dragged it over your pearl, then flicked fast and precise. 

The sound that tore from your throat made him groan into you, the vibration sending heat straight through your spine.

His grip tightened, thumbs digging into your thighs, holding you open like he couldn’t stand the thought of losing contact.

“Yes… oh gods, yes. Right there,” you breathed, hips rocking against his mouth, one hand buried in his hair.

“Don’t stop. You’re perfect,” you gasped. “Keep going, Sihtric.”

His tongue moved faster now, more certain with wide, hungry strokes, his nose bumping your pulsing bundle of nerves as he pressed in deeper, sloppier, completely lost in it.

Every word hit him like lightning, spurred him on. You felt his hips start to grind slowly into the furs beneath him, seeking some friction.

And gods, the sounds! He was moaning, loud, messy, every breath a desperate, ruined noise into your skin.

You’d never heard anything so pretty.

“Gods…yes,” you cried out, body arching, back tensing, pleasure curling tighter and tighter. “You’re so good, Sihtric.”

Wet, filthy sounds filled the room – his mouth on you, your whines, his muffled moans vibrating right into your core. Your thighs were shaking, every stroke of his tongue firing sparks up your spine.

His hips were moving into nothing, grinding down hard, desperate for relief, but he didn’t stop, just pulled you closer, pressing his face deeper between your thighs.

His mouth kept licking, sucking, slurping, moaning your name into your cunt like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed this, needed to taste you, to feel you shudder against this tongue.

“You’re close,” he breathed against you. “Let go for me. Come on, love. Let me feel it.”

Then his lips closed around your clit and sucked.

Hard.

You couldn’t control it anymore. Your vision blurred, and your hips jerked against his mouth in a wild, broken rhythm. He met you there, moaning louder, tongue dragging through your slick, panting hot and filthy into your cunt while he rutted against the furs like he was losing his mind.

The orgasm hit like a damn lightning strike – white-hot, violent and unstoppable. Your body bowed off the furs, a raw cry tearing from your throat as it rolled through you, wave after wave.

Still he didn’t stop.

He held on tight, groaning into you, tongue still working, licking and sucking like he wanted to drink every last drop of you.

You shook, pulsed, convulsed. He took all of it, and when it ended and you collapsed, wrecked, spent, trembling beneath him, his mouth still brushed your skin like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You were still floating somewhere between this world and another when he slammed into you with one hard thrust.

The breath punched from your lungs, your mouth fell open in a soundless gasp at the sudden, shocking fullness. It was rough, messy, and so perfect.

He was already half-gone, wrecked, almost desperate, every thrust feral and greedy.

The slick slap of bodies filled the tent, tangled with his ragged groans and your shameless moans spilling free.

He fucked you like he couldn’t get close enough, hips snapping hard, cock driving deep with every stroke, words tumbling out in gasps – your name, curses, half-pleas – it seemed he didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Gods… can’t… can’t stop,” he groaned, hips jerking faster, his whole body trembling, as he was chasing it, wild for it. Lost in pleasure. Lost in you.

The pressure built too fast, too sharp, as every thrust set you alight again. Heat coiled, fierce and tight, and there was no escape from it. You shattered, screaming into his shoulder as your body convulsed around him.

Your release dragged him under with you. A strangled cry ripped from him as he spilled inside, hips jerking, thrusts rough and unrestrained, like he couldn’t stop even as he came apart.

He clung to you through it, buried deep, shaking, moaning against your skin. 

“Sihtric,” you murmured, reaching for him. Your hand slid into his damp hair, guiding him up to you and he came willingly.

“Did I… did I do well?” he whispered, breath still ragged.

“Gods, Sihtric,” you sighed, voice thick with pleasure like honey. “You did more than well.”

There it was, that boyish pride flashing across his face. Your fingertips traced his nose, cheekbone, jaw, and he leaned into every touch like he’d melt under it.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured into your palm.

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. Then you pushed him back into the furs, climbing astride him, lips hovering just above his. “Maybe just maybe... I’ve been underestimating the men’s gossip at the fire.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and shining. You kissed him slow, lingering, tasting yourself on his lips.

“They said… if a man knows how to use his mouth, his woman will never look at another,” he blurted, eyes darting over your face, half shy, half hopeful.

A warm and helpless laugh burst from your chest. “Oh, Sihtric.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Why can’t you just believe me? I don’t want anyone else. You don’t need tricks to keep me.”

“Sometimes…” His voice cracked a bit, fingers tightening slightly on your waist. “Sometimes it’s too hard to believe. That you’d choose me. That you’d stay with me. Feels like I’ll wake up and find you gone.”

Your heart ached as you cupped his face and pressed your forehead to his. “Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. Not tomorrow, not ever. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

His breath shuddered out, a genuine, relieved smile breaking across his face like sunlight after rain. 

He kissed your palms, one after the other, before a shy but mischievous smile curved his lips. “Too late. You’re too beautiful when you fall apart for me like that. I’ll never stop now.”

You laughed, kissed him deep, hips rocking until he groaned. “Greedy,” you teased against his mouth. “But I’ll allow it. Now, tell me – any other delicious fire-gossip secrets I should know about?”

[beasbrain]

I Pine, I Perish

description: a cutie lil fic where eddie is just completely obsessed with you. who knew all he needed to bring you two together was jason carver beating his ass?

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

tags: yearning!eddie, protective!reader, eddie x reader, no y/n, reader insert, slow (ish) burn, first kiss, happy ending, fluff the house down boots, high school romance, so much fucking yearning, eddie's head over heels

WC: 4.5k

TW: bullying, violence, some smoochies

A/N: requested by @midgardian-rogue hope you enjoy!! sorry for the wait! life is kicking my behind. i haven't forgotten about you all. reblogs are always appreciated my loves<33 hope you all enjoy an ounce of some innocent fluff before final girl pt.2 bc......

People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.

Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.

Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.

Everyone knew you.

Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.

Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.

It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.

Genuinely, painfully, kind.

The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.

You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—

Jesus Christ.

See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.

Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.

But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.

Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.

Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.

Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about. 

Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.

"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.

At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.

And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.

Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.

The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.

Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.

It had been almost exactly a year ago.

The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.

He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.

"Well, if it isn't the freak."

Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"

Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.

"Nah."

Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.

"I actually look forward to these little chats."

"I don't."

"Funny."

Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.

"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."

"Just looking out for the town."

Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.

So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.

Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"

"It concerns me now."

You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

"Move."

Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said move."

Andy scoffed. "You serious?"

Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.

Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."

"We're talking."

"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."

Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."

Eddie's stomach dropped.

But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.

Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"

Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"

Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"

"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."

You paused, eyeing him up and down.

"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."

Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."

For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.

Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.

Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."

He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."

Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."

Andy and Chance followed without another word.

Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."

You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.

Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.

"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."

Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought. 

Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.

He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."

A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.

He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest. 

There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.

But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.

Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.

"You never know what you're gonna find."

Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.

No dice…literally.

With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.

He almost walked right past the record stand.

It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.

Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—

"...No way."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.

You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.

There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.

He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.

You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.

"Oh." You laughed softly. "Hi, Eddie."

His mouth opened, but nothing happened.

"You... um..." Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. "You like... music?"

God, just bury him now.

Your smile only widened. "I dabble."

"I just..." He gestured helplessly toward the crate. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I wasn't expecting me either." You grinned to yourself before looking back down at the albums. "My dad's the reason."

"You've got a metalhead dad?"

"The biggest."

You laughed. "He swears everything made after 1984 is garbage."

"Smart man."

"I told him you'd probably say that."

Eddie's head snapped up. "...You've talked about me?"

The words escaped before he could stop them.

You looked equally surprised. "I..."

A tiny laugh escaped you. "I mean..."

You ducked your head for a second. "You know... around school."

Right, of course. Don't be stupid, Munson. The thought that your family even knew his name made something warm bloom in his chest.

You continued sorting through the cassette, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh."

Your fingers landed on one. Without hesitating, you slid it free from the rack and held it toward him. "I think you'd like this."

He looked down. Mercyful Fate.

Eddie stared at the cassette, then back at you. "You know Mercyful Fate?"

"I know enough." You shrugged. "My dad played this one so much I practically know it by heart."

Eddie took it carefully, almost afraid it'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You've heard this?"

"'Come to the Sabbath' used to scare me when I was little."

He barked out a laugh. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Nope."

"You don't exactly scream..." He motioned vaguely toward you. "...Mercyful Fate."

"And you don't exactly scream honor roll."

He blinked. "...Fair."

You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."

You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.

"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."

Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."

"I appreciate your approval."

The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"

You nodded. "I think so."

As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.

You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"

He swallowed. "...Yeah."

"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."

Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.

You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."

He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.

"You gonna buy it?"

The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You've been holding it for five minutes."

"Oh."

Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."

The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.

By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.

But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.

"I think you'd like this."

Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"

"...Maybe."

"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"

"...No."

Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.

The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.

The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.

Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."

"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"

"We're legally obligated to."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."

Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"

"We do now."

Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."

"What?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.

You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—

Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.

"Hi, guys."

You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.

"Hi, Eddie."

God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

"Uh... hey."

"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."

You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."

Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.

"We're allergic."

"I figured."

Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."

Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"

His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."

"And?"

"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."

"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"

"I was trying not to sound insane."

"So you liked it?"

"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."

"I knew you would."

Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.

Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."

Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"

He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.

"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."

He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."

You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets. 

"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll see you around?"

"...Yeah."

You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."

Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...

Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.

"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.

"What?"

"You hate homecoming."

"I don't hate—"

"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"

"I stand by that."

Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."

He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"

Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"

"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."

Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.

"...Huh."

Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"

"'Huh?!'"

"You bought two!"

"I know!"

"Do you?!"

Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.

"'Homecoming Admission.'"

He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."

Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."

"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."

"They are."

"So, who are you taking?"

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.

"...Nobody."

Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.

"Nope."

"So you just bought two tickets..."

"Yep."

"...For fun?"

"...Sure."

Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."

"Oh no," Eddie muttered.

"Oh, no."

Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."

Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Jeff grinned. "Dude."

"You've been listening to that cassette all week."

"You don't know that."

"Wayne told my mom."

Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"

"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."

Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"

The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."

Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.

By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.

Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.

"You boys have another séance today?"

Gareth groaned.

"Just keep walking."

That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.

His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.

"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.

Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.

Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"

Jason shrugged. "Gravity."

"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy. 

"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."

Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.

"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."

Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."

The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.

"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.

"Oh. There he is."

The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.

Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.

"...Enough!"

Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.

You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.

Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."

"No."

You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."

You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic. 

"You should be proud of yourselves."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."

"That's bullshit."

Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"

"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"

You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."

Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."

"No." You shook your head.

"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."

Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."

"You first."

You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.

His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.

"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”

The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.

"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.

Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.

"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"

Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"

You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"

He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.

"So much for keeping your pretty face."

Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."

"Ah! There."

You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.

He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"

"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."

You hesitated. "Can I?"

He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.

With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.

"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."

"Hm?"

"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."

"They were picking on Gareth."

"I know."

"So..."

"So you decided to get yourself killed?"

"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."

"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.

You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."

He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

"Eddie?"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"

"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."

"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Huh?” He swallowed.

His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.

"I think I really like you."

You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his. 

Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."

"Oh."

Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."

He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.

"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."

His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"

"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."

"...Say what?"

"That."

You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."

His brain stopped. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"

"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."

"...That's why?"

"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."

"He looked lost."

"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."

He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.

"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."

"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.

"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."

"...WHAT?"

The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.

You blinked. "What?"

"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."

"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"

"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."

"...I know."

"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."

You stared.

"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."

A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."

He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"

"And?"

"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."

Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."

"I panicked."

"I can tell."

"I said I bought them for fun."

"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"

"I know!"

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I KNOW."

"They believed you?"

"They absolutely did not."

You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.

"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."

Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.

"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"

He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."

"Really?"

"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."

"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."

"A little."

"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"

"I thought it was kind of cute."

"Oh, that's cruel."

"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.

He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh. 

"So..."

"So?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.

"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."

You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.

"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"

You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.

You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.

"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."

"You idiot."

"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.

"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."

"I make no promises."

"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."

This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times. 

Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."

You laughed. "Me too."

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."

"So?"

"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."

"Don't do this to me."

"I suppose."

He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.

Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."

"I'm surviving."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."

You laughed softly.

"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."

You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."

"...Ahem."

The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.

Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled. 

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. 

"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"

missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3

taglist:

@bonnieprincess @kylorensbaby @rebelfell @djotummy

@bitterestwillow @lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

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@lilyquinnmunson @this-issam @acrloved @foxygrll @gem-writes @m-art000 @kylorensbaby @oatmilkriver 

[warped-window]

Sunshine: Eddie Munson

After meeting at seven years old, two lonely children growing up in forgotten corners of Hawkins become best friends; as years pass, it’s something more. Eddie learns that sometimes home isn’t a place, but a person who’s been there all along. Series is set to span from the ages of 7-20

Part one of six

series warnings; very emotionally mature seven year olds? swearing, smut in later chapters, depictions of abuse, death of a parent, alcoholism, attempted sexual assault in later chapters, drug use/selling. i think that’s it?

*****************************************************

Hawkins, Indiana, Forest Hills Trailer Park, 1973

Eddie Munson would always remember the first time he saw her. She was seven and standing barefoot in the rain in the middle of July; Hawkins was supposed to be baked beneath the sun, instead the sky had turned a pale grey sometime after lunch. By three, thunder was rattling the windows in the trailer park. By four, rain had began hammering against corrugated roofs with enough force that the mud between each trailer had become a small river.

Eddie had already been ordered inside twice; the second time, Wayne had leaned halfway through the screen door and called, “Edward,” in a tone that meant he had approximately thirty seconds to make a sensible decision before one was made for him.

Eddie had retreated under the metal awning over the trailer; he was sat crossed legged with a comic book balanced carefully against his knees, sheltering the pages with his arms whenever the wind blew rain towards him. In his opinion, it definitely constituted as obedience.

