#eddiemunsonxyou

[burntsecrets]

Kickstart My Heart

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 921 Summary: Eddie loves taking you to rock concerts, sharing his passion for music, and showing you off as his cool partner. Warnings: Loud music, crowded spaces, physical contact, possessive behavior, flashing/strobe lights, strong emotional intensity, implied PDA

It's a Saturday night, and the air hums, thick with anticipation, as bodies press together, a restless energy rippling through the crowd. The faint smell of beer and sweat lingers, mixing with the metallic tang of the amps warming up. You’re right at the edge of the pit, the boundary where chaos is about to erupt, Eddie’s arm draped over your shoulders, solid and familiar. The flicker of dim lights catches the sheen of spilled drinks on the floor, the shadows stretching and shrinking like they’re alive. The bass thuds low and steady, rattling through your chest, each pulse syncing with your heartbeat.

Eddie bobs his head to the pre-show riffs spilling from the speakers, his curls bouncing, untamed as ever. He doesn’t just hear the music; it moves through him, lighting him up like a live wire. You glance sideways, catching his grin—a wicked curve of his lips that dares the night to get better. His dark eyes lock on you, and for a second, everything else fades: the crowd, the noise, even the stage. His gaze isn’t just looking at you; it’s pulling you in like you’re the reason he’s here.

He leans in close, his breath brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Ready for this, babe?” His voice is low, rough, and tinged with the kind of excitement that bubbles just before the drop. You nod, though your pulse isn’t quickening from the music. It’s him—Eddie, alive and electric in his element, his passion practically spilling out of him. The way he glows when he talks about music, like it’s a religion and you’re his favorite convert, sends a thrill through you.

A sharp guitar chord splits the air, and the lights dim to black. The crowd explodes, a wave of voices surging forward, pressing closer. Eddie laughs, wild and unrestrained, grabbing your hand as the pit heaves around you. He dives in without hesitation, dragging you along, his fingers warm and solid in yours. His movements are raw, untamed, all sharp angles and unfiltered energy, his hair whipping as he headbangs like he was born for this. But when his hand squeezes yours, there’s a gentleness beneath the chaos, an anchor holding you steady even as the world tilts.

You catch him shooting a smirk at a couple of guys sneaking glances your way, their lingering looks barely subtle beneath the shifting lights. Eddie’s grin stretches wider, wicked and triumphant, as if he’s just scored the winning hand in a high-stakes game. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an effortless possessiveness that sends a thrill racing through you. There’s no tension in his hold, only the playful confidence of someone who knows exactly what he has and isn’t afraid to show it. “Look at her!” he shouts, voice cracking with unrestrained joy, loud enough to cut through the pounding music and the din of the crowd.

Heads turn at his declaration, but Eddie doesn’t care. His pride radiates, bold and unapologetic, woven into the way his eyes never leave yours, his expression practically glowing. He beams at you, his smile wide and unguarded, like the thought of you standing here with him is enough to make his entire night. You feel heat rush to your face, the tips of your ears burning under the strobe lights. But there’s no teasing in his gaze, no smugness in his voice—just pure, unfiltered pride. It’s written all over him, in the tilt of his head and the way his fingers splay across your hip, like he’s daring anyone to doubt that you belong here, with him, in this moment.

The music crashes around you, the relentless rhythm pounding like a second heartbeat, shaking the air and rattling your ribs. You tilt your head back, your eyes drawn to Eddie under the chaotic swirl of strobe lights. He looks untouchable, like something out of a dream. His wild curls bounce with every movement, catching flashes of light that dance across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. The leather jacket clings to his frame, worn and rugged, the perfect complement to the ink that snakes across his forearms, momentarily illuminated by the erratic bursts of light. The way he moves—fluid yet wild, entirely unrestrained—makes it easy to imagine him onstage instead of in the crowd, commanding an audience with nothing but his presence.

But then he looks at you, and it’s like the whole world tilts. The music, the lights, the bodies pressing in around you—it all fades into the background. His dark eyes lock on yours, and they’re soft now, stripped of the playful arrogance he flashes at the crowd. They hold you in place, like an invisible tether drawing you closer, the rest of the world forgotten. His gaze says everything he doesn’t need to put into words: You’re it. You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I’m alive in this moment.

