#something was awoken in Eddie on this day

[biboomerangboi]

Eddie standing in Steve’s kitchen being mid conversation with Robin and just in general being in Steve’s way. Now normally Steve would just budge past him but with Eddie especially he’s worried about being a jock/bully and react like Steve’s shoving him. So Steve just puts his hands on Eddies waist and picks him up then plops him to side because that seems nicer, then just goes about getting stuff from the fridge. Meanwhile Eddie is bright red and having an error 404 message blaring in his brain.

[urhoneycombwitch]

foreword: have u ever had a buddy so good you jack off with him <3 roommate!Eddie x reader fic for ya. link to roommate!Eddie mlist here

cw: drug mention, R wears a bra, has breasts (implied to be large enough to “spill”) + V, no pronouns used only petnames, nipple play, R is queer (talks about Molly Ringwald in a sexual nature <3), praise kink, mutual masturbation, but as friends, we’re all normal here okay, we Do Not talk about our hidden feelings in this one soz

wc: 2.3k

___

An unfortunate shift of the pillows supporting your body pulls you from the depths of sleep, consciousness surfacing, breaching with a soft huffy groan. 

Waking up on a normal day is hard enough. Waking from a good dream, one where someone’s head was between your legs and everything was swelling lush with heat? Now that’s torture. 

You burrow the cold side of your face under the covers, eyes still screwed shut in defiance of being awoken before the dream could pay off. There’s a heartbeat pounding near the apex of your thighs; with one leg stretched out and the other draped around the curve of your body pillow, your hips roll forward automatically, seeking friction.

The soaked front of your underwear drags against the pillow’s seam, catching your clit on the next glide of your hips. Another soft moan, breath fanning from your parted lips. If you can stay in this grey area of sleep and waking, maybe the horniness will swallow your mind back to the dream…

When someone’s hand brushes your bare shoulder, your movements freeze. Goosebumps prickling in the palm-owner’s wake, you blink against the morning light pouring in through your bedroom window and try to orient yourself.

Your head is nestled in the curve of someone’s neck, left arm tucked secure around their chest. Leg hitched over their waist, cotton boxers band digging at the plush of your thigh- something else solid and warm trapped against their stomach.

A snuffle from your human body pillow, and the waking world hits you sideways, all at once- Eddie. You’d fallen asleep with Eddie last night, after helping him play-test a new hybrid strain and dancing to records all evening, until you both collapsed in a heap of giggles. In your bed. 

Which means that you’ve been humping Eddie’s leg in your sleep. And the thick length trapped under your thigh belongs to him, too. 

Before you can even fully process or think up an escape plan holding the least amount of embarrassment for you both, Eddie’s stretching the arm that isn’t cupping your shoulder up and out with a long yawn. 

His hips shift, pressing himself into your leg unintentionally, and you can feel the moan that rumbles through his body- at your ear, vibrating under your hand on his bare chest. Eddie mumbles something incoherent and sleep-addled, pulling you in closer, nosing at the crown of your head.

“Uh-” your voice comes out half-squeak, half-croak, not fully pushing off Eddie but keeping your frame tight enough to roll away at a moment’s notice. “H-hey.”

Eddie’s palm smooths down the plane of your upper back, stopping at the wide band of your bra. He makes another noise, this time a bit less sleepy- and then he, too, freezes, all those points of contact along the length of your own body stiffening, muscles tensed with realization. 

“Oh, fuck. Shit.”

Eddie’s voice is like rocks on pavement, three shades of gravelly, really not helping your whole ‘wet as a river’ situation, one that he can probably feel leaking onto his bare leg at this point. He doesn’t immediately roll away, though; he remains in that freeze-mode, tense and poised, holding you against the span of his side still.

Well. As frozen as one can be with a throbbing case of morning wood.

“I guess we… fell asleep,” you say, carefully, adopting the same cat-like stillness, the pause before a big leap. “Sorry-”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus.” Eddie uses the hand that’s not cradling your shoulder to scrub down his face. This close, nestled into his neck, you can feel his loose hair tickling your cheek, the light scratch of his day-old stubble against your forehead when he speaks. “I’m gonna… go take care of this. And then maybe. Breakfast? Christ. Can’t think. All my blood’s elsewhere right now.”

You breathe a chuckle. His arm is still wrapped around you. 

“Yeah. Okay. Or you could just- take care of it. Here, I mean. With me.”

Eddie’s breath stops, actually stops, then stutters back into steady rhythm under your hand. “...yeah?”

He sounds unsure but curious, excitement bleeding into the edges of that one word as your thumb sweeps across the spot where his ribcage meets. “Yeah. Be doing me a favor, too- I was kind of in the middle of a… a good dream. Prob’ly me that woke you up, anyways.”

Eddie’s hand drops from your shoulder, slithers back to his own space, disrupting your head rest briefly- until you realize he’s doing it to make enough room for you both to stretch out flat (on your mattress that was barely designed for one full-grown person). 

“A good dream,” Eddie parrots, as you both re-situate under the thin cover of your floral-patterned top sheet. Shoulder to shoulder, skimming the heat from each other’s bare skin as you stare resolutely at the ceiling, there’s a frizzy mass of black hair in your periphery. A hint of a smile in Eddie’s voice as he asks, “What were you dreamin’ about?”

You can feel the rippling shift of his bicep as his arm moves, hand sliding unseen beneath the sheets- a sharp inhale as his hand finds purchase over the bulge in his boxers. 

In response, your own hand follows the contoured path to the spot below your navel, toying with the band of your panties before slipping underneath. Cupping yourself, feeling the heated slick coat your fingers before dragging it back up to rest your middle against the beating pulse of your clit- “Ah- um. Was dreamin’ about. Uh. Molly Ringwald.”

A few days from your latest John Hughes marathon, it’s the first feasible famous person that comes to mind. Luckily, Eddie just laughs, in a stilted gasp when his fist finds his aching cock- “Oh, fuck- yeah? Redheads do it for you these days?”

“Uh huh.” Maybe if you keep the focus on someone else, you’ll both be able to come out of this event unscathed. Walk away with your hands clean- er. Well. Nope. 

A better analogy is gonna have to wait, because your abdomen’s tightening with each pass of your wet finger over your clit, pleasure licking and sparking, the usual slow-build to orgasm forming with shocking rapidity.

“What was she doing?” Eddie, sounding strained and strung-out already (really makes you wonder how long you’d actually been using each other, in sleep, grinding and working the other person up), hand moving in long strokes- “In your dream, I mean. Licking you out? Did she use fingers?”

It’s not like you haven’t heard Eddie’s dirty talk before- in fact, you helped cultivate it, years ago when he was nervous for a third date and wanted some advice. You’ve coached him on sex techniques, he’s given his own expertise, you’ve both appraised the other's nudes, for christ’s sake- this is just a natural extension of your friendship. Your closeness. 

Eddie’s feeling awfully close, now, his arm bumping against yours with each pass of his fist over his dick, your leg periodically grazing the downy hair of his shin as your hips jolt upwards, into the electricity stemming from the pad of your finger. 

Choking on your words around a bright surge of pleasure- “Y- yeah. Her mouth. Fingers. All of it.”

“Fuck.” Eddie’s form lurches, doing a half-crunch forwards- risking a glance, you catch a glimpse of the sweat beading at his temples, the dark slant of his brow in concentration, jaw working through the grit of his teeth- “Why don’t you use some fingers, then.”

Like he’s got you under some sort of command spell (because you’re not touching the alternatives with a ten-foot pole), you obey, middle and ring fingers curling into the tight channel of your cunt. There’s a spot you hit on your front wall, gummy and responsive, muscles reacting on instinct by contracting and spasming around your fingers.

You’re close already, panting, head tipped back against the bottom sheet, neck bared, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that begins to pulse insistently. “I’m- fuck, Eddie. Keep talking, please-”

“So good,” Eddie says, almost funny in how quick he is to interrupt your pleading. “So good for me. Sound so wet, too, bet you’re soaking…”

You are, in fact, rivulets of slick joining into one just under the globes of your ass, cooling and sticky, a bit uncomfortable but since it’s laundry day and you feel this good you can’t really bring yourself to care.

A half-gasp whimper as you writhe your pelvis up, again, chasing that edge, tantalizingly close, the wet noises from your weeping cunt and plunging fingers spurring Eddie on.

“That’s it, baby.” He’s encouraging even in his own heady fog of pleasure (must’ve had a good sex-talk coach), voice low and rough at your ear as he drops his chin to get closer. “Tell me what you need, hm? Lemme get you there.”

“Need you- you, to…” Frustrated by your lack of breath, in lieu of communicating with words you slide your fingers from yourself, seeking Eddie’s hand before you can overthink the action. You leave a trail of slick against his hip bone, and Eddie releases himself to give you his hand- moaning, cock twitching, as you coat your own heated wetness over his dry palm. 

This time, when you both get your hands back on yourselves, it’s with a tandem whine, Eddie’s ending with a hiss through teeth- “Fuck. Fuck, yes. So wet. So good.”

“Yeah?” Like you never left, your pussy molds easily to the shape of your three fingers again. Your other hand leaves your side to paw at your clothed breast, nipples peaking through the lace. “I gotta- I’m gonna take my bra off. Please.”

You don’t actually wait for permission, but Eddie gives it anyways as you slide the cups down, babbling encouragement- “Shit, sweetheart, yeah. Whatever you gotta do. So good for me, tellin’ me what you need. Good job.”

One day, you’re gonna regret telling Eddie you get off on praise, but not today; with one nipple pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, your other breast spills to the side, resting against Eddie’s upper arm.

He groans, from his toes, fist slipping over his cock with ease thanks to your contribution. The sounds filling your small room are obscene, sex-dipped moans and glossy wet hand movements all reaching a crescendo as both your hips jerk up at the same time.

Keeping the same pace against your clit as Eddie’s keeping on his dick, the spark of pleasure has turned into a roar that swims up to your ears, a white-out of an orgasm fast approaching each time the heel of your palm slams into your clit. 

“Eddie- jesus, Eddie- Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

You’d feel sheepish about how desperate you sound if Eddie wasn’t matching your energy two-fold. His lanky frame thrashes when your speech devolves into a repetition of his name, keening as his fist staves off tipping over the edge with a tight ring at the base of his cock- “That’s it, baby, y’can do it, angel. Come on. Come with me. Please, please-”

With a final cruel twist to your breast, you come undone, orgasm spooling heat throughout your whole system, Eddie’s name unraveling in a long cry. Eddie follows you, fucking up into his fist, ropes of cum shooting to the top of the sheets tent he’d made, hunching against the spasms crawling up his abdomen. 

You ride the last of your orgasm out on the stretch of three fingers, releasing your nipple when the pressure turns to a twinge of pain. Under the covers, your bare chest heaves around the stretched elastic band of your shoved-down bra; with shaky, uncoordinated hands, you reach behind and beneath yourself to undo the hooks, flinging the offending clothing in the general direction of your hamper.

Eddie chuckles, breathless, bellows of his ribs nudging your forearm as he sinks back into his (your) pillow. “Christ. Good thing it’s laundry day.”

There’s no room for shame, no ounce of you that wants to dwell on what this could mean, right now- although there’ll be plenty of time for that later. As it stands, you’re both swathed in a quiet, post-sex bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace. 

In a dreamy haze, you take note of little things- the drag of Eddie’s pinky against the back of your hand. The glint of his rings stored in a neat line atop your nearby dresser. A block of mid-morning sunshine from the window cast over the bed, prickling at your legs with warmth.

After a few minutes of this, Eddie sits up, mumbling apologies when you snatch the sheets to keep yourself covered. “You want first shower?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, down the lovely arc of his nose, brown eyes tender and staying on you for a beat too long. Squirming under his gaze, you find anywhere else to look (other than the pale slope of his back, smattered and dotted with freckles), shaking your head. “Nope. All yours.”

You flick your interest back to the ceiling as Eddie pulls up his boxers, grimacing at the mess he’s made of your sheets; before leaving, he bends to scoop up your tossed bra, snapping his own underwear to emphasize- “I’ll start this load before showering, then I’ll come back for your bedding.”

At your nod, Eddie leaves to clank around in the laundry closet; then there’s a rusty squeak of the shower handle, a subsequent rush of water, and Eddie’s pleasant husky humming floats down the hall through the open doors. 

You roll onto your front with a contented sigh, burying your nose in the pillow Eddie was just lying on- it smells like him, now, smoky and spicy and familiar. 

You spend the rest of his shower time coming up with a good excuse to save this pillowcase from being washed.

[ghost-proofbaby]

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse. 

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him. 

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless. 

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings. 

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival. 

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles. 

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery. 

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating. 

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of  mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own. 

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him. 

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy. 

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” 

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him. 

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?” 

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun. 

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.” 

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl. 

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization. 

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault. 

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life. 

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal. 

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence. 

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town. 

Come to me. 

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence. 

Come to me. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him. 

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible. 

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…” 

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you. 

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give. 

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch. 

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own. 

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths. 

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness. 

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-” 

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep. 

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns. 

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs. 

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.” 

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down. 

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him. 

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.” 

“So why are you still in pain?” 

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other. 

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.” 

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps. 

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…” 

“Different?” 

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind. 

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night. 

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.” 

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger. 

“What was the cost?” 

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing. 

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now. 

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey. 

Blood shouldn’t be sweet. 

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow. 

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance. 

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration. 

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed. 

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?” 

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him. 

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees. 

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?” 

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.” 

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.” 

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance. 

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it. 

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them. 

“Don’t,” he lowly warns. 

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?” 

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches. 

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment. 

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger. 

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were. 

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s. 

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you. 

He could almost taste you. 

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.” 

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable. 

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger. 

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone. 

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch. 

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.” 

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer. 

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone. 

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him. 

He’s losing control. You’re losing control. 

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation. 

A road to your hunger. 

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease? 

Probably. 

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge. 

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs. 

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising. 

Come to me. 

“Please.” 

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out. 

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.” 

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now. 

You’re so close. So close. 

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. 

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat. 

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.” 

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him. 

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance. 

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push. 

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-” 

He breaks. 

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you. 

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure. 

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment. 