At seven years old, Eddie had already decided that most rules were poorly conceived, and that adults rarely understood what they were talking about; being sent indoors because of a little rain was an insult to his intelligence.

Heroes fought in storms; they definitely didn’t sit quietly on ugly floral patterned couches and watch the evening news.

He was halfway through deciding whether or not he could make the leap from the railings over to the picnic table without touching the mud when a station wagon coughed and spluttered its way into the trailer park. It was miserable looking, even by Forest Hills standards; rust had eaten its way through the wheel arches, the right headlight was cracked, and the exhaust pipe dragged against the road whenever it hit a bump. There was a mattress tied to the roof in yellow rope, black rubbish bags bulged against the rear window.

Eddie lowered his comic as he watched the car rolled to a stop outside the empty trailer opposite to Wayne’s.

The drivers door opened first and a man stepped out, swearing as his boot sank immediately into the mud. He was tall with broad shoulders; red in the face, though Eddie couldn’t understand if it was from the heat, the drink in his hand or his apparent disposition towards the world around him. The man slammed the door shut with enough force to shake the entire car.

Next, Eddie watched a woman climb out of the passenger side door slowly. She was thin and brittle in the same way a cigarette looked if it’s left burning too long in an ashtray. Her hair was thin and clung damply around her face, eyes hidden behind enormous brown sunglasses, despite there being no sun to speak of.

Neither of them looked towards the back. Though the door opened anyway; a girl around Eddie’s age stepped out, she wore faded light blue denim shorts, with a t-shirt; a smiling yellow sun printed across the middle. Her shoes were tied together by the laces and slung over shoulders, leaving her barefoot in the mud. She smiled as her feet touched the mud, toes curling in the dirt. Both arms were wrapped around an old cardboard box; IMPORTANT THINGS. DO NOT THROW AWAY :) was written across the front in blue crayon.

Rain began to soak the box immediately, the blue writing beginning to bleed from the rain. She stood beside the car waiting, toes continuing to curl in the mud. The man walked up and unlocked the trailer door before he disappeared inside, the woman followed him immediately without looking back, then a moment later, their voices became sharp and muffled behind the thin walls.

The girl stood still where they’d left her. Eddie watched her fingers tighter beneath the damp cardboard as the bottom of the box began to sag.

There were several things Eddie could have done; he could have gone inside, he could have resumed reading without offering to help, he could have minded his own business, which Wayne frequently informed him was an underdeveloped skill of his.

Instead, he tucked his comic beneath his shirt and ran into the rain, “Hey!” he shouted.

The girl startled, her whole body jerked backwards, one foot slipping in the mud the box tilted dangerously in her arms.

Eddie stopped a few feet away; he knew that kind of flinch, the same flinch he used to get if his father moved too quickly, or a hand rose unexpectedly. He also knew the hot embarrassment that followed, when nothing had happened and everyone had seen him prepare for it anyway.

“What’s in the box?” He pointed.

The girl looked down at the box as though she had forgotten she was holding it, gripping it tighter again as she spoke, “It’s none of your business.”

Eddie nodded, “Top secret information, then.”

Before the girl could reply, the bottom of the box tore open; a paperback struck the mud first, followed by a battered stuffed rabbit, two cassette tapes landed in a shallow puddle, followed by a glass jar full of buttons that shattered against stone.

The girl dropped to her knees in a panic, “No—no, no, no!”

Eddie moved without thinking, dropping to kneel in the mud beside her to snatch up the tapes before the mud could swallow them. He watched as she tried to gather the buttons up with both hands, paying no mind to the shards of broken glass between them.

“Don’t.” Eddie caught her wrist.

She froze, her eyes flew towards his hand. Eddie noticed and released her immediately.

“There’s glass,” he explained, quieter now. “You’ll cut yourself.”

She looked down, a small jagged piece of glass lay less than an inch from her fingers, “thank you.”

Eddie pulled his comic from beneath his shirt; the corners curling in one corner, which Eddie decided was a miracle. He laid it flat beneath the awning of the neighbouring trailer and began placing her belongings on top of it. He took the rabbit that had once been white and rinsed it with the water falling from the trailers gutter. The girl watched him in contemplation before she spoke,

“You’re making it worse.”

Eddie frowned, confining to rinse the mud out of the stuffed toy, “No i’m not, i’m rescuing him.”

“It’s a girl.” She said pointedly

He turned the rabbit around and examined it more seriously then, “My apologies, ma’am.”

The girls mouth twitched; the faint outline of a smile tugging at her lips. Eddie grinned, there he thought, got ya.

He stood and tucked the rabbit beneath one arm. “Come on.”

The girl stood too, head tilted in question, “where?”

“My house, silly.”

“But I don’t know you.”

“That’s probably smart. Wayne’s always telling me not to talk to strangers.”

The girl tilted her head again in question, “Who’s Wayne?”

“My uncle.”

“I’m not allowed to go into strangers’ houses.”

A man shouted from somewhere within the trailer, the words indistinguishable, but the anger wasn’t; it travelled clearly through the rain as his voice continued to rise.

The girls shoulders rose as she looked cautiously towards the door. Eddie shifted the rabbit beneath his arm and nodded towards his home; warm yellow light spilled through the front window as Wayne’s shadow passed behind the curtains.

“Then don’t call me a stranger.” He said

“You’re silly. That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah it is.” Eddie held out one of the rescued cassettes. “I’m Eddie.”

The rain soaked the pile of curls on his head; rain ran from the end of his nose, she looked up to him from the tape, “You’re still a stranger.”

Eddie shook his head with a grin, “No, now i’m Eddie.”

Something changed in her face and for one dreadful moment, Eddie thought she might cry. Instead, she took the cassette from him, her fingers cold when they brushed his.

“Okay,” she whispered

Another shout sounded from the trailer and she went pale. Eddie looked at the yellow sun on her shirt, half-hidden beneath wet hair and streaked with mud,

“Come on then, sunshine.”

She frowned at him, “that’s not my name.”

“It is now.” Eddie grinned.

Wayne Munson was standing at the stove when Eddie entered the trailer with a strange girl, a dripping stuffed rabbit and enough mud on his clothes to bury a small car.

He looked towards Eddie, then to the girl, and then towards the muddy footprints trailing across his linoleum. He closed his eyes as he sighed, a hand rubbing against his temple in frustration, “Kid”

“Uncle Wayne, It’s an emergency.” Eddie implored

Wayne sighed again, “kid, I told you to stay out of the rain.”

“I did. I stayed under the awning-“

“Kid, you’re dripping mud on my floor-“

“This happened after!” Eddie interrupted

“After what, kid?”

“The emergency!”

Wayne lowered the spoon in his hand. “And what emergency was that, Eds?”

Eddie lifted the rabbit as evidence. Wayne stared at it and the rabbit stared back with dead eyes.

“Near drowning,” Eddie explained gravely.

Wayne let out a frustrated sigh, and the girl beside Eddie let out a sound that was soft and startled, more breath than laughter, but Eddie’s head whipped towards the sound with a grin.

she immediately tried to hide it by pressing her lips together: Wayne of course, noticed the movement. His eyes lingered softly on her for a moment before travelling down to her bare, mud-covered feet.

His face changed, not by much; it rarely did much of anything unless the Colts were playing badly, but the annoyance behind his eyes left as he spoke,

“You live across the way?” he asked.

She nodded tentatively.

“Your folks know you’re here?”

Her fingers tightened around the cassette; Eddie noticed and answered before she could, “They’re unpacking.”

Wayne looked through the window towards the trailer opposite, he noticed that the station wagon remained open despite the rain, one of the black rubbish bags had split across the back seat, and yet obody had moved to unload it.

“Right,” he said, no agreement, but with a sad, subtle understanding.

Wayne turned off the stove and reached into the cupboard above the sink without looking back, “Bathroom’s down there. Towels under the basin. Eddie, get her something dry.”

Eddie looked confused, “but I don’t have any girls clothes?”

Wayne sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face, “You’ve got clothes, don’t ye kid?”

Eddie clutched his chest theatrically, “You would have me surrender my worldly garments?”

“Kid, would you quit being dramatic for ten seconds?”

“That’s an unreasonable restriction of my rights-“

“Eddie, we’ve spoken about this.” Wayne sighed again tiredly

“Fine.” Eddie huffed as he started walking down the small hallway. She only watched, unsure if she should follow or not; her eyes moved carefully over the room, the old couch patched with mismatched cloth, the ashtray beside Wayne’s chair, the baseball cap hanging from a hook, the stack of overdue bills tucked beneath a ceramic mug, she looked at everything as though memorising the route back out.

Eddie turned then, head tilted with a grin, “You coming?”

She stilled, “What if I make a mess.”

“Liiiiiitle late for that.” He teased

Her face fell and Eddie immediately regretted it, “No, I didn’t mean-“

Wayne interrupted his rambling then as he smiled at the girl, “Floor’ll clean,” he said. “You’ll catch cold.” It was spoken so plainly that there was nothing for her to argue with.

She nodded as she followed Eddie into his room; posters that had been torn from magazines covered the walls, comic books were stacked beside the mattress, small metal figurines stood in rows across the windowsill, each painted in varying degrees of completion.

She stopped in the doorway to take it all in, “You like monsters?”

“Monsters are cool.”

“They kill people,” she argued

“Only the evil ones do.”

“Aren’t all monsters evil?”

Eddie looked over his shoulder then from the chest of drawers he was rummaging in; she was studying the miniature figures, her hand hovered above a red dragon with one crooked wing, fingers lightly touching it without grabbing it.

“No,” he said. “Some of them just look scary.”

She glanced at him, Eddie smiled before looking back into the drawer; he pulled out a faded Black Sabbath shirt Wayne had bought from a yard sale and a pair of chequered shorts and held both towards her.

She stared at the shirt, reading the letters carefully, “My mom says that music’s for devil worshippers.”

“Your mom sounds fun.” Eddie replied, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Her face fell still.

“Mine doesn’t like it either,” he lied quickly.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She looked around then, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, “Where is your mom?”

He looked down at the clothes in his hands, “Not here. Uncle Wayne says she’s somewhere better now.”

It was an answer with enough space inside it for both of them, she nodded, accepting the clothes with a quiet thank you.

Eddie backed into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a grin, “There’s no lock, but I’ll guard it.”

“Guard it from what?”

He leaned against the door. “Intruders, Monsters, Agents of darkness, the list is longggg.”

This time, her laugh was unmistakable.

Wayne made grilled cheese sandwiches after that, he cut hers diagonally and left Eddie’s whole, an act of favouritism so blatant that he raised an immediate objection.

“Uncle Wayne, how come hers has triangles?”

“Because she’s company, kid.”

“I live here.”

“That’s why yours don’t.”

“This is an outrage- .”

Wayne placed a bowl of tomato soup in front of him with a sigh, “Eat, kid.”

She sat at the table in the faded Black Sabbath t-shirt which was slowly beginning to swallow her, her damp hair had been combed away from her face and without the rain obscuring her, Eddie noticed a yellowing mark near her elbow and another turning green beneath her collarbone.

He looked at Wayne as soon as he saw them, only to see that Wayne had seen them too.

Wayne said nothing, shaking his head at Eddie whose mouth opened then closed immediately.

Wayne watched as she dipped one corner of her sandwich into the soup. He noticed how she ate slowly at first, taking small, careful bites. Then Wayne turned away to wash the pan, and she began eating faster. Eddie watched her finish half the sandwich in three bites before he slid his plate towards her, “You can have mine if you want. I’m not hungry.”

She looked towards Wayne’s back, then she picked up Eddie’s sandwich, a small smile tugging at her lips as she nodded at him in thanks. Wayne continued washing the same pan for longer than what was necessary.

After they’d finished eating, Eddie showed her his collection of miniatures; she sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor while he explained each one in intricate detail, she laughed as he gave every creature a voice. The dragon she noted, sounded suspiciously like Wayne. A tiny wizard spoke in a high, quavering accent and had an unfortunate habit of falling from cliffs.

She listened without question, and Eddie found himself more content than he had been with anyone else. Most adults told Eddie to lower his voice, slow down or get to the point, children looked at him as though he had begun speaking another language and laughed at him, she just watched the figures move across the carpet and asked what happened next.

And so, Eddie told her; he told her of kingdoms swallowed by forests and knights who were secretly cowards, he told her about a girl trapped in a tower who didn’t wait for anybody to rescue her because she had found a sword beneath the floorboards. He told her about monsters who guarded the roads and dragons who guarded children, and about the brave barbarians who fought against evil.

Outside, the storm began to weaken and the rain softened against the windows in a steady mist. At some point, she lay on her stomach with her chin propped on both hands, the stuffed rabbit rested beside her, clean but still damp.

“What’s her name?” Eddie asked.

She stroked the rabbit’s shortened ear absentmindedly before answering, “ She doesn’t have one.”

“Everything has a name, silly.” Eddie frowned

“She doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

Her fingers went still, “Because when you name things, you get attached and then they get taken away.”

Eddie frowned again, “That’s stupid.”

Her head snapped up, “My dad said it was true”

“Oh.” Eddie rolled the red dragon between his palms. “Well then he’s stupid.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to know everybody to know when they’re stupid. That’d take, like, forever.”

“You shouldn’t say that.” She snapped

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because isn’t a reason.” he pressed

“It is in my house,” something in the way she said it drained the playfulness from the room.

Eddie looked back towards the window. The curtains were open just enough for them to see the trailer opposite. Her trailer. Light glowed behind one window, a man’s silhouette passed across it, large and unsteady. Pacing.

“I have to go.” she said suddenly

“Why? You just got here!”

She disappeared behind the bed, hiding before pulling off Eddie’s t-shirt and replacing it with her own. Eddie watched as she reemerged, folding his t-shirt carefully with shaking hands, then she tucked the unnamed rabbit beneath one arm again and began walking towards the bedroom door; Eddie followed her into the living room announcing to Wayne that she was leaving.