It’s not just pride anymore; it’s devotion, raw and unguarded, that takes your breath away. The pounding music becomes nothing more than a dull thrum, the flashing lights just a faint flicker at the edge of your awareness. He looks at you like you’re the star of the show, like you’re the reason the crowd cheers and the band plays. Every crashing chord, every screaming lyric, every flicker of light—it all feels like it exists for you, because of you.

And for one perfect, electric moment, you believe him. You believe that, in Eddie’s eyes, you are the center of the universe.

[somewherebetweendisorder]

Greek God

Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral, sexy sex times

A/N: Previously published on my old blog basicallybats. Title and lyrics from Conan Gray's "Greek God." I do not give permission to copy, repost, or use my work in any way. Thanks for reading!

Eddie hates storms. The clouds gathering over Hawkins have his heart rate picking up, nervous energy ticking through his fingers which tap an unsteady beat against the doorframe. He fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, reaching blindly for his lighter, itching for something to soothe his nerves, contemplating heading over to your house. It's just a rainstorm, he doesn't want to appear pathetic, doesn't want you to think he's a loser for being unable to handle a little rain.

He flicks the lighter on, bringing it closer to the cigarette dangling haphazardly from his lips, eyes focused on the clouds that seem to get darker with each passing second. He hisses when he feels the flame lick at his finger, deciding yes, he's going to your house.

Smoke still hanging from his mouth he pulls the front door shut behind him, locking it before jogging down the steps and starting towards your house. Eddie curses the sky, the gathering storm on his left, the dying day to his right, mocking him with the last pretty shades of pink and blue. Walking faster, he hopes the rain holds out, wishes his van wasn't in the shop.

There's no warning drizzle, no introduction to the storm, the sky unleashes all at once, harsh fat raindrops pouring down, saturating the dry ground, soaking his clothes, his hair, blinding him. Eddie breathes deep, taking in the smell, earthy and something else, something heady almost pleasant despite his hatred towards the wet seeping out of the atmosphere.

Lightning flashes above, cutting the world into purple and white shards, illuminating the two-toned leaves, shadows catching on the wind whipped foliage the way light should be. The rain picks up, and Eddie wants to run, wants to be in the comfort of your warm house, sunny walls and fairy lights surrounding him like the scent of orchids, permanent to your room.

Thunder peels overhead, loud, echoing through the empty space, rattling his bones, confirming his decision to be next to you as soon as possible. When the door to your duplex is in sight Eddie sighs in relief, shoulders sagging as he staggers up the steps to your small porch which offers little security from the storm. Using his key, he lets himself in, toeing off his sopping Reeboks, scowling at the mud caked on his white sneakers, muttering to himself as he makes his way down the hall towards your room.

He hears you before he sees you, sweet voice intoxicating him, making the trek over more worth it than he expected, soothing his nerves.

"I don't really like how you never shut up, 'cause you got dirt on everyone." He pauses in your doorway, his eyes falling on your form naturally like you're all he was ever meant to see.

"And since you always swear that you wanted me gone, then why don't you go get your gun?"

You're pulling on your jacket, stepping into your shoes, hips swaying gently with the music, voice sweet, not quite hitting the notes, but striking something deep within him, awakening a desire to experience this scene for the rest of his life. You look up, shoulders jerking in surprise, breath catching interrupting your song. The shock quickly dissolves into relief as you rush him, arms wrapping tight around him, knocking the air out of his lungs in the best way.

"I was getting ready to come to you."

The admission falls from your lips with little grace, whispered like it's some great secret, but said clumsily like you're unsure it was the right thing to say.

The sentiment has his throat closing up, eyes squinting against the happy yellow ambiance of your space as he squeezes you tighter, nose burrowing into your pineapple scent-tinged hair.

"S'nice out. Thought I'd walk," Eddie manages, voice tight.

You pull back enough to look up at him, eyes giving away the sea of emotions swirling around inside of you. Pleased he's here, sorry you were too slow to make it to him before he had to come to you. "Oh, Eds."

