aphr0d1teh - Tumblr blog

aphr0d1teh · 4 days ago

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don't tell steve

synopsis: you've been secretly dating eddie munson for months while keeping it a secret from your overprotective older brother, steve harrington. after something tragic happens to eddie, you and him are forced to come clean.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!harrington!reader

warnings: smut 18+ minors DNI !!!! explicit details, some dirty talk kinda, fluff, some angst?? idk let me know if i left out any warnings i don't think there's much, the smut is short

a/n: guys i rewatched season four and the eddie hyperfixation came back so fucking hard i felt the urge to repost some of my older fics. and there is a part two as well!! also this was written like three ish years ago so it's not great but it's still a fave of mine

The sounds of moaning and the slapping of skin filled the empty classroom as Eddie rutted into you from behind. He had you pressed up against the cool wall, furthest away from the door so no one could walk by and see the way he was absolutely defiling you.

It was an absolutely vulgar scene, you with your shirt pulled up just above your tits and skirt and underwear pooled around your ankles, and him with his leather jacket still on and his tight jeans sitting just below his ass, as he pinned you against the wall, thrusting into you violently.

“Jesus Christ, do you wanna get caught, princess?” Eddie growled deep in your ear, his rings tangled in your hair as he tugged on it slightly, pulling your head back towards him.

Your back arched slightly as you whimpered, “I-I’m sorry, it just feels so good, Eddie.”

“I know, love, but you gotta be quiet, okay?” You nod at his words, but you don’t really mean it. With the way he was pushing his cock so deep inside you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, over and over, there was no way you could stay quiet. Eddie knew this and the hand that was gripping your hip so tight it left marks was coming up to your face, shoving two fingers into your mouth.

Your loud moans became muffled as he continued to plow into you. You were so close to reaching your high, and you could tell he was too, with the way his thrusts became erratic and sloppy. Your core tightened and your muscles tensed before you reached your release. You felt a slight bit of drool drip from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you dumb through your release.

Shortly after, you felt the warm pulse of his own release inside of you. His hips stilled against your ass as he groaned in ecstacy. He gave a few slow open-mouthed kisses to your neck before sliding out of you and pulling up his pants.

As you turned to face him, pulling up your skirt, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. After exchanging one last steamy kiss, you sighed. “I better go, Steve’s picking up me and Robin and bringing us to work. He’ll kill me if I’m late again.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing his head back dramatically. “God, when can we stop hiding from your brother? I’m starting to get tired of fucking you in empty classrooms.”

You playfully shoved his arm and laughed. “No you’re not, you love it, you dirty freak.”

“Yeah, I do,” he smirked, leaning in towards you. “Alright, I gotta go meet someone for a deal anyway.”

“Who?” You questioned, adjusting and smoothing out your clothes before slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“You’ll never fucking believe this. Chrissy Cunningham.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, I did not peg her as a drug-buying type of gal.”

You and Eddie both chuckled. “I know right? Hey, I’ll call you later when you get out of work, alright?” He threw his arm over your shoulder and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead before heading out the door. You waited for a few minutes before hastily exiting, attempting not to get caught together.

As you approached Steve’s car in the parking lot, you could see Robin already situated in the front seat. “Hey, why do you get to sit in the front?” You playfully pouted, tossing your bag in the back as you jumped into the car.

“Robin gets the front because she wasn’t late,” argues Steve as he starts the car.

“Well, excuse me for taking a few extra minutes to put stuff in my locker,” you lied, rolling your eyes.

***

That was two days ago.

When you didn’t hear from Eddie that night after work, you grew frantic. He always called you after work. Always at 11:30pm sharp.

And the next day when you heard on the news that a Hawkins student had been killed, you began to panic. You prayed it wasn’t Eddie. Your chest tightened at the thought, a hopeless feeling consuming you.

The day after that, you were at work again with Robin and Steve when two of Steve’s little cherubs burst through the door.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve shouted at them as they both leaped over the counter, knocking over an assortment of movies.

“We need to use the phones, it’s an emergency!” Dustin seemed frantic and scattered, not even making eye contact with Steve as he pushed past him and headed for the phone on the wall.

Your heart began to race. “What emergency? Max, what’s going on?” You stared at the redheaded girl, attempting to hide the fear in your voice. Her eyes shifted back and forth between you, Steve, and Robin, all with looks of concern on your faces.

As Max filled the three of you in on the situation, Dustin began dialing numbers on the phone, starting with some of Eddie’s friends, Gareth and Jeff. He asked them both if they had seen Eddie and neither of them had a clue, stating that he didn’t show for band practice.

“So, shouldn’t we be telling all of this to the police?” questioned Steve.

“No!” Dustin and Max shouted at him in unison. “He didn’t do it, Eddie’s not like that. There’s something else going on here.” Dustin protested, picking up the phone once again to dial another number.

“Wait!” You interjected, snatching the phone from Dustin’s hand and slamming back into the receiver. “I think I might know where he is.”

“And how the hell would you know that?” Steve looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“We’re, uh…, friends,” you shrugged, nervously picking at your fingernails. The look on your brother’s face instantly indicated that he didn’t believe you.

“Since when are you friends with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” he spat, clearly annoyed that you were lying to him. Steve could always sense when you were lying to him. You were only a year younger than him, but you guys were never close until the events of the Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer. It was after that when you guys started to really value each other as siblings and actually got to know each other. It was also when Steve became extremely, annoyingly overprotective of you.

“Okay, well,” You paused, trying to come up with another lie on the spot. “You see, sometimes we smoke together, okay? Just occasionally after school.” Which wasn’t necessarily a lie, you guys did do that together, among other things, but you’d rather have Steve upset with you for smoking weed than admit you were in love with Eddie Munson. You could barely admit that to yourself.

“Excuse me? When did you start smoking weed?” Steve was growing increasingly more upset.

“How does any of this matter right now? Do you know where Eddie is or not?” Dustin interjected, staring you down with urgency in his eyes.

You nodded. “I think so. Steve, keys,” you gestured for him to toss you the car keys.

“What, now? We can’t just leave in the middle of our shift!” Before he could even finish his sentence, Robin snuck behind him and yanked his keys from his pocket and tossed them to you.

“Then we’ll go. You can stay and watch the store.” She smiled mischievously at him.

“Yeah, absolutely not.” He shook his head before letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, let’s go.” He ushered you guys out of the store and locked up the door behind him.

You sped your way to Reefer Rick’s house, foot practically through the floor on the gas pedal. Steve urged you to slow down, but you didn’t listen. If Eddie was there, that’s all that mattered to you. Your heart was hammering out of your chest the entire car ride.

You finally pulled up to the house and everyone got out while you went to park the car in a more hidden spot. The last thing you wanted was anyone driving by and identifying Steve’s car.

You exited the car hastily, jogging up towards the house, and there wasn’t a person in sight. Where the hell did they all go? You swore you were only gone for about five minutes. After knocking on the front door a couple of times, you turned and noticed the door to the boathouse slightly ajar.

You entered warily to find Steve pinned against the wall by Eddie, a broken beer bottle in his hand, threatening Steve’s neck. Robin and the kids were attempting to calm him down.

“Eddie!” You called to him with a smile. You honestly didn’t even care that he was threatening your brother, you were just happy he was alive and safe.

Eddie’s expression immediately softened and his tense muscles relaxed when he heard your voice. “(y/n)? Oh thank god you’re here.” He turned to you, sighing, releasing Steve from his grip. Everyone else let out a sigh of relief.

You rushed into Eddie’s arms, hugging him with a tight grip as he squeezed you back. You could feel him shaking as he sobbed softly into your shoulder.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re just friends,” Dustin leaned over and whispered to Steve. Steve shook his head, completely puzzled. He, along with the others, desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on between the two of you.

But to you, it felt like there was nobody else in the room but Eddie. You didn’t even consider the thought of having to explain your complicated relationship to the others, especially Steve. The only thought on your mind was that Eddie was okay and how you were going to fix this situation.

As you released Eddie from your grip, he put his back to the wall and slowly sank to the floor, dropping his head in his hands. You kneeled beside him, placing your hand on his knee.

“Eds, can you tell us what happened?” You spoke softly, wanting to keep him calm. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to block out his tears.

“You guys wouldn’t believe me.”

His wavering voice made your heart shatter. Seeing the once confident, outgoing Eddie break down like this was hard to watch. Despite never exactly putting a label on your relationship, he was everything to you. He was the one to always comfort you when you were sad or scared and now you wanted to be that person for him.

“Trust me, Eddie, we would. You wouldn’t believe the crazy shit we’ve seen,” Dustin chimed in from behind you.

Eddie began to explain what he saw as best as he could. He was practically choking on his words as he described the gruesome scene he had witnessed two nights ago.

A few moments of silence went by before you spoke up. “Well, he can’t stay here.” You turned to the group.

“And where do you suggest he stays, (y/n)? The cops are looking for him everywhere.” Steve crossed his arms, peeved that you obviously lied to him about the nature of your relationship with Eddie.

You thought for a moment. “Our house.”

“No, no, no, absolutely not!” Steve was quick to reject your idea. “There is no way we're stowing a fugitive at our house!”

“Why not? Mom and Dad are away on business and there’s no way the cops would look for him there!” You argued. If you were being honest with yourself, you just wanted a safe place where you could be with him and where he might be less scared. Reefer Rick’s boathouse was hardly a place where a person could feel safe after what Eddie just witnessed.

“Please,” you pleaded, giving Steve a sad pout. “We need to stick together.”

Steve stayed silent for a few moments as he thought about his decision. Finally, he sighed as he slumped his shoulders and uncrossed his arms. “Fine. He can stay at our house, but if, and only if, you explain to me what the hell is going on between you two.”

You nodded, accepting the reality of the situation. You knew Steve wouldn’t like that the two of you were dating, but at this point, you would do whatever it takes to protect Eddie.

On the car ride to your house, there wasn’t enough room in the car for everyone, so you shyly situated yourself on Eddie’s lap.

“Okay, start talking,” said Steve from the driver’s seat. You and Eddie looked at each other and sighed simultaneously.

“Well, Eddie and I have been kinda dating. For, like, three months.” You mumbled the last bit, hoping Steve wouldn’t hear.

“What?” Steve shouted, slamming the breaks. The car jerked forward, as did all of you.

“Steve!” Robin screamed in a reprimanding voice. He ignored her.

“You two have been screwing around behind my back for three months?” He turned in his seat to look at you, anger in his eyes. “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, you know, because she thought you would kill her and stuff,” Eddie mumbled, shrugging. You attempted to fight back a smile, as it clearly was not the right time, but you were glad he still had his sense of humor.

Steve shook his head and started driving again. “I just thought we had become close enough where you could feel comfortable telling me these things, (y/n).”

“We are, Steve,” You sighed, leaning forward to put your hands on his shoulders. “But you have to admit, you haven’t been the most easy going brother as of late.”

“She’s right, you’ve been pretty overprotective,” Robin muttered, agreeing with you. Steve shot her a disapproving, ‘whose side are you on?’ type of look.

The entire car was silent the rest of the way. You didn’t know what else to say and neither did Steve. When you guys finally pulled up to your house, you and Eddie got out, and before the others drove away, Robin rolled down the passenger’s side window.

“We’ll be back shortly, okay? Just stay put and radio us if there’s trouble,” she spoke, giving us a weary, not so hopeful thumbs up. The two of you nodded.

“Hey,” Steve called. “Just… be careful, alright?”

“Yeah. You too,” you said, giving him a weak smile.

You immediately rushed Eddie into the house, trying not to be seen. You guys had gotten pretty used to sneaking around, so getting him in was successful. The two of you went around the house shutting all the windows and blinds.

After that was done, you brought him upstairs to get him cleaned up. He had been hiding out in the same clothes for two days, so he desperately needed a shower. You sat on the edge of the sink in the bathroom as you watched him get undressed. You knew you shouldn’t have been thinking about sex at a time like this, especially when he was in such a vulnerable state, but staring at his beautifully naked body as he entered the shower had you practically drooling. You figured he might need some privacy for a bit, so you hopped off the sink and opened the door to leave.

“Can you please stay?” You heard his soft voice ask from behind the curtain.

“Yeah, of course.”

You shut the door again and before you could take your seat on the sink again, Eddie stuttered, “A-actually, could you maybe come in with me? I just really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Without even second guessing, you stripped yourself of your clothes. You guys have never done something as intimate as showering together. Fucking in various places? Yes. Making out under the stars at Lover’s Lake? Yes. But showering? This was a first.

You gingerly stepped in, his back was to the water, facing you. With a quick glance, you noticed his cock grow hard immediately.

“I’m sorry, you’re standing naked in front of me, it’s just gonna do that no matter what.” He said, which made you laugh.