Wayne was sitting in his chair with the television turned low, reading a newspaper. He stole a quvk glance towards her before looking out at the darkening sky through the window; his eyes trailing over towards the trailer across the way, “You sure you don’t want to wait until the rain stops, kid?” he asked.

“I’m sure.” She said timidity

“You can stay for supper if you want?”

She shook her head politely with a smile, her hand had already closed around the door handle.

Wayne rose and Eddie expected him to insist that she stayed. Adults, he learned were always insisting, they’s ask questions after deciding which answers they were willing to accept.

Wayne only stepped past her and opened the screen door, “Well all right,” he said. “You’re welcome back whenever you like, kid.”

She started at him without speaking; eyes shining lightly, Wayne nodded towards the rabbit then, “Her too.”

She looked down at the rabbit, before speaking quietly, “Thank you for the food. And for the clothes,” she turned towards Eddie as she said it.

Eddie straightened, “You can borrow ’em again for a price.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What price?”

“You have to come back tomorrow,” he grinned

She didn’t answer, just looked out across the porch towards the rain that had thinned to a persistent mist outside, hovering above the trailer park in a pale veil. Water continued to drip steadily from the awning as She stepped onto the small metal porch without saying anything else,

“Hey,” Eddie said.

She turned slightly to look at him, the rabbit clutched tightly in her grip.

He held out the red dragon. It was his favourite, but he’d seen her looking at in his room. She stared at the figure in his palm, “What’s that for?” she asked

“Protection. It’s made of pewter,” Eddie said. “And it breathes fire.”

“No, it doesn’t.” she quipped

“It does when nobody’s looking.” Eddie insisted, placing it into her palm

“Bring it back tomorrow,” he told her.

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll have to come get it.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” she challenged, though there was something deeper to it, like she was waiting for him to turn angry at her defiance.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth in thought. He knew things about people leaving and about promises made too quickly and broken even faster. So he didn’t promise her that he would always be there, he didnt tell her he would keep her safe or protect her like one of the brave knights he’d read about in story books. He was seven, small for his age, frightened of the dark sometimes and still occasionally crawled into Wayne’s bed after nightmares. He couldnt fight the large shadow moving behind the curtains across the way, but he could make one promise and mean it.

“Then I’ll wait here,” Eddie said. “Till you do.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded solemnly as she crossed the muddy path between the trailers, the red dragon held tightly in her grip.

Eddie remained on the porch, watched as he reached her front door and placed one hand on the handle. Before opening it, she looked back, Eddie lifted both arms above his head and wiggled his fingers like the claws of a monster.

She rolled her eyes and smiled; then the door opened and a hand appeared from inside, closing around the top of her arm and jerking her over the threshold. Eddie watched as her smile faded and the door slammed shut with enough force to shake the trailer.

Eddie lowered his hands and stood very still. Behind him, the screen door creaked open and Wayne stepped onto the porch resting a heavy hand against Eddie’s shoulder. He didnt beckon him to come inside, he didn’t tell Eddie there was nothing they could do. Instead, he watched the trailer opposite.

Silence stretched for a few minutes before Eddie spoke, “Uncle Wayne?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can she come over again?”

Wayne’s thumb moved once against the back of Eddie’s head, “Anytime she needs, kid”

Eddie looked down at the mud between their homes and imagined dragons sleeping beneath it; not the cruel sort that burned villages or carried girls away, but the other kind; the kind that curled around castles at night, enormous and watchful, keeping everything wicked beyond the gates.

He decided he would tell her more about them tomorrow, because there would be a tomorrow. He knew there would be because she had his dragon, and Eddie Munson had never been good at letting go of anything he loved.

[theseymourbirkhoff]

[jinxispunk]

hello!!!! <3 may i request my favorite angsty trope where stevie, 4 whatever reason, doesnt realize how much reader means to him (like he likes nancy or is just a meanie or something) until reader like…. almost dies

hello lovely!!

thank you so much for this request because apparently you looked at steve harrington and thought "what if we psychologically tortured him until he understood his own feelings" and i respect that enormously 😭

i LOVE this trope, especially with the upside down involved because nothing says emotional clarity quite like watching the person you've spent years pretending not to love nearly die in front of you!!

mwahahah, enjoy <3

what fear makes of us

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve has spent years convincing himself that keeping you at arm's length is the safest thing he can do. It takes watching the Upside Down nearly kill you for him to understand exactly what he's been trying so hard not to lose.

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, angst, enemies-ish to lovers, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, horror imagery, blood/injury, arguing, steve being unnecessarily mean, reader calling him on his bullshit, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff (lmk if i missed anything)

W/C: 4.7k

Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]

If you want to be added to my taglist, leave a comment to lmk!

Steve Harrington has been mean to you for three years.

Not spectacularly mean. That would almost be easier.

There has never been one catastrophic argument you can point towards, no unforgivable sentence that neatly explains why the two of you exist in a permanent state of low-level hostility. He has never told you he hates you, never deliberately embarrassed you in front of everybody, never done anything awful enough that you could comfortably decide he is simply a terrible person and be done with him.

Instead, Steve is mean in increments.

Small enough that everybody else seems to think the two of you simply enjoy winding each other up; small enough that, whenever you try to explain why being around him exhausts you, the evidence sounds petty even to your own ears.

He rolls his eyes when you speak for too long. Complains whenever you're assigned to his car, despite somehow always being the person who drives you home afterwards. He'll spend twenty minutes arguing with you over something completely inconsequential and then remember, without being asked, that you hate the heating turned too high. He calls your ideas stupid before inevitably helping you execute them. If you touch his arm unexpectedly, he recoils as though you've burned him; if somebody else makes you uncomfortable, he appears beside you with such immediate ferocity that you'd think protecting you was the only job he'd ever been given.

It would be considerably easier to hate Steve Harrington if he could commit to being an arsehole.

Unfortunately, you've been in love with him since you were seventeen.

Which is humiliating.

"You know," Robin tells you one evening, watching Steve argue with Dustin across the Family Video counter, "I've developed a theory."

You don't look up from the tapes you're sorting. "That sounds dangerous."

"I think Steve likes you."

Your hand stops against the plastic case in your palm, though only briefly, before you force it back into motion and slide another tape into place.

"I think you've finally inhaled too much carpet cleaner."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Robin leans against the counter, lowering her voice despite Steve being far too preoccupied with explaining why fourteen-year-olds cannot borrow his car to overhear you. "You guys are weird."

"We don't like each other."

"You don't like him?"

You turn slowly.

Robin grins.

"Shut up."

"Oh my God."

"Robin."

"You totally like him."

"I will kill you."

"You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The face people get when they're hopelessly in love with my extremely annoying best friend."

You shove a VHS tape into her hands. "Alphabetise something."

Robin is still laughing when Steve finally wanders back over, muttering something about Dustin being the reason he'll have a heart attack before thirty. He stops when he notices the two of you looking at him, suspicion immediately narrowing his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," you say too quickly.

Robin's grin widens. "Absolutely nothing."

Steve looks between you, then fixes his attention on Robin. “What did you say?”

“Why do you assume I said something?”

“Because you’ve got that look in your eye you get right before you make my life significantly worse.”

You snort before you can stop yourself, and Steve’s gaze shifts towards you at the sound. Something strange happens to his expression then, the familiar annoyance loosening for half a second as though your laughter has caught him unprepared, and for one brief, dangerous moment he looks at you with something so close to fondness that your chest aches.

Then Robin, incapable of leaving anything alone, says, “I was just telling her my theory.”

Steve’s face changes. You feel the shift before he even speaks, the softness retreating so quickly it is almost violent. “What theory?”

“That maybe all this-” Robin gestures vaguely between the two of you. “-isn’t exactly what it looks like.”

“Robin,” you warn.

Steve’s eyes flick towards you again. You can practically see the panic moving behind them, his mind racing towards whatever conclusion he is most desperate to avoid. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Robin says, apparently delighted by the danger, “that sometimes people are mean to somebody because they don’t know how to act around them.”

The silence that follows is brief, but not brief enough.

Steve laughs. It is not a kind sound.

“Right,” he says, shaking his head as he moves behind the counter. “Or maybe I’m mean to her because she’s annoying.”

Robin’s smile vanishes.

Your fingers tighten around the tape in your hand.

Steve notices. You see the precise moment he does - the tiny falter in his movement, the colour draining from his expression - but whatever instinct might have prompted a normal person to apologise is immediately smothered beneath his embarrassment.

You should leave it there. You know you should.

Instead, because humiliation has already begun burning through your chest and anger has always been easier to carry than hurt, you say, “You know, nobody’s forcing you to be around me.”

“I’m aware.”

“Could’ve fooled me, considering you follow me around correcting everything I do.”

“I don’t follow you around.”

“No, of course not. You just mysteriously happen to be standing over my shoulder every time I breathe incorrectly.”

Steve exhales sharply. “See? This is exactly what I mean.”

“What, that I answer back when you treat me like shit?”

“That you turn everything into a whole fucking thing.”

Robin looks between you. “Okay. Maybe we should all-”

“No,” you interrupt, eyes still fixed on Steve. “Go on. Tell me what else is so unbearable about me. You’ve clearly been keeping a list.”

His jaw tightens. He should stop. Even Steve knows he should stop, but fear has already curled itself around his ribs, vicious and irrational, because Robin’s theory is hanging there between you and the possibility that you might look at him and realise it is true feels more dangerous than any argument.

So he reaches for the cruelest thing available.

“You want the truth?” he asks. “You’re always there.”

The words fall heavily between you.

You stare at him.

Steve hears them properly only after they have left his mouth, and the regret is instant, sharp enough to hollow his expression. He knows what they sound like. He knows exactly which private insecurity he has just found and pressed his thumb into.

But you are already nodding, once, your face settling into an awful, composed blankness. “Right.”

“That’s not-”

“No, I understand.”

“You don’t.”

“I said I understand, Steve.”

You place the tape down with extraordinary care, because if you move too quickly you think your hands might start shaking, then step out from behind the counter.

Robin says your name softly.

“I’m taking my break.”

“You took it twenty minutes ago,” Steve says, because apparently some diseased part of his brain is still committed to making everything worse.

You stop beside him. When you look up, your expression is calm enough to frighten him. “Then take it out of my pay cheque.”

You walk away before either of them can answer, disappearing through the staff door without once looking back.

Silence settles over the shop.

Robin turns towards Steve. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Steve stares at the closed door. Too many answers rise immediately, none of them remotely good enough. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How exactly did you mean it?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Robin’s expression hardens. “She looked like she was about to cry.”

The shame in Steve’s stomach turns nauseating. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Robin lowers her voice, though there is nobody nearby to overhear them. “You don’t get to keep acting like she’s some massive inconvenience and then lose your mind every time somebody else upsets her. Pick one.”

Steve drags both hands through his hair, staring at the door as though he might somehow reverse the last thirty seconds by looking hard enough. “I screwed up.”

“Yeah. You did.”

He considers following you.

The urge is immediate, almost painful. He pictures finding you in the back room, sees himself apologising, imagines what might happen if you ask him why he cares enough to be sorry.

Fear closes around his throat.

Steve looks away. “I’ll talk to her later.”

Robin studies him with open disgust. “Sure you will.”

He does not.

Later becomes the following day, and then the day after that, every missed opportunity making the apology feel larger and more impossible until the two of you settle back into the same brittle pattern as before - except now, whenever Steve complains that you are in his car or standing too close or talking too much, he watches the memory of his words shutter behind your eyes.

And every time, he hates himself a little more.

The worst part is that you stop seeking him out.

You no longer sit beside him unless there are no other seats. You stop lingering at Family Video after Robin’s shifts finish. When everybody gathers at somebody’s house, you choose whichever side of the room places the greatest distance between you and him, and if Steve drives you home, you thank him politely before leaving without the old argument about his music or the teasing complaint that he takes corners too fast.

He wanted distance.

Now that you have finally given it to him, he discovers it feels remarkably like grief.

Still, he says nothing.

Because Steve Harrington has spent years convincing himself that wanting you is dangerous, and cowardice, when practised for long enough, can begin to resemble restraint.

The Upside Down does not care about complicated feelings.

It doesn't care that Steve has spent three years pretending your laugh irritates him when he could identify it across a crowded room. It doesn't care that you once cried in your car after he told you to stop following him around, or that Steve spent the entire night afterwards staring at his bedroom ceiling feeling so violently ashamed of himself that he nearly drove to your house at three in the morning.

It doesn't care that every cruel thing Steve has ever said to you has been followed by the same sick feeling in his stomach.

Most importantly, it doesn't care that Steve Harrington has convinced himself distance can keep you safe.

The Upside Down has never been particularly interested in keeping anybody safe.

"Stay close."

Steve's voice cuts through the oppressive silence as the group moves deeper into the woods, torchlight trembling over blackened trunks and creeping vines. The air is thick enough to taste, damp particles floating everywhere like diseased snow, and somewhere beyond the reach of the light comes a distant, wet clicking noise that nobody acknowledges.

You glance at Steve. "Wasn't planning on sightseeing."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

His jaw tightens. "Could you, for once in your life, just listen?"

There it is.

You look away. "Yeah. Sure."

Something in your voice makes Robin glance between you.

Steve hears it too. Of course he does.

His grip tightens around the nail-studded bat.

He should apologise.

Instead, because Steve has apparently never met an opportunity for emotional self-sabotage he couldn't enthusiastically embrace, he mutters, "Jesus Christ."

You stop walking. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No. Go ahead."

"We don't have time for this."

"For what? You treating me like I'm some fucking inconvenience again?"

Nancy turns around several feet ahead. "Guys."

Steve exhales sharply. "Can we not do this here?"

You laugh, but there's absolutely nothing amused about it. "You started it."

"I told you to stay close."

"And I said I would."

"Then why do you have to argue about everything?"

"Because you speak to me like I'm an idiot."

"I didn't say you're an idiot."

"You don't have to."

