You Remain the Luscious Fruit. @undead-supernova - Tumblr Blog

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 6: Lemon

Previous Chapter: Friends to Lovers

Summary: Eddie wakes up with an unexpected surprise, leading you both on a very sticky adventure, courtesy of the Writer.

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos, Smut, Masturbation, Handjob, PinV Sex, Messy Sex, Unconventional Mention of Daddy Kink (trust the process), Satire, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Lore, Criticism of Fanfiction, Analysis of Fanfiction/Fandom, Meta Fiction, Self-Aware Fic

Note: Hey guys, remember when I said that I was sorry for posting AASB late? I'm even more sorry because it's been over a year without an update. Considering that I've written 3 whole series and completed another in that time, I don't feel too bad. However, I'm so sorry. So consider the rest of 2026 time for Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction to come to a close as well. Gonna put as many of my WIPs to rest as I can.

That being said, I am out of practice writing smut. So this is going to be fun. Please keep in mind that there is some satirical content in this chapter, as well as the serious parts. It's a rollercoaster, so just...enjoy the ride.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

At all of the lumps and bumps of your body; smooth skin, rough skin, hair, stretch marks, curves, dips, rolls.

It was foreign to you; you weren't a vain creature unless you were written to be, so you really didn't get the opportunity to observe your body the way you were now. It was a strange thing that you savored when you had the opportunity to explore. The small bit of will that this type of story afforded to you to observe a body that, in your world, was hidden beneath clothes.

Censored by clothes.

No. Not censored. Written that way. Created that way. Not meant to be perceived that way and by way of said creation, that aspect of you simply didn't exist.

Now, under the creative endeavor of some other Writer and not the one that created you, you became...complete. Not just face and personality and sense of style. But also body and pleasure and sexuality in all of its many facets.

A new sort of freedom...but also forced freedom. Freedom to do, not what you were created for, but to bend under the additional creativity of others. You had some control too, within reason, you just...didn't know what to do with that control sometimes.

How odd.

Creation vs creativity vs creator.

All engaged in conditional liberation.

You would've gotten philosophical with the thought if hands hadn't slid over your arms. Instead, you shivered at the unexpected touch, all contemplative thought gone in favor of sensation.

"Are you just staring at yourself?" Helen whispered into your ear. "Come back to bed."

You turned so you could look at her through eye to eye, instead of through the mirror, and she took the opportunity to cut off any of your words and kiss you instead.

For all the silly loverboys that you had been written with and fallen for, nobody kissed quite as good as Helen Magnus did, with her 200+ years of experience.

That was a new revelation too, but not an unwelcome one. To someone, it made all the sense in the world to put you, a seemingly-small town girl looking for the adventure of a lifetime, in the world of Abnormals and the Sanctuary Network with Helen. Little did they know, that beneath the words they had scribed on a page, you had your own decades of life experience to rival Helen's. But none like this.

It felt even more special to you because of it.

Would you have ever slept with a woman on your own? Not if you'd stayed in the safety of your primetime 1980's sitcom. But, beyond that...it was simply a fact of existence that you got to experience. Beyond the sexual. Beyond the physical. Because you didn't exist.

Had you not been written into these stories, you would have ceased to exist the moment the final episode of Port Geneva had ended. It had been something you'd come to terms with ages ago, an explanation for this series of events. You weren't real...so you would never get a real life, a real future.

So, you decided as you and Helen tumbled back into the sheets, giggling between kisses and moans, that you would enjoy this life, make the most of this life.

Because however bad it got sometimes, to live these moments was better than the alternative.

November 1985

Eddie woke up from a deep sleep feeling pretty damn good, if he did say so himself. It was a peaceful morning, one of many that he had with you in his arms. Snuggling, sleepy smooches, maybe some fooling around without a care in the world. He was always loath to peel himself away on mornings like these.

But, like all of those other mornings, nature called and he had to answer.

Actually, it seemed like nature was screaming at him.

There was an almost unnatural heaviness and pressure in his abdomen. Not necessarily uncomfortable but certainly not normal. He'd felt this way before, after a night of chugging a whole case of Mountain Dew as he tried to rewrite his plans for a Hellfire session at the last minute. Too much weed and too much soda, and then practically passing out on the couch had his bladder shouting at him come morning.