“Here, just turn around,” you said to him before grabbing some of your shampoo and putting it in his hair. You really didn’t think anything of it, rubbing shampoo into his scalp, you just wanted to comfort and relax him. To him, this was an insanely generous act of intimacy. His heart fluttered, feeling your fingers run through his hair in such a soft way, a way that wasn’t your usual desperate tugging and grasping.

The both of you were silent as you went through the motions of washing his hair and even his body, his dick involuntarily growing harder as you ran your hands all over him with soap. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and for why, you don’t know because his dick has literally been inside of you on many occasions.

You guys finished up, still in silence, as you didn’t really know the exact words to say. You both dried yourselves off, and after quickly tossing on a bra and underwear, you rummaged through Steve’s drawers to give Eddie some clean clothes. You settled on a simple Hawkins swim team shirt and some black sweatpants.

“Man, this shit looks ridiculous on me,” he chuckled, taking a seat on your bed. You tossed his clothes into a laundry basket and took a seat next to him. He leaned into you, dropping his head onto your shoulder. You ran a hand through his wet hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“(y/n), can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice a low whisper.

“What’s on your mind, Eds?”

“Well, a lot of shit. But the main thing is, if this shit goes sideways, you need to know that…” He paused and took his head off your shoulder, sitting upright. “You need to know that I love you, (y/n). I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but I think you’re it for me. Being with you is like a totally new kind of high and I don’t know how I would be dealing with this without you.”

You couldn’t speak. Your brain practically short-circuited after hearing the words you had been waiting for ever since you met Eddie. You didn’t even realize you were gripping onto his hands until you felt his rings dig into your skin.

“(y/n), please say something. I’m not good with feelings and being vulnerable, this is very new for me.”

Neither were you, which is why you were absolutely terrified to say anything. So instead, you pulled him towards you, planting your lips to his. It wasn’t the usual needy, desperate making out you guys were used to. This was gentle and soft, and you could practically hear his steady heartbeat. You felt like you were in a movie scene, half expecting Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears to start playing out of nowhere.

When you finally pulled your lips away from his, you rested your forehead against his and looked at his soft brown eyes. “I love you too, Eddie. We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

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aphr0d1teh · 4 days ago

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Feelings I Shouldn’t Have

Disclaimer/Pairings: bit of an AU (upside down timeline doesn’t exist) robin buckley x reader, steve harrington x sister!reader

Type: fluff, slight angst?, mutual pining

Warnings: swearing, angst, self-doubting, negative internal monologue surrounding sexuality

Word Count: 3.1k

It had been days since Robin last caught a glimpse of you up close, days since you had hung out after your friendship bloomed. She met you officially when you waltzed into Family Video one day demanding to know where your brother, Steve, was and Robin fell in love right there. Since then you'd been coming back just to visit her or ask to hangout after her shift, but sometimes you wouldn't for days and it'd completely kill her mood. She'd be lying if she said she didn't find you intriguing before though. She saw you often in school, you being in her year since you weren't much younger than Steve.

Today, you waltzed back into Family Video, sitting on the counter as your skirt fanned out around your thighs. "I'm gonna kill him." You mutter to Robin who's busy picking her jaw up off the floor at the sight of you in a skirt. "Wh-Why?" She asks. "He's so annoying. He won't let me go with Mike to California to see El, Will, Joyce, and Jonathan, and he won't even give me a reason. I mean Joyce is more of a mom to us than our own, so I don't see the issue." You huff as Robin stares.

"He is a bit of a dingus, I could try talking to him." She hums and you smile, making her heart stop. "You'd do that?" You ask, smiling at the girl and she smiles back, "Yeah, we're friends." She mumbles, her shoulder nudging yours as she tries to keep her eyes from staring at your skirt.

It felt like fireworks were erupting in your body at her shoulder touching yours as stupid and innocent as the touch was. You always got these feelings around Robin, but you never understood them so you pushed them away and buried them deep in the back of your mind. "Thank you." You mumble, hopping off the counter and smoothing down your skirt.

"Do you wanna go get ice cream when your shifts over? Steve's starts after yours—I think, so he can't even bother us." You say to her and she smiles. "Yeah." Robin agrees and you twist away your grin. "It's a date." You mumble, but your face heats up, "I mean um—a hangout, a friendly date—friendly hangout?" You say, stuttering, your eyebrows furrowing and hands moving wildly with your words.

Robin blushes at your rambling, "A friendly hangout." She says nodding. You smile at her as you look around through the tapes, waiting for Steve to relieve Robin of her shift. "So are any of these new releases good?" You ask. Robin shrugs, her eyes shamelessly glued to the skirt as you're not facing her anymore. "A few horror movies, but I know how you feel about those." She replies, giggling to herself.

You groan, immediately knowing what she's talking about, "That was one time Robin. Steve needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. I was eight," She laughs, biting her bottom lip, "Eight's a little old to be peeing in your pants." She teases and you turn, mouth agape. "Robin Buckley." You scowl, "I will cancel our friendly hangout." You warn and she puts her hands up in mock surrender.

"Don't shoot the messenger." She quips and you groan again. The bell on the door rings and Steve's familiar mop of hair trails in. "Hey Y/N/N, Robin." He greets. "Can you hurry up, we have a friendly hangout to attend." You shoot at him, an annoyed edge to your voice from Robin knowing about your embarrassing little secret and he stops.

"Oh hello to you too Y/N/N, I'm fine, yes thanks for asking." He annoyingly replies causing you to roll your eyes. "Hey Steve. How are you?" Robin adds and he waves her off as she giggles. Steve clocks in before walking towards Robin, "You're free to go." He utters, grumpily.

"What's gotten you in such a sour mood?" You ask, leaning against the counter and stealing a piece of candy reserved for children. Steve swats at your hand and takes the candy back, dropping it into place, "Nothing just—that girl I met the other night, the waitress, she canceled our date." He mumbles and you sigh, "Next time?" You offer, patting his shoulder as he rolls his eyes.

"You say that every time. Am I unlovable?" He asks seriously and you giggle, "You're asking the wrong person buddy, I just found out you told Robin I peed in my pants after we watched that movie when we were kids." Steve cracks a smile then laughs loudly at the memory, laughing in your face as Robin re-emerges from the back.

"I forgot about that oh my god." He whispers, wiping his eye, "That was funny." He adds and you keep a straight face. "It was not!" You shout, angrily grabbing a new movie off the horror section and placing it in front of him. "Robin and I will watch this tonight, I'll show you." You mumble and his eyes widen as he laughs again but checks out the movie under your name.

He hands it to you, "Can't wait to hear all about it." He teases and you roll your eyes, your arm looping around Robins as you walk out, flipping him off while he continues giggling to himself. "I'm gonna kill him one day." You say to Robin who's silently freaking out at your arm looped through hers.

"Shit—do you, I mean do you even want to watch a movie or hangout tonight, I didn't even ask I was so annoyed." You rush out as she smiles softly, "Oh yeah, it's a Friday. What other plans do you think I have? Tommy's party? I'd rather die." She jokes and you laugh as you both walk down the streets into the downtown area of Hawkins to an ice cream shop.

You open the door for Robin, jokingly bowing as she goes inside, laughing. You each order your ice cream and sit at the window eating them. "Whoever invented ice cream deserves a kiss on the mouth." Robin jokes, chocolate smeared around her lips and you giggle, "Wait you have—" you start and wipe the chocolate off from the side of her mouth.

She blushes at the action but quickly coughs, dragging your attention away. "I agree though." You mumble, "You're so messy." You cringe, looking at her and she laughs, "I've always been like this, yet you still you chose to be my friend." She adds, shrugging and you giggle, nodding while finishing up your ice cream.

"Ok—let's go get some snacks and watch the movie." You say, hopping off the bar stool. She nods, following after you. You two go by the store, grabbing a mix of salty, sweet, and gummy snacks before falling into a comfortable silence on the way back to your house, Robin occasionally rambling when something catches her attention.

You make it back to your house, sliding the key in the door and dropping the snacks on the counter. "Could I go shower before we watch the movie? I feel gross after we walked here." You ask, pulling at your shirt to which Robin nods, "April Fool's Day can wait." She mumbles, still nodding her head as she slides the movie to you on the counter.

You laugh, looking down at it as you take it in your hands, bringing it upstairs. "Feel free to do whatever, even come upstairs, I'll be quick." You mumble, running upstairs for a quick shower.

You're no more than fifteen minutes as you hop out, throwing on a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt that was definitely Steve's at some point. You exit the bathroom and walk back to your room to find Robin, sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed. "Comfortable?" You joke at her odd position and she chuckles, "I-I mean yeah." She replies, her face slightly pink.

You shake your head, grabbing the movie and popping it into the VCR before settling on your bed. "Alright." You mumble, patting the spot beside you for Robin to join. She does so, your shoulders awkwardly pressed together in the small space as the opening credits begin.

Robin can't focus on the movie, her breathing is uneven as her heart pounds in her chest, you're so close, she can smell your shampoo, the lotion you used, even the laundry detergent lingering on your clothes, it's driving her insane. A particularly scary scene comes on the screen as you pop a gummy in your mouth and you shriek, grabbing Robin's hand under the covers tightly.

She can't breathe at your touch, her whole body tensing up and you notice. "Oh shit I-um—I'm sorry." You mumble, your face a deep shade of red as you pull your hand back and Robin offers you an awkward smile. "It's ok, I won't tell Steve." She replies, deflecting the situation and you nod, smiling.

The movie continues as you occasionally jump and subconsciously inch closer to Robin. Your own heart racing the same pace at hers, but not from the movie, despite your fear. Your hand grasps Robin's tightly again as the tense scene unfolds, but this time she doesn't freeze, but she also doesn't move, not wanting you to move.

You're so close now the scent of your shampoo borders on overwhelming her, she feels like her head is spinning. The movie credits role and you finally realize how close you've moved to her, so you pull away, your body feeling cold at the loss of touch. "S-Sorry." You whisper and she shakes her head, unable to think of a response.

You don't move. Your eyes gazing into her's as you can feel yourself leaning closer to her. Why do you feel like this? Why do you feel this need to pull towards her? Robin was a girl. This isn't how you felt about girls, or at least this wasn't how you were supposed to feel. You get so close you can hear her uneven breaths until the door slamming downstairs brings you back to reality.

You jump back, eyes wide and face blushing as Steve's voice rings out from downstairs. "Hey losers I brought pizza!" He calls. You nod, even though he can't see you, "Coming!" You reply, wordlessly getting up, Robin following you downstairs.

You both look pale, Steve chuckles. "April Fool's Day too scary for you guys?" He jokes and you breathe out a laugh. "No actually." You reply, a snarky tone to your voice. Robin nods, "Honestly she didn't flinch once." She shrugged.

Steve shakes his head, getting down plates and giving you each some pizza. "I don't believe you but ok." He mumbles, sliding the plates towards each of you. You both thank Steve, walking to the table and sitting on opposite ends, the tension feeling suffocating.

"Why are you guys so quiet?" Steve questions, and you both shrug. He quirks an eyebrow, but brushes it off as he rants to Robin about a customer at Family Video and their other coworker who came in a little bit after him.

Robin nods along at his words, picking at the pizza, her eyes occasionally meeting yours. Your heart pounds every time she speaks. What was wrong with you? You all finish the pizza and Steve walks off to his room, claiming his shift took the life out of him and he needed to sleep.

"You can um—you can sleep over if you want. It's late, I wouldn't want you walking home alone." You say to Robin and she shakes her head causing your chest to ache. "I don't have any clothes." She mumbles and you wave your hand, "I have some pajama pants and a plethora of shirts stolen from Steve. Come on, it'll be fun." You push, your heart beating quickly at the thought of her saying yes, of her sleeping next to you, in your bed.

Eventually she smiles and agrees leaving you grinning like a fool. "Cool." Is all you reply back as you wash the plates and head upstairs. She follows behind you, sitting awkwardly on your bed again as you sift through your drawers, searching for the pants you spoke of. Once you find them you pull them out and head to your closet, grabbing a shirt before dropping it in her lap. She thanks you as she walks off to your bathroom to change.

You sit on your bed, your mind reeling as you push away the thought of Robin undressing mere feet from your bedroom inside of the bathroom. You chew on your nail, physically shaking your head to push away the thought. This isn't how you were supposed to feel, Robin was your friend, and a girl.

She finally emerges, her clothes folded in her hand as she sits them on a chair and closes your door before sitting back beside you on the bed. You both sit in an awkward silence, the tension still high. "So um—is this the part where we braid each other's hair and gossip about boys?" You joke and she laughs, shaking her head.

"If it is I think I want to go home." She teases and you smile, lying back on the bed. Robin steals a few glances at you, her eyes tracing the curve of your body against the bed as your mind races. "Do you ever feel—I dunno, off?" You ask and she furrows her eyebrows. "I don't think I'm following." She replies and you sit up, your back against the wall.

"I don't know I've just felt really off lately. Weird." You reply and she hums, "Is something going on?" She asks. You shrug, "I've just had all of these weird feelings recently—" You start, your hands running through your hair before pulling your knees closer to you. "Feelings I shouldn't be having. It's confusing."