"Guys," Nancy repeats, firmer this time.

You stare at Steve for another second before shaking your head and walking past him.

His stomach twists.

Robin waits until you've moved ahead before stepping beside him.

"Nice."

"Don't."

"You're an asshole."

"I know."

"No, seriously. What is wrong with you?"

Steve watches you disappear into the darkness beside Nancy.

Too many answers rise immediately. He settles for the easiest one. "Nothing."

Robin looks at him as though she'd quite like to introduce his skull to a tree. "You're gonna figure your shit out eventually, right?"

Steve adjusts his grip on the bat. "There's nothing to figure out."

Even here, surrounded by decay and monsters and the remnants of a world trying to kill them, Robin manages an extraordinary eye roll. "Sure."

Steve ignores her.

He has become exceptionally good at ignoring things.

Unfortunately, the Upside Down is about to make that impossible.

It happens too quickly.

Later, Steve will replay those few seconds so many times that they become something separate from memory, worn smooth around the edges from constant handling.

A sound behind him. Nancy shouting. Robin screaming your name.

Steve turns.

And you're gone.

Not entirely. That's worse.

You're still there, except the ground beneath your feet isn't.

The earth has split open where you'd been standing, a rotten section of root and soil collapsing into a fissure hidden beneath the vines. Your torch hits the ground first, spinning wildly as its beam cuts frantic circles through the darkness, and Steve catches one impossible glimpse of your face before you disappear over the edge.

He doesn't think.

He runs.

Your name tears itself out of him so violently that his throat hurts.

Steve hits the ground on his knees at the edge of the fissure and looks down.

For one terrible second, he can't see you.

Then the torch settles.

Twenty feet below, tangled amongst a writhing mass of vines, is your body.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

You're moving.

Thank God.

Steve is already lowering himself towards the edge when Nancy grabs the back of his jacket.

"Steve."

"Let go."

"We don't know what's down there."

"She's down there."

"I know, but-"

"She's down there."

Something in his voice makes Nancy release him.

Steve climbs.

He barely remembers doing it. Roots tear beneath his hands, dirt crumbles beneath his shoes, somebody is shouting instructions from above, but all he can hear is the blood pounding behind his ears and the horrible, strangled sound of you trying to breathe.

Because the vines are moving.

One is wrapped around your ankle. Another coils across your waist. A third has found your throat.

"No."

Steve drops the final few feet hard enough that pain shoots through his ankle.

He doesn't feel it.

Your fingers are clawing desperately beneath the vine around your neck, eyes wide and terrified as it tightens.

Steve swings the bat. Once. Twice.

The vine recoils with an inhuman shriek, black fluid spraying across his arms.

"Steve-" Your voice is barely sound.

"I've got you." He swings again. "I've got you."

Another vine lashes towards him. He barely ducks before driving the nails through it, wrenching the bat free and turning back towards you.

Your face is changing colour.

"No, no, no." The words tumble out without permission.

Steve drops the bat and grabs the vine with both hands. It's warm. Alive. It pulses beneath his palms.

He pulls. Nothing.

"Come on!"

The vine tightens.

Your eyes find his.

And there it is. The moment that ruins him.

Because you're frightened.

Not monster frightened. Not the familiar terror all of you have learned to carry through impossible places.

You're dying.

Steve sees you understand it.

Your struggling begins to weaken. Your hand slips from the vine.

And something inside Steve Harrington simply ceases to exist.

Every excuse. Every carefully constructed reason. Every stupid, cowardly lie he has spent years telling himself about why keeping you away was better.

Gone.

There is only you.

Your laugh. Your stupid arguments. The way you always steal the cherries from his milkshakes because you know he doesn't like them. The little crease between your eyebrows when you're concentrating. The sound of your voice saying his name.

The possibility that he might never hear it again.

Steve pulls until his palms tear.

"Don't." His voice breaks.

The vine doesn't care.

"Don't you fucking do this."

Your eyes flutter.

Steve feels something close to hysteria claw its way up his throat.

"Look at me."

You barely manage it.

"Look at me. Come on."

He wedges both hands beneath the vine.

"I need you to stay with me."

Your lips move. He can't hear you.

"What?"

Another whisper.

Steve leans closer.

"Steve."

His name. That's all.

It nearly destroys him.

"I'm here." His vision blurs. "I'm right here."

Then Nancy lands beside him. Robin follows.

The next thirty seconds become violence.

Nancy hacks at the vines with an axe while Robin drags at the one around your ankle, and Steve keeps both hands wedged between your throat and the thing trying to crush it. When it finally gives, splitting beneath Nancy's blade with a wet, hideous snap, your entire body collapses forward.

Steve catches you.

You don't breathe.

One second passes. Then another.

"Hey."

Nothing.

"No."

He lowers you onto the ground.

"Hey."

Your head lolls against his arm.

"Come on."

Somebody says his name. He doesn't know who.

Steve presses trembling fingers against your neck.

Nothing.

Or maybe his hands are shaking too badly.

He can't tell.

"No, no, no, no-"

Then you gasp.

The sound is horrible. Wet and ragged and painful.

It is also the most beautiful thing Steve has ever heard.

Your whole body jerks as air finally tears its way back into your lungs, and Steve folds over you so quickly he nearly crushes you himself.

"Oh my God."

His hand cups the back of your head.

"Oh my God."

You're coughing against his chest.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Steve presses his face into your hair.

And for the first time, with your heartbeat fluttering weakly against his palm, he allows himself to understand exactly what losing you would mean.

Everything. It would mean everything.

When you wake properly, the first thing you notice is pain.

Your throat feels scraped raw from the inside. Every breath aches. Your ribs protest when you move, and something beneath your shoulder blade feels as though somebody has driven a railway spike through it.

The second thing you notice is Steve.

He's sitting beside the bed. Of course he is.

You recognise the Wheelers' basement slowly around him, a lamp glowing faintly in the far corner, a glass of water and several bottles of painkillers cluttering the bedside table. Someone has thrown a blanket around Steve's shoulders, though he's barely wearing it properly. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles have gone white.

There's dried blood beneath his fingernails.

You remember why.

"Hey."

His head snaps up.

The relief that crosses his face is so naked that you almost don't recognise him.

"Hey." His voice cracks.

You swallow painfully. "How long?"

"Few hours."

"Everyone okay?"

"Yeah."

"Robin?"

"Fine."

"Nancy?"

"Fine."

You nod.

Silence.

Steve looks awful.

His hair is filthy, his shirt streaked with black blood and earth, a bruise blooming along his jaw that you don't remember him getting. His eyes are red.

You look away.

"Why are you here?"

The question hits exactly where you intend it to.

Steve's mouth opens. Closes.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay."

"I know."

"So you can go."

He flinches.

Good.

You hate yourself immediately for thinking it.

Steve looks down at his hands. "Can we talk?"

A humourless laugh scrapes painfully against your throat. "Now you want to talk?"

"I deserve that."

"You deserve considerably worse."

"I know."

Something about the lack of argument makes your anger sharpen.

For years, you've imagined this conversation. Imagined finally telling Steve exactly what he'd done to you, exactly how many times you'd gone home after one of his comments and wondered what was so fundamentally irritating about your existence that simply being around you seemed to put him in a bad mood.

You'd never imagined having it with bruises around your throat.

"What do you want, Steve?"

He looks at you.

And for once, there is nowhere for him to hide.

"I thought you were dead."

Your anger falters. Only slightly.

"But I'm not."

"I know."

"So?"

His jaw tightens. "So I thought you were dead, and I..." He stops, staring at the floor. "There was this second where you weren't breathing."

You remember his hands.

His voice.

Look at me.

"I know."

"And I knew."

Your brow furrows. "Knew what?"

Steve laughs once, miserably. "Everything."

You stare at him.

He rubs both hands over his face before pushing himself upright, restless energy carrying him halfway across the room before he turns back.

"I love you."

Silence.

The words you've wanted for years enter the room and somehow manage to feel like a slap.

Steve watches your expression change.

His face falls.

You laugh. You can't help it. It hurts your throat, but you laugh anyway.

"You're unbelievable."

"I know."

"No, you don't." You push yourself higher against the pillows despite the pain. "You don't get to do that."

"I know."

"Stop saying you know!"

He goes silent.

"You've treated me like shit for years."

"I know."

"Steve."

"Sorry." His voice breaks. "Sorry."

You stare at him, furious tears burning behind your eyes.

"I loved you."

His face crumples.

You hate that too.

"I loved you when we were seventeen. I loved you when you were still obsessed with Nancy. I loved you when you started driving everybody around and pretending you hated it. I loved you through every stupid haircut and every shitty job and every time you made me feel like the most annoying person you'd ever met."

"I never thought that."

"You made me think it."

Steve closes his eyes.

That lands. Good.

"You were cruel to me."

"I was."

"And now I nearly die and suddenly you love me?"

"No." His answer is immediate.

You stare at him.

"No," he repeats, quieter. "I didn't start loving you down there."

"Then what?"

"I stopped being able to lie about it."

The room stills.

Steve's eyes are wet now. He doesn't wipe them.

"I've loved you for..." He laughs shakily. "Jesus, I don't even know. That's the pathetic part."

"Then why?"

There it is. The question that has lived inside you for years.

"Why were you so horrible to me?"

Steve looks down.

For several seconds, you think he isn't going to answer.

Then, "Because I fuck things up."

Your anger stutters. "What?"

"I fuck things up." His voice is quieter now. "People. Relationships. I say the wrong thing, or I don't say anything, or I try too hard and make everything worse. And you..." He finally looks at you. "You mattered too much."

Your eyes burn. "That's bullshit."

"I know it is."

"Then don't dress it up like you were protecting me."

"I'm not." Steve moves closer, then seems to think better of it. "I thought I was."

You stare at him.

"I thought if I didn't let myself get too close, then I couldn't screw it up. Couldn't hurt you. Couldn't..." He swallows. "Couldn't lose you because of something I did."

A tear slips down your cheek. You wipe it away angrily.

"You still hurt me."

Steve nods. "Yeah."

"You idiot."

"I know."

"Stop-"

"Sorry."

Despite everything, something dangerously close to laughter catches in your chest.

Steve notices. A tiny, devastated smile appears.

You glare at him. "Don't."

"I'm not."

"You're smiling."

"I'm really trying not to."

"You're an arsehole."

"I'm pretty sure that's established."

You look away because, infuriatingly, you almost smile too.

Then Steve speaks again.

"I was scared."

The humour disappears.

"I know that doesn't excuse it. Nothing does. I made you feel unwanted because I was terrified of how badly I wanted you, and that's..." He shakes his head. "That's mine. You didn't deserve any of it."

You look back at him. "I can't just forget it."

"I'm not asking you to."

"You can't say you love me and expect everything to be fixed."

"I don't."

"And if you're only saying this because you watched me nearly die-"

"I'm saying it because watching you nearly die made me realise I could spend the rest of my life being scared, or I could stop making that fear your problem."

Silence.

Steve takes one cautious step closer. "I don't expect you to forgive me today." Another. "I don't expect you to believe me because I finally figured out how to say the right thing." He stops beside the bed. "But I'm done punishing you for something you never did."

Your throat tightens for an entirely different reason.

"And I'm done pretending I don't love you."

You stare at him for a long time.

Then, quietly, "You really are an idiot."

Steve exhales something halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah."

"The biggest idiot I've ever met."

"Probably."

"You have a lot to make up for."

"I know."

This time, you let him say it.

"And you're not allowed to be mean to me anymore."

"Never again."

"That's unrealistic."

"Okay." His mouth twitches. "I'll probably still tell you when you're being annoying."

"Steve."

"But affectionately."

You roll your eyes.

He smiles. And there he is. The Steve you've always known existed somewhere beneath all that armour. The one you caught glimpses of whenever he forgot he was supposed to be pushing you away.

You hold out your hand.

Steve stares at it. Then at you.

"Don't make me regret this."

His fingers close around yours with extraordinary care. "I won't."

"You probably will."

"Okay, I probably will at some point, but I'll apologise immediately."

A laugh escapes you. It hurts. You wince.

Steve's entire expression changes. "Shit. Sorry. Don't laugh."

"Then stop being stupid."

"I've got twenty years of habit to undo. Give me a minute."

You shake your head. But you don't let go. Neither does he.

For a while, that's enough.

Then Steve's gaze drops briefly towards your mouth before snapping back to your eyes.

You notice. Obviously.

"Are you seriously thinking about kissing me right now?"

His ears turn pink. "No."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I've had a rough night."

"So have I."

"Yeah, yours was probably worse."

"Probably?"

"Definitely. Way worse."

You look at him.

Three years.

Three years of wanting him and resenting him and wondering whether the tenderness you occasionally glimpsed was something you'd invented because you wanted so desperately for it to be there.

Now he's standing beside your bed looking terrified to touch you.

You tug gently on his hand.

Steve steps closer. "Can I?"

You let him wait for half a second.

Perhaps that's cruel. Perhaps he's earned it.

Then you nod. "Yeah."

Steve kisses you like somebody who has finally understood that wanting something and deserving it are not the same thing.

Carefully.

No desperation. No attempt to turn the moment into something it isn't. One hand settles lightly against your cheek, avoiding the bruising around your throat, and his mouth brushes yours with such impossible gentleness that your anger doesn't disappear so much as make room for something else beside it.

When he pulls away, he doesn't go far. His forehead rests carefully against yours.

"Still mad at me?"

"Furious."

"Okay."

"I might be furious for a while."

"That's fair."

"You'll have to work for it."

"I will."

You study his face. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever decide to protect me by making me hate you again, I will personally send you back into the Upside Down."

A breath of laughter escapes him. "Got it."

"Alone."

"Okay."

"Without the bat."

"Jesus."

You smile despite yourself.

And Steve, still holding your hand as though the memory of almost losing it has been carved permanently into him, smiles back.

For years, he'd believed loving you meant staying far enough away that he could never hurt you.