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper. 

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you. 

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them. 

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly. 

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being. 

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you. 

I need more. 

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his. 

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously. 

Then take it. 

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt. 

My pleasure. 

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Sweet as honey. 

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words. 

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with. 

“Yes, please.” 

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to. 

And you most certainly did not want to. 

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control. 

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.” 

Yes. 

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.” 

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously. 

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this. 

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.” 

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy. 

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters. 

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts. 

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure. 

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.” 

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical. 

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him. 

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine. 

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood. 

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin. 

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?” 

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.” 

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry. 

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you. 

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity. 

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance. 

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you. 

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself. 

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.” 

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares. 

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his. 

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth. 

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him. 

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure. 

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.” 

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it. 

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed. 

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you. 

Eddie. 

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire. 

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter. 

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours. 

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done. 

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.” 

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.” 

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.” 

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough. 

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough. 

Of course, lover. 

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them. 

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[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part twenty-two

759 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one

Eddie do you ever think about what you’re gonna do after high school? like how am i expected to know what i want to do with my life? i mean, i have another year to think about it but not that much can change in a year you probably wanna do something with music, right? make it big with your band and have people screaming your songs i’d go to every show if i could be your own personal groupie who knows? maybe that’s my calling p.s. have a good time at hellfire tonight i hope you win !!!!! -H

You’d think the win last night would put him in high spirits, and it did. At first. He celebrated with the guys, passed on the get together someone suggested, and drove home feeling proud. It was when he was laying in bed, though, that he started thinking. When he graduates, how often will he be able to ride a high like that? From pure accomplishment?

Steve puts on a brave face for morning practice. He doesn’t wanna drag anyone down with him. He goes through the motions of accepting congratulations and pats on the back from his peers and teachers alike all morning long. 

It only makes him think, though. 

Seriously, what comes after this? More school? Does he accept that internship at his father’s soul sucking company? Does he get a gob and jump right into adulthood?

What it really comes down to is the fact that Steve had never thought he’d have a future. Honestly. He’s getting closer and closer everyday to the next stage in his life, though. The years snuck up on him and now he has to deal with it. 

On a lesser scale, Steve doesn’t like thinking about what life will be like once Eddie graduates this coming May. How is Steve meant to tolerate this hellhole without him? Sure, he’d gone years without really noticing him, but now that he knows what it’s like to have a taste of him in his life, he doesn’t think he could go back. 

The whole thing makes his pulse quicken and sweat begin to bead at his hairline. By the time he makes it to art class, there’s a tension forming at his temples and he’s not looking forward to the headache. He doesn’t think he has it in him to act like everything’s normal. 

For once, Carol doesn’t acknowledge his foul mood. She’s too busy staring at Robin. For the portrait, of course. 

The teacher had informed them today the class is basically a free period and they can choose what to work on or what to not work on. 

Steve sits slumped over the table with his head resting on his folded arms. He kind of wishes Eddie hadn’t put the divider up and also that he had his sunglasses so he could stare at him without feeling weird about it. 

Instead, he rests his eyes and tunes into the sounds of pencil on paper surrounding him. He dozes for a while and has nearly fallen asleep when he’s awoken with a poke to his cheek. 

Steve peels his eyes open, but no one seems to be wanting his attention. There is, however, a piece of paper placed next to his left arm. 

It’s a drawing. 

A stick figure with tall swoopy hair and eerily realistic eyes. 

Steve looks to his left, only to find the culprit still hard at work with his face tucked behind the divider. 

Steve visually fills in the blank and surmises Eddie’s smile probably matches his own. 

Steve doesn’t dare fold the paper. He tucks it into the notebook he has to keep it safe. Throughout the rest of the day, he opens the book just to look at it. When he takes it home, he tapes it to a wall in his bedroom, somewhere he can always see it. 

Eddie did i ever tell you how sweet it is that your club has matching tees? i haven’t seen anyone who doesn’t do sports or the school band have a uniform but it makes sense that other clubs would, too you look good in black, don’t get me wrong, but GOD i thought i was gonna die the first time i saw yours so thanks for that also, while we’re on the subject of how hot you are,  you should wear your hair up more often p.s. sorry about the existential crisis on friday i wasn’t doing too good but i got a pick-me-up eventually <3 -H

twenty-three

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@flustratedcas @ajeff855 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @pearynice @imaginary-maggie-waggie

[matchingbatbites]

i hold your hand in mine, dear

For @steddie-week Day 1: Secret Relationship AND Day 2: Hands

Rating: M || CW: temporary character death, brief description of minor dismemberment, unhealthy coping mechanisms || Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Steve doesn't know why he did it.

It's just- It was beyond painful, the mere thought of leaving behind the love of his life - because that's what Eddie was, even if no one else knew. And he knew there was no way they'd be able to get him back up through a gate before El closed them off.

So while Robin helped Dustin hobble away and Nancy went out ahead of them, Steve took a chance to just. Grab a souvenir. Just something tangible to remind him that - even for just a short time - he had Eddie. They had something real.

He doesn't know why he chose to take Eddie's hand.

It was easier than expected; the knife he had was sharp enough that it sliced through skin and muscle quickly, it wedged between bone and split the joint of his wrist with ease.

The limb sat heavy in his pocket as they escaped that hellhole, as they got Dustin to the hospital to get his ankle checked out, as they reunited with their friends to talk about what happened.

Steve doesn't dare to even touch it until he gets home, until he's by himself. Waits until he's showered and cared for his own wounds before he grabs the jacket and finally pulls it free.

It should be concerning that his first instinct was to take Eddie's hand - specifically, his right hand. It's not the one usually covered in rings, but it's the one he usually touched Steve with - when he brushed a thumb over Steve's lips or cupped Steve's face in his palm.

It's the one he used whenever they held hands, always leaving Steve's own right hand free so he could still do things while they clung together.

Maybe that's why. Even with all of the stuff in Eddie's room, all of the physical mementos he could have taken for himself, Steve just couldn't live knowing he'd never hold Eddie's hand again.

The limb itself is a bit dirty, with grit and blood marring the skin, trapped under the edge of his nails. That doesn't stop him from bringing it to his lips, from pressing a gentle kiss to the tips of the fingers.

It's cold, and for some reason that's the thing that finally breaks Steve, that has him sobbing into the stillness of his room. All he can think about is the man that brought so much warmth and life to Steve's existence, laying cold and forsaken in that fucking wasteland.

That's the thought that follows him into sleep that night, that lives in the back of his mind for days. It makes him truly grateful for his morbid memento, that he's able to keep a piece of his love, able to give some of his own warmth as he holds Eddie's hand in his own.

Steve makes a habit of pulling it from the drawer every night and giving a soft kiss to fingertips that are slowly turning black. He never wonders why the fingers still bend so well, why it never smells like rot.

He doesn't even think about it until he's awoken one night by the sound of soft scratching.

It takes Steve a second to hone in on the source, everything in him on edge and ready to jump on any possible threat. But nothing else in the room shifts; there's only the gentle scraping sound continuing from his left.

He turns on the lamp and looks at his nightstand, heart pounding in his chest as he reaches over and slowly tugs the drawer open. The noise stops, and Steve just looks down at Eddie's hand.

It's not in the bandana he usually wraps it in - something he did end up pilfering from Eddie's room, along with a few shirts that he sleeps in.

It's just there, laying in the bottom of the mostly-empty drawer, innocent as anything.

Steve watches it for a moment, waiting - praying - before reaching out and just. Touching it. Just a gentle brush along the knuckles.

It flinches, and Steve gasps.

He picks the hand up and it writhes in his grip, like a feral creature attempting to escape a predator. It only makes him hold on tighter, until he's able to shift it and lace their fingers together, their favorite way of holding hands.

The hand freezes, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, can't help the soft "Eddie?" that escapes him. It squeezes back tightly, ink black fingertips pressing into his skin, and Steve knows.

Not the how or the why, but those are worries for the future. For now, he cradles Eddie's hand in his own as he lays back down, crying happy tears for once. Because it seems that, by some miracle, Eddie is alive.

[cherrychilli]

Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter three

Chapter Summary: Things turn sour in the days after you scramble out of Eddie's trailer, leading to an interesting confrontation at your old alma mater.

Chapter warnings: Oral sex (m)

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It’s been a week since that day in Eddie’s bedroom.

During that time, you hit the books, powered through your shifts, made it to every lecture and finished your midterms, now holding the fruit of your labor in your hands.

You managed to score in the 90’s again, relief filtering into your lungs with deep, calming breaths because it accounted for 25% of your final grade. With your academic progress still intact, you slipped the glowing results sheet into your bag, allowing yourself to think of your neighbor again.

And as weird as it is to say, you do feel strangely grateful for his contribution.

You’d awoken the day after bolting out of Eddie’s place with your head already crowded with thoughts of him but admittedly, having slept better than you had in a long time. He’d talked a big game and he delivered – the encounter having unwound you enough to get back to work with renewed focus.

So yes, you were grateful but also, you were furious.

Seven whole days had passed by and you hadn’t seen Eddie once.

You tried not to read into the fact that for that entire week, you didn’t hear him play his guitar once. Tried not to let your chest cave in when you didn’t catch him outside working on that tetanus trap on wheels he called a van when you took off for work. Tried not to grit your teeth when you didn’t run into him even when you returned home. Every trace of him gone.

It wasn’t that you wanted to see him exactly, but you couldn’t ignore how his absence made you feel – like a mistake he was trying to run away from.

On day four, the day after your exams, you’d even gone so far as to try wheedling some answers out of Wayne when you passed by the older man on your way to work, attempting to be as inconspicuous about it as possible.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to share a few polite words with Wayne whenever you ran into him but it was out of the ordinary for you to bring up his nephew in any other context that didn’t have to do with a noise complaint.

Segueing into it as gracefully as you could manage, you tried to make it sound as offhand as possible, like a casual observation rather than the heavily rehearsed thing that had consumed your mind all day.

“It’s been pretty quiet in the park lately. He sick or something?”, you asked him while toing at some nearby gravel like your own interest in the question was waning.

You refused to say Eddie’s name, afraid that just by mentioning it, it might put a crack in the eggshell thin mask that holds your hurricane of emotions at bay.

As you had expected, Wayne regards you with some surprise – catching his nearly imperceptible squint, his craggy brow crinkling too. It was both unavoidable and understandable. You would have reacted the same way if you were him.

The weight of his second long silence borders on excruciation, something almost surgical about the way he assesses you. Dissecting you is what it really felt like but thankfully, he shows you mercy.

“Says he’s got things to do at school – doubt there’s any studying involved though”, he lets out a huff, a dry, almost laugh that conveyed his long suffering history with his nephew’s unbeaten record for flunking.

Eddie willingly spending more time at school? The same boy who once climbed down out of a second story window, slipped and hauled ass on a sprained ankle just to get out of taking a math test?

So he was avoiding you.

Despite the bitter taste clawing at the back of your throat, you mustered up a laugh of your own and hoped it was convincing enough, waving goodbye to Wayne as you parted ways.

For those seven days you blocked out the thought of Eddie as best you could but now that your exams were no longer a concern, you were finally free to confront the spineless louse.

If he thought he was going to be safe holed up at your old alma mater he was dead fucking wrong.

Treading fire onto campus, you marched through waves of highschoolers, making a steady beeline for the drama room, remembering that was where he held those weird meetings with his weirdo friends in their weird matching t-shirts.

The teenagers hastily parted off to the side in an effort to get out of your way, some of the seniors who recognized you beginning to whisper, speculating as to what brought you back and looking so incensed.

Stomping up to the room, you let loose all that had been simmering inside you – all that frustration from being evaded and those acrid feelings that felt too close to rejection, parting the doors open forcefully with both hands. It makes for your desired entrance when they swing back and bang closed behind you like a thunderclap, startling the boy who’d been busy scribbling in his notebook getting ready for his next campaign.

His pen clattered to the floor from where it flew out his hand and bounced off a nearby theater prop. You can’t be sure given how abrupt it was but you think he might have yelped too, a high pitched eep like some sort of puppy who had its tail stepped on by mistake.

Sitting askew on his carved wooden throne, Eddie’s cast in warm hues of orange and yellow underneath stage lights and candlelight but nothing shines brighter than the sheer surprise overwhelming his face. It pleases you more to recognize the unmistakable tinge of fear he’s incapable of hiding behind his wide eyes when they land on you.

Good. He should be scared, your mood far from friendly as you turn to lock the door behind you and retrieve the key, clutching it tight in your palm.

Was this overkill? locking him inside with you? You didn’t think so. Not after he’d weaseled his way out of talking to you for an entire week. You weren’t about to leave room for him to plan an escape route too.

You stepped closer to where he cowered at the D&D table, your lips pulled into an imitation smile, curved up exactly like one but so clearly absent of any sweetness or warmth, only radiating danger.

To Eddie, your menacing saunter resembled a cobra leisurely winding its way up to cornered prey, jaw seconds away from unhinging to swallow him whole.

He flinches when you slap down your results sheet on the table, now crumpled from how you had it clenched in your fist on your way over here. Better the paper than his neck you supposed although truthfully, you were still on the fence about that.

“Uh, what’s this?”, he finally dares to speak, a nervous croak of a sound that scratched its way out of his throat, cautiously leaning closer to examine the paper. The spiteful devil perched on your left shoulder chittered and sneered, whispering all sorts of encouragement to make you reply with spite, to make some underhanded remark about how you’re not surprised he couldn’t recognize anything that didn’t have a row of F’s stamped all over it given it’s his second time repeating senior year.

But the lenient angel on your right shoulder leaned in and spoke reason into your other ear, dulcet but insistent reminders that you only came here to inquire, not injure.

The devil withers away with a snarl when you clench your jaw, holding your tongue at bay, unable to spit that kind of venom at Eddie.

Before now, your main gripe with him was his disruptive influence, the way he wedged himself into your life like a splinter caught underneath your fingernail with his head rattling music and blood boiling snark. Grinning like his biggest pleasure in life was annoying you enough to darken his bedroom window day after day with a face full of fury and a mouthful of fuck you’s. He was too carefree for your liking as well, able to shrug off his plummeting grades when a minor slip of yours would have you digging out your emergency pack of cigarettes to chain smoke the stress away in secret. But taking shots at his intellect like all the other assholes you went to school with felt too…slimy.