She nods, "What kind of feelings Y/N?" She asks and her tone makes you look up, your eyes meeting hers as your heart races. You don't know when it happened but the two of you had managed to scoot closer to one another as you spoke. Your back still against the wall as her legs were crossed under her while she sat right in front of you.

Your heart raced as it forced you forward before your brain could stop you from leaning in, your lips almost touching hers. To your surprise, Robin didn't pull back, she didn't flinch away. You could feel her breathing on your lips as you look up at her and whisper, "Like I want to kiss you."

She closes the distance, her hand moving behind your neck as she leans into you. Your eyes are open wide in shock for a moment before you lean into the kiss, your eyes closing as your heart beats so wildly you're sure she can hear it. Your hand cups her cheek as she deepens the kiss, her lips dancing against yours.

Eventually she pulls back, both of you slightly panting. "I-I'm sorry." She mumbles, withdrawing herself from you and you frown, an ache forming in your chest, "Why are you sorry?" You ask and she runs a hand through her hair. "I shouldn't have done that." She adds, ignoring you. She pushes off the bed as she begins pacing. "Robin." You call out and she ignores you, mumbling to herself, so you stand.

"Robin." You say again, looking up slightly at her as your hands meet her shoulders. "I-I liked it." You whisper and she swears her heart stops for a second. "I like you, Robin." You add and you can see the blush spreading from her neck to her face. "Y/N." She mumbles, "You don't have to spare me. I know you're just saying that. You don't even like girls—I saw you with Tommy that one time at a party." She adds a bit bitterly.

You shake your head, "I made out with a guy when I was drunk, so what Robin, but this—" You gesture between the two of you, "I've never felt like this. Every time I go to Family Video and you're working I spend at least thirty extra minutes getting ready. Every time even your shoulder brushes mine it feels like my body is on fire, I like you Robin. I really like you, and I'm confused, I'm scared, but I can't bear another second pretending like you're just my friend." You ramble out as she stares at you, her eyes wide and scared.

She doesn't speak as she pulls you in for another kiss, you quickly react, your arms wrapping around her as you desperately pull her closer, the pent up feelings you kept hidden finally bubbling out of you. You two part again as the kiss heats up, both of you scared to push anything further.

"I like you too." She finally says, an awkward smile on her face. You smile back, pulling her into another kiss. She kisses back, this time backing you up until your knees hit your bed and you fall back, she follows you but the kiss doesn't break as she lays you back, your bodies melting together like a puzzle.

You whimper as her kisses move down your jaw until you push her back. She's panting as she looks down at you. "Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?" She rushes out, her hand ghosting over your hip. "I think that's enough for to-tonight." You whisper, borderline terrified to continue. She nods as she drops beside you, your shoulders touching like before.

You roll onto your side as she copies your motions, your faces close as you admire her features. The rest of the night is spent with the two of you giggling, both talking about times the other drove you crazy without knowing. It felt good, comfortable to be like this with Robin. You felt like apart of you that you kept buried deep broke free the moment she kissed you.

As the hours rolled by you both grew tired, and eventually you fell asleep, your legs tangled together as your head laid on her chest. She lazily played with your hair as her other hand rested tightly against your waist, her heart beating in sync with yours as you both drifted off, dreaming of one another. You weren't sure what would come of this, or how people would react if it got out, but you didn't care, not about something that felt so right there was no way it could be wrong.

—

A/N: i love robin, slightly based robin off of a girl im helplessly in love with (someone sedate me). this is also my first time writing for robin so yay.

0 notes

aphr0d1teh · 4 days ago

Text

this writing is so beautiful i’m going to cry

in the midnight hour, I can feel your power

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: Tell me what you want.

Your tongue glides slow, sticky with need: “You.”

His grin is a kind of worship—deep, proud, knowing.

That’s right. You want me.

warnings: 18+ smut, sex dream, friends to lovers, softdom!eddie, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, confessions, toxic ex, emotional manipulation, brief unwanted physical contact, alcohol use

word count: 8.5k

prev pt here // series masterlist

You’ve been here before.

The dark folds around you—soft, dense, warm as velvet steeped in memory. Shadows pool at the edges, blurring the room’s outline. Yet, the center glows, candlelight flickering in golden threads, suspended in dust like motes in amber.

You came.

The voice pours through the space like honey—low, resonant, known.

Wraps around you like a silk binding, tracing up your spine until it blooms beneath your ribs.

You turn toward the light, and he’s there.

At the heart of it all.

Bathed in amber, seated on a throne too ornate to name—wood and wire and haloed light. You can’t make out its shape, the glare behind him turning everything to soft gold.

But him—you see clearly.

His smile is slow. Familiar. Lips curled like he already knows you’ll obey.

A single finger lifts—silver catching the light—and crooks forward, beckoning.

You move.

And only as your palms press to the floor do you realize:

You’re crawling.

On your hands and knees.

Naked.

Every inch of you laid bare. Offered to this familiar yet strange place.

To him.

The realization hollows something out inside you. But where shame and panic should fill it, there’s only stillness.

Just want. Need.

Eyes on me, sweetheart.

His voice again. This time firmer, holding you.

You lift your gaze, and he’s changed.

Bare from the waist up, skin gleaming pale under the waxen glow, soft as milk and moonlight.

His arms are a canvas—black ink stretched across muscle, wings fluttering along his forearm like they might lift and fly. Just above, a design of tangled wires and strings—half-mechanical, half-organic—shifting and blurring, pulsing like veins beneath translucent skin. His collarbone bears its own marks, less defined than the rest, smudged and half-faded. The ink there drifts down to his chest, tapering off like a shape you tried to sketch from memory and never quite captured.

But he’s here.

And you’re so close.

You reach the base of the throne, still on your knees, breath trembling as you stop at his feet.

Then—warmth. Blooming at your cheek and folding tender beneath your jaw.

Calloused. Steady. Reverent. Tilting your face up like you’re something precious.

He smiles in a way that feels like praise.

You want this?

You nod, frantic and raw. Your tongue flicks nervously as you try to crawl higher, reaching for the palm holding you, but your limbs won’t move. Anchored, pinned to the floor like syrup-drenched silk.

You make a sound in your throat, soft and wordless.

His smile deepens. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Not bright, not gleaming, but deep.

Dark like river silt. Like soil after a storm. Like earth that swallows and cradles.

He thumbs your lower lip, and your mouth parts under the weight.

“Please,” you tremble.

He leans closer, breath feathering patiently across your skin.

Do you trust me?

Your chest tightens.

“Yes.”

Plush, pink lips curl into a grin, sharpening at the edges.

Tell me what you want.

Your tongue glides slow, sticky with need:

“You.”

He grin is a kind of worship—deep, proud, knowing.

That’s right. You want me.

And then—

He moves.

Slides down from the throne with a grace that doesn’t seem earthly, and comes to kneel before you.

The throne stands hollow behind him.

Holy space abandoned. All that divinity, now focused on you.

Now, it’s only him.

Broad hands cup your cheeks, palms burning hot against aching skin.

And when he leans in, when the distance vanishes—his fingers threading through your hair, tilting your face upward, cradling you—the ceiling above you splits.

And suddenly—

You’re somewhere weightless.

Familiar.

It’s not the ceiling above you anymore.

It’s sky.

A pale wash of blue—soft as breath, endless as memory.

You’re on your back.

Cool, damp soil beneath your fingers, hair spilling around you, overgrown grass tickling softly at your arms. The scent of pine is thick in the air, green and alive.

Your favorite sundress is bunched around your waist, forgotten, or maybe you couldn’t be bothered.

And, between your legs—

Warm breath. A mouth.

“Eddie,” you gasp.

His rings are cool against your skin, clinking softly as he adjusts his grip—anchoring you, spreading you wider. His breaths are wet, heavy. Right where you're already aching and open.

It’s okay.

He looks up once—eyes blown dark, lips slick—and grins.

Not cocky—confident. Like he’s been here before. Like he belongs here.

Let me take care of you.

And then, his mouth, right there.

Soft, slow, unrelenting.

Each kiss is a prayer. Each flick of his tongue a vow.

He devours you like it’s sacred. Worship he’s been waiting lifetimes for.

Your back arches off the earth, into him, fingers sinking into his curls. You pull—greedy, lost—and he groans into you, that low, reverent hymn reverberating through your core.

The forest breathes with you. Birds scatter. The sky glows.

I’m right here.

He rises above you, skin damp against yours, the scent of moss and fresh dew tangled in your lungs. You feel his weight settle, pressing you deeper into the soil.

He kisses you once, just above your heart. Then moves upward, brushing against your shoulder, the base of your throat—until he’s above you, fully.

I’ve got you.

You fold into the cradle of his body, your eyes pressing into the blurred ink on his collarbone until all you can see is black, endless black, and then—

The world flashes again. Blurs, shifts, twists—

And he’s gone. Leaving only the darkness behind your lids.

You jolt awake with a gasp, lungs tight, skin slick with sweat. Blinking up at your ceiling fan, drenched in silence.

“Fuck.”

The blades spin slow above you, slicing through the warm haze of morning.

You exhale, ragged and hollow, and let your eyes slip shut again, just to see if he’s still there.

It’s only darkness now.

Still, you stay. Motionless beneath the covers, as if stillness might pull him back.

And it’s almost shameful, how badly you want to fall back under. To chase him down. To drag the dream back from the edges and disappear inside it again.

That’s right. You want me.

You shift against the sheets, the fabric cool where your sweat’s begun to dry. Your shirt sticks to the curve of your back, pulse fluttering low in your belly, remembering the path of his hands.

The warmth of his palm against your cheek, the cut of his rings digging into the plush of your thighs.

I’ve got you.

You run a hand over your chest, as if you could feel the imprint of his mouth still there.

You find nothing but skin. Warm, beating, wanting.

Yet still—he lingers.

In the hum beneath your ribs. In the static that clings to the air.

Like the room remembers, too.

Your hand dips lower. Skimming your hip, ghosting along the inside of your thigh.

Your body still sings with the echo of him—of that reverence, that slow devastation. Of how he looked at you like you were both a feast and a miracle.

Let me take care of you.

Slow fingers slide beneath cotton, grazing the slick heat between your thighs.

You slip further under.

Back into the memory of dirt under your spine and the sky overhead. His mouth licking into you with quiet hunger—a sacred rite seeking only this, only you.

I’m right here.

You tremble through it fast. Too fast.

Arching into your hand, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers drag faster, frantic.

Mouth open, breath ragged:

“Eddie—”

The ceiling fan spins. Light bends soft around your vision.

And for a moment, you see him.

Arms crossed. Eyes dark. A grin like sin carved into his mouth.

Good girl.

When you blink again, he’s gone.

“Fuck.”

“You know we can always just hang at my place, right?”

Chrissy’s voice is light, coaxing. “Order pizza, maybe rent Pretty in Pink again?”

You smile without really meaning to, your fingers worrying the corner of a napkin until it tears—soft little shreds piling by your hand.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…”

Your eyes drift across the cafeteria, hazy with the fluorescent lull of early afternoon.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had the house to myself. I think I just… need to blow off some steam, you know?”

You try to shrug it off, pass the ache in your chest off as something lighter. Something a little easier to say out loud. Your fingers tap the rim of your plastic cup—soft clinks breaking the hush between you.

Because it’s not really about the party.

Or, rather, the small gathering you’ve planned while your parents were gone for the weekend.

It’s about space, control.

About being seen—on your terms, in your space. Away from the gossip and the sideways looks. With music you picked and people you invited.

Something of your own, something you haven’t had in months—not since everything with Andy, not since the whispers started and you stopped sitting at your usual table in the center of the cafeteria.

You just want to feel like you’re in charge of something again.

Chrissy purses her lips, then smiles. “Okay, well, Sarah’s grabbing all the snacks and drinks, so we’re pretty much set.”

Then her gaze flickers—past you, toward the cluster of jocks a few tables away. The familiar cackle of bravado. A basketball being palmed back and forth like it weighs nothing.

“And uh, don’t worry about…” She pauses, pursing her lips again. “The team has an away game on Saturday. They won’t be here.”

She glances back at you. It lands heavy.

It’s strange; you never wanted anyone to have to pick sides. To make that choice. Yet here she was, having quietly made hers.

You flash her a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, Chrissy.”

“Of course.” She nods, then looks around at the rest of the cafeteria, eyes brightening.

“So. Who else are you inviting?”

It’s an innocent transition. Yet you pause, the answer stalling on your tongue.

Your gaze catches on movement across the room:

Eddie Munson.

Mid-sentence, hands carving shapes from air, eyes alight, hair swinging like velvet around his shoulders. The rest of his table erupts into laughter around him, but he shines brighter than the noise.

The moment stretches, fuzzy at the edges. Like a loose thread in your chest, looping around your ribs. Tugging.

That dream reaching out again, bleeding into waking.