Your sigh invades his head, pierces his lingering misery, shattering it, settling on his tongue like something sweet, treacly. He wants to taste it. You take his weight, arms slipping around his neck, fingers sliding into the damp waves at the base of his neck, lips parting beneath his. He wants more, likes the way you whimper into his mouth, likes the way the sound tastes.

"Eds, you're soaked. Get changed, yeah?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Your brows are lifted in a challenge, daring him to argue, to defy you. He knows he won't, you know he won't, but it's a fun game, all the same, testing the other's dominance. He likes when you bite.

"Fine. Fine, mind if I shower too?" He's already pulling away, missing the warmth of your skin against his chilled flesh, making his way to your dresser, tugging open his drawer, rings clinging softly against the handle.

"No, you know I don't."

You're straightening up your desk when he turns around, hair shiny beneath the little lights flickering around your room. He watches as you absentmindedly shove the loose strands back from your face, tying them up with the hair tie on your wrist, muscles in your arms flexing as you do.

"How will you survive while I'm gone?"

"I'm sure I'll manage." Your smile has him nodding, suddenly in a hurry to be done and back by your side.

"Alright, don't have too much fun without me."

The second the bathroom door closes, Eddie strips off his clothes, tossing them into a wet pile, wincing when they hit the tile with a squelch. You'd hate it, and he promises himself he'll make sure the bathroom is as neat as he found it.

Your water gets warmer than it does at his trailer, something he appreciates, takes advantage of when he stays over. The scalding water pounds down on his head, his back, easing away most of the stress but none of the tension. His stomach feels pinched, a warm heat blossoming in his gut, spreading outwards, making it impossible to focus on anything but the thought that you're down the hall waiting for him.

He reaches for his growing arousal, desperate, needy, wanting you, before fisting his hands on his hair. He's here, you're here. Is it wrong to assume he can have you? He doesn't want to assume. He chokes on the steam, clears his throat, turns the water off before he can second guess himself.

He gets halfway through toweling off the rivulets of water cascading down his body before giving up and pulling on clean boxers and sweatpants, moving on to harshly scrubbing the towel over his head. His eyes fall on the shirt still laying on the cold countertop, he doesn't want to put it on, doesn't want to miss an inch of your skin that may touch his. God, why is he like this?

Eddie moves to hang up the towel, gaze falling on a large hole at the hem, fingering the frayed strands, pulling until one grows impossibly long and snaps off.

"Shit, sorry,' he apologizes to no one in particular, feeling bad for causing further harm to your towel, rolling the string up into a tight ball before tossing it into the wastebasket. He steels himself, eyes shut so tight he can see colors bouncing around the blackness, and his eyes begin to ache.

He finds you standing on your desk chair, balancing on your tip toes, winding a strand of fake sunflowers around the fairy lights lining your window, the ratty old band tee you're wearing riding up, exposing the soft flesh of your stomach. His eyes follow the gentle curve, the silken flesh catching in the light, glowing with a pastel shine, an ethereal aura. Your shorts are short, the shortest he's ever seen you in he's sure, and the supple flesh of your thighs, your naked legs that never seem to end are dragging his thoughts further into the gutter.

"More flowers?"

His voice breaks your reverie, and you come down awkwardly on your heels. "It's not that many more," you mutter defensively.

"It looks like a forest threw up in here, baby girl."

You both look around, taking in the little mushroom shelves lining one of your walls, the moss on the mirror, the flowers wrapped carefully around your bedframe and window. "Well, I like it."

Your voice rings with finality, and Eddie likes it, likes seeing you needlessly defend your style, he likes it too, nearly as much as he likes to tease you. Truthfully, it's comforting, some odd sphere that you exist in outside of reality. Your arms come down to your sides, shirt falling back down, and he's closing the space, hands settling underneath the thin fabric, resting hotly, heavily on your waist.

You look down on him, wondering what's going on in that overly pretty head of his, hair still damp from his shower, skin pale and shiny, smelling faintly of your body wash. You can't help the smile that starts curling on your lips, faintly aware of the song you've had on repeat once again starting over. He notices too, you can see it in his eyes as he cocks his head to the side as though to hear it better.

"Again?"

"I like it. Gives me mad vibes."

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, tugging you off the chair with ease that would impress you if you weren't hyperaware of the naked expanse of flesh he's pulling you into. He's warm, almost unbearably so, setting your skin on fire.