The same assholes who had looked down on you and your trailer park background. The same assholes who rolled their eyes when you got accepted to your College of choice. The same assholes who cackled when you had to enroll in a nearby Community College instead when your family’s finances fell in the red.

Maybe you weren’t a cobra after all, only masquerading as one.

“My midterms. I passed”, you answered him flatly, watching recollection flash across his face.

The stress it had caused you was the reason why this all started in the first place after all.

 “Couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t helped me out”, you added pointedly, tone almost accusatory.

Even under the vivid stage lights that paint his complexion like a sunset, you can still make out the way his cheeks pink up at the vague mention of what had happened in his bed that day.

“Oh, uh– that’s great”, he offered you something that resembled a smile, face so twisted with nerves that he couldn’t get his lips to curve up the right way. Jesus, you’d never seem him like this before. He was barely recognizable and for the first time in your life, you found yourself preferring his usual tornado presence and boisterous anti charm.

“Yeah. So, why’ve you been avoiding me?”

His jaw tensed at that, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Obviously, you hadn’t come by to say thank you.

“Listen, the club will be here in an hour. They already know I’m in here so just give me the key and…we’ll talk about this later, okay?”, he attempted to negotiate with you in the same way one might try to approach a skittish horse, overly cautious with an undertone of fear, holding out a shaky palm to collect the key but you weren’t about to give in now.

“What, so you can find somewhere new to hide?”, you sneered.

To show him you’re serious about seeing this conversation to the end you make a show of dangling the key to the drama room in front of his face – his only hope of escape, but it’s what you’re doing with your other hand that gathers his attention.

Hooking a finger into the neckline of your t-shirt, you pull it low enough for your cleavage to show, soft swells sitting high on your chest, framed by pretty lace. And despite the dread trickling down Eddie’s spine, thick like tar, one thing becomes abundantly clear in that moment.

He’s only a man.

The little flash of tit is enough to trigger his hormones. Stupefied, he takes in an eyeful, committing the contours of your breasts to memory – the newest entry into the sordid vault of his spank bank before he’s able to snap out of it. He attempts to snatch the key from you but he’s too slow, stomach cartwheeling as he watches it disappear into your cleavage when you tuck it away for safe keeping in your bra cup. Honestly, he can’t decide if he’s more upset about it or turned on.

Face twisting with exasperation, he locks his eyes back on yours.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he accuses with increasingly reddening cheeks.

Unbothered by the claim, you shove a couple of dice and a few of his notes aside to sit yourself on the edge of the table, arms crossed underneath your breasts, showing your defiance.

This isn’t like when he’d gotten you to beg for your release, chipping away at your resolve with his touch and tongue until you crumbled under the weight of ecstasy. You’ve molded yourself into an imposing shadow of the girl who came undone on his sheets, obstinate and immovable and it’s clear that you’ll sooner wear him down for an answer even if it means being stuck here in this room all night than leave without one.

Eddie’s hardened expression falters as he realizes this, sighing. Relenting.

“Fine”, he slumps back in his chair.

“I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know what to say– “

“Bullshit”, you cut him off with an icy scoff. Eddie Munson at a loss for words? Sure. And Steve Harrington’s a bald virgin.

“It’s not bullshit”, he attempts to deny, some heat behind his words.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who offered to help me “relax” in the first place?” you bit back with heat to match.

Your rebuttal has him silent – both of you knowing he can’t argue otherwise.

“Where’d all that bravado go, Munson?” you poke again just to see the vein at his temple bulge but he doesn’t answer, jaw set firm.

You’d hoped to scare it out of him at first or even force it out of him by locking him in here but for once that metalhead menace is tightlipped and damn good at it.

Taking another moment to consider your options you gird yourself to ask the one question you’ve been dreading. Casting your eyes down, arms tightening under your breasts, the key shifts into an awkward angle, jabbing your soft flesh but it’s not nearly as unpleasant as what you have to say next. You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer but you force it out, tongue turning more sour the longer the question sat there unasked.

“Do you regret it?”

It’s the way your tone loses all of its heat, crumbling slightly at the end of your question that makes him feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Another awful second of silence passes before you’re startled by him shooting out of his seat, chair screeching noisily against the floor as its forced back so quickly, his hand reaching for yours but he stops short of your fingers touching.

This close, you can smell him again. That same scent that clung to his bed. That same scent that hung on your hair. The same scent you reluctantly washed away in the shower that night you got back home. It makes you feel woozy, like a cloud full of pheromones to the face. If he takes one more step, you’re afraid you might leap up and bite his chest through his shirt like an animal in heat.

“I don’t regret it”, he answers you, gentle. Honest.

And just like that, all the anxiety you’d carried around for a week unravels with those four words. In its place, relief strummed on your ribs like nimble fingers plucking strings on a harp, a hopeful tune building up to a crescendo inside your chest. But you don’t let it show – forcing an impending smile away, keeping your expression unreadable because you liked the way he looked back at you, sweating with uncertainty.

“Okay – then you wouldn’t mind me returning the favor, would you?”, you rose up from the table, placing a palm in the middle of his chest.

“Huh?” he stumbles back, the back of his knee connecting with his chair.

“Fair’s fair right?”

With a little effort, you push him back into his seat, dropping down to kneel between his legs when they spread for you.

“Shit shit wait- really?”, he sputters as your fingers climb up to his belt, working open that damn handcuff buckle you’d become curious about to the point of near infatuation in the last few days.

You roll your eyes in reply like his question is a nuisance to you, growing excited under the surface.

Popping open the button on his jeans and pulling down his zipper, you can see that he’s already half hard underneath his boxers, a thick outline of his cock growing more prominent.

He’s warm in your hand when you pull his jeans and boxers down to grasp him, watching it spring up, feeling him grow harder by the second. Your fingers are dwarfed by the size of him although you already expected that after what you had seen in his trailer.

Eddie tenses when you bring your face closer, lips parted, breath puffing against his flushed, throbbing tip. Just a little more and-

“But before I do, you’re going to tell me why you avoided me”

He blinks back at your wicked smile and sharp eyes, plummeting.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that? First you hold me hostage and now you’re going to interrogate me with your fist around my dick?”

You grin back, squeezing him mostly gently, the warmth of your hand alone enough to make him feel compliant.

“Do it or I’ll stop”, you threaten sweetly.

Somehow, he likes the sound of that even less than the fear of you doing something like snapping it clean off.

There’s something so perversely satisfying about getting to use his words against him – withholding his release in the same way he had done with you. Being on the other side of it, you now understand why he enjoyed it so much, the potent thrill of being in control.

“Fuck okay”, he lets his head fall back to thud against the back of his throne, the column of his neck stretched and bared for you to see the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat with a thick swallow.

“I thought about you all the time…” he starts, tipping his chin down to look at you again, eyes dark and shadowy from this angle. “Shit, I couldn’t sleep after what happened in my bed – had to get away because I knew if I saw you again, I’d just drag you back there”

Something about the image of him manhandling you, maybe even hauling you over his shoulder, all overcome with unbridled cave man lust for you as he takes you back to his bed brews excitement in your bones. You only hoped it didn’t show on your face.

“And I knew that- well, I thought, because you didn’t actually say, but all you wanted was a one time thing…right?”, he asks, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

That was your intention when you first climbed into his bedroom, yes. But now…

“You seemed to hold back just fine when I came in here”, you skirt around the question in favor of focusing on what he’d said before that, starting to stroke him slowly as a small reward for his honesty.

“You scared the fuck out of me”, his breath grows shorter now that you’re moving your hand. “And we’re in school – didn’t think you’d actually come down here. You liked this place less than I did”

That’s true, you did. You just didn’t expect him to have noticed, let alone have remembered that fact. Guess all that ganja didn’t total his memory completely.

“Well, I couldn’t just let this go on after everything that happened”, you state plainly, twisting your wrist slightly around his base before pulling back up to trace his tip with your thumb.

This time he doesn’t shy away from the vague mention. You can almost see the memory reflecting off his umber eyes as it replays in his mind.

“Didn’t even want to throw my sheets in the laundry”, he admits, a throaty timbre to his tone that makes you stroke him faster.

“That’s gross, Eddie”, you deride, nose wrinkling but he can see right through it. He recognizes it easily – the same forced disgust you’d showed him when he flicked his tongue at you and offered to get you off, trying to hide how much you liked it.

“Could still smell you on them even after they were washed you know – even though I knew they were clean. Like one of those subconscious things or whatever. Every time I thought of you, I felt like I could still taste you on my tongue”

He’s clearly done holding back, no longer the shrinking Dungeon Master you’d stormed in on not too long ago. This is the Eddie you knew well and knowing the thought of you had affected him to the point that it impacted his senses, haunting him even, makes you rush with pride.

“I never got to taste you”, you suddenly recalled, surprised you’d forgotten even for a moment considering how much thought you’d given it in the few days prior.

And with that you leaned forward, lips parting, tongue seeking his cock, licking from the bottom of his veiny shaft up to the head.

The slow, wet drag of your tongue along his sensitive skin is the kind of sensation that will not leave him quietly, groaning around all kinds of expletives as his palms clamped down on the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white.

Taking the first few inches into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked slowly. Swirling your tongue around the leaking tip, you get a proper taste of him, collecting a dribble of precum before pulling off. The texture of it is silky on your tongue as you sucked the mix of tangy and salty sweet onto the roof of your mouth, letting it slide down the back of your throat like honey and swallowed.

“What else did you think about?”, you asked, missing the sound of his voice as you moved to lick along his shaft again, tongue feeling around the veins adorning it.

How he’s able to keep up a conversation when you’ve got your mouth on him like this he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the fear that you might threaten to stop again. Maybe it’s the way your eyes look up at him all cloudy with need and your thighs clench together when he talks about the thoughts he’s had about you.

“Everything we didn’t get to do that day. I know we only agreed on helping you out but after watching you tidal wave my bed I couldn’t help myself”

The crass description nearly makes you snort against his dick despite yourself; your whole face going supernova with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. It makes Eddie grin.

“I thought about this a lot. I couldn’t believe it but I knew – you wanted me in your mouth back then too, didn’t you?”

Imparting a little honesty of your own, you answer him with a whisper, licking off another clear bead of precum from his slit. “I did”.

Eddie's eyes lit up, lips turning up into a smirk. “Watching you leave after that was torture, you have no idea. You’ve ran that smart little mouth of yours at me for years – hated missing my chance to shut you up for once”

That earns him a deadpanned look and calls for a warning.

You bring a hand down to squeeze his balls and smirked when he groaned, this time nearing on pained, hands releasing the armrests with his palms held up in surrender.

“Okay okay! Easy. You’re a soft spoken delight, alright?”

With a pleased chuckle bubbling up your throat, you relinquish your hold to massage them gently instead, rolling them in your palm, continuing to stroke him with your other hand.

“Did you think about fucking me?”

“Yeah…”, he answers at the end of a thick gulp.

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How would you fuck me, Eddie? rough?”

He considers it before answering. “Not at first…but yeah, I’d – fuck, do that again? – I don’t think I could be gentle for very long because I know you can take it”

It’s like he’s reached inside of you and flipped a switch you hadn’t even been aware was there. You’d been wound so tight for so long. You needed him to use you.

“Could you be rough with me now?”, you asked, triggering a sly quirk of his eyebrow.

“You asking me to fuck your face, sweetheart?”

There’s that cocky edge again and you're quick to spar with it.

“Yes or no, Munson?”, you return, all stony faced. There won’t be any begging from you today.

He frowns when you pull out his last name again.

“Aren’t we beyond that now?”

You grin back, too stubborn for your own good.

“No”

Eddie's frown fades, a grin stretching across his face to match your own.

“Open your damn mouth”

Ringed fingers weave into your hair as you part your lips for him, allowing him to breach the wet velvet of your mouth. His girth puts some strain on your jaw but you’re able to accommodate him, tongue cradling the underside of his cock as it glides over the muscle. You’re doing well so far, letting the hand on your head, firm but gentle, guide you down until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat and you gag.

“Go on – choke a little for me”, he grunts.

Tears wet your eyes as you try to breathe through it, throat squeezing back against the intrusion, saliva pooling in your mouth as it begins to drip past your lips.

Eddie starts to thrust into your mouth and you take him as far into your throat as you can manage. Your nails dig into his thighs through the short, ragged pumps, past even what you thought to be your limit when your nose presses close to his pelvis, brushing the thatch of hair at his base. You find that you like how he smells there too – musky and masculine.

The sounds you pull out of him make your core ache – every hitch of his breath, every choked off moan, every rumbling groan and throaty grunt. But you stamp down the hot roiling in your belly and ignore the sticky need pooling in your panties because you really did mean what you said about returning the favor. It was your turn to please him, sidelining your own pleasure for the time being in the same way that he had done for you. Not that there wasn’t any pleasure to be derived from being in your position.

The part of you that was greedy savored every sound and liked knowing you were making him feel good – that all those noises he was making was because of you. And the part of you that was competitive took pleasure in knowing you were proving he wasn’t the only one here with a skillful mouth.

Growing more and more used to it, you take it well as he fucks your throat and he tells you as much.

“Knew I was right about you. Knew you could take it – Christ, yes, just like that”

The praise makes you bob ardently, saliva soaking his cock, trailing down to his balls. You’ve adopted a pace of your own now, Eddie’s fingers still tangled in your hair but no longer guiding you.

"Shit– I’m gonna cum. where do you– "

You pull off his cock, his eyes trained on your wet, swollen lips gasping for air, your hand taking over to pump his spit-soaked length.

“Do it in my mouth”, you finish for him, desperation staining your tone.

You take him in your mouth again, not all the way this time, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit past your sore lips anymore.

“Fuck – oh g- fuck”

Eddie’s hips jerk and then it happens – you feel the hot lines of his release begin to spurt onto your tongue, tangy and creamy thick. You swallow it down with his dick still in your mouth, throat contracting around his twitching, spent length. You pull off slowly until it’s just his tip your lips are wrapped around, lingering on it, sucking it like you don’t want to let go. You’re forced to let it slip from your mouth when his groans near pained again, sensitivity proving too much for him now.