That hadn't happened last night, though. It was as normal a night as any other. So this was a bit concerning.

He carefully extracted his arm from your waist and shifted to the edge of the mattress; as he stood, he felt his equilibrium shift, center of gravity lower. Was this what it felt like to get older? God, he was gonna have to ask Wayne, wasn't he?

He tip-toed to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes all the while; he closed the door behind him and lifted the seat of the toilet. Then, as he made to pull down his sweats so he could relieve himself, he was in for a shock.

"What the fuck is this?" he whispered. It was his dick.

Well, obviously it was his dick. His dick was always there. Trusty as ever. Old reliable. Except, the thing he was currently holding in his hand, was not his dick. Well it was a dick. But...it was...an absolute...sausage, for lack of a better word.

No wonder he felt so heavy.

He blinked twice. Two long, exaggerated blinks. Just in case he had a floater in his eye or something. He took a deep, cleansing breath, and finally opened his eyes as he exhaled.

Only for nothing to change.

"What the fuck is this?" He repeated, still sotto voce.

On a normal day, Eddie was pretty proud of his package. He would consider himself a grower, not a shower, and for a second he thought, surely, he had an erection. But his dick was just about as flaccid as you could get...and about twice the size it usually was when he was hard.

If he was in the right state of mind, he would have realized that there was a bit of cosmic interference in the Writer variety. However, panic had fully taken hold of him and logic was out the window.

What was a guy like Eddie Munson to do when he had an unexplained, magic, monster cock and was panicking about how to get rid of it? Well, he did what he always did.

Cranking the hog. Charming the cobra. Shaking hands with the milkman. Taking the self-guided tour.

Weird that he would typically be an expert guide on this tour. But he might as well be a first timer, given that the cock he suddenly found himself with was surely not his.

Except that it kind of was.

Same foreskin, same veins, same little thing that made him harder when he twisted his wrist just so.

"Yeah," he groaned slightly as he felt the shock of arousal go through him. "Just like that."

Soon all coherent thought was out the window.

If he didn't think it was big before, he really lived up to the "grower" name now too, as it hardened and thickened and became...inconceivable in his grasp. And the pleasure? The pleasure was immeasurable, he didn't think he'd ever felt so good servicing himself. He practically doubled over as he hunched and focused on, what he was sure was, the most epic jerk off session of his life. One hand placed against the tiled bathroom wall, the other pumping back and forth, his eyes wrenched shut and he threw his head back as he moaned. Electric sensations travelled up the shaft, through his body, making his toes curl.

Shit, sex wasn't even this good, was it? Imagine how it would feel with this new cock. Imagine how good this new cock would feel with you...

"Eddie?" There was a knock on the door and he actually jumped. Speak of the devil. "You ok? You've been in there for a while."

Whatever orgasmic trance he had been in was gone, and he suddenly realized the predicament that he was in. Huge, unexplainable, erect dong-in-hand, jerking off when he really should've just peed and went back to explain the situation to you.

There was another knock.

Maybe, if he just stayed quiet, you would go back to bed.

"I know you're in there, Eddie."

Damn it, you knew him too well.

"Uh..." Eddie took a breath and looked around for something to help him out of this predicament. Bottle of mouthwash? Washcloth? Plunger? No, none of that could help. It was really true what they said about all the blood exiting the brain when you were hard, wasn't it? "Yeah...I'm in here."

"Shocking." You deadpanned.

He took a breath to build some courage, and then carefully approached the door. He opened it just a crack and peered out at you.

"I have a problem," he confessed.

"Did you clog the toilet again?" you asked.

He let out the most diabolically sarcastic laughter. "I fucking wish it was the toilet, sweetheart. I'm going to open the door and let you in here. But you need to be normal about this."

"We live in a fanfiction, Eddie," you laughed at him. "I don't think anything is normal."

That's when it finally clicked for him.

Fanfiction. The Writer. They must've done this, either to give him the most embarrassing morning of his life. Or, and more probable still, they probably thought a penis of this magnitude--

God, he really needed to write this down for Hellfire. A potion for vitality that doubles the size of your dick.

--was normal. Appealing. Desirable.

All thought of his attempt at self-care aside though, it was pretty horrifying.