"Whatever you say. I like it better when you sing it."

Heat crawls up your neck, staining your cheeks the prettiest shade of pink Eddie has ever seen. His hands come up to bracket your neck, barren, rings left forgotten on your bathroom counter. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, enjoying the feel of your skin, soft underneath his calloused fingers, silky and warm. He kisses the gentle arch of your eyebrows, down your nose, hot breath fanning your face, leaving you dizzy. He smells like cigarettes and rain, and it has you wondering if it's really a good idea for him to be here like this, right now. As of yet, he hasn't had you how you want him to, something like fear and insecurity holding you back from whispering the words into his lips, the foolish questions lingering on your tongue, overly salty.

"Don't make fun of me," you finally manage, voice wavering with thinly veiled emotion.

"I'm not. I love your voice. It's too good to not hear. I always want-"

Your eyes widen at the implication his words are rushing towards, and he can see the wonder mounting behind the curiosity in your gaze. He stops, looks away, finds your face again in the nearly fictitiously perfect backdrop, flowers and lush green moss, painting you to be a fairy, a nymph, something too good to be true. Something too good for him.

"I always enjoy hearing you sing." The words fall short of their original meaning, having been edited to the point of misunderstanding, but you're sure you know what he was going to say. You let it go, pulling his lips down to yours, searching the dark little places in your soul, shadows and puddles, for your courage, sure that it must be hiding somewhere. His lips are questioning, hesitant, he's battling some demon you can't quite see, and it has your heart aching, making it harder to ask, to want.

"What's going on in your head, Eddie?"

He retreats further, physically pulling back, breath coming hard and fast, little puffs of air ruffling the loose strands of hair around your face. His hands tighten around your waist, slide up to grip your arms, eyes earnest on yours.

"Too much. Sorry I- I'm good, I swear."

You touch his jaw, pleading with him to relax, soften, melt in your hands, and be happy. "Eddie. You're doing that thing again. Where you think you're being too rough or too much, and you disappear entirely."

You plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. "I want you."

There's not an ounce of bravado in your voice. No confidence, no provocative hint, just words spoken hushed into his skin. It's enough for him, too much for Eddie, pulling the air from his lungs with a painful rush.

"Fuck, Y/N, don't- You can't say things on my account-"

"That's a very bold assumption. I'm not saying anything for you. It's for me. I want you. I want to touch you, feel you… Taste you. Selfishly."

Eddie gulps, and he swears the sound fills the room, drowns out the music, booms over his racing heart, he's sure you hear it, but you show no sign that you did. How often has he imagined this moment, some fantasy playing out over and over in his mind, coming together now better than he ever could have hoped. Maybe it only feels better because it's real, it's happening, he can feel your chest flush with his, heart beating faster than ever.

"Please do. Fucking hell, whatever you want s'yours, baby."

Your sucking in a breath, taking in the last of the oxygen in the room, your chest rising, grazing his, pulling a growl from deep in his throat, the guttural noise pouring gasoline over the fire. You couldn't walk this back if you wanted to. That's the last thing you want.

The only thing on your mind, on Eddie's mind, is more, more skin, more lips, more hands finally free to touch every smooth plane of skin, trace every curve. He wastes no time, lifting the hem of your shirt, pulling it up up up, easing it over your head, and throwing it over his shoulder. The action has the desire pooling in your gut, threatening to overflow.

"Eddie."

His name comes out in a whine, a sound that inflates his ego with hot air, a pitiful sound that has you blushing the moment the word leaves your lips. "What is it, gorgeous? What do you need?"

His teasing has your eyes flashing, fingers digging harshly into his shoulders. This isn't a game, he knows that, he doesn't mean to tease, he just likes the way your dissolving in his hands, sticky sweet, already trembling, and he's hardly touched you. He lets his eyes wander down to your nearly naked chest, choking on air at the sight of your breasts covered by only a white lacy bra, dotted with cherries. It's cute, it's you. He likes it.