It had taken almost losing you to understand the obvious flaw in that logic.

Distance had never kept either of you safe.

It had only made you lonely.

So when you shift carefully across the mattress and Steve settles into the chair beside you, your fingers remaining intertwined in the narrow space between, neither of you pretends everything has been magically repaired.

Tomorrow, there will be apologies to repeat and wounds that take longer to heal than the bruises around your throat. There will be years of hurt to unpick, habits to relearn, trust to rebuild slowly enough that it actually means something.

But tonight, when sleep finally begins pulling you under and Steve's thumb moves unconsciously across your knuckles, you don't have to wonder whether he'll still be there when you wake.

For once, Steve Harrington isn't running from the thing he's most afraid to lose.

dividers: @saradika-graphics

new taglist: @whispersoflost, @teheblue, @je33123, @eller41, @bluehexagon8, @n4ina-07, @prettyfortucker, @leahfaith, @keerymylove, @sexyvixen7, @writingforuandme, @oohlillie, @lacywithdrawal, @stoneyggirl2, @kurtsw7rld96, @simply-a-book-lover

[andvys]

the angst was so good holy shit

[spacejjunk]

youre better off with me

pairing: bbf! eddie x reader

w/c: 9.9k+

summary: you had long accepted that eddie was just a part of your family now. your parents loved him. your brother loved him. you pretended you didnt love him.

warnings/tags: dead dove ish?, dubcon, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, outdoor sex, jealous possessive! eddie, drunk sex, dirty talk, spanking, claiming, brat tamer! eddie, reader is 21 eddies like 28ish

masterlist // join the taglist

The van smelled like old weed, motor oil, and the faint ghost of every summer you’d ever spent in it.

Eddie slammed the back doors shut with a metallic thunk that echoed across the driveway, then turned to look at you over the roof, one eyebrow already arched like he was preparing for combat.

“You bring the good snacks or the sad ones?” he asked.

You hiked the strap of your duffel higher on your shoulder. “I brought what I always bring. You’re the one who always steals them.”

“I don’t steal. I redistribute. Big difference.” He pointed a long finger at you. “And if those are the weird sour-cream-and-onion pretzels again, I’m leaving you on the side of the highway.”

“You threaten that every year.”

“And one day I’ll mean it.”

"Fuck off Munson."

"Make me."

Your older brother just laughed from the passenger seat, already half-reclined with his boots on the dash like the years hadn’t changed a damn thing. The three of you had done this dance since you were kids—your parents driving the family car, Eddie’s van trailing behind loaded with tents and coolers and that ridiculous boombox he refused to retire. Your brother and Eddie had moved out to Chicago last year and missed the trip. This year the parents had finally waved the white flag. We’re too old for this, they’d said. You three can keep the tradition if you want.

So here you were.

Four hours of highway, two gas-station pit stops, and one argument about whether Dio or Iron Maiden was the superior soundtrack later, the van rattled off the paved road onto the familiar dirt track that led into the state park. The trees closed in overhead, filtering the late-afternoon light into green-gold shafts. You felt the same low thrum in your chest you’d always felt when the campground came into view—half nostalgia, half something sharper that had only started humming under your skin three years ago.

Eddie killed the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant cry of a hawk.

He twisted in the driver’s seat to look at you in the back. His hair was longer than last summer, curls escaping the bandana he’d tied around his head. A thin silver chain glinted at his throat. He still looked like trouble. He still looked like the boy who’d once dared you to eat a raw cricket and then laughed until he cried when you actually did it.

“Home sweet temporary home,” he said, voice low. “You gonna help set up or are you gonna stand there looking at me like I owe you money?”

You shoved the side door open harder than necessary. “You do owe me money, idiot.”

“Oh don't worry. I'll pay you back— with interest.”

Your brother was already out and stretching, cracking his back with a groan. “You two are exhausting. I’m grabbing the cooler before one of you starts the inevitable screaming match.”

Eddie hopped out after him, landing lightly despite the height. He caught your eye across the open doors as you both reached for the same folded tarp. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.

The air between you felt charged the way it always did now—like static before a storm, like the second before someone said something they couldn’t take back. You’d spent years pretending the dislike was pure. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting that every time he smirked at you or called you by that stupid nickname he’d invented when you were fourteen, something low and hot twisted in your stomach.

Eddie tilted his head, studying you the way he studied guitar tabs—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing something he already knew by heart.

“You're quieter,” he said.

“You're louder.”

“Fair.” He tugged the tarp free and slung it over one shoulder. “C’mon. Sun’s gonna drop soon. Last thing I need is you bitching at me in the dark because we can’t find the tent poles.”

You followed him into the clearing you’d claimed for years, boots crunching over pine needles. Your brother was already staking out the flatter ground near the fire ring, whistling off-key. Eddie dropped the tarp and started unfolding the bigger tent with the easy efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. You worked opposite him, feeding poles through sleeves, the familiar rhythm settling between you even as the unfamiliar tension hummed underneath.

Every so often your hands would meet again—passing a stake, smoothing a corner of fabric—and you’d both pause for half a second too long before pretending it hadn’t happened.

The sky was turning the color of bruised peaches by the time the tents were up and the cooler was cracked open. Your brother claimed the smaller tent without argument, already disappearing inside with a book and a beer. That left the bigger one for you and Eddie. Funny how life works out.

Eddie stood at the open flap, looking in at the two sleeping bags rolled side by side, then glanced over his shoulder at you. The fading light caught on the rings stacked on his fingers.

“You still snore?” he asked.

“You still talk in your sleep?”

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He ducked inside without waiting for an answer, and the undercurrent between you pulsed once—hot, quiet, and very much awake.

The tent was dark and warm, the kind of close heat that only came from two bodies breathing the same recycled air. You’d fallen asleep facing the wall, sleeping bag zipped to your chin, determined to ignore the fact that Eddie was only a few feet away on the other side of the nylon floor.

Sometime past midnight you woke to the soft, rough sound of his voice.

Low. Thick with sleep. Your name. Almost a whisper.

“…not supposed to look at you like that… fuck… you're… goddamn…”

Your eyes snapped open. The words dissolved into an unintelligible mumble, then silence. You held perfectly still, heart thudding against your ribs, waiting to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t. Just a quiet shift of fabric as he rolled over.

You stared at the dark ceiling for a long time after that, pulse still elevated, before forcing your eyes shut again and pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

Morning came too bright and too early.

Your brother was already up and making noise outside, clattering the little propane stove. Eddie emerged from the tent looking like he’d lost a fight with his own hair, bandana shoved in his back pocket, last night’s black T-shirt wrinkled and riding up just enough to flash a strip of pale stomach when he stretched. He caught you looking and immediately smirked.

“Morning, princess. Sleep okay or did the spooky forest keep you up?”

You shoved past him toward the cooler. “Your talking kept me up.”

“I— I was talking last night?” Eddie looked like he'd seen a ghost— the color draining from his already pale face.

"Mhm. Big talk last night Munson."

"Unconscious me is not the same person as conscious me."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Your brother popped out of his tent looking just as rough as Eddie. "What'd he say this time?"

"This time?"

"Nothing. Fuck you guys— let's go do something."

The day unfolded the way these days always did with the three of you—sunlight, river, the easy rhythm of people who’d known each other too long. Kayaking came first. The three of you dragged the rented boats down to the water, your brother claiming the single and leaving you and Eddie to share the double. Of course.

Eddie took the back seat without asking, which meant he controlled the rudder and got the better view of everything in front of him. Including you.

“Try not to tip us,” he called as you pushed off. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Your reputation is already trash.”

“Rude. Chicago doesn't know my Hawkins reputation so… I'm like recycled trash now.”

"They should be warned."

The river was slow and glassy, edged with overhanging branches that scraped soft green fingers across the surface. You paddled in sync more out of muscle memory than cooperation, the kayak cutting clean lines through the current. Every so often Eddie would dig his paddle in harder on one side just to make the boat rock, laughing under his breath when you twisted around to glare at him. Water droplets clung to the dark curls escaping his bandana. His arms flexed with every stroke, veins standing out along the insides of his forearms. You hated that you noticed.

At one point he leaned forward, voice dropping so your brother—paddling ahead—couldn’t hear.

“You still do that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating?”

You didn’t answer. Just paddled harder.

His quiet chuckle followed you down the river.

Softball happened in the open field near the campground after lunch. Your brother and Eddie claimed folding chairs and a cooler full of cheap beer like it was their sacred duty, while you ended up on a pickup team with a bunch of other campers. Eddie watched the entire time with the lazy intensity of a cat watching a bird. Every time you connected with the ball he’d holler something deliberately embarrassing—“That’s my girl!” or “Show ‘em how it’s done!”—loud enough that half the field turned to look. Your brother just shook his head and kept drinking.

By the time the game wrapped, the sun was sliding toward the treeline and the air had that golden, late-summer weight to it. People were already drifting toward the rec center at the far end of the campground. Strings of lights were being tested. A DJ was doing sound check.

You wiped sweat from your forehead with the hem of your shirt and found Eddie watching you again, beer bottle dangling from loose fingers.

“You gonna clean up for the dance or just show up looking like you lost a fight with a river?” he asked.

“You planning on actually dancing or just leaning against a post looking pretentious all night?”

He tipped the bottle toward you in a mock toast. “Depends. You planning on asking me?”

The words landed heavier than the teasing tone suggested. For a second neither of you looked away. The undercurrent that had been humming all day—ever since you’d woken up to the sound of your name in his sleeping mouth—tightened into something almost tangible.

Your brother clapped Eddie on the shoulder hard enough to make him sway. “If you two are done with the foreplay, I’m starving. Rec center’s got those shitty hot dogs and I want at least four before the music starts.”

Eddie finally broke the stare, flashing that crooked, dangerous grin.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still half on you. “Wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”

The three of you headed back toward the tents to change as the first real notes of music drifted through the trees. The night was just getting started.

You changed in the tent with the flap zipped tight, the skimpy little dress clinging to your skin the second you pulled it over the bathing suit. The material was thin and soft, the kind that moved when you did, neckline low enough to make the heat feel intentional. Practical, you told yourself. If the night went the way these nights sometimes did—too many drinks, someone daring someone else—you could strip the dress and hit the water without a second thought. You’d done it before.

When you stepped out, the campground lights were already glowing through the trees.

Eddie was leaning against the side of the van with a fresh beer, one boot kicked up behind him. He took a long drink, eyes tracking you from the moment the tent flap opened. He didn’t even try to hide it. The look dragged slow—over the bare stretch of your thighs, the way the dress sat on your hips, the line of your collarbones—before he finally dragged his gaze up to your face and smirked like he’d caught you doing something illegal.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice low. “You trying to start a riot or just ruin my night?”

Your brother snorted from where he was tying his shoes on the picnic table. “She always looks like that. You’re just dramatic.”

Eddie didn’t look away from you. “I’m observant. There’s a difference.” He pushed off the van and circled you once, slow, like he was inspecting merchandise. "You’re gonna make the soccer moms clutch their pearls.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, adjusting the thin strap on your shoulder. “You look like you got dressed in a thrift store during a blackout.”

He grinned, all teeth. “And yet here you are, still looking.”

Your brother stood, clapping his hands together like the world’s most oblivious referee. “Alright, children. Rec center. Hot dogs. Bad music. Try not to kill each other before we get there.” He was already walking, completely missing the way Eddie’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth, your legs, the place where the dress ended.

The three of you cut through the trees toward the glow of the gazebo. Strings of bulb lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in warm gold. A DJ booth had been set up under the roof, speakers already thumping something upbeat and slightly too loud. Picnic tables had been pushed aside to make a dance floor, and the bar was stocked with drinks. The smell of grilled hotdogs and firewood permeated the air.

Eddie kept pace beside you, still talking.

“I’m just saying, if you trip in those shoes I’m not carrying you. I’ll point and laugh. Publicly.”

“You’ve carried me before.”

“That was different. You were twelve and had a scraped knee. Now you’re—” He gestured vaguely at all of you, words failing him for half a second. “Anyway. Don’t expect chivalry.”

Your brother laughed, already peeling off toward the bar. “He’s so full of shit. He once carried a drunk girl two miles because she lost a shoe. Remember that, Eds?”

“I remember you never shutting up about it,” Eddie muttered, but his eyes were still on you.

You reached the bar first. Ordered something with a fancy fruity name, and took a long swallow. The burn settled low in your stomach. Perfect.

Eddie opened his mouth—probably to say something else annoying, something that would sound like an insult and land like a touch—but you were already turning away.

“I’m dancing,” you said over your shoulder. “Try not to miss me too hard.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. Just slipped into the growing crowd under the lights, drink in hand, the skimpy dress brushing against your thighs with every step. Behind you, you could feel the weight of his stare like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your brother was already laughing about something. Eddie wasn’t saying a word.

You danced alone at first, letting the music pull you under the string lights. The beat was heavy enough to feel in your ribs, the kind of song that made hips move without permission. Your drink was already half gone. The skimpy dress clung and shifted with every turn, the bathing suit underneath a thin secret against your skin. People watched. You didn’t care.

Then a pair of hands settled lightly at your waist.

You glanced back. Tall. Broad shoulders. Easy smile. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Attractive in that clean, summer-camp way—nothing like the chaos you were used to. He didn’t ask. Just matched your rhythm, body slotting in behind yours like he’d been waiting for the invitation.

You let him.

It started casual. Then it wasn’t.

His hands slid lower, fingers spreading over your hips, guiding you back against him. You rolled with it, spine arching, the thin fabric of the dress the only thing between his chest and your back. The music thumped louder. Someone whooped nearby. His breath brushed the shell of your ear when he leaned in, and you tipped your head just enough to give him more space. Your bodies moved together—slow, dirty, deliberate. Thighs brushing. Ass grinding back against the hard line of him. Every shift of your hips made the hem of the dress ride a little higher.