You blink.

“Uh, one sec, I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

Your feet are already turning, carrying you toward him before the thought can fully land.

It’s one of the Hellfire members that notices you first.

Caught mid-smile, eyes narrowing before he nudges someone sitting next to him.

It spreads like a slow ripple—heads turn, shoulders tense.

Until the table stills.

And then Eddie turns.

A slow pivot of his head, curls brushing along his jaw. Brows pulled in, creased in mild confusion—

Until he sees you.

His eyes catch yours, puzzled at first, then soften. A flicker of recognition. A quiet kind of welcome.

“Hey,” You offer a small wave. An even smaller smile.

Eddie blinks, then returns it. “Hey.”

“I, um—I’m sorry to interrupt. I just—” You pause, feeling the words bottleneck in your throat before they spill out all at once.

“I was just wondering if you’d want to come to a party this weekend? At my place.”

There’s a beat of silence. Someone at the table sets their cup down a little too hard.

You clear your throat. “All of you, I mean. If you want.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Then, snorted laughter from down the table, low and skeptical. “Is this a joke?”

“Oh. No, I—”

The backstep is instinctive. Words slip like water through your fingers.

But Eddie moves before the doubt can settle.

He turns, cutting a glance at the guy who’d just spoken, something sharp behind his smile.

“What Doug means,” he says, turning back to you, “is yes. We’d be happy to come.”

A wink.

Small. Casual. But it cuts straight through you. The tightness in your chest loosens and you breathe again.

“Great. Ok.” You nod, pursing your lips. “It’s uh… Saturday at 8.”

Eddie squints a little, tilting his head like he’s lining something up in his mind.

“Uh, remind me of your address again?”

You blink. “Oh. Right.”

Your lips twitch in embarrassment. Both times he’d driven you home, it was with your voice guiding him—left here, right there.

You glance down, instinctively patting your pockets—empty.

“Uh, hold on, I’ll just go grab my—”

“Here,” He says, casually, chair legs scraping the linoleum as he stands.

Pulls a pen from his back pocket—a battered black thing with teeth marks on the cap, clip bent sideways like it’s been hooked to the same notebook for years.

And then, without a word, begins to roll up his sleeve.

The fabric gathers as it rises, folding like soft waves along his arm.

Beneath it—skin.

A forearm stretched out like parchment. Moonlit skin pulled over lean sinew.

The one from your dream.

Laid bare in offering. Like it’s nothing.

Your breath catches at the quiet surrender.

And you hesitate, because it feels like reaching into something sacred.

Like stepping into a moment that was only ever meant to exist in something imagined. Touching him now might break the spell. Might make him disappear again.

“I—are you sure?” Your eyes flit to the table. “I can just grab a napkin or—”

But Eddie only smiles. That crooked, easy tilt of his mouth that always hovers somewhere between a dare and something gentler.

“I’ll lose it if it’s not on me.”

His chain gives a soft clink as he shifts his weight, shaking his arm once—a clear offering.

“You’re good,” He nods. “Go ahead.”

You take the pen from his fingers, then reach out. Your hand closes gently around his wrist.

It’s startling, that warmth. That steady pulse under your touch.

And when you begin to write, it’s gentle at first. Barely a whisper.

But the pen skips, ink catching on warmth and the uneven rise of flesh.

You press harder, feeling him give under the pressure, heat bleeding through metal.

The skin is soft here. Close to the bone.

Too close to something vital.

Terrifying in its intimacy.

You hold your breath.

Your strokes are slow, measured. But your hand’s not as steady as you’d like, and your writing comes out messier than usual.

The curves slant. The lines drag. You hate that.

You scrawl the house number, then the street name. The loop of a ‘g’ snags against his skin and your brows pull together, worried it might’ve hurt.

He doesn’t flinch.

Your thumb shifts, finding the hollow beneath his wrist for balance.

And there, the softest part of him, where the pulse thrums closest to the surface—

You pause.

Not long. Just enough to feel it.

That quiet, insistent drumbeat of life beneath the pad of your finger.

Then your eyes drift upward, unbidden, to the tattoo coiled on his forearm.

It’s one you’ve seen before—in passing, in shadow. Half-blurred and swimming with heat.

But never this close.

Now, it lives:

A demon, strung up like a marionette.

Limbs twisted, mouth slack, a clawed hand pulling its arms aloft.

Violent. Delicate.

And it doesn’t look drawn.

It looks grown. Ink settled deep, like it bloomed from underneath him, inside him.

The black lines fade into freckles, into faint scars. Into pale veins branching like river roots beneath the surface.

Woven in.

The metaphor hums in your blood, but you don’t name it.

Instead you blink, finishing the last curve of your address.

And as your eyes skim over what you’ve written, you see other things, too. Things your dream never showed you.

The faint down of hair on his forearm. A small mole below the crease of his elbow. A fine blue vein that splits at his wrist and curves toward his thumb.

You want to remember it all.

Your hand trembles as you lift the pen away.

“There,” you murmur. “Just uh, come as you are. No need to bring anything.”

You start to pull back, but he doesn’t move. Still holding his arm out as he flexes his fingers, slow—testing the way the ink curves with his skin.

And you watch too.

Your words rippling over muscle, as if alive.

Yet, they hover only on the surface, weightless. Temporary.

And there’s a stray thought, somewhere—quiet but unmistakable—where you find yourself wishing they didn’t.

Something strange and possessive.

You wish your words would sink in.

That they’d stay—like the ink of his tattoo.

Not on him. In him.

A low cough from the table breaks the spell.

You blink, glancing up to find Eddie looking at you.

His arm lowers, eyes soft, and his lips part like he might say something—but he doesn’t.

You look away first.

You toss a quick wave to Dustin, offering a tight-lipped smile as you pass—barely registering the stunned look on his face, or the whispered what the hell just happened? that ripples through the group.

Or the eyes that follow you all the way across the room as you walk back to your table.

It's not until you're sitting again—heart still racing, legs buzzing with adrenaline, something warm and wicked curling low in your belly—do you realize:

You’re still holding Eddie’s pen.

And your fingers won’t let go.

You don’t know who brought the keg.

That was the first red flag.

The second came not long after—a crash from the den, unmistakably glass, followed by loud, careless laughter that didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

Someone screams WOO! like it's Spring Break in Daytona, crowding your speaker, and cranks the volume to something loud and ugly—definitely not on your carefully curated mixtape for the night.

The third red flag is the crowd.

What started as a maybe twenty-person gathering is now… way more.

You can’t count the bodies anymore—people you barely know, pressing into the kitchen, clustering on the stairs, stuffing the coat closet. Seniors hanging off the banister like it’s a college frat party.

It wasn't like this an hour ago.

Not when you opened the door for Hellfire.

Not when Eddie stepped through, ringed fingers clutching a six-pack of root beer and a crumpled bag of Doritos.

Hair still damp—from a shower, maybe—smelling faintly of cloves and clean laundry.

You'd smiled. Kissed his cheek without thinking—quick, giddy—and laughed sheepishly at the smudge of pink gloss you'd left behind.

He'd blinked, once. Then grinned, holding up the sodas like a trophy.

Brought the hard stuff. Unless you count Henderson’s Skittles addiction.

You’d laughed. Let them in. Felt something inside you settle.

But that moment’s long gone.

Now, the kitchen floor is sticky with spilled punch and you’re crouched beside the counter, elbow-deep in paper towels, trying to mop up the red bloom that's crawling toward the fridge like it’s alive.

That’s where Chrissy finds you—eyes wide, freshly painted nails tucked tight between her teeth.

It’s the fourth and final sign.

“Hey… you might wanna see this.”

You blink up at her.

And then you’re pushing through a thicket of bodies—loud, already sloppy. Shoulders brush the wallpaper. Someone knocks one of your mom’s framed photos off the wall.

You make it to the window, squinting past the glow of your string lights.

And sure enough—

Jason Carver’s shiny black Camaro, gleaming like an oil slick under the streetlight.

And behind it, halfway up the curb: an all-too-familiar red pickup with the busted passenger mirror, duct tape flapping uselessly in the night air.

More cars pile in behind. Headlights flashing, doors slamming.

Chrissy stands stiff beside you, arms crossed tight, her cheer hoodie swallowing her hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t know how they found out. I didn’t—”

You cut her off gently. “It’s okay.”

Your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Let’s just… get back to the party.”

You’re not gonna make a scene. Not gonna give him the satisfaction.

That’s what he came for—a confrontation. A spectacle. A chance to prove he still gets to walk in like he owns the room.

Like he owns you.

The door bursts open not a minute later. Andy’s voice booms through the entryway.

“What’s up, Hawkins?! Just smoked Marion Ridge—thirty-one to zip! That’s right, baby!”

And that explains it. The early return. The need to celebrate where it would sting.

The living room erupts into cheers.

Someone yells about a keg stand. A chant picks up quick, messy and offbeat.

You slip back toward the corner of the kitchen, trying to avoid the flood of bodies swelling through your house.

And to your surprise—

Andy doesn’t look, doesn't follow.

You don’t think he’s even noticed you through the haze of beer and ego and boys shouting over each other.

You pour yourself a fresh cup of punch, even though your first one still sits somewhere—untouched, probably sitting on a windowsill or kicked under a couch.

Across the room, Jason is basking in his own spotlight. An arm slung around Chrissy as he plants a kiss on her temple.

She smiles, but her brows furrow as she leans in, whispering something in his ear. Her eyes flick to you. Worried, apologetic.

Your grip tightens around the cup, cheap plastic crinkling under your fingers.

The music is too loud. The lights too warm. The air prickles at your skin like a warning.

Instinctively, your gaze shifts—sweeping past letterman jackets and half-familiar faces, searching for something steadier. Quieter.

A flash of silver, maybe. The fall of familiar curls, worn denim.

Then, there’s a sudden swell of noise from the back door, someone hollering, drunk and triumphant:

Yo, we’re starting flip cup in the backyard—get your asses out here!

A blur of green and gold surges past—sneakers thudding against tile, voices chasing one another in a messy chorus.

And beside you, Chrissy returns. Silent at first, just her shoulder nudging yours.

“Think that’s enough testosterone for one yard?”

You let out a breath—half-laugh, half-sigh—as she laces her fingers with yours.

“C’mon,” she whispers, “let’s go dance.”

You let Chrissy pull you onto the dance floor—really just the cleared-out center of your living room, stuffy with heat and littered with half-crushed solo cups. But under the low string lights, it feels almost enchanted. Golden, glowing. The kind of light that softens sharp edges.

Chrissy sways beside you, head tilted back, laughing at something someone shouts across the room. Her ponytail swings like a pendulum, catching the shimmer of fairy lights. Her joy is infectious, light as sugar, and you let it carry you.

The music wraps around you, syrup-slick and smoky—a Madonna song you recognize, pulsing with that unmistakable synth line, all bounce and heat and breathless momentum.

And suddenly, the room feels smaller. Closer. Like you’re moving through a smear of light and color—cocooned in bass and bodies and the dizzy joy of not thinking.

You forget about Andy.

You forget about the beer soaking into your carpet and the punch bleeding red across your kitchen.

You even forget—just for a moment—that Eddie’s not here. Not beside you, not where you can see him.

The last time you caught sight of him, he was leaning against the far end of the hallway, shoulder to the wall. Talking to a few of the older Hellfire guys—Jeff and Gareth, you’ve learned their names now—laughing at something that made his nose crinkle.

And you were, what?

Answering the door again? Refilling the ice? Playing host instead of staying close?

You wonder where he is now. Whether he’s still here.

You wish he’d find you. Catch your eye. Smile like he sees you, because he always does.

You wish you’d gone to him instead.

The thought itches at your ribs.

You lean toward Chrissy, half-shouting over the music:

“Be right back!”

You turn and start toward the den, only to stop short when someone steps into your path.

Golden hair, sun-kissed even under indoor light, catching like fire.

Jason Carver smiles when he says your name.

“Hey,” he glances around with a casual sweep of his eyes, nodding approvingly. “Nice party. Seriously.”

You blink, then nod. “Thanks.”

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking past your shoulder then back.

“Hey, uh…” He leans in, voice dropping beneath the music. “I think someone might’ve broken something upstairs.”

Your brows pull together. “Upstairs?”

He nods once, casual, and you straighten immediately, shoulders tensing.

“Shit,” your eyes flick toward the staircase. “Was it a lamp?”

Jason shrugs, eyes flitting to the side. Hands deep in the pockets of his letterman jacket.

“Yeah, I think. Just thought you’d wanna know.”

You barely mutter a thank you, already pivoting, heart rising into your throat as you change course for the stairs.

It’s quieter upstairs. Cooler.

The chaos below fades into muffled basslines and the occasional shout, dulled through floorboards and drywall.

Your eyes immediately snap to the lamp—your mom’s vintage brass piece with the floral engravings—perched on a weathered side table just a few feet from the top of the staircase.