You want to cover yourself, resist the urge, dig your nails deeper into his flesh, too excited and anxious all at once, surrounded by newness. Eddie sinks to his knees, closing the gap, making him eye level with your chest, a smile tugging at his lips. He pays no mind to your painful hold on his shoulders, leaning forward to place a reverent kiss to the swell of your breast, watching your eyes for confirmation that this is okay, that you still want this. Your lips part, eyes blown wide with lust and something else, something he's afraid to assume when the words haven't left your lips.

"S'this okay?"

Hot breath fans your skin, warding away the goosebumps, and you can only manage a nod, fingers slipping up into his hair, pulling gently, tipping his head back. His lips move over the stupid little cherries at a torturous pace, entirely too much fabric between his mouth and your skin. His fingers settle with a feathery touch on your ankle, ghosting up your leg, a barely there touch that's more ticklish than it is satisfying. A chill crawls up your spine, tingling across the back of your neck, egging him on.

Fingertips coast up your thighs, brush the hem of your shorts, inch up higher and higher until he's walking his fingers up your butt to the waistband of your shorts, pulling away just enough to look at your face.

"Do it."

At your approval, he's rushing forward, pulling them down, tongue tracing the valley between your breasts.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you hiss, wanting more of his skin on yours, desperate to have him bare before you.

"That's your opinion."

"Eddie, I'm fuckin' serious. Take off your damn clothes."

He huffs a laugh, standing before you get any more upset, tugging off his sweatpants, leaving him in only red and black plaid boxers. You reach for the band, snapping it against his skin, giggling, hands retreating from his form to card roughly through your hair.

"What's wrong?" he asks, worried you're having second thoughts.

"Nothing. You're taking forever, touch me, please."

"You're not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, babe. Slow down. S'not a race."

You brace your hands on his chest, fingers twitching when you feel his heart, thumping quickly against your palm. It excites you, that he's as worked up as you are, his own hands shaking as they find your hips, trail up, around to your back, toying with the clasps of your bra.

An experienced hand would easily unhook your bra, let it fall down your arms to the floor. Eddie's hands aren't experienced, he fumbles with the clasp for longer than he means to, feeling his cheeks heat with shame when you sigh against his neck, impatient.

You begin to hum the Jeopardy theme song, nails dancing up his biceps, tickling the sensitive flesh, making it harder for him to concentrate.

"Fuck off, Y/N."

"Do this often?"

"I will leave you here. Horny and lonely."

"No, you won't. Look, I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was your first time, okay? I'll be nice."

"It's not my- Forget it."

He steps back, removing his hands, crossing his arms over his chest. "You deal with it. You're the one wearing the damn thing."

You try to hold the laugh back, knowing he's embarrassed, but you're embarrassed too, and the absurdity of the situation gets the better of you, a bemused chuckle tripping off your lips. "Here."

You turn your back to him, making it easier for him to see, his fingers moving quickly to release the hooks, determined to redeem himself in some right. "You're not my first," he mumbles once you turn back around, holding the garment secure over your chest, straps hanging loose around your upper arms.

"Oh. I mean, I kinda figured." His admission is odd, unsolicited, hardly dampens your mood, but makes you wonder what exactly you have to live up to.

"I was sixteen, stoned and I don't remember what she looked like or what her name was."

"Oh."

He shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck, swallows once, then twice before speaking again.

"What I'm trying to say is really, you are my first. Only one that matters. Only one I want. Did I kill the mood? Fuck, now's probably not a good time to have this conversation. I just figured-"

"Shhh." You place your hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling up in affection at his honest rambling. "I get it. It's okay. You're my first. You're the only one for me. 'Kay?"

You don't remove your hand until he nods, and impossibly he loves you more. With extreme caution, you let the bra slip down, exposing your breasts for the first time, watching Eddie's expression, taking note of every emotion as it crosses his face. He takes in every freckle, every faint stretch mark, every inch of skin, swallowing thickly, reaching out to rapturously brush his fingertips across your flesh.

With no warning his lips are on yours, spanning the gap where words would fall short, reverent, awed by how you trust him. He's laying you back against the blankets on your unmade bed, pulling the hair tie from your hair, watching the strands fan out like a messy halo. Nothing has ever been this breathtaking. No song, no gig, no high could ever compare to the sight of you laid out beneath him, waiting with a small smile.

"I love you."

His words hang in the air, heavy and soothing. "Because I'm naked?"