"Well?" you stared at him expectantly. "You gonna let me in?"

"You're gonna laugh," he prefaced, and then quickly pulled the door open, ducking behind it to shield you from the shocking view.

You quickly scurried inside and turned as he shut the door behind you.

Then, there you were, and there he was. Staring at each other. You, clothes mussed from sleep and eyes wide in shock. And Eddie, red-faced, sweaty, sweatpants still pulled beneath his balls, with his rapidly softening impossible-cock still in his grasp.

"What the fuck?"

"So lemme get this straight."

"Mmkay."

"The Writer can just...change my body however they want."

You took a thoughtful pause. "They're writing you the way that they believe you are--"

"Because I'm not real," Eddie interjected spitefully. He slammed his coffee cup onto the table a little too forcefully, causing the hot liquid to splash over the rim.

"--because you are just another outlet of their expression."

Eddie let out a judgmental hum and turned to look out the window, wanting to be done with this whole conversation.

After the incident in the bathroom, you had suggested going to Benny's--pancakes and coffee always made things better, after all. Once the food was served, you had regaled him with your own experiences in body alterations. You listed off unexpected changes to your hair and eye color, how you spent a whole summer with glasses because a Writer was sure you were far-sighted, and finally--the cherry on top, and most relevant to the conversation--the two years you spent with breasts about three-times your natural size as you experienced life as a cartoon high-schooler.

He let his eyes travel down to your cleavage for what was the 10th time that morning, but they snapped back up to your face as you cleared your throat.

"Listen, if the Writer is thinking about your dick in such a flattering light," you began. "It can only mean that they're probably inspired to write something a little...romantic."

"Bringing someone flowers is romantic," Eddie scoffed. "Reciting a poem is romantic."

You suddenly reached across the table and grabbed the lapel of his jacket to pull him closer. With your noses practically touching, you hissed at him. "Eddie, we're in public. I'm trying to be a little considerate of the families around us and not say that the Writer wants us to fuck each others brains out."

You pushed him away and he fell back in the booth with an audible oomph. You grabbed your coffee and raised it to your lips, shooting an innocent smile to the waitress as she walked by. As soon as she was gone, you leveled him with an intense stare, brow raised expectantly.

Eddie felt his cheeks heat up and he cleared his throat. "You're telling me that the same Writer who had trouble getting us into bed for the first time is suddenly going to have us go on some kind of...smutty bacchanalia?"

"You never know where the inspiration is going to come from."

He snorted.

"Are you objecting?" you questioned.

"Absolutely not! Listen any chance I get to--" The waitress walked by again and shot the two of you a suspicious glare. Eddie immediately lowered his voice. "Any chance I get to be inside you, I'm gonna take it."

Now it was your turn to act flustered. You stumbled over your words, agreeing with him in an adorably bashful way. He grabbed your hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it, then gave you a playful little nibble before he moved to take a sip from his coffee cup.

"Anyway," you tried to redirect the subject. "This is the fun part of this existence. Getting to explore aspects of yourself that wouldn't have existed outside of a screen or a page. I barely had my first kiss back in Port Geneva. Fanfiction opens a whole world you might never have had before."

"So far, it's been traumatizing at best," Eddie deadpanned.

"It'll get better," you promised. "Honestly, I'm shocked that you haven't noticed other signs yet."

"And what would those be, sweetheart?" He waved dismissively.

"Well, whenever I've been...subjected...to more desirous inclinations, I've had wet dreams, feel myself getting hot around the collar with whoever I'm paired with. It wouldn't take a lot to get my motor running."

It was Eddie's turn to shoot an intense stare your way.

"Look at who you're talking to, honey. Not only am I your local pervert, but I've been having wet dreams about you specifically since before you even had clips on the opening credits of Port Geneva."

You got bashful again and shrank on your side of the booth.

"Shut up, Eddie," you muttered.

He just winked as he finished off his coffee.

Eddie looked out for the signs. Anything out of the normal.

Unfortunately, as he mentioned, sex dreams were nothing new for him. Nor was him getting hard at the mere sight of you. However, he was a lot more aware of his body's reactions to you now.

Well, the fact that his upgraded package barely fit in his jeans in the first place certainly helped with awareness. As soon as he got the slightest stiffy, it was inescapably noticeable.