And it’s… perfectly upright. Intact.

No glass on the carpet. No cord yanked from the wall. No mess at all.

Relief rushes in. But it’s short-lived.

You step closer, eyes narrowing as you peer at the rest of the hallway.

Everything looks silent. Normal. Untouched.

Your breath slips out, slow and puzzled, cooling against your tongue. A wrinkle furrows between your brows.

You reach out, fingertips ghosting the table’s edge just to be sure.

Then—

A voice behind you, slick with venom.

Too familiar. Too close.

“Didn’t know you were into freaks now.”

Your body reacts before your brain catches up—whipping around fast, feet shifting to brace, breath jerking sharp.

But Andy’s quicker.

He shifts easily, planting himself in front of you, blocking the narrow hallway—the only way back downstairs.

“Hey, woah.” His breath hits you, thick with beer and something sharper underneath. The liquid in his cup sloshes as he sways, steadying himself against the wall with a smirk.

All teeth. No humor.

A predator playing polite.

“What’s the hurry?”

You square your shoulders, voice tight. “Let me go, Andy.”

“Whaat, I just wanna talk!” He laughs, loud and messy, slurred at the edges. “Can’t we talk?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

You move sideways, shoulder brushing the wall, but he mirrors you effortlessly. One half-step and he’s in front again, eyes sharp, watching.

“C’mon, babe. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not—” You bite the words off, jaw tightening. Silence pools thick between you, filled only with the distant thump of music downstairs, your name nowhere in it.

Then, low: “What do you want?”

He shrugs, eyes flicking to his cup like he’s bored.

“Interesting timing, don’t ya think?” he sighs after a beat. “This… party. Kinda feels like you’re trying to prove something.”

Your spine snaps straighter. “You weren’t invited.”

“Neither were half the people downstairs,” he shoots back, eyes glinting. Then takes a step closer.

Tilts his cup. Watches the red slosh.

“Guess you're just letting anyone in these days, huh?”

His gaze drops, slow and blatant.

It doesn’t skim so much as drag, starting at your shoulders, pausing at your chest, dragging lower with a lewd, deliberate hunger.

When it lands somewhere it shouldn’t, your skin flashes cold. You flinch like you’ve been struck.

Your breath catches—sharp, splintering in your chest like broken glass.

“G-get out of my way.”

He exhales, long and theatrical, and lets himself slump lazily down the wall, hitting plaster with a careless thud. The red in his cup rocks dangerously near the rim.

His legs stretch long across the hallway, ankles crossed—obstructive by design.

“I mean…” He tilts his head back like he’s starring in his own tragedy. Swigs from his cup, then licks a drop from the corner of his mouth. “Is it some kind of charity thing? Slumming it with the town freak?”

His head lolls toward you, grin lazy, eyes sharp.

“…or is there something else in it for you?”

He pauses, teeth flashing over the rim of his cup, red-lit behind the plastic.

Then, his voice drops, suddenly intimate. Like he’s been saving this last little bit, just for you.

“You know… heard from a little birdie you drove off with Munson after lunch that day. In that piece-of-shit van.”

Cold panic lurches in your stomach.

You don’t want to look at him. Give him the satisfaction.

But your eyes flick up anyway—reflex, habit, mistake.

He sees it. Pounces.

Grin widening, fingers tightening around the rim of his cup. He rolls his shoulders back, slow and languid, soaking in your reaction like sun on pavement.

You sigh and step forward, ready to shove past him.

“I swear to god, Andy—”

He peels off faster than breath.

Slams a hand against the wall—thud—just shy of your temple.

The frame above rattles on its hook, a faint tink of glass behind your ear.

He swoops in, breath hot against your cheek. Close enough to count the freckles on his nose, the burst capillaries blooming in the whites of his eyes.

Whatever charm he wore before—it’s gone now. Peeled off in uneven strips.

What’s left is ugly. Feral. Gleaming with something rotten, like the skin of something forgotten in the back of the fridge, slick with ruin.

He leans in, voice honeyed and hollow.

“Ooh, touchy,” He tuts softly, but the sound scrapes like gravel.

Then he steps in again, shrinking the space between you until your back almost kisses the wall.

“Now, why would little-miss-innocent be so damn touchy?” His voice lilts, sickly sweet.

And your body—traitorous—remembers this.

This quiet tension. This game.

You go still. Breaths shallow, muscles locking. Your pulse screams in your throat, but your limbs won't listen.

“What’s he giving you, huh?” His voice dips lower, and something fierce coils in your gut—shame, rage, fear, all braided into one sick, slithering thing, crawling up your throat.

“More importantly…” His eyes rake down again, slow and scalding, like they might burn through fabric, through skin.

“…what are you giving him?”

His stare lingers.

Lower. Lower.

Not suggestive anymore.

Violent.

Like it’s trying to undress you with hate. Strip you down to nerve and shame.

You swallow, forcing something thick and sour down your throat.

Your breath stutters on the inhale.

“Fuck you.”

And just like that—his grin vanishes. Like a trapdoor dropped shut.

His nostrils flare. His jaw twitches.

He leans in closer, nose nearly touching yours. The world narrows to the crimson-rimmed whites of his eyes and the rank heat of his breath.

“You know what people are saying about me now? Cause of you?”

His voice is barely a whisper. But it cuts sharp, fracturing into something ragged and bitter.

“You wouldn't even touch me,” he mutters, jaw twitching.

“But him?” A scoff. A bitter curl of his lips.

“You’re spreading it for him? That freak show?”

And then he spits it—laughing quietly under his breath.

“Guess you were a slut like the rest of ‘em, huh?”

Something cold breaks inside your chest then. Not loud, but clean. Final.

You don’t think. You don’t even feel.

Crack.

A vicious, open-handed slap—louder than you thought it’d be.

His head jerks to the side. The cup in his hand slips, bleeding red into the carpet.

Silence hits instantly, thick and heavy.

Your hand stings. Your whole arm hums.

He straightens slowly, face turning back toward you. Red blooming across one cheek, jaw clenched. Eyes lit with something sharp and volatile.

You don’t wait. Shoulders squared, teeth gritted—you shove past him.

Almost.

Rough fingers clamp like a vise, digging into your wrist before you’re free. He yanks you back hard enough to spin you halfway around.

Your elbow jerks. Your feet stumble.

“Get the fuck off—”

“—Andy.”

The name cuts through everything.

The grip around your wrist falters, loosening just enough at the sound.

Footsteps thud across the top stair—

Blonde like burnished gold.

You rip your arm free, stumbling back a step, breath sharp and uneven in your chest. Your hand curls near your ribs—palm tingling, wrist starting to ache.

You slip past Jason—down, fast—ignoring the way his eyes dart warily between the two of you, mouth parted, brows pinched like he might say something.

You take the stairs two at a time, knees loose and shaking.

From behind, hushed voices drift down after you:

What the fuck, man? You said you were just gonna talk to her.

I was talking. She’s the one who slapped me.

Your hand grips the banister, fingers cold, knuckles raw.

The bass grows louder with every step, pounding through your ribs, deep and relentless.

Laughter. Shouts. Music that doesn’t care.

You keep your head down, eyes locked on the stairs, vision blurring as you try to push forward.

Your palm still stings. Your wrist throbs where he grabbed you.

It’s going to bruise, you can tell. Already blooming hot under your skin.

But betrayal burns hotter behind your eyes.

I think someone might’ve broken something upstairs.

Voices swirl in your head, faces blurring into one.

Guess you were a slut like the rest of ‘em, huh?

Your chest tightens, ribs cinching in like they’re folding around your heart, crushing it in place.

The burn flares bright, white-hot and sharp.

You blink, swallowing hard.

You’re not gonna cry. Not here.

You hit the bottom landing and plunge into the sea of bodies.

Someone collides into you, followed by a slurred apology. Another shoulder clips you. A girl shrieks with laughter. A beer can hisses open near your ear—cold spray on your arm, sharp and sudden.

You blink again. Swallow.

And then—

A laugh.

His laugh.

Worn denim vest, curls loose around his shoulders—Eddie’s leaned against the far wall by the pool table, one foot propped back against the molding.

He’s half-turned toward someone—not Hellfire, you don’t think. A girl in ripped black tights and dark lipstick. Vaguely familiar. From art class, maybe.

And he’s grinning.

One hand on his drink, the other mid-gesture as Gareth lines up a shot.

He mimes a slow-motion clap when the ball drops clean into the corner pocket.

Murmurs something sideways. They both crack up.

His smile is wide and full and safe.

He’s not looking your way.

He doesn’t know.

Why would he?

You freeze, feet suddenly heavy.

And just for a moment, you see it.

You, racing across the room in a blur, heart thundering in your throat.

The panic, the rage—hands trembling, breath hitching, words piling up and falling apart before you can catch them.

You picture what Eddie might say. The way his eyes might soften, hands steady and sure as they reach out for yours.

But then—

Then he tilts his head back, mid-laugh.

Smile stretching wider, soft at the edges.

Backlit by string lights, hanging like tired halos across the ceiling.

They catch the faint glint off the curve of his jaw, flicker in his lashes. Curls frizzed and shining honey-warm in the low light.

A dream.

Joyous, unbothered. Too golden to be real.

If you step any closer, he’ll be gone.

He doesn’t need your storm tonight.

So you turn before you can drag him under.

Your patio’s empty now.

Just the leftover scraps of the night—crushed cups, a sagging beer pong table, the metallic stink of stale keg foam.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, perched on the back step, spine curved like a question mark, elbows sinking deep into your knees. Your gaze is distant, unfocused, staring past the wreckage of the yard—through littered bottles and faded party lights—into thick, blank nothing.

The muffled thump of the party vibrates behind you.

But out here, it’s quieter. Almost peaceful.

Then—

The screen door creaks behind you, dragging slow and sharp on rusty hinges.

“…telling you, that shit did not impress her.”

Eddie's voice.

The screen sputters again as it swings fully open. Footsteps scrape against the worn wooden deck.

Gareth scoffs. “Whatever man. Still smoked you.”

A lighter flicks. There’s a soft fssst, then a cough.

“Hey, what about that—” Gareth cuts off. “What?”

Quiet. One beat. Then another.

Then the door groans again—music swelling for a moment—and thuds shut.

A quiet shuffle. You don't look, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch it: faded black denim, cuffed above scuffed Reeboks. One lace untied and dragging.

A long, familiar breath.

The air shifts as Eddie sinks down beside you—slow and easy. Folding into the quiet like a known shadow.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just sits. Elbows on his knees, rings clinking faintly in his lap.

You’re still staring into the pitch-blackness beyond, past the wreckage of your once tidy yard, now unrecognizable beneath the litter of crushed solo cups and pizza boxes.

Then, finally—

“Don’t now how to tell you this but, uh… I think Henderson might’ve OD’d in there.”

Fabric rustles as he gestures toward the house.

“…damn Skittles.”

You huff. Or try to. It breaks somewhere on the way out, shaky and splintered. The knot in your chest twists tight, pulling sharp and fierce. Pressure wells behind your eyes, impossibly fast.

And suddenly—

Without warning, without ceremony—

It snaps.

Your vision blurs.

One tear. Then another.

No warning. No dramatic build-up.

Just gravity.

They patter onto the wood between your shoes, one after the other, dark spots blooming into the grain like bruises.

Eddie exhales like he’s about to say something to fill the quiet.

But then he glances over. Sees you.

“Hey, are you—”

A pause.

Then again, quick, unsteady:

“Woah, hey, hey—”

Rings click wildly near your side. There’s an unfamiliar tremor in his voice.

“Shit, are you—fuck, did something happen?”

You shake your head no, quick.

But your face keeps leaking. Stupid. Messy.

You swipe at your cheeks with the heel of your hand. Doesn’t help. Just smears it around.

“Sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Your head jerks again—faster now, like you need him to believe it.

“Sorry—”

Eddie moves then, jeans rasping against the wood as he scoots closer, turning to face you fully.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice fraying at the edges. “Don’t, don’t be sorry.”

You nod, even though it makes no sense. Your head feels like a skipping record: off-track, out of sync, side to side, up and down.

And then—before you can stop it—you’re folding.

Your shoulder goes first, bumping into his side. Your forehead follows, finding the soft stretch of cotton over his chest. His shirt is plush and warm with the heat of him, and there’s something subtle beneath the faint smell of smoke. Something clean. Almost sweet.

It’s grounding, familiar.

And that’s it.

Something cracks wide open in your ribs.

Your breath stutters, chest hiccuping fast and sharp.

One gasp. Then another.

Tears falling freely now—too fast to catch, too fast to hide. You can’t find your breath between them. Can’t hold any of it in.

Small, ragged sounds claw their way up your throat. You try to swallow them down, but they twist and climb, spilling out anyway.

Eddie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t say a goddamn thing.

Just holds you, slow and steady, like he’s done it a hundred times before in some other life. One arm wrapped carefully around your back, hand curling along your arm.