He shakes his head, frowning at your implication.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm nervous. I love you more. I've loved you since that time you played guitar over the phone until I fell asleep."

Eddie chuckles at the memory, fingers brushing along your cheekbones fondly. "And I've loved you since you cut me off leaving the record store, and then came to my show at the Hideaway later that same night."

He speaks quietly, like it's a secret, weight settling on you comfortingly, fingers of his free hand tracing the elastic band of your underwear.

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have. That was it for me, I was a goner."

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson."

The words are spoken affectionately, fingers tracing his facial features, brushing the hair out of his face, tapping his nose once, twice, three times, earning a smile.

"Only for you."

His fingers dip below the elastic barrier, shocking you, making you whimper at the foreign pleasure. Eddie tries his best to memorize the sound, wants to keep it safe for later, safe for when he's alone and needs relief, but he settles for drawing the sound of you again, hand slipping lower to cup your heat, wet from your arousal.

"This all for me, baby girl?"

There's that sound again, high pitched and desperate, keening. His middle and marriage fingers trace wide, sweeping circles around your clit, close enough to give you hope for relief, but never where you need him most.

It's driving you insane, has you gripping the blankets, clawing at the fabric, attempting to tether yourself. Eddie watches your face, notes your pinched features, the pleasure building in your eyes, muddying the shades of color.

You're unraveling with every sweep of his digits against your folds, the heat in your abdomen winding tighter and tighter, thin thread on control threatening to snap, pleasure looming. The moment his fingertips brush your clit, you're crying out, gasping his name, trembling from the onslaught of sensations. His fingers on your core, lips on your neck, legs heavy on yours, arousal pressing into your thigh painfully obvious.

Your back arches into the pleasure, vaguely aware of Eddie rutting into your thigh, a hoarse moan building in his throat, muffled by your skin, fingers working you through your high, tracing tight circles over your slick. Eyes closed against the white-hot light of your orgasm, feeling the warmth spread through your body, bones turning to mush, brain-melting to jelly. You're spineless by the time you come back to yourself, only half aware of Eddie's hand retreating from your panties.

"Wow," he whispers, gaze focused on his slick fingers, coated in cum. He moves to lick them clean but your limp grip on his wrist stops him.

"Don't you dare. I can't-Just don't."

Pink dusts the top of your cheeks, more from the aftereffects of your pleasure than embarrassment, but he concedes, settling for dragging your underwear down your thighs, letting you help, pulling one ankle free, kicking them off the other.

He rolls onto his back, lifts his hips to ease his boxers off, tossing them on the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes, and he faces you again. Your eyes trace the edges of his body, trying to let a graceful amount of time pass before your eyes fall on his cock. It's pretty, a large, prominent vein running from his silken mushroom head down to the base. Tentatively, you take him into your hand, thumb tracing his tip, collecting the precum, tracing the vein, attempting to ignore the hiss of air that rushes past his lips, the way he twitches in your gentle grasp.

"I don't have a condom…" you begin, avoiding his gaze, concerned that was the wrong sort of admission for the moment, dick in hand.

"I don't have one either," he manages, jaw clenched at the feeling of your soft hand stroking him, the inevitable disappointment of not quite enough.

"Well, we could skip it. Just this once."

He swears a piece of his soul dies at the mention of this happening again. Never in his wildest dreams did he picture the night ending like this. Maybe, maybe in his wildest, wettest dream, but never could he see it morphing into reality, coming true before him.

"Huh? Y/N, that's how people end up pregnant."

"I know. I know but- Please? Just once?"

"Fuck, you're making it so difficult to say no."

You squeeze to emphasize your next words. "Then don't, Teddy."

The nickname is his undoing, saccharine as it falls from your lips, ensnaring him.

He rolls on top of you, breaking the contact of your hand on him. Doting kisses dropped along your jaw, up to your temple, nose brushing your hairline, breathing you in deep, trying to immortalize the moment, aware of every point where your bodies meet.

His hips slot above yours, bone to bone, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in a collective inhale of anticipation, his tip pressing against your heat, skin tingling.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The pain of that initial stretch has you whimpering, arching away in surprise. Eddie's eyes are wide, panicked at your reaction, following you with murmured sweet nothings, fingers lacing with yours.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. No, just go slow."

he does, so slow, reigning in his own pleasure, muscles rigid, arms trembling in poorly restrained want.