The real sign came one day as he sat down to lunch, threw open the lid of his lunchbox, and instead of finding his usual sandwich and ziploc baggie of trail mix, he found a box of condoms that he definitely hadn't packed.

It was like a death knell tolling for him. A sex knell. His eyes darted around the cafeteria, around the various tables, as though you would stand up from one of them and close the distance to mount him right then and there.

As crazy as that seemed, could he really discount the Writer from doing something like that?

He needed to call you. Warn you.

He immediately shut the lid and stood up; his friends shot him curious looks.

"I think there's pizza on the menu today." He thumbed over to the lunch line. "Gotta get in line before they run out."

"You hate cafeteria pizza." Gareth frowned.

"No, I hate cafeteria meatloaf." Eddie reached out and flicked his ear. "I love cafeteria pizza. Get your lore right, Emerson."

"Can you get me a chocolate milk?" Jeff called as Eddie walked away.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

He made it seem like he was getting in the lunch line, but he quickly ducked out of the double doors and strode out towards the pay phones. He shoved his hands into his pockets to try and fish some spare change.

"Come on, come on," he muttered. "Just one fucking quarter."

Just as his fingers found the rigid edge of the coin amidst the pocket lint, he was yanked right off course. He fumbled as he was pulled into a dark classroom and his lips met the pliant planes of yours.

Had he called it or what?

His hands found your waist and he pulled you close; the heat of your body permeated the combined layers of your clothing and seemed to sink right into him, igniting his fire. Especially as your own roaming hands snaked around him to grab his ass and squeeze.

He yelped and pulled away from you, panting. "Hey sweetheart. What, uh, what are you doing here?"

There was amusement roiling in your eyes as you licked over the seam of your lips enticingly. "I think you know exactly why I'm here Eddie." You winked.

"But I have class," he said dumbly, "and you have work."

"I don't have work til 4." Your hands moved from his backside to his front, playing with his belt buckle. "Besides, I figured you wouldn't be opposed to skipping the rest of the day. Gives us, what, an extra 3 hours to have a little fun together?"

He was about to object, protest that this was too risky, that you shouldn't be at the school, let alone to have sex with him. Hell, he wouldn't even be opposed to a romp behind the Hideout on your break, Bev be damned. But he felt the tug of puppet strings on his limbs, the Writer taking charge of the situation against his will, and he knew that this was gonna happen whether he wanted it to or not.

Better play the part.

It's not like this hadn't been a fantasy of his at one point. Somewhere in the back of his mind, when you had still been a character inside of his television set.

Taking his silence as agreement, you started unbuckling his belt, but the shrill sound of the bell made him grab your hands and stop you.

"Not here," he whispered. "This is too risky, anyone could walk in at any time."

"So?" You grinned wickedly. "Live on the edge."

"The edge of expulsion," he laughed, and took a second to think. "My van!"

You bit your lip and considered it before nodding. "It'll have to do."

He grasped your hand with his and was about to pull you out of the classroom and into the throngs of students going to their next class. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at you.

Standing there, spit-slick lips glistening in the low light, eagerly bouncing on your toes. But there was also some hesitation in your eyes. Nerves, maybe? Worry for him? Or for yourself?

"You good?" he whispered, fighting against the tug of the puppet strings that urged him forward. "You want this, right?"

You blinked and the worry softened; you squeezed his hand.

"With you?" you asked. "Always."

He'd really never thought of his van as the sex van.

Of course, when he and Paige had been back here once upon a time, that had changed. Now that you were currently dragging your lips down the planes of his body, he was setting a precedent.

Wait, was that a faux pas? To think of your...was she his ex? While you were about to fuck your new girlfriend?

He shook his head as you scratched your fingers along his happy trail and took one of his nipples into your mouth. He was immediately brought right back into the moment.

"Sex van it is," he muttered. You pulled your head away to throw your head back in laughter.

"Oh my god. Please don't call it a sex van." He took the opportunity to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in a pretty purple bra that he didn't realize you owned. You worked the button of your jeans open and he spotted matching panties peek through.

Were they a gift from the Writer? He would have to send a thank you card.

"It's totally a sex van now." He couldn't hide the pride in his voice.