Sitting back on your haunches, you watch his chest puff up and down while he recovers, head thrown back against the back of his chair.

When he’s able to, he puts his softening cock away, redoing his jeans before he pulls out a bandana from his back pocket and offers it to you.

“It’s clean I promise”.

The sweetness of the gesture makes your stomach flutter. Managing a meek ‘thank you’, you use the dark material adorned with bones and skulls to wipe your lips and chin of the sticky mixture of saliva and Eddie’s spend.

Next, he offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you off your knees and on to your feet.

“Listen, I’m sorry for last time. When you had to leave, I mean. And for avoiding you after that”, he informs you, much more tender than you're used to with him.

“I didn’t even get to uh…”, patiently, you wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, watching his face twist, all conflicted. You can see the thought ping pong around inside his head, wishing you could just reach in and pluck it out for yourself but he brushes it off before he’s able to share it with you, leaving you wondering.

“Never mind. Jeff and Gareth are going to be here soon and you probably don’t want to be seen in here with me like um, thisss”, he drags out the single syllable, unsure of a more tactful way to phrase it.

You don’t need to ask him to know that “thisss” means you look like a fucked-out mess because that’s exactly how you feel with your unruly hair and your sore jaw.

Just as before, there’s too much that’s been left unsaid but the threat of another close call has you reluctantly fishing the key out of your bra, tossing it at Eddie while you attempt to tame your hair back into something presentable, wiping off your damp cheeks too. You’re yet to realize that you haven’t returned his bandana, still clutching it in your hand.

Eddie catches the key though he doesn’t make a move towards the door, staring down at his palm like he’d just been gifted a bar of gold.

“It’s warm”, he says quietly, one of those thoughts that wasn’t meant to be said out loud but slipped past the barrier of his lips quicker than he could notice, you surmised.

It’s kind of cute actually – that dopey, spellbound look spilling over his face.

“Unlock the door, Eddie”, you sigh, subduing a laugh. At least you didn’t accuse him of being gross again like you would have an hour ago.

“Oh, right”

He steps over to the door while you gather yourself, daylight shining into the dingily lit room when he unlocks it and pulls it open.

After a quick look around outside to make sure no one sees you leaving, he steps back and holds the door open for you but you linger.

…all you wanted was a one-time thing…right?

No. Not anymore.

You weren’t sure what the two of you were now. Neighbors who got each other off? Former enemies but not really friends with benefits?

The specifics didn’t matter. At least, not right now. All you knew was that you didn’t want whatever this was to end.

Turning to Eddie, you say something you never thought you would. Not to him.

“My family’s gone for the weekend. You can come over tonight…if you want”

The smile that crosses his face is both warm and cocky, much like the one he’d flashed you from his window when this all began.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, you soften but only slightly. Unsmiling but not inimical.

“Oh, and if you stand me up?”, voice heating up, you jabbed a finger against his chest, right between the L and the F of his Hellfire shirt. “Try to run away again?”, you jab again and he staggers a step back, wincing when you press over the same sore spot again. “I’ll nail your balls to your front door, understand?”

For a moment he stares back at you. Stunned. And then, true to the freak riddle that he is, he smiles back even brighter.

-

Tag list - @honey-flustered @cryingglightningg @cadence73 @taccobelle @mrsjellymunson

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Losing your pet.

Triggers: pet loss; talks of depression.

Author note: I had to put my cat to sleep at the beginning of the month, he was my baby so things have been really rough lately. I'm hoping writing this will help with grieving and it may be posted it may not be. If it is I hope it helps anyone who is also experiencing something like this.

Eddie:

You call him when you were freaking out about what to do. You were awoken by your animal crying out and knew they needed a vet but it's so early in the morning you don't know where to go.

When he got the call he was instantly worried for you. He knew how much having your animal helped you cope with your depression and he didn't know how losing them would make you react.

He rushed over and took you two to the 24 hour vet.

He was there to hold you as you cry, he talked to the vet for you, he called the place to make arrangements for the remains

He'd offer to have you either stay at the trailer or for him to stay at your house. He thought being in a quiet house would make you feel worse and since it happened in your room he knew you wouldn't be able to sleep in your actual bed for a while.

The two of you slept on your couch for a week after everything happened.

He would set even more reminders to help remind the both of you that you need to take your medicine

I think he would have you come and sit in on a DnD session to give you entertainment and take your mind off of things, he'd feel pretty prideful when it works

He wouldn't rush you to do anything. There is still a box of litter, still a collar, still toys on the floor oh thats fine! We can get rid of it whenever you are ready to. You want to get a new pet great! Let's get into the van! You don't even want to be around animals that's fine too!

He will map out the store trips to make sure you do not have to even walk by the pet supply aisle if you can't handle it

Steve:

He paid for everything. He knows money doesn't fix much but he didn't want you to be worried about paying for anything.

He never had a pet but he knew how close you were with your pet and he knew you were going to take it hard.

He would make sure you ate and took your medicines, he isn't the best cook but he can do basics so it was about a week of mac and cheese before you started cooking again.

He had you stay at his house, he would worry about you being alone so he made a plea deal and convinced you to stay with him. It's already pretty big and there is more than enough room for the both of you

He would try and get you a new pet better soon after everything happened

I think he would try and get you to talk about your feelings, either by making you therapy appointments or getting you stuff to journal he doesn't want you to keep things bottled up

He tends to treat it as any other heartbreak. There will be days where you two just eat junk food and watch sad movies and when that happens he doesn't mind holding you as the both of you cry into your bowls.

Billy:

Alot of people would probably say Billy wouldn't be that helpful.

I think he would struggle with knowing what to do, he could tell you were struggling but he freezes when he doesn't know what to do.

He would make some sort of comment that made you start crying and that is when he realized how serious this situation was. "It was just a cat/dog/bird/lizard/etc. get over it." Seeing you break down in front of him was his wake up call.

He would bring take out everytime he came over, he'd act like it wasn't a big deal but he knew how much it meant to you.

I think if you were to journal it would be because of Max and if/when Billy tried to make fun of the new habit you both would give him a look that made it clear to back off and he took the warning loud and clear.

I think the next time he sees a stray he would pull over and try and take it home for you. He either comes home with the animal successfully or he comes home covered in scratches and is refusing to speak about what happened.

[radioactiveparker]

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart - Sub!Eddie Munson X Dom!Fem!Reader (Smut)

Summary - Eddie surprises you with a birthday present after a bad day

Warnings - Sub!Eddie / Dom!Reader / Strong Language / Bondage / Oral (M & F Receiving) / Face Sitting / Edging / Orgasm Denial / Overstimulation / Multiple Orgasms / Riding / Mommy Kink / Spitting / Dirty Talk / Gagging / Choking / Degradation / Creampie / Breeding Kink

Word Count - 4.8K

A/N - So, it's my birthday!!! 22 whole years of age. I'll be going away for a couple of days, so there'll probably be little activity on here, so I thought I'd leave you all with this parting gift haha. Enjoy x

_____

Today was shit.

There was no simpler way to put it.

It had started wonderfully. You couldn't deny that. Blissfully awoken in the strong arms of your lover, Eddie, with soft morning kisses and breakfast in bed (even if the pancakes were a little on the burnt side). But when the phone rang and you had no other choice but to go into work, your birthday plans had been successfully ruined. You wouldn't have minded if the day had gone smoothly, but it was filled with spilt coffee, raging customers, and an older gentleman who thought he had the privilege of being able smack your ass when you walked by.

Your heart leapt with delight when the final customer left the diner. All that was left to do was to wipe the tables, brush the floors, take out the trash, and lock up. It would have been a lot easier if your colleague hadn't let her drunkard of a boyfriend in the diner after hours. He had slurred a "promise" that he wouldn't get in the way, but he found it all too amusing to try and trip you up as you swept the floors and when it went a little too quiet, you just knew that they were getting touchy-feely in the pantry cupboard. You would have left if you could have, but she had been your lift to work, and therefore, she was your lift home. Thanks to their not-so-clandestine activities, you had gotten home an hour later than you would have liked.

The sun had already begun to set when you'd left the diner and dusk had settled by the time you got home. A birthday sufficiently wasted.

After a day like today, all you wanted was Eddie - just to feel his embrace, smell his musky cigarette scent, for him to listen to you rant about your awful day to get it out of your system. Maybe you could ask him for a massage and a hot bath to ease the stress from your aching muscles. Well, as close to a massage as you could get from Eddie. Because the two of you know how those always end. Yeah, that sounded really good right now.

You gave your colleague a quick thank you, trying not to roll your eyes when her boyfriend leapt on her almost instantly before you could say goodbye. The slam of the car door echoed in the quiet trailer park, and the tires screeched when she drove off immediately. You dragged your feet to the front door of yours and Eddie's trailer. Upon approaching, you noticed that almost all of the lights in the trailer were off, which was odd because you knew that Eddie was going to be home tonight. You fumbled your keys in the door and dumped your bag, shoes, and coat by the entrance. As you took a step, you felt something soft beneath your foot: a rose petal.

You observed then a haphazard trail of rose petals leading from the front door and down the hall. Your heart melted and puddled in your waterline as you followed it. The odd tealight candle meandered alongside the dappled pathway, its dim, honeyed light guiding you into your bedroom. The door had been left open, just a crack, and you could tell that there was more candle light glowing from inside. You opened it slowly and wearily. If you knew Eddie, which you did, you knew he had a particular penchant for jumping out to scare you when you least expected it. That was not the case this time to your relief.

Instead, the appreciative tear in your eyes was sniffed away with a laugh of your own. There on the centre of your bed, Eddie lay.

Stark naked.

Hands behind his head.

With a gift box over his crotch.

He wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively before he reached over to his bedside table and dropped the needle on your record player. The powerful blow of a saxophone eased from the speakers as Careless Whisper played. It's a song that Eddie wasn't keen on, mind you, but he knew you had a certain fondness for during certain situations. Situations like this.

"Happy Birthday, Baby."

You stalked over to him, already feeling your underwear dampen. "You did all this for me, handsome?"

"Uh huh, now come and open your present." He spoke all too eagerly.

You climbed onto the bed, rose petals pooling in the divots as you did. You sat yourself just above his knees, straddling his thighs and giving him a very obvious view of your lace panties from your up ridden pencil skirt and the wet patch of your arousal that resided there.

Your eyes moved to the box between your thighs - pretty pink paper with tiny red hearts wrapped neatly around the box. You wouldn't be surprised if he had spent all day trying to wrap it as neatly as he could. He had topped it off with a blushing ribbon tied in a bow. You reached for it, pausing to look him in the eyes. You both had the same look - a look that said you knew exactly where this was going. You took your time pulling the ribbon out of its loops, much to Eddies dismay, and then lifted the lid off the box to reveal what you had been yearning for.

"Oh, Eddie, you shouldn't have."

Eddie's throbbing cock was staring up at you. His tip was flushed and leaking, twitching with anticipation through the hole cut out of the bottom of the box. He had shaved for the special occasion even though you had told him numerous times that you didn't mind him having pubic hair.

"Thought I'd get you something you'd get a lot of use out of."

"I love it." You leaned over to give him a thank you kiss, giggling into his lips.

"You wanna know the best part?" He mumbled against your lips. "It's all yours tonight, whatever you say goes."

"I get to do anything I want to you?"

He nodded confidently.

You bit your lip in thought. You could go slow and romantic, let him make love to you to ebb the tension out of your body, said the angel. Or you could absolutely ruin him, argued the devil. It was something you hadn't got the chance to do yet. Eddie was always very dominant when it came to bedroom activities, not that you minded, but sometimes you wanted to make him crumble - give him a taste of his own medicine. That, and it would be a good way to let out all of your frustrations of the day.

The devil won.

"Oh, your gonna wish you hadn't said that." You teased, trying to keep your assertive composure and not laugh when Eddie's face fell . "Still got them cuffs pretty boy?"

You saw Eddie's Adams apple bob with a not-so subtle gulp, obviously not expecting those taunting words to ooze from those pretty lips of yours. He nodded anyway and informed you that they were still in the shoebox under the bed, along with the other toys, gags and restraints the two of you had collected over the years. You made a show collecting them, flashing him as you climbed off him, swaying your hips as you sauntered around the bed, and keeping your ass high in the air as you bent over to reach under the bed. You stifled a giggle when you heard him groan at the sight.

You clambered back on top of him, sitting higher up on his thighs and removing the box from around his cock. His hands immediately reached for your ass, grabbing a handful of your cheeks while he had the chance. You let them rest there, smiling at him while you unlocked the cuffs. You took his wrists one at a time, probably handling them a little harsher than you should've, but Eddie didn't seem to mind. He obediently allowed you to chain him to the bedpost, to your surprise. Eddie certainly wasn't one for being submissive, and often hated when you bested him at anything. Like when you would play fight and you wound up pinning him beneath you, Eddie would never let you bask in your victory for very long before you were back underneath him - "where you belong" he would say. You were beginning to understand his notion, Eddie looked exceptionally delectable beneath you; brown waves cascading over the plush pillows, matching irises twinkling in the candlelight, his pouty lips looking oh-so kissable.

You decided to appease your craving and firmly plant your lips to his when his wrists were finally in place. You could hear them rattle as he pulled on them, already finding it hard not to touch you. He forced his tongue against yours, toying with it and moaning into you. You suckled on his tongue, deciding then that you wanted to feel it inside of you.

He whined reluctantly as you removed yourself from him. You stood before him at the end of your bed and began unbuttoning your coffee stained shirt. You did it slowly, putting on a show for him as you revealed your dolled up breasts with every button. It was Eddies favourite, deep red lace to match your panties. His cock dripped onto his abdomen at the sight, his mouth practically watering. You pulled the shirt from off your shoulders and leisurely unzipped your skirt to let it pool at your feet. Easing your finger beneath the waistband of your panties, you flicked them teasingly before sliding them down your legs. Eddie groaned once again when he caught sight of your juices glistening in the candlelight. You playfully chucked them at him, landing directly on his chest, just out of reach for him to smell your juices, to taste them lingering on the lace. His head threw back in annoyance and he didn't see you approaching him until your thighs were either side of his head.

Your begging pussy hovered above his pink lips. "You gonna be good for me?"