Across the open floor, past the shifting bodies and the glow of the lights, Eddie stood frozen near the bar.

Your brother was already three drinks past functional, leaning heavily against the table and laughing at nothing, plastic cup waving in the air as he tried to tell a story to some poor stranger who kept nodding politely. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Eddie had.

His jaw was locked so tight the muscle jumped under the skin. One hand crushed the neck of his beer bottle; the other was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans like he needed to keep it contained. He watched the stranger’s hands on your waist, watched the way you moved against him, watched the flush climbing your throat. His eyes were dark, almost black under the string lights, and the easy, mocking expression he usually wore had been scraped clean off his face.

He looked like he wanted to put his fist through something. Or someone.

You caught the stare over the random guy’s shoulder and held it for a second too long—just long enough to see the pure, boiling jealousy flash across Eddie’s features before you turned back into the dance. The stranger’s hand slid higher under the side of your dress, fingertips grazing the edge of your bathing suit bottoms, and you didn’t stop him.

Eddie’s bottle hit the bar top hard enough that your brother finally glanced over, still grinning drunk and clueless.

“Dude, you good?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He just kept staring at you like he was two seconds from crossing the floor and starting a fight.

Your brother swayed hard enough that he had to plant a hand on the nearest picnic table to stay upright.

“I’m done,” he announced, voice thick and cheerful. “Gonna pass out before I embarrass myself more. You two… don’t kill each other.” He pointed vaguely between you and Eddie, already turning toward the path that led back to the tents. “Love you, mean it, goodnight.”

Eddie moved before you could answer.

His hand locked around your upper arm—hard, fingers digging in just shy of bruising—and he yanked you away from the stranger mid-song. The guy made a confused noise, but Eddie didn’t even glance at him. He was already hauling you across the grass after your brother, jaw tight, boots loud against the packed dirt.

“Let go—”

“Shut up and walk,” he bit out.

You twisted in his grip. “Eddie—”

“Your brother’s hammered. We’re making sure he doesn’t face-plant in a ditch. Move.”

The walk back was silent except for your brother’s off-key humming and the occasional stumble that made Eddie’s grip on you tighten even more. By the time the tents came into view, your arm was throbbing under his fingers. Your brother crawled into the smaller tent without protest, mumbled something about breakfast, and was snoring within minutes.

The second the zipper closed, Eddie’s hand slid from your arm to your wrist. He didn’t let go. Instead he turned and started walking—fast, purposeful—toward the river path instead of the tent you were supposed to share.

“Where the hell are you—”

“Quiet.”

You dug your heels in. “Eddie, what the fuck is your problem?”

He spun on you so fast you nearly collided with his chest. Up close his eyes were wild, the jealousy still burning hot behind them. “My problem? My problem is watching some random asshole put his hands all over you like he had the right. My problem is you letting him.”

“I can dance with whoever I want—”

“Get in the kayak.”

You blinked. He’d already dragged one of the rental doubles halfway into the water, the plastic hull scraping against the pebbles. The river stretched black and quiet under the moonlight, the current lapping against the bank.

“Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night—”

“Get. In.”

You should have said no. You should have turned around, walked back to the tent, zipped yourself in and pretended none of this was happening. But the anger rolling off him was magnetic, thick enough to taste, and the curiosity that had been coiling low in your stomach all day flared hot. You’d never been good at smart decisions where Eddie Munson was concerned.

You stepped into the kayak.

He pushed off hard, climbing in behind you in one smooth motion, paddle already in his hands. The boat rocked once, then settled as the current caught it. Trees closed in on either side, blocking out the last of the campground lights. The only sound left was the soft dip of the paddle and Eddie’s heavy breathing at your back.

He didn’t speak again until the music and the lights were far behind you.

When he finally did, his voice was low and rough and right against your ear.

“You and me are gonna have a conversation. And you’re not getting out of this boat until I say so.”

The paddle cut through the black water in hard, angry strokes. You could feel every one of them in the way the kayak jerked forward.

“You’re being a fucking child,” you snapped over your shoulder, arms crossed tight under your chest. The dress stuck to your skin in the humid night air. “Dragging me out here like some jealous boyfriend when you’re not even—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Eddie’s voice was low and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what I am right now.”

“Oh my God.” You twisted further, nearly tipping the boat. “You don’t get to manhandle me in front of half the campground because some guy danced with me. I can do whatever I want.”

“You were grinding on him.”

“So?”

“So I wanted to break his fucking hands.”

The words hung there, raw and honest. You faced forward again, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction even as something hot twisted low in your stomach. The river narrowed. Trees leaned in closer on both sides, their branches forming a dark tunnel overhead. The current slowed. Up ahead the water opened into a small, secluded pool half-hidden by a curve of rock and thick underbrush—a private little grotto the three of you had found years ago and somehow never told anyone else about.

Eddie drove the kayak onto the muddy bank hard enough that the hull scraped loud in the quiet. He was out first, boots splashing, then turning to offer a hand you deliberately ignored. You climbed out on your own, nearly slipping, and stalked over to the old fallen log that had served as a bench for years. The wood was cool and damp under your thighs when you sat, arms still crossed, staring hard at the dark water instead of him.

Eddie dragged the kayak further up so it wouldn’t float away, then planted himself directly in front of you. Close. Blocking the moonlight.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t.

“I said look at me.”

You tipped your head back just enough to give him the most unimpressed stare you could manage. “What, Eddie? You dragged me all the way out here to lecture me about dancing? Congratulations. Message received. Can we go back now?”

His hands flexed at his sides. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“And you’re being a controlling asshole. We’re even.”

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that had zero humor in it. “You let him put his hands under your dress.”

“Barely.”

“I watched him.”

“Then maybe you should’ve danced with me instead of standing there looking at me like you had some moronic invisible claim over me.”

That landed. His eyes flashed. He took one step closer so his boots nearly touched yours, looming over where you sat on the log. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the second before lightning.

“You want me to dance with you?” he asked, voice dropping into something quieter and more dangerous. “That what this is about?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away again, pure brat, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “I want you to stop acting like you own me when you don’t. That’s what this is about.”

Eddie exhaled hard through his nose. He didn’t move back. If anything he leaned in another inch, the scent of beer and sweat and the metal of his jewelry filling the small space between you.

“Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “See what happens.”

You stood up from the log like he hadn’t just threatened you, like the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on.

“I’m swimming back,” you said flatly, already reaching for the hem of the dress. “You can sit here and be pissed by yourself.”

The thin fabric peeled up and over your head in one motion. You balled it up and tossed it into the kayak without looking, left standing in nothing but the little bikini you’d worn underneath. The night air kissed every newly bare inch of skin. You took one step toward the water.

Eddie moved faster.

“No the fuck you’re not.”

His hand shot out and caught you by the upper arm again—harder this time, fingers digging in as he yanked you back against him. The motion was rough, careless with anger, and his studded bracelet snagged the loose string at the back of your neck. The bow came undone with a soft, final slip. The triangle cups of the top fell forward instantly, baring your tits to the cool air and to him.

Everything stopped.

Eddie’s breath left him in a punched-out sound. His eyes dropped and stayed there, locked on the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks of your nipples already tightening under the sudden exposure and the heat of his stare. For one suspended second he just looked—hungry, furious, wrecked—before the last of his restraint snapped clean in half.

He hauled you fully against him and crushed his mouth to yours.

The kiss was all teeth and heat and years of denial. His tongue shoved past your lips like he was trying to punish you with it, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head exactly where he wanted while the other arm banded tight around your waist, pinning your bare chest to the front of his shirt. You could feel the metal of his rings cold against your spine, the hard line of his cock already pressing against your stomach through his jeans. He kissed like he hated how much he wanted it—deep, messy, wet—nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your lips between kisses, voice wrecked. “Knew you’d taste like this. Knew you’d be this soft. Goddamn tease—”

His hand left your hair only long enough to shove the ruined bikini top the rest of the way off your arms, then he was back, palm dragging up your side to cup one bare breast, thumb scraping roughly over the nipple. The sound he made when you arched into the touch was pure filth, low and broken.

He walked you backward until your calves hit the log again, never breaking the kiss, never letting more than an inch of space exist between your bodies. When he finally tore his mouth away it was only to drag it down your jaw, teeth scraping the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he spoke right against it.

“You let that asshole put his hands on what’s been driving me crazy for three fucking years. You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the bar right there.” His fingers pinched your nipple, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Still might bend you over. Keep being a brat and find out.”

You shoved at his chest even as your back hit the log again, still trying to keep the upper hand.

“Get off me—”

Eddie only laughed, low and mean, and used the grip he already had on you to force you down. One hard push at your shoulders and your knees hit the damp earth with a soft thud. He stepped in close, boots bracketing your thighs, and the sound of his belt buckle coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet grotto. Zipper next. Then he shoved his jeans and boxers just low enough to free his cock.

It was already hard, thick, the head flushed dark and shining at the tip. He wrapped one hand around the base and tapped the heavy weight of it against your cheek, smearing a streak of precum across your skin.

“Open.”

You tipped your chin up and gave him the most venomous look you could manage from your knees. “I swear to God if you shove that in my mouth I’m biting it off.”

Eddie’s eyes flashed. His free hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make your scalp sting. “Do it. See what happens when you try.”

He didn’t wait for another threat. The blunt head of his cock dragged across your lips once, twice, then he pushed forward. You opened on a sharp inhale—half protest, half something hungier—and he slid over your tongue in one long, relentless stroke until the head bumped the back of your throat.

“Fuck—there it is,” he groaned, both hands now fisted in your hair. “Knew that smart mouth would feel perfect wrapped around me.”

He didn’t ease in. He fucked your throat like he’d been thinking about it for years—short, punishing thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. Spit slicked down your chin. Your eyes watered. Every time you tried to pull back even an inch he held you tighter and pushed deeper, hips rolling with zero patience.

“Look at you,” he panted, staring down with dark, glassy eyes. “On your knees in the dirt for me after all that attitude. Letting some random fucker put his hands on you and now you’re choking on my cock like a good little slut. That what you needed? Someone to shut you up properly?”

You glared up at him through wet lashes, still trying to be defiant even with your lips stretched wide around him. The threat of your teeth was still there; he felt it, and it only made him groan louder and thrust harder.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, voice rough. “You bite me and I’ll bend you over that log and spank your ass red before I fuck you. Try me. Please. I’ve been dying to.”

His hips snapped forward again, burying every inch. The wet heat of your mouth, the way your throat fluttered around him, the bratty fire still burning in your eyes—it all pulled a broken, filthy stream of words out of him as he used your mouth without mercy.

“God, you’re soaking the front of those little bottoms already, aren’t you? I can smell how wet you are from here. Fucking hate how bad I want you. Hate that I’ve jerked off thinking about this exact view for three goddamn years. Take it. Take every inch like the mouthy little bitch you are.”

Eddie’s rhythm turned short and brutal, hips snapping forward with no more pretense of control. His fingers tightened hard in your hair as the first pulse of his orgasm hit, thick and hot, flooding your tongue and the back of your throat.

“Fuck—swallow it—take it—”

You didn’t.

The second he started to pull back you dragged your teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock—not hard enough to break skin, but sharp enough to make him hiss and jerk. Then you shoved him the rest of the way out with your tongue and spit.

Everything he’d just pumped into your mouth landed wet and messy across the front of his jeans and the base of his still-twitching cock. A long, shiny strand connected your bottom lip to him for a second before it broke. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him, eyes pure challenge.

“Oops.”

The sound Eddie made was almost a snarl.

He hauled you up by the hair and the arm so fast your knees left the ground. In two strides he was sitting on the log and you were face-down across his lap, the rough denim of his jeans scraping your bare stomach and the soft insides of your thighs. One of his hands pinned both of your wrists at the small of your back; the other yanked the soaking bikini bottoms down to mid-thigh, baring your ass completely to the night air.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice was low, shaking with leftover pleasure and fresh fury. “Had to push. Had to spit my come all over me like a spoiled little brat who wants to get punished.”

The first slap cracked across your right cheek hard enough to make the sound echo off the water. The sting bloomed hot and immediate. You jerked, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Count.”

You stayed silent on pure principle.

The second slap landed harder, lower, catching the sensitive crease where ass met thigh. Your breath punched out of you.

“I said count, sweetheart.”

“One,” you forced out through gritted teeth, still trying to sound defiant even as heat flooded between your legs.

“Good girl.” Another sharp crack. “That’s two. You’re gonna feel every single one of these when I finally fuck you. Going to remind you what happens when you act like you don’t belong to me.”

His palm came down again and again—steady, deliberate, spreading the burn across both cheeks until the skin felt swollen and throbbing. Between strikes he dragged his fingers through the mess of slick already coating your inner thighs, collecting it and smearing it higher, teasing your entrance without giving you anything.

“Look at this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Dripping down my leg already. You did this on purpose. Wanted me to lose it. Wanted me to bend you over and make it hurt.”

Another slap, harder than the ones before. You couldn’t stop the broken sound that left your throat.

Eddie leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear while his hand soothed roughly over the hot, stinging skin he’d just punished.

“We’re not even close to done. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. And you’re going to say thank you when I’m finished. You're mine now. Thought I didn't notice your little crush on me? Made it fuckin' obvious you brat.”

You twisted against the iron grip he still had on your wrists, cheek pressed to the rough bark of the log, ass burning. The words came out sharp and breathless.

“I don’t belong to you.”

Eddie’s hand stilled for half a second on the hot skin of your cheek.

“You’re just my brother’s annoying best friend. That’s all you’ve ever been. Some loud, chaotic asshole who made fun of me for years. Why the fuck do you think you get to act like you have some claim?”

He didn’t answer with words at first.

Two fingers slid between your thighs from behind, parting the slick folds of your pussy with zero warning. You were soaked—embarrassingly, shamelessly wet—and the sound his fingers made dragging through it was filthy in the quiet. He stroked slow, deliberate, gathering your wetness and spreading it up to circle your clit without ever giving you real pressure.