"You're insufferable." You leaned forward and placed a kiss against his spider tattoo. "A perv." Then another against his clavicle. You pushed him backwards into the pile of blankets he kept in the back of the van, then dove after him, and ran your nose along the length of his neck. "But you're my insufferable perv."

"Yeah?" He laughed. "You love m--ah!" Your lips brushed his pulse and then you were on him, suction pulling his flesh into your mouth, teeth grazing skin. It was a sharp, punishing sensation, but immediately had pleasure shooting through him, and his pants got exponentially tighter. In record time, too.

You worked with precision, pushing his jeans and his boxers down his hips, freeing him from their confines. Your hand was around him immediately, stroking him and squeezing. Lubrication be damned, there was a very unnatural smoothness to your touch, letting you glide over him easily, with just enough friction that made it delicious.

"C'mon," he huffed as you worked him faster. "Yeah, that's it."

He felt a molten heat spark beneath his skin and burn so acutely. It was a sensation he was unaccustomed to, this all-consuming fire. Usually, the buildup to an orgasm was electric. Adrenaline sparking, heart rate pounding, trying to outpace himself. Get there, get to the edge, and then rocket into oblivion. Not necessarily a sprint, but still quick. The blink and you miss it flash of lightning during a summer storm.

This? This was a slow, concentrated burn--the kind that came with seismic activity, and inevitably led to volcanic explosion--and he felt like he was about to melt through the floor of his van. Temperature rising, labored breathing, spirit blistering from the pressure and intensity the longer he was under your control.

He bucked into your hand, and you sucked at his pulse point harder.

He briefly wondered how the resulting hickey would look--if it would resemble something more of a burn than a bruise--and resolved to give you a matching one when it was your turn.

Your hand stopped at the base of his cock and squeezed, and that was enough to drive him to erupt. His eyes popped open just in time to see the impressive arc of his cum as it rocketed from him and splashed onto the door of the van; he moaned at the sight, at the way it dripped down the metal. In fact, you seemed eager to watch too, as your mouth detached from his neck with a wet pop and you sat up a little to watch as you continued stroking him through his completion.

The van was silent except for the sound of breathing and the barely-audible drag of your skin against his. When the spectacle was over and his release simply dribbled down his shaft and over your fingers, you turned your attention back to him.

You immediately went for his earlobe; there was one brief nibble before you whispered, "You liked that?" He let his head fall back and he wrenched his eyes shut.

"Uh huh."

You chuckled softly.

"This is the first time I've rendered you speechless, Ed. Guess I know how to shut you up from now on."

"That's cheating," he practically slurred his words, drunk on pleasure.

You pecked his earlobe a few more times as he came down from his high. Eventually, he looked at you with a little more clarity. You were still mostly-clothed, looking at him with a glimmer of mischief in your eyes as your head rested on his shoulder. Your hand was still around his shaft, and he reached down to pull it loose.

"You didn't...I didn't...take care of you."

You shrugged and teased. "Didn't we already establish that the Writer has been thinking about your dick? I think this was the top of the smutty checklist."

"Still..." He felt his cheeks get warm. "I like to make you cum too."

You leaned forward and pecked his lips.

"We have all afternoon for you to rectify that," you whispered against his mouth. "We have all the time in the world, actually. I think the Writer really wants us to take our time with this."

You then sat up and made quick work of your bra so he was staring eye to eye with your tits.

Wow. Eddie loved fanfiction.

"Bev's gonna fire me."

"She wouldn't dare. I'll protect you."

"She fired you, remember?"

You panted against his mouth but kept up the rhythm as you rolled your hips and Eddie bucked his.

A quickie, that's all this was supposed to be.

Actually, it was just supposed to be a "good luck, knock em dead" smooch in the green room before Corroded Coffin's set at the Hideout. But one thing led to another, and Eddie had sent his friends out into the bar to keep Bev occupied while the two of you engaged in a little TCB.

It started against the wall, with your skirt--the skirt, Rosemary Glass's skirt from the TV Guide feature--rucked up and your panties pushed to the side. His own pants were unzipped and halfway open, but forgotten as your mouths slanted against one another and his fingers pushed into your wet heat. He played you as well as he played his guitar, making sweet sounds come out of you as he fingered your frets.