His chin lowers into the crown of your head, and when he breathes, it's slow, measured. A rhythm he seems to offer you, in case you forgot how.

His thumb traces small, tender circles along your sleeve. Barely-there pressure.

You don’t know if it’s comfort or shame. If it’s relief or collapse.

But something inside you exhales.

And it keeps exhaling.

Pours out in fits and shudders.

Eddie stays with you through all of it.

You lose time in it. Lose the party behind you, the cracked step under your feet, even your name for a while.

It’s just breath and body and this slow unraveling in the arms of someone who just holds it all with you.

And finally—finally—the worst of it softens.

Not gone, but the storm’s moved inland. Less thunder, more rain.

You stay there, breathing through the wreckage, letting the back of your throat settle.

Then, slowly, your fingers unclench from the hem of his shirt. You don’t realize how hard you’d been holding on until you feel the ache in your knuckles.

The streaks across your cheeks have dried now, sticky and cold.

Your head prickles with lightness, the world gently spinning on its axis, but for the first time in hours—you can breathe.

You shift slightly, enough to lift your head. Eddie’s arm eases but doesn’t let go completely.

Your eyes stay fixed on the space between you, at the soaked fabric where your face had been. Dark stains blooming all over—smeared with irregular traces of salt and mascara.

You swipe your hand under your nose, still catching your breath.

“Shit,” you croak, half-laughing through it. “Your shirt…”

He blinks down, like he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Doesn’t matter.”

You wait for a joke to follow. Some half-hearted quip to crack the tension—a throwaway line about how the shirt probably needed washing anyway—something dumb, something safe.

But it doesn’t come.

When his eyes lift again, they’re heavier than before. The kind of serious that presses in behind your ribs.

He swallows, hand twitching faintly against your arm.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your mouth opens, but the words slide away. Too slippery. Too sharp.

They slither back into your throat before they ever form a shape.

You’re spreading it for him? That freak show?

“Andy, he…” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. “…cornered me and just, said some awful shit.”

Another breath. His thumb moves gently over your sleeve.

“About me.” You swallow. The taste is sharp, acidic. Like bile and old panic.

“… about you.”

You don’t say more. Can’t.

The rest of the words are stuck behind your teeth, jagged and bloody. Saying them would make them real. Give them form. Stain everything.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he nods, voice low. “Whatever it was.”

He glances to the side, and the porch light catches his profile—softens it, giving his jaw a gentle kind of shadow. But there’s nothing soft about the tension in his shoulders, the hard line of his mouth.

“It’s alright, I’ve heard worse,” he shrugs. Then a faint, humorless smile. “Probably.”

His eyes flick back at you, quiet and careful.

“But I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

And it hits you—this thing in him.

That shame coiled low in his spine. That curve in his shoulders that says if I were better, you wouldn’t be hurting.

Like all of it—what was said, what was done—somehow belongs to him.

And maybe it’s that observation. Or the guilt rising in you like floodwater, or the need to shield him from that drowning place behind his eyes, or just the raw exhaustion of carrying it alone—but something shifts.

A flicker. A pulse.

A different kind of courage stirs inside you—quiet but wild.

You shift forward, eyes locked.

“I had a dream about you.”

His brows lift, interest chased by something wary.

“This morning—” You pause, frowning. “—or, last night, I guess.”

You shake your head, the memory flaring bright then scattering like dust in sunlight.

“I had this dream, and you were there, and…" You exhale, smiling unevenly.

“…and I just couldn't stop thinking about it.”

A quiet laugh slips out, almost a question.

“Weird, huh?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Not long, but it stretches, full of weight.

Then he shakes his head, slow. The corners of his mouth twitch.

His eyes stay on you, heavy-lidded now. A little dazed.

“It’s not,” he says after a while, voice thick.

Then, quieter:

“I dream about you all the time.”

You blink.

“What?”

He nods, gaze dropping to his hands, fingers fidgeting with his rings—turning one over, then the other.

"Not sleeping dreams, always. It’s more like—when I’m driving. Or in class. Zoning out listening to O’Donnell talk about… parabolas or whatever.”

He shrugs, smiling faintly.

“I just think about you.”

You stare at him. Your chest is doing that too-tight, too-full thing again.

His lashes flutter unevenly.

“Like, all the fucking time.” He whispers.

And there it is—that flicker. That tiny, rare falter in him.

Eddie Munson—always so vast, so unapologetic in the way he exists, like his presence was built to rattle windows and bend gravity—is suddenly unsure. Shoulders tucked, chin dipped.

A man trying, maybe for the first time in a long time, to take up less space.

Even the muscles in his face—always so animated, alive with some wicked thought—are still.

A quiet suspension, as if he's bracing for something to break, or for you to run.

He glances away, jaw twitching like he’s chewing on words he’d meant to bury.

And if this were a dream, you think, he wouldn’t be doing that.

Wouldn’t be staring at the frayed thread on his jeans, worrying it with his thumb as if it should unravel something inside him. Wouldn’t grind his heel into the porch like the wood might crack open and swallow him whole.

In dreams, he’s golden—untouched, untouchable.

All teeth and certainty. The storm with nothing at its center.

But this?

This version—eyes low, jaw clenched, the skin around his lips pulled taut like he’s bracing for rejection—

This is not a dream.

The Eddie that lives in your head—sharp, magnetic, and mythic—splinters.

And through the fissure spills a dark, warm twilight.

Soft and diffuse, like the moment when day slips into dusk. Sky bruised violet and honeyed gold, melting light over the horizon and draping it with velvet dusk.

Dark. Honest. Inevitable.

It presses on your chest, slow and heavy. Pulls you in with a quiet ache.

Like your heart recognizes that crack in him. Like it wants to crawl through it and say, me too.

You reach for him as if reaching through water.

Fingers grazing along the edge of his jaw, then sliding higher—curling along the curve of his cheek.

The pad of your thumb brushes just left of his mouth, over that faint smear of pink gloss you’d left behind. Faded now, but still there.

You like to think he’d kept it on purpose. That some part of you has already sunk into him, quiet and unseen.

Something soft flickers in the brown of his eyes, uncertain.

Then he leans into your palm, just slightly—like a nudge.

Like a yes.

And this time, when you move in to kiss him, it’s not grief pulling you forward.

It’s him.

Your lips find his—steady, unhurried—and everything else falls quiet.

He stills for a moment, then breathes out, long and shaky against your mouth, tilting forward to meet you halfway.

The second kiss is slower. Deeper.

He kisses you like he’s trying to read something in the shape of your mouth, memorize it.

Your hand slips to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the roots of his hair. He’s soft here—warm, a little damp from the heat clinging to the air inside the house.

His nose bumps yours. His lips part. You let him in.

He tastes like the soda he’s been sipping all night. Warm caramel fizz. Toasted sugar and soft wood smoke.

Sun-soaked syrup winding down into deep, dark roots.

And maybe this shouldn’t be happening. Maybe you’re supposed to wait, take space, heal first. Rebounds are messy—emotional landmines, dangerous terrain—whatever all those advice columns say.

But this doesn’t feel like that.

Not a detour:

An arrival.

Something that’s been waiting—quiet and whole—to be touched.

His hand drifts up after a while, gliding along the inside of your arm until they find your wrist—the one still holding his cheek.

The one Andy grabbed.

His thumb begins to circle the pulse there, featherlight.

And when you pull back, it’s only a few inches. Just enough to see him.

His lashes drift low, mouth soft and parted.

“You okay?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Then, quieter:

“I missed you tonight.”

Your forehead presses gently to his, the words barely more than breath.

Funny things, words. So hard to say until they’re already out. Then too easy. Then impossible to stop.

“I’m sorry I didn’t check in,” you murmur. “Everything just kind of… got away from me.”

He shakes his head, a little smile flickering. “Nah. That’s on me.”

You blink up at him.

“I thought maybe I should just… give you space,” he breathes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stay out of your way.”

You frown. “You’re never in the way, Eddie. Ever.”

He lets out a sound—half hum, half sigh—that curls around you like a blanket. Low and warm and weightless.

The crickets have started up outside. You hadn’t even noticed when.

Then, a loud thump sounds from somewhere inside—something heavy. Definitely something your mom’s gonna yell about.

“Jesus Christ,” you flinch, squeezing your eyes shut. “My parents are gonna kill me.”

Eddie chuckles, low and quiet. You feel it before you hear it, warm against your temple.

Then he turns to you, familiar mischief lighting up his honey-brown eyes.

“What do you say…” he starts, holding out both hands, wriggling all ten of his fingers. “…we go shut this shit down?”

“Oh yeah?” You slap your hands into his. He hauls you up with a laugh. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “I’ll just play something off our last tape. Blow the roof off.”

His grin is wide and shameless. “Hope you brought your earplugs.”

You huff out a laugh, affection rising like a tide. The exhaustion dissolves in the warmth of his palm as you tug him gently toward the door.

His voice stops you just before you reach the threshold.

“Hey, do you… would you wanna do something tomorrow? After we, you know, resurrect your house from the dead.”

You blink, feeling your lips curl into a smile. Bigger than you meant to, but maybe that’s okay.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

A grin splits across his face then, wide and wolfish. Lopsided and a little cracked at the edges.

And somehow, it's impossibly—infinitely—more radiant than one your mind could ever conjure.

“Well, c’mon then, rockstar,” you smile back, grasping his hand tighter.

“Let’s go make ‘em regret ever touching that stereo.”

a/n: sigh. i just adore this man don't you? on an unrelated note, I think the writing-on-his-arm thing might be a new kink for me? idk. i was holding my breath the whole time I wrote that.

I always love hearing your thoughts abt my silly little stories! feel free to reblog/comment/come find me in my inbox :)

as always, thank you for reading!

series masterlist // general masterlist

taglist: @beansboop @fckyeahlames @thehuntresswolf @isaisaloser @dickvic @arabellagreenleaf @ratsematary @marshmellowbabyy @tigolebittiez @pietros-luvr @moon-esque @micheledawn1975 @lemon-sm00thie @huffledor-able541 @imaworm @chaptersleftunwritten

(lmk if you'd liked to be tagged on the next one!)

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fic rec

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aphr0d1teh · 5 days ago

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Steddie Core <3

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aphr0d1teh · 5 days ago

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Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

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aphr0d1teh · 5 days ago

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no pressure, but if you’re up for writing with that cuddle prompt list….

5: “I’m sorry, I’m probably suffocating you.” “No, I don’t mind. If I do happen to suffocate, just know I died happy.”

with eddie or steve, whoever you’d want to write more!! 💗love u ali!!

- syl :-)

Syl!!! It was so fun to write this one and fun to write for Eddie again. I still feel like I'm finding my groove again so I appreciate the request 🖤

“I’m sorry, I’m probably suffocating you.” “No, I don’t mind. If I do happen to suffocate, just know I died happy.”

Ten steps. Just ten more steps and you’ll be through your front door and on your couch, finally off your feet after an unbelievably long day. It’s only ten steps but it feels like completing a marathon when you finally push your tired body through the door, only to find Eddie sprawled on the couch. You could walk just a little further to your shared bedroom and sprawl on the bed but those few extra steps could cause a complete breakdown at this point. Instead you throw (really drop) your body on top of Eddie’s causing a slight groan to come from his lips at the sudden weight.

“Hello to you too,” it comes out slightly winded but Eddie still manages a slight chuckle at the limp form you currently take. When you don’t immediately respond Eddie knows something has clearly gone wrong during your day. Unfortunately for him Eddie has never heard of the saying “don’t poke the bear” so when he pokes your side to get your attention he’s ill equipped for the moment your head shoots up and you glare daggers at him.

“I swear to god if you want to keep that hand Edmund you will not poke me again,” it comes out more growl than words and you’re quickly burying your face back into the crook of his neck, missing the confused look on his face.

“...Edmund? Babe, you know that’s like not my name at all right?”

You can hear the hint of playfulness still in his voice, mixed with confusion. When you first started seeing each other you would often tease each other by calling each other the wrong name. Neither of you is sure who started it, but Eddie is sure you haven’t played this game in months and you’ve never played it while clearly upset. You really shouldn’t have started the game given your current state but old habits die hard.

“Uuuuuugh yes Edward I am aware!” It comes out fast and harsh and you’re jolting upright the moment you finish speaking, “Eddie I’m so sorry, I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just so drained.”

It’s at this moment the tears start welling in your eyes and you go to move off of Eddie but his hands snake around your back before you can. One arm holds you in place while the other moves to your head, stroking your hair reassuringly. You don’t deserve the kindness he shows you, he’d never let you get away with saying it out loud but the thought crosses your mind in moments like these.

“This is just like the third day in a row I’ve had to work late and it’s like no one is listening to me and my feet are so tired and sore I basically can’t feel them, and uuuuuugh,” it’s all you can manage to get out before you’re digging your face in his chest harder then you mean too. You manage to take a shallow breath before glancing up at him, “I’m sorry, you were clearly resting when I got home and now I’m probably suffocating you.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he taps on your head to make sure you catch the slight smirk on his face, “If I do happen to suffocate, just know I died happy.”