“You want to know why?” His voice was low, almost conversational, even as his fingers kept teasing—gliding, pressing, never quite pushing inside. “Because I’ve watched you grow up into the exact kind of trouble I can’t stay away from. Because every time I saw you, you got louder and meaner and hotter and I had to sit there pretending I didn’t want to bend you over the nearest flat surface.”

He finally pushed one finger into you, just to the first knuckle, then pulled it back out to smear more slick over your clit. Your hips jerked despite yourself.

“Because three years ago you turned eighteen and started looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you, and I started jerking off to the idea of it every single night. Because I hate how bad I want you. Hate that some random guy got to put his hands on you tonight while I stood there hard and furious. Hate that you’re still trying to pretend this—” he pushed two fingers into you in one smooth stroke, curling them just right, “—isn’t already mine.”

He fucked the fingers into you slow and deep while he talked, the wet sounds loud between every sentence. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake.

“You’re my best friend’s little sister. You’re a fucking brat. You’re the last person I should want. And I still can’t stop. So yeah—I think I get to claim you. Because the second you opened that smart mouth for my cock you stopped being just his sister. You became mine to punish. Mine to tease. Mine to fuck until you stop lying about how much you want it.”

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching, then curled them hard against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

“Keep telling yourself I’m just the annoying best friend. I’ll keep proving you wrong with every dripping inch of this pussy.”

“Fuck you.”

The words came out rough and breathless, half muffled against the bark.

Eddie laughed—low, dark, delighted.

“Already planning on it, sweetheart. Thanks for the invitation.”

He hauled you up off his lap like you weighed nothing. One second you were face-down across his thighs; the next he had you bent over the log proper, chest and cheek pressed to the cool wood, ass in the air, bikini bottoms still tangled around one thigh. He kicked your feet wider with his boot, shoved his jeans lower, and notched the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

No more teasing.

He slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

The stretch burned—perfect, overwhelming—and the sound that tore out of you was pure punched-out need. Eddie groaned like he’d been stabbed, hands clamping hard on your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Jesus—fuck— so goddamn tight.” He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder. “This what you needed? My cock splitting you open after you spent all night acting like you didn’t want it?”

He set a relentless pace immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps that echoed off the water. Every thrust shoved you further up the log; every retreat left you clenching around nothing for half a second before he filled you again. His rings dug into the soft flesh of your hips. The metal of his belt buckle slapped against the back of your thigh with every stroke.

“Look at you taking it,” he snarled, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and yank your head back. “Bent over a log in the middle of nowhere, dripping down your thighs for your brother’s best friend. You hate me so fucking much, don’t you? Hate that I’m the one who gets to wreck this pussy.”

He changed the angle, folding over your back so his mouth was right at your ear, breath hot and ragged while he kept pounding into you.

“Feel how deep I am? That’s three years of wanting to shut you up just like this. Three years of watching you strut around in those little outfits, mouthing off, pretending the tension wasn’t eating us both alive. Now you’re stuffed full of me and still trying to act tough. Doesn’t work when you’re this wet, baby. Doesn’t work when your cunt keeps sucking me back in like it never wants me to leave.”

His free hand snaked around your hip and found your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your knees buckle; only the log and his grip kept you upright.

“That’s it—take it. Take every fucking inch. Gonna fill this bratty little pussy up so full you feel me dripping out of you the whole ride back. Gonna make sure every time you sit down tomorrow you remember exactly who you belong to when you stop lying.”

He fucked you harder, faster, the wet sounds of your body taking him almost obscene. His voice never stopped—filthy, continuous, pouring into your ear while he used you like he’d been dying to for years.

“Fucking perfect. Fucking mine. Say it or don’t, I don’t care—your cunt already did.”

“I’m not—fuck—I’m not yours,” you managed between broken breaths, the words barely coherent with every brutal thrust still punching them out of you.

Eddie snarled and brought his open palm down hard across your already stinging ass.

“Say it.”

Another sharp slap. Then another. The wet sound of his hand meeting your skin mixed with the filthy slap of his hips.

“Say you’re mine.”

“No—”

He spanked you again, harder, the burn blooming white-hot just as he drove particularly deep. Your whole body clenched around him and he felt it—felt how close you were, how your cunt was starting to flutter and seize.

He pulled out completely.

The sudden emptiness made you cry out in pure frustrated rage, hips pushing back chasing him, empty and throbbing.

“What the fuck—”

“You don’t get to come yet.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked but steady, almost cruel with control. He stepped back just far enough to sit on the log, jeans still shoved down his thighs, cock slick and shining with your wetness, standing hard against his stomach. He looked at you like he had all the time in the world. “Not until I say. Not until I’m looking at your face while you fall apart on me.”

He patted his thigh once.

“Get over here and sit on it.”

You stayed where you were for a defiant second, chest heaving, ass burning, pussy aching and neglected. The refusal was still on your tongue.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the brat act now.

“I wasn’t asking. Climb on my cock and ride it until you come. I want to watch every second of it. Want to see exactly what you look like when you finally stop pretending you hate this.”

He wrapped a hand around the base of himself and stroked once, slow, showing you how wet you’d left him.

“Now, sweetheart. Before I change my mind and leave you empty for the rest of the night.”

You glared at him for one more stubborn second, then gave in.

Climbing into his lap felt like surrender and you hated how much your body wanted it. You straddled his thighs, one hand on his shoulder for balance, and reached between you to line him up. The second the thick head of his cock nudged your entrance you sank down in one long, shaky slide until he was buried to the hilt again.

Eddie’s head tipped back on a deep, satisfied groan.

“There she is,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist like they’d always belonged there. “Knew you’d give in. Look at you—sitting on my cock like you were made for it after all that ‘I’m not yours’ bullshit.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust or to sass him. His boots dug into the dirt for leverage and he thrust up hard, burying himself even deeper from this new angle. The shift dragged the head of his cock directly across that perfect spot inside you and white sparks exploded behind your eyes. A broken, helpless sound tore out of your throat.

Eddie grinned like the devil.

“Ohhh. There it is.” He did it again—short, powerful upward snaps of his hips that punched the air out of your lungs every time. “Found the spot that makes the brat shut up, huh? Look at your face. You’re fucking melting.”

He kept the pace merciless, hands gripping your hips to pull you down to meet every thrust so you took him to the base again and again. The new angle was devastating. Every upward drive rubbed relentlessly against the place that made your thighs shake and your thoughts scatter. You tried to stay upright, tried to keep some scrap of defiance, but he could feel every flutter and clench of your cunt and he used it against you without mercy.

“That’s it—ride it. Use me. You’re soaking my jeans, dripping down my balls, and still trying to look pissed. Adorable.” His voice was pure smug heat. “You’re putty. Completely fucking ruined for anyone else after this. Gonna feel empty every time something that isn’t my cock tries to fill you.”

One hand slid up your spine and fisted in your hair, forcing your back to arch so he could watch your tits bounce with every hard thrust. His eyes were dark and triumphant, locked on your face, drinking in every broken expression he dragged out of you.

“Go on. Keep glaring at me while your cunt milks my cock like it never wants me to stop. I can do this all night. Can keep you right here, full and shaking, until you finally admit what we both already know.”

He thrust up particularly deep and ground against that spot until your vision went white at the edges.

“You’re mine when you’re on my cock, sweetheart. And right now you’re exactly where you belong.”

Eddie never slowed.

He kept driving up into you with that same punishing rhythm, the thick drag of his cock hitting that devastating spot over and over until your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. One hand left your waist and shoved between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit immediately. He rubbed tight, relentless circles—no teasing, no mercy—while the other hand slid up your chest and wrapped around your throat.

Not gentle.

His fingers flexed, cutting off just enough air to make every thrust feel sharper, deeper, more overwhelming. The pressure at your neck, the relentless friction on your clit, the heavy stretch of him filling you again and again—it all crashed together into something white-hot and unbearable.

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes locked on your face as your mouth fell open. “Take it princess."

Your body seized.

The orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision blanked. You clenched around him like a fist and then you were squirting—hot, uncontrollable pulses of wetness that soaked his cock, his jeans, his thighs. The sound was filthy, wet, unmistakable. You shook through it, choking on the air he allowed you, cunt spasming wildly around every deep thrust he kept forcing into you.

Eddie laughed, low and utterly wrecked with triumph.

“Holy shit—look at you. Fucking squirting all over me. Knew this bratty little cunt would make a mess the second I choked you properly.” He fucked you straight through it, never letting up, dragging the climax out until you were sobbing for breath and still clenching around him in helpless aftershocks. “So pretty when you come. So fucking loud. Everyone downriver probably heard what I do to you.”

His hand stayed on your throat, the other still working your oversensitive clit in mean little circles that made you jerk and whimper. He was close—you could feel it in the way his thrusts turned short and brutal, in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump you so full of me you’ll feel it leaking down your legs the whole way back to camp. Marking what’s mine. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember exactly who owned this pussy tonight.”

He slammed up one final time and came with a broken, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed deep inside you. Hot, thick ropes of come flooded your cunt, overflowing around his cock with every residual throb. He kept you pinned there, hand still loosely around your throat, hips grinding in slow circles like he was trying to push it even deeper.

“Fuck… yes. Take it. Every drop.” His voice was pure satisfied filth. “That’s my come inside you now. No one else’s. Just mine.”

He didn’t pull out. Just stayed buried, breathing hard, thumb stroking almost absently over the side of your neck where his fingers had pressed while he watched your face with dark, cocky satisfaction.

Your legs barely held you when you pushed off his lap.

The second you stood, everything between your thighs felt swollen and oversensitive and wet—his come already starting to slip out of you and trickle down the inside of one leg. Your knees wobbled hard. You took one unsteady step and nearly pitched forward into the dirt.

Eddie caught you by the waist before you could fall, hauling you back against his chest with an arm banded tight around your middle.

“Get off me—”

“You’re gonna face-plant, genius—”

“I said get off.” You shoved at his arm until he let go, then spun on him, still half-naked, hair a mess, lips swollen, the evidence of everything he’d just done to you streaked down your thighs. The anger hit all at once, sharp and shaky and too big for the quiet little grotto.

“If you liked me for that long—three fucking years—why did it have to be like this?” Your voice cracked on the last word and you hated it. “Why couldn’t you just be normal about it? Talk to me like a person instead of acting like a jealous asshole and dragging me out here to—to punish me? You didn’t have to be mean. You didn’t have to be so fucking—”

Eddie stayed seated on the log, jeans still open, watching you with that same dark, unreadable expression. He didn’t look sorry. If anything he looked like he was fighting a smirk.

“You liked it.”

The simple, cocky certainty in his voice made your face burn hotter than the spanking had.

“I—yeah, but—” You stammered, caught between the truth and the residual fury still sparking under your skin. “That’s not the point, you dickhead. You didn’t have to do it like that. You could’ve just… said something. Instead of losing your shit and treating me like some toy you finally got to break.”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still looking up at you with that infuriating half-smile. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple. His voice came out quieter, but no less certain.

“You’re right. I could’ve been normal. Could’ve asked you out like a gentleman and taken you to dinner and held your hand.” He tilted his head. “But that’s not what either of us wanted, is it? You didn’t melt for polite. You melted when I was mean. When I made you take it. When I refused to let you keep pretending there was nothing here.”

He stood slowly, towering over you again, and reached out to tuck a tangled strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“I was jealous. I was angry. And you came so hard you soaked me to the skin. So maybe stop yelling at me for giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for with every look and every smart-ass comment for three years.”

“Just take me back to camp.”

Eddie looked at you for a long second, then simply nodded.

You both dressed in silence—your dress pulled back on over the still-damp bikini, his jeans tugged up and zipped with a wince. The kayak rocked as you climbed in first, settling on the front seat without looking at him. He pushed off the bank and started paddling, the only sounds the soft drip of water from the blade and the distant chorus of frogs.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Halfway back the river widened again, the current slow and glassy under a sky packed with stars. The campground lights were still a distant glow around the next bend. Eddie lifted the paddle out of the water and let the kayak drift. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the arguing had.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was staring up at the sky, profile silvered by moonlight, curls messy from your hands. When he finally spoke his voice was quieter than you’d heard it all night.

“Were you really mad at me?”

The question sat between you, stripped of the earlier swagger and heat.

You turned back around, watching the dark water slide past. “Kinda.”

Eddie exhaled. The paddle rested across his thighs. For a while the only movement was the gentle rock of the boat.

“I tried being nice,” he said eventually. “More than once. You never looked at me twice.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“First time was the summer you turned eighteen. I asked if you wanted to come with me to the record store in town. You said you already had plans and walked off. Called me a jackass. Next year I tried again—offered you the aux cord on the drive up, told you to put on whatever you wanted. You handed it straight to your brother and put your headphones in.” His laugh was soft and self-deprecating. “Every summer I found some stupid little way to be less of an asshole around you. And every summer you treated me exactly the same. Annoying. Loud. Your brother’s best friend. Background noise.”

He dipped the paddle once to keep the boat from spinning, then let it rest again.

“So yeah. I stopped trying to be normal. Being mean at least made you look at me. Made you fight back. Made you feel something. Even if it was just wanting to punch me in the face.” The water lapped quietly against the hull. “Guess I figured if I couldn’t get you to like me the regular way, I’d take whatever version of your attention I could get.”

The stars above the treeline were absurdly bright. The night air smelled like wet earth and pine. Somewhere far behind you the rec center music still thumped faintly, a whole different world.

Eddie waited, paddle still, giving you the space to answer or not.

You stared at the dark water for a long time before the words finally came out.

“I’ve liked you forever.”

The admission felt huge in the quiet. Behind you, Eddie went completely still.