"You can move."

"You sure, baby?"

You don't answer, shaking his hands off, wrapping your arms around his back, fingers bumping over his spine, urging him closer wordlessly. A silent plea. His large hand covers your thigh, pulling it up over his hip, experimenting to find what you like, what has your breath hitching and your eyes rolling back.

You meet his eyes, the deep brown so dark, pupils blown so wide with lust you can't distinguish the difference. Intoxicated on Eddie, surrounded y him, filled by him, high on his skin, his lips, bodies moving together, sticky with sweat.

His moan catches you off guard, the sweetest sound you've ever heard

You're opening your mouth, ready to ask him to do it again when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing eager, sloppy circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck, Eds."

"You close?"

"Y-yes."

He thrusts harder, faster, grip on your thigh bruising, sure to leave pretty marks on the doughy flesh to trace tomorrow. His lips find your neck again, sucking fervently, teeth skidding along your throat, stifling his sweet voice.

The overload of Eddie has you writhing, body going stiff before the second wave of euphoria washes over you, threatening to drown, the danger of the riptide lapping at your frayed sense.

"Eddie."

The pleasure dripping off your tongue pushes Eddie off the cliff, has him freefalling at the taste of it on your tongue. He can feel it on his oversensitive skin. He thrusts deep, a shiver snaking up his spine, shaking his shoulders, lips parted, your name filling the space between you with a choked moan before he's sagging against you, thoroughly spent.

Eddie has no clue where you begin and he ends, an indistinct, messy tangle of limbs and bare skin, glowy with armory and satisfaction.

"I love you, Eddie."

"I love you more, Y/N."

Fingers trace skin, his, yours, it's all the same, all hot and soft, every touch magnified, different, and yet more same than ever before. A new familiarity sits between you, free of any inhibition or insecurity.

Finally, Eddie breaks the silence. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You follow him down the hall, never breaking contact, his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, flicking on lights as he goes.

You sit on the ledge of the tub as Eddie turns on the faucet, waiting for the water to warm up, testing the temperature every few seconds with a cautious finger. Once he deems it warm enough he soaks the washcloth under the stream, stepping over to you.

Tugging you to your feet, he plants a gentle kiss on your clammy skin, running the cloth along your body, wiping away sweat before trailing lower, removing any evidence of himself. He repeats the process on himself, far less gentle, tossing the rags into the laundry hamper. He moves around your small bathroom easily, grabbing your toothbrush and his from the cup next to the sink, wetting the bristles before passing you yours, squeezing a glob of toothpaste out, smiling at you sheepishly when you shake your head in bemusement.

You can't tolerate the distance between you, stand and step closer to him, pretending to be engrossed in the simple task of brushing your teeth, even as your pinky finger seeks his out, curling around his. Eddie brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles, wincing at the smear of foamy toothpaste he leaves behind. You rinse it off, smiling at him in your reflection.

He gestures to your skincare products on the counter with a shrug. "I can never remember which order you use 'em in."

You line them up for him and he sets to work, dabbing careful little dots onto your skin like he's watched you do countless times before working t into your skin in gentle circles, caressing your face.

This isn't the first time, but it feels different, new. You stand on tiptoes, kiss his lips once, twice when he's finished, bare chest grazing his before you pull him back to your room. carelessly rummaging around in your dresser for pajamas, you keep your back to him as he pulls his boxers and sweatpants back on.

Eddie pulls the covers down, unplugging the fairy lights as you tug on the stolen tee shirt of his you found. Clicking off the radio, you join him in bed, curling into his side, a perfect fit. In the still, you realize the rain continues to pound down on the roof, the steady thrum soothing.

His eyes are heavy with exhaustion, lips slack on your temple, a tender reassurance, an unspoken testament of love. You let the silence go unbroken, hand resting on his chest, head on his shoulder, shallow breaths washing over his neck.

"G'night, Teddy."

"Night, love. Sweet dreams."

You stay like that until sleep pulls you under, lulled by the rain and Eddie's warmth, his arms secure around you.