You can’t help the smile that pulls on your lips. Even in your worst moments Eddie Munson can manage to make you feel a little bit lighter. It’s that reason that keeps you firmly of the belief that if soulmates were real then Eddie was yours. You’re confident there’s no one else in Hawkins, in Indiana, on the face of the planet that knows you better than Eddie and it’s abundantly clear when he finally speaks again.

“Babe, how about this? I’m gonna carry to bed, you get some rest and I’m gonna make you breakfast for dinner,” before you can interject he’s already answering your unspoken question, “yeah yeah I know you want waffles and yes I promise we’ll cuddle again after you eat.”

Feeling lighter than when you walked in the door you let Eddie pick you up off the couch, and carry you ten steps to your bedroom for some well deserved rest. Sure you may have another long day ahead of you tomorrow but you can’t help drifting off to sleep with the sound of Eddie making you food in the other room.

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aphr0d1teh · 6 days ago

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“forced conformity… that’s what’s killing the kids.”

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aphr0d1teh · 7 days ago

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Savior of the Fence

Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Nothing but absolute fluff

Summary: You take a shortcut and jump the fence. Your shirt gets stuck. Now you’re stressed. Cue, Eddie Munson watching it unfold.

It was stupid. Your whole plan was folly. Why did you ever think to try a shortcut today? And more importantly, why did you try to jump the fence of the trailer park in the process?

Your thoughts ran rampant as you grew more frustrated because - well, you were stuck. Well and truly hooked by your shirt onto a barbed wire of metal. And because of the speed and your failed attempts to get free - you had made it worse.

You tugged and pushed and absolutely nothing. The fabric was too knotted between the metal mesh wire.

Damn it. What were you going to do now?

No one would realise that you were missing fast enough. And if they did, they’d assume that you took the usual route from home.

“Need some help there?”

The sudden voice crept up on you while you were distracted with the ‘what-ifs’. Forgetting that you were stuck, you turned only to be yanked back to the fence. Ouch.

There was a soft chuckle from the voice behind. It was definitely a boy. And as much as you wanted to take a tone with his amusement at the situation, you realised that you actually needed help. You weren’t familiar with the trailer park or its inhabitants so there was no telling who might show and when.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded hoping your mystery boy was still hanging around.

“Yes, please.”

You heard a bag drop and hit the grass with a soft thug and a light jingle of keychains.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He said and approached slowly. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

He jumped over the fence with such ease that it told you he did it often. Now in your view, you recognised exactly who was your saviour - Eddie Munson. The leader of the Hellfire Club, a Dungeons and Dragons game group.

He bent down and poked at the knot. “Well, that’s not looking too promising.” He said.

You rolled your eyes at the obvious. “Shocking.”

Eddie stood back up and rubbed his jaw, his mind working through the problem. “How attached are you to your shirt?”

You stared at him. Was he serious?

“Very attached since I’m wearing it.”

Eddie chuckled and held his hands up in defence. “Alright, I hear you.” He gripped the fence and came back around, landing in front of you. His eyes locked on yours for a fraction of a second too long and he pulled away, looking at where you were at one with the railing.

He bent down again and whether it was the proximity or the fact that his hands were dangerously close to the skin on your stomach, it was getting warm very quickly. Taking a chance, you looked down and saw his wavy mop of dark hair and that’s when it hit you - if someone were to walk by, what would they assume was happening?

Eddie hummed. “You scratched yourself.”

You felt his fingers suddenly graze a line against your stomach and you jumped. “Eddie!”

Eddie stood up immediately and showed you his hands. On his thumb was a trail of blood, yours specifically.

“Some warning would have been nice.” You grumbled.

Eddie tilt his head. “I did.”

Had he? Where had you trailed off to? Oh, that’s right. You were too occupied about being caught in a suggestive situation.

Shaking your head to clear your mind, you apologised. “Sorry about that. Today has not been going too well.”

“Well, I have some good and bad news. Which one do you want?” Eddie said.

“Bad news first, always.”

Eddie smiled like he was proud of the choice and you wanted to see more of it. In that second, you began noting everything you really liked about Eddie Munson’s smile. The way it dimpled, the way it highlighted his cheekbones and made his eyes impossibly warmer…

“Bad news it is. Your shirt can’t be saved. I’ll have to cut you free.”

Wait, what?

Your eyes widened. “Then what’s the good news?”

Eddie crossed his arms and chuckled. “Good news is that I have scissors and a spare t-shirt.”

Considering that the alternative was no shirt and this was technically your fault, maybe you had to make a sacrifice.

But not without trying once more!

You tugged and hard, in the hopes of a miracle. You wrestled and pulled and screamed in frustration before finally hanging your head up in defeat.

“Done?” Eddie wondered. He was now standing a few paces away with a black and white top and scissors in hand.

You sighed back and he approached. Eddie handed you the shirt so he could line the blades against the fabric. Once he was ready, he looked at you and winked.

Snip, snip, snip!

There was a sudden lightness and release of tension and you realised that you were no longer trapped. You let out a small laugh of triumph and launched at the boy. Eddie caught you, careful to toss the scissors into the grass on impact.

“Thank you!”

Eddie’s hand held your waist loosely, a bit unsure of how to react. “Uh, of course.”

When you felt the familiar touch of his cool rings against your body, you realised that you were wearing a torn shirt. Stepping back, you moved the spare shirt to cover the skin.

“I don’t suppose you have extra good news like a place to change?”

Eddie took in a deep breath and seemed to gather his thoughts. “No, I - actually, my trailer isn’t too far from here. You could change there, if you’d like?”

You glanced in the direction he pointed in and sure enough there were trailers parked nearby. As tempting as it was, you were raised better than to walk into a strangers home.

“Thank you but no. I could do it here and be quick. Can you turn around?”

Eddie stepped back and shrugged off his vest and then his black hoodie. He hung it over his back and widened his arms to create a makeshift blockout curtain.

“For your modesty.” He said and you couldn’t help but laugh at the thoughtfulness.

Eddie turned his back and covered you like a shield. The moment he did, you took the opportunity to shrug off the damaged top and quickly shimmy on the new piece that you were provided. A quick fix of the hair and smoothing of the shirt, you realised that there was a logo on the front - a big one.

“Is this…?”

“Go on and laugh. Yes, I carry a second Hellfire shirt in my bag in case the one I’m wearing gets messed up.” He answered. “You done?”

Humming your reply, Eddie turned around and his smile was instant.

“It looks good on you.”

Even you knew how territorial it was to wear someone else’s clothes. And here you were wearing Eddie Munson’s shirt that smelled exactly like him. Pulling at the sleeves lightly, you noticed the metal scissors in the grass and used it to beeline from Eddie’s softening gaze. You grabbed it and handed it to him.

“Don’t forget this.”

Eddie took the stationary item and swallowed. “I won’t.”

You returned to collect your torn top and discarded bag by the gate that started this chaos. “How do I return this to you?”

“Scared of being caught in the shirt of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” Eddie teased as he layered back up.

You turned to him and frowned. Not once had you actually affiliated him with the moniker of ‘freak’. It was an immature thing to do.

“I’m not a fan of calling people names.” You told him.

Eddie was watching you and hummed rather amused. “You are a rare specimen. But to answer your question, don’t fuss about returning it. I’ll just get another one.”

Was that him telling you to keep it?

Eddie walked over to his bag and shoved the scissors into the pack.

“And if I felt the need to return the favour?”

An honest question since he saved you all kinds of embarrassment. Eddie chuckled and threw his bag over his shoulder. “Trust me, it’s all fine. You don’t owe me a thing.”

To not give him something in return was a bitter pill to swallow. But Eddie seemed to have made his position quite clear.

With a nod, you settled your bag to sit comfortably. “Well, only if you’re sure. Thank you for everything. I won’t forget-”

“Actually,” Eddie stepped towards you before you made it a few paces. He looked like he was wrestling with something. “Join me at the DnD campaign tomorrow night at six.”

It was a simple request. And the way he was looking at you was stealing your breath with each heartbeat. You took in a breath lest you grow dizzy in his presence and smiled.

“I’ll see you there, Eddie Munson.”

After all, you already had the shirt.

~ Check out the full Masterlist here ~

A/n: The way I wrote this in two and half hours is insane. My work commute was such a joy. Well, here you go x

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aphr0d1teh · 8 days ago

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Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

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aphr0d1teh · 8 days ago

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these spot the difference games are so freaking hard

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aphr0d1teh · 8 days ago

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The Muffin Queen

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k+

summary: Corroded Coffin or Die Server Photo Prompt Challenge | On your usual walk with Alice to your favorite bakery, you overhear a conversation about Corroded Coffin— and those girls get quite the surprise.

warnings: 6-weeks-postpartum (it’s not stated, but it’s implied with where this falls in the AU), girls in their early 20’s being CC fans and loving Eddie, a little swearing

notes: Here’s 2/2 of this week’s server photo prompt challenge writings! I’m posting this today so you don’t get two fics on friday! This one was so much fun and I’m so happy I get to participate in a weekly thing with my friends! I’ve read this over a few times, so feel free to let me know if there’s any mistakes!

Los Angeles’ mid-morning air this morning is surprisingly mild, cool enough for you to pull that cozy dark cardigan on over your dress but warm enough that Alice doesn’t need her little knit cap. She’s sound asleep tucked in in front of you, one chubby fist curled up near her cheek, her lips forming the softest pout in her dreams, brown little tufts of hair sticking up in every direction. You glance down into the antique pram as you push it, taking in the way sunlight glints off the polished brass and casts soft shadows over the ruffled lining. It’s absolutely ridiculous how expensive it was— some Victorian piece from a shop that smelled like cedarwood. You loved to find new dolls there too— but the moment Eddie saw it, he grinned at you and said, “Our little bat deserves a princess carriage, baby,” and that was that.

The wheels creak gently as you stroll your usual route, the soft click of your boots on the sidewalk nearly matching Alice’s faint snuffling breaths. The city is starting to wake up, storefronts are opening, you can hear someone trying to tune a guitar in the park as you walk. You pass faces that have become familiar over the last several weeks— the florist who always says hello to you and Alice both, the dog-walker with the corgi that always barks exactly once at your pram, then trots along past you like it never happened.

And then there’s the bakery.

Your favorite spot.

It’s nothing fancy. It’s just a little sunlit café with a display window full of flaky croissants and pastel-colored pastries, but it’s cozy and quiet and they make a muffin that’s basically half chocolate. You push the door open with your backside, maneuver the pram over the threshold with practiced ease, murmuring a soft “shhh, shhh” as you step in so Alice stays asleep. The bells over the door chime and the scent of cinnamon and coffee wraps around you tightly like the best hug you’ve ever gotten— besides from Eddie, obviously. The usual girl behind the counter, Kaylee, grins when she sees you. She’s probably twenty, with bleached hair tied up in a claw clip and a pink glittery pager that’s always falling half out of her apron pocket.

“Hey, it’s the muffin queen,” she says with a grin, already moving over to the register to ring you up. “Usual?”

“Please. And add an iced one for the second coffee— he’s been on a cold brew kick lately,” you say happily, digging into your bag for your wallet. You glance down at the pram again as you pull it out. She’s still sleeping. Miracle.

Kaylee nods and starts punching buttons on the register, and you realize the other two girls behind the counter— one with purple streaks in her hair and the other wearing glittery eyeliner and a smile way to wide for nine in the morning— are whispering animatedly to each other behind the pastry case as they restock each of the treats, when you hand your card over.

“Did you listen to it?” Purple Streaks almost giggles.

“Obviously, I did,” says Glitter Liner. “The last track? When he growls? I was like, hello??”

Kaylee laughs under her breath and shakes her head, giving your card back to you. “They’re talking about Corroded Coffin again.”

You smile, slipping your card back into your wallet. “The new album?”

All three of them immediately perk up, like bloodhounds catching onto a scent. Purple Streaks leans on the counter. “Yes! Yes! I didn’t think I’d be into it, but holy crap, it’s so good.”

“The vocals are insane,” says Glitter Liner. “Like, Eddie sounds unreal on this one. I had such an experience, I think my soul left my body.”

You nod thoughtfully as you tuck the wallet away back into your bag, pretending to consider your feelings on the album. “It’s definitely their best work. They’ve really hit their stride.”

Kaylee tilts her head, watching you curiously. Like she’s finally clocked what they should’ve guessed ages ago, simply by the Corroded Coffin pin on your diaper bag. “Wait— you’re a fan?”

“I’ve been to a show or two,” you say with a grin. “Back when they played smaller venues.”

“Oh my god, same!” Purple Streaks says. “Eddie just looks so pretty now, too? I know it’s, like, objectifying him or whatever but I… just can’t help it. His hair? The eyeliner? I want to eat him like a brownie.”