“I just… always thought you were only being nice because of my brother. Like it was some obligation. Keep the little sister from feeling left out so everything was easy. You were always around, always loud, always there, and every time you did something decent I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just stuck with me.” You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “So I kept you at arm’s length on purpose. Acted like I couldn’t stand you so it wouldn’t hurt when I was right.”

The kayak drifted another few feet. A soft breeze moved through the trees on the bank.

Eddie set the paddle down across the hull with a quiet clatter.

“Jesus Christ.”

You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the last several years of his life in one sentence. The cocky mask was gone. What was left looked almost young.

“You’ve liked me,” he repeated, slow, testing the words. “This whole time.”

“Yeah.”

“And I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“I wanted to not stand you.”

Eddie dragged both hands down his face and let out a laugh that was half groan. “We’re idiots.”

“Complete idiots,” you agreed.

“I spent years being an asshole on purpose because I thought it was the only way you’d notice me, and you spent the same years freezing me out because you thought I was only nice out of pity.” He shook his head, curls bouncing. “Do you understand how stupid that is? We could’ve been doing this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, at the kayak, the river, the lingering ache between your legs, “—years ago.”

You turned fully on the seat so you could face him. The boat rocked. Moonlight caught the silver of his rings and the still-flushed look on his face.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We really could’ve.”

Eddie held your gaze for a long moment. The anger and the heat from earlier were still there under the surface, but something softer sat on top of them now—wonder, maybe. Relief. A little bit of awe.

He picked the paddle back up, but he didn’t start rowing yet.

“For the record,” he said, voice low, “it was never because of your brother. Not once.”

The night felt different after that. Quieter. Fuller. The stars overhead seemed closer somehow, and the water carried you both forward without either of you needing to fill the silence right away.

The kayak scraped onto the shore near the campground docks. Eddie hopped out first and offered a hand; this time you took it. Your legs still felt a little unsteady, and the evidence of everything that had happened at the grotto was a secret, sticky reminder with every step.

The walk back through the trees started quiet, then cracked open into something lighter.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “You’re still an asshole, for the record.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now. Big promotion.”

You snorted. “Don’t push it.”

Eddie grinned sideways at you, the same crooked, troublemaking smile he’d worn for years, only now it landed differently. “I’m just saying. For someone who spent the whole night insisting she didn’t belong to me, you came awfully hard when I treated you like you did.”

“Shut up.”

“Made a mess all over me and everything. Very convincing ‘I hate you’ performance.”

You shoved him lightly in the ribs. He caught your wrist and didn’t let go, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His rings were cool against your skin.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice dropping into that lower register again as the tents came into view. The smaller one was still zipped tight; your brother was clearly dead to the world. “We’re doing that again. Maybe not the dragging-you-into-the-woods part… or maybe exactly that part. Haven’t decided yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull your hand away. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.” He lifted your joined hands and pressed a quick, smug kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

The campground was quiet except for the distant leftover music from the rec center and the soft rush of the river behind you. Somewhere in the big tent your sleeping bags still waited on opposite sides of the floor.

Eddie glanced at them, then back at you, eyes warm and wicked under the string lights.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging you forward. “We’ve got a whole tradition to keep ruining.”

You followed him into the dark, still holding his hand, the night air cool against your flushed skin and the future suddenly looking a lot less like an argument and a lot more like trouble you actually wanted.

taglist: @gem-writes @hamilhansen @5lutforeddie @beasbrain @julxsxx @shecleansup @jinxispunk @s1mp-4-ga11y @a-villain-vying-for-attention @sweetstatic

[drac-harrington]

Breakfast with Eddie and the Forest Hills strays

my commissions are open! inquire within for more details 🖤

[marsuv]

falling even more in love with you

Eddie x Female Reader

requested by @itzakicka

When Eddie Munson asks you on a camping trip with Corroded Coffin, you expect fun and mayhem, and not a single thing that’s actually coming your way, accompanied by the acoustic strum of a guitar.

Songfic: Lifehouse – "Hanging by a Moment"

Word count 2100

The van is packed full. Eddie drives, obviously, humming along to the heavy metal blaring from the stereo, while Freak, being tall, takes the front passenger seat. You are shoved in the back with Jeff, Gareth and two more girls, squished between tents, sleeping bags, mats, and the rest of the gear. You wobble on top of a cooler full of marinated meat on the bumpy road, trying to keep a hold on a 24-pack of beer. Jeff is hugging a bag full of liquor.

Summer just started, everything is bright green, and you’re excited for the first camping trip of the season.

Being the new manager, bartender, and waitress at the Hideout, after Bev just moved to Florida, has been a whirlwind. You love the chaos, the noise, and the music, but taking this job was a massive leap of faith. Your family expected you to stay put, keep quiet, and settle into a predictable, safe life. Stepping out on your own was terrifying, but you wanted to prove you could build something for yourself.

Eddie dreams just as big; you always catch him after Corroded Coffin's sets talking about sending out demos and touring far outside Indiana. When he invites you to go on the camping trip with them, you realize you didn’t take time off in a long time. 

“Tell me about the place,” you ask Jeff, trying to kill time over the rumble of the engine.

It’s not just a campsite. There’s a hiking trail, a waterfall, and an old abandoned mine with some local chupacabra legends attached to it. Just what you need—all scary movies start like this. The guys will get drunk, go explore with flashlights, scare the shit out of everyone, and someone will end up breaking a leg. Or someone eats last night’s spoiled meat and spends the rest of the trip in the bushes.

When you arrive, the place is breathtaking. It’s hard to believe such untouched nature is only two hours from Hawkins.

The van stops, and you’re eager to get out. Jeff starts hauling the heavy gear out of the back while Eddie hops out of the driver's seat and holds a hand up to help you down.

“What’s that for?” you ask, smiling. You’re still getting used to him; even though you manage the venue where his band plays every week, Eddie Munson is still a force of nature you're learning to navigate.

“What if you got a sleepy leg or something?”

You are a bit dizzy from the ride, so you take his warm, broad palm for balance and step down out of the back of the van.

The trees are as tall as skyscrapers, framing a bright blue sky. You look up in awe.

“Like what you see?” Eddie asks smoothly, his dark eyes lingering on yours a second longer than necessary.

Eddie steps back to stretch his arms, scouting the campsite. “Yeah, this is the place. Creek’s over there, and the trail goes up north. These are the marks from last summer,” he says, tapping the bark of a nearby tree.

You're helping Jeff unpack when you hear sudden laughter and heavy thuds. When you look over, Eddie is wrapped up in his own tent like a sausage, and Gareth and Freak are threatening to drag him away. A weak voice from inside the canvas narrates about a poor hobbit trapped by a giant spider.

You lean against a tree, giggling as you watch the chaotic scene unfold. Finally, Eddie breaks free and unwraps himself.

“Need a hand? For real?” you offer as he tries to fix his messy hair, looking flushed and giddy.

“Yeah. At least you won’t stab me in the back like these dwarves.”

“Hey, I read the book. Consider me an elven princess.”

“Wow,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know the new Hideout boss read the Professor.”

“I did. And I still have one question: why didn’t they just summon the eagles right away?”

Eddie scratches his chin dramatically. “Nah, see, everyone asks that, but the eagles aren’t a taxi service.”

You laugh and help him pitch his tent, the back-and-forth easy and natural.

By early evening, camp is fully set up. The fire is roaring, the beers are cracked open, and everyone sits around the clearing while Eddie and Jeff arrange marinated meat on an iron mesh grill. Gareth plays soft rock ballads on his acoustic guitar. The twilight thickens around the trees, and fireflies begin to blink mysteriously through the shadows.

It doesn't take long for the rest of the guys to suggest going to check out the abandoned mine.

You refuse immediately, offering to stay behind and hold down the fort. To your surprise, Eddie chooses to stay too.

“Someone’s gotta guard the camp from bears,” Eddie announces calmly.

“Wait, there are bears?” one of the girls asks, suddenly looking nervous.

“No worries,” Eddie says, entirely unbothered. “I know how to handle a bear. First, throw shit in its eyes...”

You roll your eyes and crawl into your tent to double-check where your bear whistle is. By the time you find it and step back outside, the rest of the group has headed off into the dark. It’s just you and Eddie. He nurses a beer, watching you curiously from across the fire.

“So," Eddie begins, leaning back with that familiar lopsided grin that usually meant he was trying to charm his way into extra stage time.“Taking over the Hideout. Taking on Hawkins. That was a big move.”

“It was,” you admit, sitting on a log near the flames. “Everyone thought I’d stay home, play it safe, never push past the town line. But I wanted to prove I could do something real. On my own.”

“I get that,” Eddie says, his gaze intensely focused on his boots. “People like to put you in a box. Decide who you are before you even get a chance to figure it out yourself. It takes guts to break out of it.”

“What about you?” you ask genuinely caring for his band. “With the music?”

“Oh, I’m getting out,” Eddie says, a sincere smile reaching his eyes. “One day, Corroded Coffin leaves this dirt town in the dust.” He pauses, suddenly looking right at you. “Though... having you running the Hideout makes staying around here a whole lot more interesting.”

Your heart gives a sharp thud against your ribs.

“What are you doing?” You ask, scared of where the conversation is going. 

“Wrapping potatoes in foil," Eddie mutters, suddenly very focused on the task. “So we’ve got baked potatoes for breakfast.”

“Let me help.”

You kneel by the fire pit, and Eddie uses a sturdy stick to roll the glowing coals aside. When you stand back up, there’s a streak of dark campfire dirt across your bare knees. Eddie pulls his bandana out of his back pocket, steps closer, and carefully wipes the dirt away.

“You’re doing great, you know,” he whispers, looking up at you with deep, dark eyes. “There. All clean.”

You swallow hard, the tension between you humming louder than the crickets in the brush.

The rest of the group is gone for a long time. You and Eddie finish packing away the food, and he sits back down, idly fumbling with his guitar while you wrap a thick shawl around your shoulders and listen. He strums soft, lingering chords—a melody that feels less like heavy metal and more like a rock ballad, suspended in the cool summer night air. 

His long fingers gently pluck the strings matching his humming to the music. 

Desperate for changing

Starving for truth

You are this close to getting up and checking his temperature but you brace yourself and lean closer. 

I'm closer to where I started

I'm chasing after you

His voice turns dreamy and sweet, wrapping around you like a blanket. You notice he’s watching your reaction and you look away, afraid of what would follow if you meet his eyes. Eddie stops playing, holding the note, like he hasn't finished composing it. 

The silence between you is easy, comfortable, yet charged.

“Wanna see the waterfall?” Eddie lights a cigarette, shielding the flame with his hands. His cheekbones and jaw look more prominent in the low light. 

“It’s dark already, I don’t want to get lost.”

“It’s really close. I’ve been there a few times. No way we lose the trail.”

Eddie is already up and offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you up.

The forest is magical. There are more stars in the sky than you’ve ever seen in your life. The path is uneven, and a few times you feel Eddie’s arm supporting your elbow to catch you.

At the clearing, you're left speechless. The waterfall cascades into a small, secluded pool shimmering in the starlight.

“Care to join?”

You turn around and gasp. Eddie is already stripping off his clothes and leaving them on the bank. Droplets of mist shine in his dark curls as he glides into the water.

“You’re missing out,” Eddie calls softly, dipping so only his head sticks out. “C’mon. Don’t you want to wash off the road dust?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie grins, his doe eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s pitch black out here. Nobody’s watching.”

Fuck it, you think. You’ve spent your whole life being cautious, doing what was expected.

“Fine. Don’t look.”

“Promised.” Eddie turns toward the other side of the pool.

You quickly shed your clothes, leaving them stacked on a dry rock, and plunge into the water. It’s biting cold at first, making you squeak, but as you submerge, a wave of pure adrenaline and freedom washes over you.

Before you know it, Eddie is swimming back toward you.

“I knew you had a bit of a rebel in you,” he says, his voice thick and low.

He comes to a stop right in front of you, the water swirling around your chests. Eddie reaches out, his fingers gently tucking a stray, wet lock of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on the back of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline before he pulls you in.

When his plush lips brush yours, it’s soft at first, testing the waters. But as you open with a soft sigh, melting into his mouth, the kiss deepens. His hand cups the back of your head, holding you close as his tongue glides against yours. Your knees turn to jelly in the water, and you instinctively reach up, grabbing his shoulders for support.

The world shrinks down to the sound of the falling water, the cold pull of the stream, and the scorching heat of Eddie’s mouth on yours.

When you finally break the kiss to catch your breath, your chest is heaving. You look at him, breathless under the canopy of stars. Eddie leans close and hums very quietly against your temple:

I'm falling even more in love with you... 

Letting go of all I've held onto... 

I'm standing here until you make a move... 

I'm hanging by a moment here with you.

“Eddie...” you whisper, voice trembling slightly in the cool night air.

“Okay, confession time," Eddie says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I may or may not have engineered this entire thing specifically so you'd end up stranded out here with me."

“Am I that easy?” You smile into his lips.

He kisses you again, tenderly this time, and continues: 

“Well if you resisted the skinny dip I had planned,  s’mores and getting lost on the hike together were my last resorts.”

“Am I still getting s’mores?”

“Absolutely, I’ll roast a perfect one for you.”

“Considering the meat, does perfect mean burnt?”

“Well done.”

“Was the mine a part of the setup too?”

“Oh.” Eddie chuckles softly. “The mine’s been blown shut for two years. Gareth, Jeff and Freak just wanted to show off for the girls.” Eddie pulls you closer.

After a long, quiet moment wrapped in each other's arms in the water, Eddie guides you back to the grassy bank. You step out onto the shore, shivering slightly in the crisp night air. Eddie picks your shawl and drapes it over your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you from behind to pull you against his warm chest.

“I’m not implying anything, but if you get cold or just can’t sleep, I can help, you know? Just for warmth and security…”

Together, you sit on the soft grass near the edge of the water, wrapped up together, watching the mist rise off the pool under the stars until you ask: 

“Your tent or mine?

@dreaming-of-black-clouds camping with Eddie SFW version