He nodded eagerly, pulling at the restraints like he had forgotten he was tied up. You smirked down at him, he was so used the gripping your thighs and pulling you down to his tongue. You gradually lowered yourself onto him, feeling his wet muscle instantly delve into your folds as soon as it could reach. You moaned at the sudden sensation and rested your full weight on him - he would only ask you to otherwise. He massaged your clit bounteously and it wasn't long before you were gasping for air between every moan. His strategic tongue lapped every drop that leaked from your aching hole until you were practically grinding on his face, using his nose to rub along your clit as he fucked his tongue in and out of your entrance.

"Fuck, that's so good baby." You cried. "You wanna make me cum?"

He hummed a yes as he kissed through your folds, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He worked double time, wanting you to cum to fulfil his desperate need to taste your release on his tongue. He took to harshly sucking and slurping on your clit until it was raw and swollen. Your hand gripped his hair tight enough to keep him in place and started a fast pace jerking your hips into his mouth. With a final sob, you release yourself onto his tongue. Not a single drop was wasted. He continued to lap you up until you were shuddering and jolting above him.

With shaking legs, you pulled yourself from him, watching him lick the sheen of your slick from his lips. You sat back on his hip, feeling his erection press against your inner thigh before leaning down to give him a kiss.

"Awe, you were such a good boy making me cum." You praised against his lips. "I think you deserve a little something in return."

Moving yourself so you lay between his legs, you trailed a soft hand along his pulsing length. A small yelp tumbled from his lips at the sudden sensation. He was already trying to thrust into your hand before you had even got a proper hold of him yet. His desperation pleased you greatly. His cock was verging on purple when you finally took him in your grasp. The sensitive skin was hot under your touch and he couldn't help but jerk away.

"Don't you want me to touch you, Eddie?"

"NO, I do. Please. It's just-" He hissed when you dragged your hand along him, "It's just so fucking sensitive."

"Bet you've been waiting for me all day, huh? You need me so badly, don't you my poor baby?" You cooed, continuing to stroke his cock.

"Yes, baby. I've been so fucking hard for you all day. I need you to make me cum, please."

"Such a good boy using your manners." You gave him a little squeeze, watching more of his arousal leak from the tip.

You used it to glide your hand up and down his length at a slow pace. Eddie was already whimpering beneath you with every tug, biting his lip and bucking his hips. You alternated your pace between rapid and slow strokes, only slowing when his moans grew louder. He groaned in annoyance every time you did, making his high ebb away before riling it up again. Every now and then you payed particular attention to his tip, running your fingers along his head and kneading his balls, applying pressure to both to extract more of his leaking cum. He was sweating and crying beneath you, twitching when it was too much and thrusting when it wasn't enough. You had to swallow the saliva that was pooling in your mouth.

You sped up your hand movements, only this time when he began moaning loudly, you didn't stop. You wanted him as close to the edge as possible. His moans were louder and longer and his voice was cracking between them.

"Fuck Mommy, I'm gonna cum."

You stopped. Pussy throbbing.

"Mommy?" His cheeks somehow flushed even redder, fearing he had crossed a line by the tone in your voice. "You want Mommy to make you cum?"

He released a breath in relief when you played along. His cock twitched in your hand and he nodded hopefully.

"Don't worry, you'll get to cum. But Mommy isn't finished playing with you yet."

And with that, your hands started again. A sob escaped Eddie's mouth when you let a glob of saliva drip from your lips and onto his tip, the extra lubrication letting your hand glide effortlessly along his extensive length. If you thought he was loud before, you were not prepared for the sounds he made when your lips wrapped around his tip. His already hot cock rejoiced in the warmth of your mouth and he accidentally thrust upwards into your throat. You swallowed him whole, having being trained to take him completely. You bobbed your head up and down, getting through eight successful drags before Eddie's thighs tensed beneath your palms. You paused, keeping him down your throat but not giving him enough to make him cum. You stayed there until his high subsided before moving again.

"Please can I cum, Mommy? I've been so good."

You pulled off him with a harsh pop. "Didn't I say you would get to cum? You've got to be patient baby, or I might just leave you tied up like this for the rest of the night."

"NO! I'm sorry. I'll be patient."

It was so unusual to hear Eddie beg like that, but you were lying if you said you weren't enjoying it. You were finally getting payback for the countless number of times Eddie had teased you, edged you, and made you beg for him.

You wanted him weeping.

You started by ceasing contact all together and climbing higher up on his body so that your aching pussy hovered over his cock. But not touching. You kissed up his body, licking and nipping and leaving deep purple hickeys along your path, tasting the salt on his skin. You payed particular attention to his nipples before trailing up to the sensitive spot below his ear. He was wreathing beneath you, pulling on his chains at your unrushed pace and whimpering in your ear.

"You okay, Eddie?" You took a pause to see if he was aright when you heard him panting unusually hard.

He simply nodded.

"C'mon Baby, use your words. You should know this better than anyone." You teased Eddie the way he normally would you.

"Yes." He breathed, taking deeper breaths now that you had given him the chance to simmer down.

But his cock was still rock hard and throbbing, begging to be sucked deep inside of your pussy. You finally removed your bra, chucking it to the side and grabbing your breasts, playing with your nipples in front of him. Your arousal was leaking onto his cock, letting your folds glide over him with ease when you sat your weight on him. A harsh curse fell from his lips at the sensation, and he repeated it again when you started to grind your bare pussy on his solid shaft.

You had finally had enough teasing yourself and soothed his tender cock with your soft walls. Your hole stretched to accommodate his length, giving you immense pleasure with every inch you sank down on. You eventually got yourself completely seated on him, giving yourself time to adjust and watch the flush spread across Eddie's chest. Your juices dribbled into the smooth skin of his pubic bone and dripped down his balls.

To Eddie's delight, you finally started moving, rolling your hips along his and raising yourself up and down his length. The pair of you were moaning messes, sweat gleaming off the two of you and the sounds of slapping skin echoing in the room. Your hands rested on his chest to motivate some rhythm, toes curling as his cock speared into you. Your pace was building, as fast as you could go for as long as you could.

"Fuck, you're riding me so good baby."

"Keep bouncing on my cock."

"Fuck, just like that."

It was second nature to Eddie to talk like that. It was his dominant side peaking out. But you weren't having any of that. You wrapped your hand around the base of his throat, applying enough pressure to have his eyes roll back and then taking your discarded panties and shoving them in his mouth as a gag.

That certainly shut him up.

You couldn't fight the smirk when he went back to being a whimpering mess beneath you, tasting the arousal you had left on the material that he had so desperately wanted to taste when you had first thrown them at him.

Your nails were unintentionally sinking crescent moons onto his neck as you bounced, thighs and shins burning at the exertion. You were getting tired. Your hips weren't moving fast enough for you to reach your high, despite being pleasured greatly.

"C'mon Eddie, I hope you didn't think I was going to be doing all the work tonight. It is my birthday, after all. If you wanna cum, then your gonna have to start pulling your weight."

His arms moved as if they were going to go for your hips, but instead he let out a frustrated sigh when they didn't move more than two inches. He found it harder to thrust into you without the leverage of your hips, but he still complied like a good boy. You were moaning almost as loud as he was when his hips began buckling up into you, reaching the deepest parts of you that had your eyes rolling back into your skull. He was pounding faster than you ever could riding him, making the warmth pool into your stomach until it was about to boil over.

But he stopped.

"Did I day that you could stop?"

Eddie let out a pathetic muffled excuse from behind your panties that you didn't understand. You ripped the lace from his mouth, staring deep into his watering eyes.

"No, but I was gonna cum. Please let me cum."

"You can cum when I say. And you can stop when I say. Now keep fucking me before I change my mind about letting you cum at all."

He continues thrusting upwards, but his pace wasn't as quick and his rhythm was faltering. If felt amazing of course, but it didn't have the same warmth fermenting deep within you as he had before. 

"Faster."

"But I'm gonna cum." He whined, thrashing his arms in his cuffs. He wanted to push you off, yet at the same time he wanted to stay buried inside of you forever and ever. He was in a catch 22.

"That's so disappointing Eddie. You don't want to disappoint me, do you? No? You want to make me feel good, huh, baby?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll fuck me faster, won't you?"

"Yes, mommy." He choked.

His hips pounded into you so relentlessly it shocked you. You had never had Eddie fuck you so fiercely in you life. Perhaps he was willing his torture to end. Get you to cum so he could cum. The veins along his shaft rubbed along your walls and the tip of his cock jabbed at your cervix. It punched the air out of your lungs and drew you closer and closer to the edge. But as his hips thrusted and pounded, his orgasm was swift approaching. Far too swift to keep it up for much longer.

"Fuck can I cum please?"

The tears in his eyes made you somewhat merciful. He had been on the edge for long enough. You wrap your hand around his throat, feeling his groans vibrate through it.

"You wanna breed me? Shoot your load deep inside me?" You rasped in his ear.

"Yes. Please." his hoarse voice scratched his throat.

"Then cum for me."

The second his words left your lips, his hips were stilling and he dumped his load inside of you. You gasped the the sensation, the heat of his cum spreading inside you and filling you up until your completely full.

"Awww such a good boy for me." You cooed, leaning down to peck his lips.

"Thank you." He took a few more gasps to catch his breath. "Can you uncuff me now?"

"Uncuff you? Oh baby, you didn't think I was finished with you, did you?" You laughed wickedly. "You didn't even get me to cum. How pathetic."

His face dropped. The shameful look in his eyes almost made you feel bad. 

Almost.

"I'm sorry, let me make it up to you. Ride my face again, I wanna taste you again."

"Oh, but it isn't about what you want, is it? No, I do want to ride something, but it's not gonna be your face."

He looks at you confused until you roll your hips again, and he winces at the over stimulation. If you thought Eddie was loud before, you were not ready for the sounds that left his mouth when you began fucking him again. He was practically screaming for you, whether it was for you to stop or keep going, you didn't know. But it didn't matter because you weren't stopping. You rise yourself up again before dropping harshly, hearing the squelch of his release when it tried to leak from your stuffed hole. His cock barely had anytime to go soft before it was perking up again, ignorant to Eddie's reluctancy. You continued the fast pace you had before, but your legs were shaking from pleasure and pain, and you couldn't keep the pace long enough. You were getting frustrated with yourself that you couldn't bring yourself to the edge again. Although you were opposed to the idea, you needed Eddie to fuck you. As much as you wanted to keep up this dominant side of you, you weren't getting yourself anywhere. 

It's like you finally get out of your own head, and Eddie's still as loud as ever. You pause your movements and hop off him, resting your aching legs. His cock is completely solid and burning. The cool air makes him hiss as it twitched and shined with your mixed juices.

"Are you done now?"

"Me? No. You didn't think I was going to leave you like that." Still keeping your façade so Eddie knows your still in charge. 

You stroke his cock and he hisses and twitches away from your touch. "That looks painful. I bet another orgasm will do you some good."

"What? No, please. I can't."

"I'm sorry baby, but it's tough shit."

He's confused when you uncuff him, rubbing his sore wrists. You climb away from him towards the bottom of the bed, bending down in front of him. Face down ass up.

"I want you to fuck me, Eddie. Make me cum on your cock."

He rubs the back of his sweaty neck. "I don't think I can, sweetheart."

"Fine then," you sit yourself back up, " I'll just cuff you again and do it myself."

"No! I'll do it."

So eager to please, you smirk to yourself, getting back into position. He settles himself behind you, resting his hand on your ass and squeezing them like he had before. You squealed when he unexpectedly took a bite of your ass cheek. He chuckled against the skin and gave it a kiss before lining himself up at your entrance. He took a breath to prepare himself, watching his previous release leak from between your folds before plunging himself deep inside you. The two of you moaned in unison. The angle had him somehow pushing deeper into you than before and directing his tip straight to your sweet spot. Eddie was wincing and whimpering behind you, the overstimulation was becoming too much to bare and his thrusts were wavering.

"You call this fucking? C'mon Eddie you can do better than that."

He knows your only playing the part, but he couldn't help but take that comment a little bit to heart, and forces himself to put your pleasure over his pain. As if possessed he pushed your head into the mattress and bends over you to shove his cock as deep as it will go. His hips are moving faster and harsher, fucking you just how you like - finally giving you what you wanted. His hands were gripping your hips hared enough to leave bruises, contrasting against the soft, wet kisses he pressed onto your shoulder. His moans were in your ear and his guttural groans were going straight to your core. You could feel his body shaking above you, trying hard to keep himself up on fatigued legs. But he continued to push himself inside of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to stroke your clit and using the other to grip one of your tits, using it as leverage to pound into you. He rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive nub and pinched and rolled your nipples, wanting so desperately for you to cum so he could to. 

You walls began spasming around him. "Fuck Eddie, I'm gonna cum."

The squeeze around his cock sends him over the edge. The two of your are left moaning and panting as your orgasms wash over you and send you into pure bliss. You take his second load like a champ, his hips still stuttering to keep it deep inside you. You've never had him cum inside you twice before, but now that you've done it, you don't think you could go back.

He pulls out of you swiftly, to your disappointment, and collapses back onto the pillow. He watches from the opposite end of the bed as his cum seeps from your folds and drips onto the bed below as you both catch your breath. If he wasn't so exhausted, the sight alone would have had him hard again.

You manage to catch your breath first, forcing yourself up and walking on trembling legs to the bathroom. You take time to clean yourself up, grabbing a warm washcloth and taking it into the bedroom after a quick stop to the kitchen to get you both a glass of water, blowing out the candles along the way. When you return, Eddie is nearly half asleep, hands resting on his stomach and head lolling to the side. You wake him up with a soft kiss before wiping him down and making him take a sip of water. He thanks you while you reach for a discarded shirt of his and blowing out the rest of the candles. You snuggle up to him in the darkness, the smell of candle smoke reminding you that it was probably late enough for your birthday to be over.

"Fuck baby, where did that come from?"

"Somewhere deep within." You joked, giggling into his chest.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head and the two of you lay in a comfortable silence, allowing sleep to consume you. You forced yourself to peek at the time through bleary eyes before it did.

11:59pm

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

-----

Taglist:

@ali-r3n @mrsmarch64

[enam3l]

the godparents (rockstar eddie x reader)

a follow up to baby fever!