Of course, as soon as the joke left his mouth, you decided enough was enough. You pushed him across the room, climbed onto his lap, and started riding him. As soon as you sunk onto his length, he moaned beautifully, and you joked about your own musical prowess.

"You can play me any time baby," he panted, hands on your hips. Not to guide you, just to touch you, to feel you there. The muscles of your thighs and your ass shifting beneath your skin as you used him. Shifting, squeezing. Just as you shifted and squeezed around him too. "Oh god, yeah."

You mashed your mouth to his to shut him up, but the kiss quickly turned soft and deep. Romantic. The two of you lost yourselves in it, all thought of fucking forgotten as the intimacy of the moment took over. You basked in the mingling of breaths, the prolonged skin-to-skin contact, the way you consumed him and he happily pushed himself deeper into you.

The world around you disappeared. All thought of the Writer forgotten, all strings leading you through this loosened. The predicament that you found yourselves in was a distant memory.

Until there was a frantic knock against the door.

You and Eddie pulled away from each other and turned towards the intruding sound.

"You guys gotta hurry up," Jeff's muffled voice came through the door. "Bev's getting suspicious. You've got 5 minutes before she comes to see where you're at. We've gotta start."

You waited to hear his footsteps retreating from the green room before Eddie snorted.

"5 minutes?" He scoffed smugly. "I'll do it in 3.''

You turned back to him, brow furrowed, but then the world went sideways as Eddie heaved you into his arms and laid you back along the couch. Your shirt slid against the leather as he started thrusting into you with reckless abandon. One hand held onto your waist while the other traveled downwards to play with your clit. Your own hand went to your mouth, covering it so you didn't moan too loudly.

It was a beautiful sight to see, and he made himself keep his eyes on you as he focused on the task at hand. Was it the most romantic? Was it the most practical? No. But he felt the puppet strings of the Writer guide him onwards and he knew if he didn't do this on his own terms, he wouldn't have the choice but to do it on theirs.

He felt your body tightening, around him, beneath him, as you got closer to your completion.

Then he noticed something wrong, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. You held the hand to your mouth tighter and wrenched your eyes shut. He still felt your hips buck upwards, meeting him as he pushed into you, but you were fighting it. Fighting something.

"What's wrong?" he panted. "Come on sweetheart, I need you with me here. Look at me. We were just having fun."

You simply shook your head.

"Talk to me," he hissed, slowing his pace just so. "I'll stop if you don't. I'll bring this whole story to a halt, I'll break the walls between universes for you if you don't. Am I hurting you?"

Your eyes shot open and you shook your head.

"Does it feel good?"

You nodded and he snapped his hips forward, somewhat dramatically, earning a moan from you.

"Then what?"

You hesitated, but peeled your hand away from your mouth and said, "I have to say it." You shook your head again. "The Writer wants me to say it. I hate it."

Eddie briefly thought back to the day he'd been jerking off to the picture of you, the intrusive fantasy that he'd been given, and the way he'd realized why he'd had it after the fact. He cursed the Writer for doing something similar to you now. Ruining this moment for you.

"What is it?" He asked. He stilled and hunched over you, pressing his forehead to yours. "Come on, tell me. Whisper it. I'm sure it's not that bad."

After some hesitation, you did. Your words were soft, barely audible, but he heard them.

That? The Writer wanted you to say that? What? Why?

But then he had an idea. A terrible awful idea.

He started moving his hips again, started picking up the pace, started driving the two of you back to the precipice of your pleasure. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, cupped your face with one hand and circled your clit with the other.

"You trust me?" he panted.

"Yeah."

"I've got you." With one particular swivel of his hips, and a complementary swirl of his fingers, you wrenched your eyes shut and whined. "That's it. Oh yeah. You feel that?"

"I feel it."

He drove you further, higher. Drove himself higher. Waiting for just the right moment before he could let go.

"I feel it too. Sweetheart, you feel so good. You're so good to me."

"Eddie!" There was an edge to his voice and he knew the two of you were almost there. Right there.

He pulled away from you and bucked into you once, twice, before he felt himself break.

"Oh fuck yeah, Daddy!" Eddie whined. He threw his head back and moaned it out loud. Putting the word out into the universe. So you didn't have to. "You fuck me so fucking good."