You laugh, heat blooming from your chest all the way up to your cheeks. You swear you can feel the tips of your ears burning as you rock the pram just slightly to keep Alice asleep. “He does clean up pretty well, huh?”

Glitter Liner giggles again. “Yeah, he does.”

Before you can speak again, the bell above the door jingles again.

And there he is. He pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head, which does a little to keep the flyaways tamed. He’s got his curls tied back in a bun that’s falling out already. He’s wearing a soft, worn-in Corroded Coffin tee and jeans that you swear he’s had since high school in 1983, he’s wearing those boots with the scuffed up toes instead of the nice ones you’d just gotten him and his tattooed hands are sliding into his front pockets as he scans the room— his eyes fall on you, the one person who has his attention.

“There’s my girl!” Eddie says with a grin as he strides over.

The bakery girls go quiet.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, then he peeks into the pram. “And there’s my little bat.” His voice melts. “Aw, baby, you’ve got her all tucked in like a little doll.”

You smile up at him, rolling your eyes. “We’ve been practicing our elegance.”

Eddie smiles and brushes your cheek with his knuckles as he tucks a stray strand of your hair back, then he turns to the counter. “Hey, ladies.”

The girls behind the pastry case are absolutely frozen, their eyes are blown wide, one of them actually mouths oh my god to another.

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy plucking your coffee from the counter and handing it to you like it’s a diamond chalice. “You got the muffins with the gooey tops, right? The one that’s like cake but I can eat it for breakfast without feeling like I have to justify it?”

You nod at him. “One for you, one for me.”

Kaylee hands over a bag, your two muffins tucked delicately inside. Eddie opens it, tugs one out, and takes a bite immediately. “Gonna be covered in crumbs by the time we get to the park, but so worth it.”

You turn to the stunned girls. “Sorry. I forgot to mention I married him.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself, licking sugar off his thumb. “You didn’t forget. You just like the reveal.”

Purple Streaks is still processing. “Wait. You’re married to Eddie Munson?”

“Yeah.” You let out a dramatic and teasing sigh, sipping your coffee, “I guess that I’m the Bats he’s always yelling about in interviews.”

Kaylee’s jaw drops to the floor. “Oh my god. You’re Bats?”

Eddie laughs at that, loud and delighted, covered in gooey chocolate muffin crumbs.

You spend another ten minutes chatting— the girls are suddenly full of questions, from what kind of diapers you use to who Alice looks like (they decide it’s definitely Eddie), and whether he’s really as annoying and chaotic at home as he seems on stage and in interviews. He answers that one himself by attempting to juggle two muffins out of the bag and almost dropping them both.

Eventually, with the baby still miraculously asleep, you start heading for the park. Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulders as you walk, his other hand guiding the pram. “She’s still out,” he whispers, glancing down at Alice. “She’s like a little goth angel.”

“She gets it from you,” you mumble softly, taking another sip of your coffee. “All the sleeping and dramatic sighs.”

Eddie grins, blushing from the chest up. “She gets allllll the pretty from you.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his ribs with your elbow, a smile threatening to plaster across your face. “You really gonna flirt with me in front of our infant daughter?”

“Babe, I have to. I saw you in that dress, pushin’ that pram in there like you were some beautiful widow dressed in black in a period drama. You expect me not to fall in love again?”

You lean your head on his shoulder as you walk. “You already do that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and you can feel the way he smiles himself against your skin. “Yeah. I do. Every day, Bats.”

tags ;; @jj-155 @joyfullyswimmingface @emxxblog @autumneva @samslvrgirl @ironmusictrash @hazydespair @littlemissholy @prettycalla @vinecstasy @thorins-queen-of-erebor @keeryhours @beau-hawkins @preciouslosers @amanitacowboy @crybabyddl @jeangeniex @thejordiverse @kripkie101-blog @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember @the-unforgivenn @deadwizzardlover @getaapologist @taygrls

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aphr0d1teh · 8 days ago

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Sit still

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

A/N: This was supposed to be a blurb, but somehow it turned into a one-shot, lol.

Summary: When Eddie learns that you've never seen any porn, he takes matters into his own hands and somehow, you wind up cockwarming him while watching a dirty movie on his couch Warning: NSFW, Unprotected P in V, Cockwarming, Porn, Praise kink (Always)

"I dunno, I've never watched porn." You shrugged, thumbing through a magazine on the worn couch in Eddie's living room.

"You've-" Eddie's brows pulled together. "What?"

"I've never watched any porn, so I wouldn't know." You reiterated without looking up, thinking he just hadn't heard you correctly.

"Not even a nudie mag?" He balked, eyes wide as his thoughts raced with ideas before he settled on one and immediately felt his jeans tighten. "Do you want to?"

"Do I want to what?" You scoffed, peering over the top of the page with a raised brow. "Watch porn?"

"Yeah." Eddie had a goofy smile on his face, and you knew better than to indulge him when he got like this, but you were bored, and sometimes, his crazy ideas didn't end terribly.

"Sure." You squinted at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Oh man." Eddie sprang to his feet excitedly and pecked you on the forehead before running down the hall. "Don't move!"

You dog-eared your page in the magazine you were reading and waited patiently for Eddie to return.

It took him a few minutes, but eventually, Eddie emerged from his bedroom with an armful of VHS tapes and dumped them all on the couch next to you.

"What-" You picked one up and dropped it like it had burned you. "Eddie!"

They were all dirty movies.

"Jesus Christ," You grumbled, wiping your hands on your pants, looking horrified. "Why do you have so many?"

"I'm only a man." He waved you off. "I've heard way freakier shit come out of your mouth than I ever have in one of these."

You gaped at him.

"Remember the time I was beating you at pool and you tried to trip me up and whisper in my ear about how-"

"Shut up!" You gasped, lunging at him with burning cheeks, "You said you were never gonna bring that up again!"

"You're yelling at me about my porn collection!" He defended, caging you into his lap before you could get a swat in while struggling not to laugh.

"Are you listening to yourself?" You cackled, "You're collecting porn!"

"I have needs!" He exclaimed, blowing a raspberry in the side of your neck while you squeeled, "Sometimes you're busy!"

Eventually, you both stopped laughing and just sat there staring at this pile of porn together.

"So…" Your brows pulled together. "What's the plan here?"

"Pick one and we'll watch it." Eddie shrugged, anything but nonchalant.

He was already hard, you could feel it beneath you every time you shifted in his lap.

"You wanna watch porn together?" You raised a brow, but couldn't deny the rush of warmth that spread through you at the thought.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, glad you couldn't see his pink cheeks. "You want to?"

"Okay." You drew the word out, eyes scanning the covers of the tapes. "Which one's your favorite?"

Only minutes into the movie, Eddie's hand was already creeping up your thigh, hot against your bare skin.

You were still in his lap, back resting on the arm of the couch, while your legs were bent at the knee on the other side.

You could hear his breathing getting deeper. More ragged as time went on, and fought the urge to look at him.

It wasn't lost on you that the girl on the screen, who was already writhing on the mattress while her partner pistoned his fingers into her at a brutal pace, looked like you.

Not quite a spitting image, but the same hair. Same build.

You shifted in his lap, squeezing your thighs together.

"You alright there, Sweetheart?" You could hear the smirk in Eddie's voice, but his voice was raspy. Strained even.

"Mhmm," You hummed, dragging your fingers along his bicep absently, while his dug into the skin of your thigh. "Are you?"

"Could be better." He muttered, prying your legs open gently so he could hook them over his knees and maneuver you so that you were leaning back into his chest.

You let him, shuddering when you felt his warm breath fanning over the side of your throat.

"You paying attention?" Eddie whispered to you, trailing his hand further up your thigh as he opened his own legs, spreading you wide open so he could pull your shorts and panties to the side, running a finger up your slit.

"You are!" He chuckled lowly at the breathy whine that fell from your lips at the feeling "you're soaking wet, you dirty girl."

"Oh, you poor thing," he teased, just barely touching you while you squirmed, desperate for friction. "You want some help with that, sweetheart?"

You nodded eagerly and turned your head to kiss him, but gasped when he lightly spanked you in between your legs.

"Keep your eyes on that screen." He instructed, nudging you to sit up a little so he could get his pants down just enough to free his cock.

You weren't a hundred percent sure what the plan was here, but you were happy to go along, desperate for something. Anything.

The couple on screen had moved on to fucking and were moaning loudly as the man thrust into her with hard, long strokes.

Eddie's hands found your hips, guiding you to hover over his lap.

You gasped when he lined himself up with your weeping hole and slowly let you impale yourself on his cock.

"That's it." He exhaled shakily, trying not to rut into you.

"Ah, ah-" Eddie tsk'd when you tried to rock your hips and pulled you pack until your back was pressed up against his chest "don't move, Sweetheart."

Your brows furrowed, and your walls clenched around him, drawing a soft groan.

You waited for him to move or direct you to, but instead, he just sat there, buried inside you and still watching the movie over your shoulder.

"Eddie." You whined, squirming, "What are you-"

"Shh," He breathed into your ear, so close that you could feel his lips lightly brushing up against the shell of it when he spoke, "You're gonna sit right there and watch the movie, just like this."

You shuddered, but nodded.

"Be a good girl for me and sit still." his lips curled upwards, knowing damn well how worked up you got when he called you that. "Can you do that, Sweetheart?"

"Can you at least-"

"Quietly."

You huffed, but leaned back into him, trying hard not to move.

The movie wasn't helping.

If anything, it was making it worse.

You had nothing to distract yourself with, and watching the couple fucking was just turning you on more.

He had her pretzeled into positions you didn't even know existed, but found yourself picturing trying them with Eddie and moaned softly.

"You like watching porn while you sit on my cock?" Eddie cooed into your neck, pressing his lips to the flushed skin. "My dirty, dirty girl."

You didn't even have to answer. The way your walls fluttered around him was enough to convince him that you did.

Eddie wasn't doing much better.

It was taking everything in him not to flip you onto the couch and fuck you until you were a drooling mess.

But he loved the little needy sounds you were making, and it was surprisingly cozy sitting like that. You were so warm and wet and gripping him like you were about to start begging for it.

And God, he loved it when you begged.

He let his hand fall between your thighs and just barely brushed the pad of his thumb over your clit.

You jolted, whimpering cutely as his other arm tightened his grip on your writhing body.

"You're a needy little thing today, aren't you?"

"Eds, Please-" you whined pathetically, rocking your hips as well as you could while he had such a tight hold on you.

"Please, what?" Eddie teased, nipping at your shoulder. "What does my girl want? huh?"

Your cheeks burned.

He knew how flustered you got when it came to dirty talk when it was your turn. Usually, Eddie did enough for both of you.

"Go on," He urged gently, smirking to himself despite starting to sweat. "Use your words, Sweetheart."

"Touch me?" You panted, eyes still fixated on the TV. "Please?"

"I dunno," Eddie hummed, bucking into you just once, drawing a shark inhale from both of you. "I think you can do better than that, don't you?"

"Please, Eddie." you whimpered, melting into him, "I want you to touch me, please."

"Need you to-" You were cut off by your own gasp when he bounced you in his lap.

"Doin' so good for me," He grunted, gripping your hips to use as leverage. "Such a good girl usin' your words"

"Sat so pretty for me."

You were a mess of whimpers and mewls, completely cockdumb once his thumb returned to your clit, making quick, jerky circles in time with every thrust.

Your hips rocked as you lost yourself in the feeling, and Eddie's muttered praise in your ear between every grunt and groan.

"Eyes on the TV." He hit that special spot inside you, and you cried out, eyes snapping open just in time to watch the girl on TV cum so hard her legs shook.

It was enough to push you over the edge.

No warning. Just your walls clamping down around him, pulsating as you came hard.

"Jesus, fuck-" Eddie was frantic with his thrusts, trying to chase his own high while you were still riding out your orgasm. "Fucking love you-"

"Gonna Fill- ah"

He was rambling, only half of it registering as you felt him paint your walls white.

He held you all the way down on his cock, clutching you tightly to his chest while giving you a few more lazy, sloppy thrusts, breathing heavily against your throat, still muttering half sentences under his breath.

You both sat there, limp on the couch for what must've been a full five minutes before either of you moved.

"You okay, Sweetheart?" Eddie squeezed you lightly, loosening his grip on you as he pressed his lips to the back of your shoulder.

You hummed, tucking your head under his chin.

"Wanna stay like this for a minute, or get cleaned up?" He smoothed your hair and kissed the top of your head.

"Stay like this for a minute."

"Hey, Eddie?" You muttered after a minute.

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

"I still think your porn collection is gross."

"I know." He sighed dramatically, biting back a laugh.

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

Taglist: @justalotoffanfiction @s1mp-4-ga11y @farrowroyale @awkward00noodle @shokihomin @jjmaybankswifes-blog @mdurdenpitt @buckyswife108 @walleloveseve @zroberts13 @gxpsywitch19 @monkeylaura627 @iith1um

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