4.4k words / PG friendly / fluff / angst /

CW: pregnancy/fertility and it's downsides, if pregnancy is a sensitive topic for you, i'd skip this one!

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Eddie doesn't have a clue what you're saying. Your mouth is moving but all he hears is blood rushing past his ear canal. That's basically the only thing he's been able to hear for the past two months. Only vaguely observing his surroundings as he stays stuck in his own head, raging with thoughts and questions. Stuck this way ever since his best friend, Steve Harrington and his partner Marissa had their firstborn. The moment he held Rob Harrington, he was screwed. As Steve had put it 'Eddie Munson has baby fever.' 

Actually, Eddie had caught the fever the moment he first saw you interact with a child. A desire to have children awoken but only with you. He'd managed to sit on this secret for a few years now but ever since the gang's latest addition, the fever has raged. Ultimately, he knows now he has to confess to you about what plagues him. Really, Eddie knows he should've mentioned it somewhere between realising he wanted kids and asking you to marry him. But, in his defence, you've never mentioned them and it wasn't worth the risk of losing you. 

Each day the secret burns harsher. Now, Eddie sits, on the edge of the bed in his Hawkin's home with a gormless look on his face as he watches you. You're flittering around the bedroom in a pretty, expensive dress, worrying about today. Today was Rob Harrington's Christening. Today Eddie became a godfather and you became a godmother. Subtract one word and his dreams would be coming true. 

It's a tug round his neck that brings him back down to earth. You're stood between his legs, tying his tie carefully. Only you know how to do it right, nice and loose, stopping him from feeling like he's choking or looking like a real adult. You tuck the curtain of hair he's trying to hide under, behind his ears. 

'You okay, baby? You've been real quiet,' you hum with concern. 

He blinks, totally dazed by you. The way your pretty face looks at him all wide eyed and full of love. Oh god, he hopes your kids look like you. He wants to be endlessly tormented by an army of your mini clones. 

'Yeah, yeah, sweet, I'm good, I'm...' good lord, Munson, think of an excuse, 'just nervous about today.' 

You sit on his lap and kiss the round tip of his nose. He could stay sat like this, being loved on by you forever. 

'Oh god, did you have the dream where the priest dropped Rob in the water again because I promise that won't hap-' 

Eddie cuts you off with a shake of his curls, although, that dream had been bothering him. 

'S'just a big day, isn't it,' he shrugs. 

You nod in agreement, thumbs soothing over his freckled cheeks. 

'Mhmm, we're gonna be godparents. That's like being appointed to be an aunt and uncle by God... or something?'

Eddie chuckles and softly kisses your lips. Neither of you were exactly religious. Honestly, neither were Steve and Marissa but it just felt like one of those things you're supposed to do. After everything the boys had seen and been through, putting a good word in with the Big Man (or whatever exists) felt like a good precaution. 

After speckling his face in a few more gentle kisses, you hopped off Eddie's back and returned to fretting. The Christening present, you had now wrapped and unwrapped several times, was back in your hands. 

'Do you think it's okay? I mean will he like it? I know he's too young for it at the moment but when he is old enough?'

You'd chosen the present. With some plotting, Eddie had managed to swipe the signet ring Steve always wore with his initials inscribed. Then, you had it replicated with Rob's initials instead.  

'Yes! Sweetheart, it's perfect. More than perfect. It'll make Harrington cry like a baby!' 

The thought made you giggle. Steve had been a hormonal wreck ever since Marissa had gotten pregnant. It reached the point where his mood swings outdid the ones of his actually pregnant partner. Eddie knew his reassuring had worked once he saw your body relax. Now, you returned to ensuring not a hair was out of place. Your hair was pulled away from your perfect face that looked fresh with effortless make up. The straps of your dress tied in bows over your shoulders, revealing the expanse of the delicate skin that covered your collar bones. The only downside had been the ban imposed against Eddie marking you up. But, now he saw you stood there before him, it was clear his sacrifice was worth it. The structured silk bodice fitting you perfectly then flowing down just near your knees. It wasn't often he saw you in things so glamorous but soft; it made his heart fizz thinking this was almost a taste of how you'd look on the wedding day that was just a month away. 

The church was crammed with Steve and Marissa's loved ones who'd travelled from all over the country to celebrate baby Robert. Attending events like these made Eddie nervous ever since he was outcast kid however now he sticks out more so. He saw the way attendees eyes gazed at the boy of the hour, cradled in his parents arms. Then their eyes would flicker to Eddie - who stood beside them at the altar - and do that classic squint. The do-I-know-him-from-somewhere-oh-wait-is-that-the-one-from-that-noisy-band squint. It was something he never found flattering, always embarrassing. It was one of the first things he'd thought about when Steve had asked him to be godfather; the gawping and whispers taking away from the special day. But Steve and Marissa would have no such thing, aside from Robin and Marissa's oldest brother, there was no one more perfect for godparents. 

So Eddie stood at the altar as that became official. Forever grateful you were by his side and understanding his nerves without ever mentioning it. Soft hand gripping his, thumb rubbing calming circles onto his skin. The whole process of baptism was still a little baffling for him. For one, he was unsure why Rob had been forced into what looked like the wedding dress of a small Victorian ghost. Also, he'd kind of lost track of what was going on once he stepped inside the church - just thankful he hadn't gone up in flames. But luckily, he had you. Now, Eddie felt a small tug on his hand as you guided him to where the priest, Rob, Steve, Marissa, her brother and Robin all stood around a little bath of water. 

'Are they going to do the spell now?' Eddie whispered in your ear as the priest set up. 

His question had clearly been overheard by Robin who stifled a snort whilst you batted him for misbehaving. 

'It's not a spell, I explained this to you! You're such a heathen, Munson,' you mouthed back. Quite enough to not disturb the ceremony before you but loud enough that Eddie could hear the tone in your voice that said you better behave, Mister. 

Yet, despite his original confusion and gentle mockery, Eddie found himself getting transfixed by the ritual. The soothing recital of prayers by the priest as he dipped a thumb into some ointment and proceeded to mark a cross on Rob's head. Eddie smiled to himself watching as Rob looked around, wide amber eyes just like his dad's, a little confused but pleased to be surrounded by his favourite people.

Then, at the big moment when Rob's waft of hair was wetted, Eddie felt himself quietly gasp in awe with the rest of the room. Knowing the small action symbolised something big. When a small sob began to croak from Rob over the water, Eddie felt himself jerk forward - a built in reaction to protect his godson. Clearly, you felt his movements too as you tugged him back. Soothing Eddie with soft strokes to his arms, mirroring Marissa's to her own son. He felt himself calm as he watched you mouth along to the prayer. A smile on your face and a twinkle in your eye watching your now official godson be swaddled by his parents. Eddie followed your gaze, longingly wishing the pair of you were in Steve and Marissa's position with your own baby. He should've known today would've been more of a struggle than he previously thought. 

Finally, the priest announced Robert Harrington as an official mini member of the Church, protected by you and Eddie. The crowd clapping and sniffling at the momentous event. Quickly, the pair of you were shuffled closer with Rob, Steve, Marissa and your fellow godparents, for an array of photographs whilst in the church. A sense of pride filled Eddie as he looked at the beaming grin of his best friend, knowing he'd been part of this moment. 

As Rob's gummy little smile was directed at Eddie, he couldn't deny that he was proud of himself as well. Proud that despite everything, his own shambolic upbringing and opportunities to go off the rails, he had ended up being someone people would trust to care for their child. And Eddie couldn't deny that he was good at it and actually wanted to do it. Looking after Rob, hell, even the kids when they were still his little sheepies, gave him a sense of accomplishment unmatched by even being on stage. He couldn't hide it anymore, Eddie Munson knew he would be an amazing Dad and the secret could no longer be contained. 

'Let's get one of him with his favourite aunt and uncle!' Steve had cheered, earning an outraged cry from Robin.

A little wriggly Rob Harrington was placed in your arms as the photographer positioned you both. Your fiancé stood behind you, head resting against yours as little fat grabby hands reached up to the pair of you. 

'It's a big day for you, mister, huh? Are you excited to get spoilt rotten?' You cooed, slipping a finger into Rob's grasp. 

The other fist remained unsatisfied, still reaching out, desperate to grab a ringlet of Eddie's hair. A fascination he'd had since birth. 

'You wanna play with your uncle's hair again? We've got to take our pictures first, cutie. I know, I know, I love playing with his hair too,' you giggled.  

You looked back, searching for a response from Eddie. Expecting him to be pulling a ridiculous face at his godson but you were met by a blank, dazed look. Inside, Eddie was screaming. Watching you baby Rob so effortlessly. That sweet little voice that was reserved only for him. The way Rob looked so lovingly from you to him, to you again. Eddie wanted, no needed, his own little baby to gaze at you two like that. It had to happen, it was too perfect. Fate was tempting him, giving him a taster of what he could have. Torturing him by having you stood there before him, looking so heavenly in that damn dress, loving that little boy so much. A picture perfect new family but it wasn't Eddie's own... not yet. 

'Eds, baby, is everything alr-' 

The words fall out as fast as his heart beats. He can't stop himself. 

'I want us to have a baby!' Eddie blurts out. Your face drops but not a second passes before the photographer calls out

'Aaaand cheese!' 

The bright flash stuns you both but it doesn't erase the way your face dropped. It definitely dropped. It's etch-a-sketched into Eddie's brain for all eternity now. He's not only just ruined a perfectly nice photograph, he's probably just ruined his relationship with his soulmate. 

'So cute guys!' Marissa squeals as she approaches. Carefully lifting Rob out of your frozen arms. 

'So we're gonna start heading over to the house now to have the part-' Marissa's instructions are interrupted by you. 

'Uh, I've got to go. I'll be right back.' Suddenly you've reanimated and are fleeing down the aisles, dodging beloved great aunts and cousins and flying out the Church's exit. Eddie's heart sinks to the pits of his stomach. 

'Ok...' Marissa stares wide eyed, 'so I have never seen her move that fast before...' 

Now Steve appears beside a baffled Marissa and forlorn Eddie. 

'What the hell was that about? Did someone tell her about the weird shrimp thing that Marissa's mom made us put in the buffet?' He scoffs. Marissa shins him. 

'Don't say hell! You've just baptised your son! We're in a church, Steven!' 

As he rubs at his now aching shin, Steve sees a lost look on his best friend's face he's rarely seen since '86. 

'Eddie, man... what's going on?'

The frozen look on Eddie's face suddenly cracks and he crumbles before the couple. 

'I think I fucked up real bad,' he sobs. 

Marissa finds you back at the Harrington household, curled up in her en-suite. When you fled the church, you took Eddie's car and made your way to the house where the after party would be. You'd hoped maybe you could compose yourself by the time everyone had arrived - you were wrong. Sobs had racked through you non stop for the last half hour. The look you had worked so hard on this morning, now totally disheveled. The fabric of your dress littered with tear drops, stray hairs floating from burying your face in a towel. 

'Babe, it's Marissa,' she announces softly with a knock, 'can I come in?'

She takes the croak that comes out of you as a yes. 

Instantly, she's on her knees and wrapping her arms around you. Hands gently stroking your hair as you sniff against her shoulder. 

'What happened, Y/N? Are you okay?'

You cough, trying to clear your throat. 

'D-did he not tell you?' 

You felt awful leaving Eddie there, clueless. Sweet face dropped with eyes all wide and wet. But you couldn't process his words then and there, he'd blindsided you. 

Marissa sighs, 'yeah, he did but I wanna know how you're doing. What's going on in that head of yours?' 

Haphazardly, you shuffle away from Marissa's shoulder so the pair of you sit facing each other cross legged. Holding hands on the cool bathroom floor like you were back at a college house party. But you're not drunken college girls anymore, your friend is a mom and you're engaged. 

'We were just taking the picture and he said - he just said, out of no where, he wants one... wants a baby,' you gasp on another sob trying to erupt. 

Marissa nods waiting for you to continue. 

'I didn't expect it. He's never - we've never...' 

She squeezes your hand to stop you from falling into a fit of tears again. 

'Would it be so bad... having a baby? You're soulmates, you're getting married next month. You'd be great parents.'

Although she means well, Marissa's words make you break again because she's right - Eddie would be an amazing parent. Any kid would be lucky to have him as a dad and he deserves to have everything he wants. 

'No, no, it's just... god, I'm sorry, Marissa. I should speak to Eds first, god. Is he okay?' Your heart aches thinking of causing him distress, you know he'll be sick with worry. 

'He's just...' Marissa sighs, 'he just wants to make sure you're okay. What do you wanna do, girl?' 

You press your palms to your eyes. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Desperately trying to calm yourself. 

'I'm ruining your guys day. It's a happy day. I'm making it sad... I'm failing godmother duties already,' you chuckle mournfully, 'let's go and have a good time for Rob. Mine and Eddie's drama can wait.'

Marissa takes your face in her hands, swiping at your tear stains. 

'Are you sure, Y/N? We'd understand if you just want to go home?' 

'I'm sure.' 

The two of you pinky promise on the bathroom floor, maybe you were still slightly those college girls at heart. Marissa pulls you up onto your feet. 

'Okay, trouble,' she smiles, 'but before anything, let's fix your make up. Steve's aunt is such a nosy cow, if she sees those tear stains, she'll be prying all night.' 

When you come out of hiding and enter the bustling party, your eyes immediately scan for those big brown eyes. You find them gazing lovingly at baby Rob who Eddie is holding hostage outside on the decking. He looks so perfect like this, a baby in his arms. It's not making things easy for you. 

'Hi, Eds,' you announce yourself softly. 

He startles, eyes wide and cheeks flustered. 

'S-sweetheart, you're back? Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have -' 

You wave your hands in protest, trying to stop him before he gets lost rambling. 

'I'm fine, I'm fine. I just...' sighing, you take a seat next to him, nerves stopping you from just falling into his arms like you want to. 'Let's just have a nice time for Steve and Marissa and little Rob here... we'll talk about it later, yeah?' 

Eddie licks his lip nervously, a hesitant hand attempting to reach out to squeeze your knee. You take his hand in yours, his natural warmth taking over you. Really, you just want to curl up into him already. 