You squeaked in shock, but reached your own peak, spasming around him as he released into you. He beamed with pride and you held your arms open wide so he collapsed into your embrace.

Then you burst into laughter.

The blinds were drawn, the rising sun peeking around the edges, gently reminding you that it was a new day and whatever you were enduring would be over soon.

And enduring was certainly the right word.

No good deeds happened here.

Eddie’s bedroom was humid. Sweaty. The air was thick and stale with the smell of sex. Your bodies were sore, you were dehydrated, and above all, you were exhausted.

“Right there, yes.”

“Fuck. It feels so good.”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck!”

Your voices were hoarse, but you were forced to keep moaning and shouting at the Writer's will. You’d been at this all night, ever since you got home from your trip to the movie theater. Date night turned to fooling around turned into a never-ending fuck fest.

Eddie’s lips were chapped from too many kisses, you had stubble burn on your boobs, the both of you had fallen off the bed several times from a charley horse, only to keep fucking on the floor, and there was cum everywhere. Dried on skin, in both of your hair, leaking out of you, staining the sheets, abandoned condoms—which you ran out of quite early in the night—haphazardly littered on the floor.

There was even some on Eddie’s guitar. He wasn’t too jazzed about that but he could barely focus on anything but the task at hand.

Sex on a normal night was great. This was getting out of hand though. The Writer—or whatever cosmic powers that be—could’ve stretched this out over several nights in Eddie’s opinion. As wonderful as the orgasms were, the two of you were suffering.

Hadn't you said this was meant to be fun? Up to round 3 it had been. God, the Writer better have an epic novel full of the two of you fucking if they were making you go through this.

The only benefit to all this was that you were in it together. Each time you came, you would hold each other and take comfort in the proximity. Until the next wave of arousal plagued you. Then you would be at it again, like rabbits.

“Please. Please!”

“You’re so tight. Fuck. It’s like you were made for me.”

“Harder, Eddie. Yes! Harder!”

Eddie’s hands gripped your hips, clenching desperately as he pistoned into you. He felt the tightness in his balls as he got closer and closer to the edge.

How was he still going? How was there anything left to give?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your spine. Wrapped his arms around you. He felt the way your own arms were about to give out, having held your position on your hands and knees for as long as you had.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. He gently maneuvered you so you were on your sides, and you shifted your leg so it was draped over his. “I’ve gotcha.”

You hummed, then moaned as he thrust into you harder, the angle giving him better leverage.

“You still with me?” He asked.

You leaned into him. “Always.”

He could see the light of day getting brighter just outside the window and knew in his heart that this was it.

“Alright baby, grand finale,” he muttered. “Let’s make it a good one. Scream for me ok? Let’s give ‘em a show.”

He was a performer, after all.

He ran his hands over you reverently, he moaned exaggeratedly and you followed suit. He shouted “yes” with every thrust and in the end, as he buried himself deep inside of you and exploded, you let out the most earth-shattering scream.

“EDDIE!”

And then it was over.

The two of you collapsed in your heap of limbs, weak and limp, breathing heavily. You shivered, sweat on your skin rapidly cooling, but were too tired to grab the comforter from the foot of the bed.

Eddie pressed a kiss to the back of your head and you lifted his hand and did the same to it. Once again clinging to one another in this impossible scenario. You whispered words of love to each other, and vowed not to touch each other for a solid week.

Well, you told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you and Eddie, who was sure the skin on his cock had been rubbed off but was too afraid to check, happily obliged.

There was the rumble of a car pulling up outside of the trailer, then a door closing, and distantly, the sound of Wayne’s footsteps out in the living room.

“He better not come in here,” you muttered. “I swear to god.”

Eddie was sure that he wouldn’t, but he begged the Gods, the Writer, and any powers that be to keep his uncle as far from the room as possible.

He pulled himself out of you and you shivered again, undoubtedly feeling his spend follow suit.

“We should shower,” he suggested.

“Mmmm, too tired.”

“I thought I was the gross one.”

“Ugh…fine.”

Eddie whispered words of reassurance, then lifted his head and surveyed the mess of his room. He flopped back down and groaned.

“It would be cool of the Writer to clean this up for us, though.”

You huffed a laugh and then moaned at the soreness that permeated your body.

“Don’t…don’t make jokes.”

“It is pretty funny though.”