'Urm, yeah. Alright sweetheart, whatever you want...' 

Eddie's heart sinks throughout the day as he watches you put on a brave face. He knows when you're keeping your feelings locked up. It's impossible for him to ignore that not once does your smile reach your eyes. It eats him up inside that he's the reason you've shut down in a way he's never seen you do before. Repeatedly you find an excuse to slide your hand out of his, making up a reason to busy yourself. When the dance floor is filled, Eddie can't find you anywhere, not even for your favourite song. Even when it comes to the extravagant white frosted cake Marissa's mom made, it doesn't taste as sweet without you kissing off the frosting Eddie manages to smear over himself.

A part of him really thought his worst fears were just that life long self doubt toying with him. He didn't wholly believe the question of children would have you react like this. He's truly terrified he's done something he cannot take back. 

Eddie picks at the leather of the steering wheel throughout the silent car ride. From his peripheral vision, he sees how your gaze never leaves the window. By the time he pulls into the driveway of your home, the silence is gnawing away at him. The worst case scenarios crippling him. 

'Do you still want to marry me?' Eddie croaks. 

The question cracks all your resolve and the waterworks start again. 

'Eddie...' you gasp, 'of course! Nothing could stop me wanting you. I just don't know if I-' 

No longer can he hold it all in, Eddie just needs you to know what he was thinking. Needs you to know it's you before anything. 

'Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I just dropped it on you like that. I didn't mean to, it's just... I've been holding onto it for so long. Over the last two years, I never thought it but I want to be a dad but only with you! And we'd never discussed it so I never said anything. Then they had Rob and just seeing you with him. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry it was just too much. But it's only with you. Only if you want it too. I don't need to be a dad...'

Hearing Eddie scramble over his words always tells you when he's distressed. You'd been clueless this whole time that he felt this way and you feel awful for never noticing.

'I don't think I can, Eddie,' you all but whisper.  

His face doesn't disguise how his heart clearly drops. She doesn't want kids. The clear disappointment on his face stings so much, you force yourself to look straight ahead through the window-screen. Straight at the home you have together, a home that would sound alive with the footsteps of little Munsons.

'I understand, I guess I should've asked sooner...' Eddie's sounds deflated. The enthusiasm that usually runs through his words, now completely drained away. 

'No, you don't understand,' you blurt, 'I don't think I can have kids.'

If it wasn't for the blood rushing past his ears, Eddie would've thought your words just stopped time. Words fail him and he's barely able to muster a croak. 

'Did you never notice how we've been together for five years and we've never even had a scare? Baby, we're not exactly safe... but you'd never mentioned kids so I just. I just pushed it away...' you mumble the last sentence, 'I told myself if you didn't want kids then there was no point stressing myself thinking about it.' 

You look at the man you love and you feel sick. Heartbreak evident in his tear filled eyes and fallen face. Heartbreak that's your fault. 

'Eddie, I'm so sorry. I should've said something. It's my -' 

Eddie stops you before you take the blame. Shaking his head profusely before jumping out the parked car and running round to your side. He opens your door, frees you from the seat and wraps you in his arms. The pair of you sniffling into each other's warmth. 

'Don't you dare apologise, sweetheart. Come on, please, let's go inside.'

 You find yourselves stripped out of the day's formal clothes, seeking comfort in well worn items. Curled up, facing each other on the bed. 

Eddie is the first to disturb the quiet. 

'So, you had thought about having kids?'

You nod softly. 

'Eddie Munson, I'd be stupid not to want to have your babies,' a sad laugh leaving you, 'I've seen how you are with people younger than you. Heard how you looked after Dustin and the gang. Seen how you are with little fans. Then when Rob came along... Eddie, how could I not? You'd be the most amazing dad. But you never mentioned it and with your own family... I just assumed it was an unspoken deal.' 

Regardless of the sad circumstances, Eddie can't help but smile. 

'You really wanted kids with me this whole time?' 

You nod, taking his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

'And you wanted kids with me?' You return the question. 

Eddie mimics your actions on your knuckles this time. 

'Only with you,' he confesses, 'you're the only person in the world I could comprehend having a family with.' 

The two of you smile weakly at each other. The beauty of your confessions so overshadowed by the sadness. 

'I'd understand...' you begin, heart twinging at what you're about to say, 'if not being able to have kids was a deal breaker. You deserve to have everything you want, Eds.' 

Immediately his brow furrows as if you were speaking gibberish. 

'No!' He practically spits the words out, 'no, no, no! Never. No.'

Eddie pulls you into his arms, clutching your head into the crook of his neck. 

'There is no future without you, sweetheart, you understand? I thought I just had the music and that was a sweet deal until you. Then I found myself for the first time picturing a real future for myself. A future kids like me never thought we got. It's always you before anything, do you understand?'

You nod into his neck. Inhaling the smell of home, something you'd never known until you met Eddie. He presses a firm kiss to the side of your head. 

'We're gonna spend the rest of our lives together, regardless. Promise?'

'Promise,' you whisper into his skin, punctuating it with a kiss. 

For a while you just hold each other, clinging to your whole world. Then, Eddie clears his throat. 

'Do you know, like officially? Has a doctor said something or... are you sure you can't have kids? I mean, it could be me.'

You retract from your hiding place, to shuffle back and look at him. A hopeful glimmer sparkles deep in those brown eyes. 

'Well, no...' you confess, 'I was always too scared and because we never spoke about it, I decided ignorance was bliss.' 

Eddie hums in thought, nervously toying with the frayed hem of the t-shirt (of his) that you're wearing. 

'We can check, y'know... if you wanted to? If you really wanna do this.'  

His shyness makes you want to weep. Now it's clear as day how much he's been wanting this the entire time but never wanted to upset you. 

'Okay,' you murmur, 'we can check. I want to, I want us to have a family, Eds.' 

Finally, he looks up at you and a smile breaks across his face. 

'Really?' He marvels. 

'Really.' 

With your hand you signal just how much you mean it - cross my heart and hope to die. Eddie crushes a deep kiss to your lips, one that relaxes every muscle in your body. It's the first kiss since this morning. Never have you gone so long without kissing each other whilst being in each others company. It hurt to deprive yourself of it. Once you pull apart, you brave the question you dreaded. 

'What if the tests or whatever say we can't have kids?'

Eddie shrugs like it's the most casual thing in the world before brushing a strand of hair out of your face. 

'I think whatever happens, you're so caring, so full of love... I think we'll find a way to create our own family regardless.'

His words make you sniffle tears for the umpteenth time today. 

'The Munsons. Our own little family of misfits?' You smile. 

The Munsons. Those words alone leaving your lips instantly heal Eddie's heart in all the ways he's felt it shattered today. 

'God,' he groans, 'I can't wait for you to be a Munson, honey.'

His over dramatics make you giggle, your first real laugh all day. 

'Just one month left and it's official. Mrs Munson,' you kiss the tip of his nose. 

Your sweet affections are overshadowed by Eddie practically howling like a wolf. 

'Mrs Munson, Mrs Munson, Mrs Munson. You're killing me here, sweetheart!'

The following giggles are quickly swallowed up by your husband-to-be as he pulls you into a desperate, wet kiss. Your limbs tangle as you lose yourselves in it. Gasping for breath in between repeating Mrs Munson. Mr Munson. Over and over until you pull apart to catch yourselves. 

Looking at the man you love, all smitten and loved on, you agree with his earlier thought. 

'You're right though, Eddie. We'll do it, no matter how. We'll make the family neither of us ever got to have.' 

Just over a year later, you're both proven correct when a little stick shows a pink plus. One Sloane Munson was on her way. 

So guys... I guess a wedding is on the horizon?

taglist babies: @whoahoney @lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology @mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar @littlepotatobeansworld @josephquinncore @oscarisaacwhore @therosietoesy @luvrsbian

[deathbecomesthem]

Living Dead Girl - Ch. 3 Bite Me, Please

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Vampire!Fem!Reader | wc: 3K

Warnings: This story is dark. Obsession. Blood. Violence. Death. Smut (side characters) Reader is psychically manipulated by our soulless creature of the night. This is a dark story with dark characters. It is a traditional vampire story and is firmly in the horror genre.

A/N: I will be finishing this story before Halloween. Stay tuned.

---

The ground is cold, and so are you. Not that you can feel it. Your own blood is as cold as the dirt that surrounds your bed. Instead of the soft gauze canopy of your queen mattress, you stare at the silk lining inside the lid. No, not a bed, but this is a place for rest. A rest that never should end, so why are you awake?

Your mind is searching for things, what things, some things, any things. It’s slow, recalling and remembering. What you know is the hunger. The need drilling through you. You think about her – your mother – and if she chose the soft silk pillow that your head is resting upon, or if it came standard with the burial package you chose last year. The thought of her is somewhere in the foreground of your mind, wherever some semblance of consciousness remains. The forefront is occupied, a burning pain – a deep and aching hunger pain – is zipping through every part of your body. It’s so deep, deeper and any pain you could ever have experienced in the before time, when air moved through your lungs and blood pumped in your veins. The blood doesn’t flow now, the air doesn’t enter your deflated lungs – the hunger and need are the only things that remain.

You know you’re down low in a hole, at least six feet of loose dirt between you and open night air. You shouldn’t be able to, but you can hear peepers singing, and even the faint muffled hoot of an owl. You know the moon must be up, because so are you, and you’re going to get out of this soft silk prison before the moon fades in the presence of its master – the sun.

You run your fingers along the fabric overhead along a seam. Before that night by the river when your life was snuffed out in a lustful drink, your greatest fear was being trapped inside a small space unable to find a way out. Now though, you think about your hands and how strong they feel. It’s then, with your hand pressed against the seam in the cloth, that you know what your hands are capable of.

So you tear. And then you push – hard. You bring your elbow up to strike at the inside of the lid of your casket. You know you’re deep in the earth, but you also know that a few feet of dirt and the wood of this casket are the only things standing between you and that meal your body is desperate for. Every passing second, the hunger pains burn more. You need to be out of the ground before this night is over.

-

This has never happened before. The stopping of the blood has always halted the connection leaving his mind to itself again. This is the time he reconnects with himself, or at least the pale visage of the man he once was. His living self hidden deep inside the husk of his body. With the hunger satiated, he can enjoy things without the constant pain and need throbbing inside his gut. He can focus on the other things in existence that he desires, his friends, music, and the books. Oh, the books are his favorite. The walls of his chapel are lined with them, and his friends bring him more to devour at least once a month. It’s his favorite collection.

Right now, though, he’s awoken with the taste of dirt in his mouth, and a sense of emptiness like he’s never felt before. Except for that one time – when he was becoming. He shouldn’t need the blood yet, it’s only been three days since he tilted your head and let his teeth sink into you. Since he lapped at your beautiful neck and drank down your life. Your sacrifice should last longer. A part of him was sad to see your pale skin in the light of the moon. You had given yourself to him so completely, it felt something like love. He had felt the loss of you, but it faded away while his strength returned to him. So why, why is the pain of hunger whirling inside of him? No, not in his gut, but in his mind, a distant ache that is crying out to him from somewhere else.

He's up and his feet hit the cement floor at a run. He can smell the blood in the air, and it’s not far. The familiar beating of a warm heart, the smell of fear. It’s you, you’re the inside of him, and he knows it now. The last one, and you’re so hungry. So very hungry. And full of rage.

--

Hours and hours of scratching and wading through the loose earth has only stolen even more of the humanity you may have had hiding somewhere deep inside. You can smell them. Blood and lust sneaking through open valleys in the dirt as you climb and scratch and wade. Them. Them. Them. Your fingers finally reach up and through the dirt into the open air. As you pull yourself out of your grave, it hits you hard in every part of your body. A cramp seizes you that gnawing ache. You’re famished. Starving. Your lips retreat as you bare your teeth and growl. The animal is fully awake.

The warm moist air licks across your cold cheek. The moon is hidden behind clouds tonight, but there’s enough light peeking through to show your dirt covered shroud. You recognize it, the yellow sundress. An 18th birthday gift from your mother that you wore once and threw in the back of your closet. Of course, on hearing of your death, she dug it out so she could force you to wear it in your grave. Well, you’re out now, and you strip the dress over your head, shaking the dirt out of your hair as you discard it over your shoulder. Now you can move freely towards the sounds of whispers and giggles nearby, and the smell of lusty blood pumping hot through veins.

Nose and ears lead your way through the tombstones. A needling thought when you were underground has turned into full knowledge. He’s here somewhere. The one that did this to you is somewhere close. He’s been pushed back in your mind by the hunger, but you can hear him. And he’s calling you to him. Your bloodlust is too strong, he has no power over you. You’re too strong, stronger than he is. You’ll deal with him later. He lied to you. He promised you forever. Forever. No, you can’t think about him right now, you can’t let him pull you away. Not with the gnawing need, the cramping ache in your gut, the answer to which is the couple currently pushed up against the side of the mausoleum at the end of the row in which you’re standing.

“Oh baby, you’re so wet for me. You want me to fuck you around all these dead bodies?” The moan that echoes out into the night air tells you that, yes, in face she does want to be fucked in this graveyard. The disrespect. It’s disgusting. It will be a mercy, justice for the souls that are found inside the old moss-covered building.

It’s perfect. Did they plan this, the way he has her pinned with her face pressed against the stone wall? An invitation for you. The blood pumping inside of them, moving in the same rhythm as their hips, causes your mouth to open like a cat smelling the air for its prey. He doesn’t notice your noiseless approach behind him. His bare ass is glowing in the moonlight while your breathless mouth moves to the side of his neck where his vein calls you. Begging for you to bite. To drink. Your teeth are so sharp now, you don’t know how or when they were brought to a sharp point, but your own tongue bleeds from the sharp edge of a canine.

“Fuuuuucccccckkkkk,” your teeth sink into his neck, the pain and fear causing his rhythm to stutter. Warm, thick, and full of sweet tasting desire, his blood coats the inside of your mouth and throat while you gulp and moan. You can’t stop the sound erupting form deep inside your chest, a satisfied growl.

“Ben, what’s wrong –“ the girl is trying to push the limp body of her boyfriend off her back, she’s fully pinned to the cool brick wall while you drink the life from his vein. You can smell her fear heightening, and you know it will sweeten her offering to you. The last suck at his jugular produces nothing more than a drop on your tongue, you snarl and shove his limp body to the ground.

He’s getting closer, you can feel him. His own rage being fueled by fear and uncertainty. He’s confused, yes, but he’s moving fast. You know it won’t be long. You focus your attention on the second course that stands in front of you. The girl with her pants around her knees. She tries for a quick break, stumbling pathetically over the lifeless form of her lover. She is screaming, yet it does not move you. You’re still so hungry, and she smells like dinner.

--

He can feel the blood racing down his throat, iron rich and warm, his own teeth are bared and snapping at the empty air as he races across the ground and leaps over headstones. The screaming, a girl, stops abruptly. He finally sees you, naked and covered in dirt. You let the body of a girl fall to the ground and it lands gently on another form. Another dead body. How is this possible?

He thinks he’ll be able to stop you, but when he reaches out for your bare shoulder, you snatch his hand, twisting the wrist at an unnatural angle. You turn to him, never letting go of his hand, even while he drops to his knees in pain. He takes in the sight of you, dirt stuck to your skin and matted in your hair. So much blood around your mouth and down your bare chest. Your only clothes a pair of cotton underwear, brown with a layer of dirt and blood.

A feral dog, he thinks, I’m gonna have to put her down. He doesn’t say the words out loud. The do not form on his lips and enter the world – but she hears them, nonetheless. He sees a flash of fear across her face and takes his chance, not questioning yet how she could hear the thoughts in his mind. He hears her thoughts, too, and knows she’s going to run. Far and fast, she’s filled to the brim with the life of these two laying on the ground beside him, and his strength has started to wane ever so slightly. He only had the one, and she’s currently standing in front of him looking like a rabid animal.

The thought of mesmerizing you, looking into your mind and connecting again, he knows would be pointless. It won’t work, or it’s already working, he isn’t sure. In that split second of thought, he decides, grabbing your hair at the root and shoving your head into the stone wall behind you. And again. One more time, until your limp body falls into his arms, and the wound at your temple oozes blood. She’ll heal soon enough, he reminds himself as he pulls you into his arms in the way a groom holds a bride when moving through the threshold, and races against the sunrise that’s started peeking through the trees.

--

The gnawing ache is gone; it’s been replaced by a splitting pain in your head. You try to extend your hand to touch the source of it, to press against it and hold your brain together, but your arm halts mid reach. You try again and find that, while you’re resting comfortably in a warm bed, your arms are shackled to the cement wall behind you. A flood of remembering happens in a flash. The casket. The digging that went on forever. The hunger. The blood filling your mouth and throat that satiated every need that you’ve ever felt in your entire life and death. And him. What had he done to you?

At the thought of Eddie, your nose picks up the scent of him. It’s everywhere. The room, it’s a basement you know from the coolness and the faint smell of mildew, reeks of him. The rage starts to simmer in your gut as he fills your senses. You know he’s not here, because you don’t hear him. Not in the air around you, not in your mind. Has he cut you out, somehow? Found a way to silence the noise of you. If he has, you’ll find a different way for him to hear you.

It’s his fault. You’re like this because of him. He took you. No – you can’t lie to yourself, not here in his space. You gave yourself to him because he promised. He said forever, but it was a lie. He didn’t mean that. He meant for as long as you drew breath into your lungs, as long as your heart continued to beat. That’s not forever, not for what you’ve become now.

You sit in that space, with the moon sneaking through the slit in the black curtains, and you wonder where he is. When he’ll be back. And you tug at the chains. Because you still have strength in you, Ben and the girl, their offering still sits inside like a fire burning bright. What a waste it would be to spend their offerings – their gifts – sitting in this basement alone. Eddie will pay for this.

--

He knows you’re awake. He can feel the chains snap against your wrists. It’s taking everything he has to stop you from seeing him. Seeing his mind. He has his headphones on tightly covering his ears. The sound of static is playing through the wires, and he hopes it’s enough. He needs to think dangerous when you can see inside of him.

It’s been years. He hasn’t had to worry about anything other than his next meal and hiding from the world. It’s been mostly easy. The town itself is robust. College students fill every corner of every space, the energy they bring into the atmosphere is electric. Eddie felt like he was drawn to this place. It’s been good to him. Sometimes when he really focuses, he can put his hand to the earth and feel something below calling to him. The living breathing world that feeds him what the blood cannot. A place in this world, however dark it must be.

You’re going to destroy that place. The delicate dance of careful consumption, the friendships he’s built and nurtured. The music, oh god, the music. From the first moment he learned he could enter into the minds of those around him, he’s learned so much about the living. The emotions deep inside of someone that no one else gets to know, except for him of course. He can see and feel. He can love through those explorations, something that is otherwise lost to him. When his fingers rest on the strings of his guitar, when he closes his eyes and runs up and down the neck, he can almost love it. He wants it. He needs it. That’s as close as it can be to love.

What did you want? He’s been resisting the urge to reach back into your hidden places. He needs to know your wants and needs so he can exploit them in his favor. So he can convince you to play the part that he’s learned so well.

He cannot deny what he feels. Under those human desires and wants is a more urgent want. A beating in his bloodless heart. He thinks, again, that it feels like love to him. The foam of the headphones pressed against the shell of his ear can keep you out of his mind, but it is not keeping him apart from the urges. He wanted to fuck you in the open air, over the bodies of the dead lovers. You wanted that too. He could feel it. The thought terrifies him. He has no room in his life, no room in this life after death, for something like you. A wild and angry thing that wants to burn the earth, which wants to burn him. To devour him and everything he is. The rage inside both you and Eddie is fueled by something neither of you can control.

These thoughts in his mind created a rip in the seal surrounding his mind, and he can feel your icy fingers tickling at the edges of his brain. He can see your bare chest covered in lifegiving blood. He can smell your scent filling him up. The way your blood tasted in his mouth, his teeth in your soft skin. The tender kiss you shared at the water’s edge. Oh, to be back there, with you in his arms, begging him for something only he can provide. The eternal release was a gift in exchange for your sacrifice.

But those fingers in his brain start to squeeze, and he sees your hands desperately digging through the dirt. He sees you alone in your casket pounding against the wood until your knuckles were cracked and bleeding. He feels the rage inside of you, the need to bring an equal and measured pain to him. She is searching his mind for something, sneaking.

Eddie throws the headphones off his head and stands. He is not surprised to find that he’s sporting an erection, having you inside of him has him feeling things that he would rather never feel. His body is reacting against his own will. Now he can here the jingle of the chains. You’re still fighting against them while you linger at the edges of his mind.

It’s sing song and sweet, the words that come from both behind the basement door and inside his own head, “Edddddddiiiiieeeee, come see me. I’m lonely.”

[navnae]

Rockstar Eddie being obsessed with influencer Steve’s grwm videos and he watches them everyday while on tour. He just loves watching Steve explain what he’s going to wear along with what he’s planning to do that day. Eddie might have a slight crush on him and one day he accidentally likes one of Steve’s videos, obviously he wanted to continue be anonymous when it came to him watching stuff online but it was too late for him to do anything about it.

A few hours later Eddie is getting loads of notifications from every app. His fans kept sending him videos of Steve talking about him liking the video and how he’s star struck, it was really cute.

The cuteness went out the window long after now that Steve starts off his videos with “Eddie, I know you’re watching me. Wherever you are.” With a wink following after. That awoken something in him, watching Steve on a tiny screen wasn’t working anymore. He needed him in his hotel room and Eddie was determined to get him.

[mykuup]

Of bone and bloom - Cryptid!Eddie Munson AU Part 8

Moodboard + summary + Serie Masterlist

My masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Summary : The night before was pure bliss and you've never felt somthing better than to fall asleep in Eddie's lap. But now the sun is rising.

wc : 1,1k

Warnings : monster romance // fluff // smut // MDNI // unprotected piv (wrap it irl guys) // mention of injuries // mention of blood // size gap // no mention of y/n // porn with plot // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : Hellooooo, sorry I posted this chapter a bit late. Please feel free to leave a comment/like/reblog, at least to show some love to @saphirmoraitie. She's doing an amazing job at helping me writing all of this. Thank you for that babe 💜

Taglist : @jasminelafleur @maedesculpaeusoubi @sassidykassidy

The morning after

The first light of dawn crept through the trees, casting a soft, golden glow over the village. The day promised a crisp, clear morning, but it was an illusion of peace for the villagers. The reality was far more unsettling. The village slowly stirred to life, fully aware of the tumultuous events of the night before.

Your father woke up exhausted from the little sleep he’d managed. After chasing the evil creature deep into the woods, his men lost its tracks. Unable to track it further, they returned to the village. But when your father came to check on you, you were gone. Anger and fear gripped him, how could you have disobeyed him?

The fog that lingered in the middle of the night still hung low in the early morning, a chill in the air making your father shiver. Outside your little cottage, a few villagers gathered around the remains of a campfire, embers dying but still sending a bit of heat. The soft murmur of voices, and the clatter of morning chores slowly filled the air.

With heavy steps, your father walked to the lookout cabin and asked the men to call for you, praying you would come back home as soon as possible.

You hum lightly as you wake up. The air was cold, but as you slowly opened your eyes, you realized you are covered with large leaves and water lilies. Reaching for the patch of fur you remembered lying beside, all you felt was damp moss. Suddenly your eyes flew open, and you gasped as you sat up. Fear sized you as your mind raced with every scenario possible. Did he just leave you there? Was he running away from hunters? They captured him to bring him back to the village. Or worse…

No. You couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe it.

But even as you tried to rationalize, tears began streaming down your face, your cheeks burning with the sting of them. Panic overtook you, making you shudder uncontrollably. You couldn’t hold your sobs, hands nervously tangled in your hair in desperation. You weren’t sure how long you cried.

They had found him.

They had killed the beast from the woods.

Your breath was still shaky as you sat on the mossy ground, your hands trembling in your lap. The morning air was crisp, but the fear in your heart was colder. You had awoken alone, surrounded by the eerie stillness of the forest, and the hollow ache where Eddie should have been gnawed at you. Your thoughts spiraled into dark places, visions of hunters capturing him, his life slipping away somewhere in the forest, far beyond your reach.

But then, as you sat there, struggling to steady your breathing, you heard the soft rustle of leaves nearby. Your heart leaped in your chest, torn between hope and dread. You turned sharply, eyes wide, and there he was. Eddie emerged from the shadows of the forest, his tall, imposing figure unmistakable.

He was soaked, water droplets glistening on his fur and dripping from the antlers that crowned his head. In his massive, clawed hands, he held something surprisingly delicate : a small bouquet of wildflowers, their vivid colors stark against his dark form.

You stared at him, your heart pounding. Relief and confusion warred within you, but the sight of him standing there, alive and seemingly unharmed, overwhelmed everything else.

Eddie tilted his head slightly as he approached, his deep, growling voice rumbling softly. “You’re trembling,” he noted, a hint of concern in his otherwise curious tone. He knelt in front of you, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.

At first, you couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, tears still threatening to spill over.  Instinctively, you reached out, your hand brushing his damp fur, needing to feel him, to know he was real. He was warm, solid—alive.

“I thought—” Your voice cracked, the words catching in your throat. “I thought they’d found you. That you were gone.”

Eddie’s dark, deep eyes softened as understanding dawned. He hadn’t realized you would wake to his absence or hadn’t anticipated the fear it would bring you. He leaned closer, the weight of his presence comforting, his voice low and soothing. “I only went to the river,” he said gently. “The water helps with the pain.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers clutching at the fur on his arm. A wave of relief washed over you, but the remnants of fear still clung to your heart. “I woke up, and you weren’t here. I thought… I thought I’d lost you.”

Eddie’s massive hand, careful and deliberate, reached out to cup your cheek. His touch was gentle, his claws barely grazing your skin. “I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. “I’m not leaving you.”

He held out the small bouquet of wildflowers, their delicate petals bright in contrast to his formidable frame. “I found these, and I thought of you,” he simply said, as if the gesture needed no further explanation.

Your heart swelled at the sight, your fear beginning to ebb away. You took the wildflower bouquet from him, your fingers brushing against his claws. They were simple, unassuming blooms, but to you, they were beautiful—a symbol of his care, his thoughtfulness in ways you hadn’t expected.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You reached up, gently kissing the hand that still cupped your cheek.

Eddie watched you intently, his gaze unwavering. Though he didn’t fully grasp the depth of your fear, he recognized the vulnerability in your eyes and the need for reassurance. He pressed his forehead gently to yours, the bone of the deer skull cool against your skin, a comforting weight that made you feel safe.

“Nothing will harm you while I’m here,” Eddie murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “And I will always come back to you.”

You nodded, sighing as your tears finally dried. Leaning into him, you found solace in his presence. The world outside the forest, with all its dangers and uncertainties, seemed distant, and insignificant compared to this moment.

Both of you sat quietly in the woods, the wildflowers resting in your lap as you held onto Eddie, your bond deepening with each passing second. The fear that had gripped you so tightly began to melt away, replaced by a deeper understanding that you would face whatever came next together—two souls intertwined, no matter what the world thought or how it might try to keep you apart.

[penny00dreadful]

Part 6

[Part 1] [Part 5] [Part 7] [AO3] [Cover Art] [Eddie&Chrissy Art]

In the light of a new day, Steve was beginning to feel a little more positive about things.

It helped that he seemed to have awoken before most others in the castle and with the morning sun fighting off the darkness, he saw something out the window that he had missed the night before.

His room overlooked the back of the castle, over the clifftop and out to sea. He could see as far as the horizon could reach, miles and miles of grey choppy water and low hanging clouds visible from edge to edge.

It was like he was floating on a lone island out at sea, but that wasn’t what had really caught his attention.

Down below, directly underneath his bedroom window there was what looked to be a small, disused, but private beach.

There was no sand, just grey stone pebbles and a weathered dock that had probably seen better days extending out into the water.

It looked like it would only be able to moor a fishing boat, it definitely wasn’t a dock for all of the warships he knew this kingdom boasted.

The beach was small, maybe only fifty yards across but it was definitely a part of the castle grounds. There was a long set of stone steps leading from the castle down, looking as ancient as the rest of the stonework here.

Steve figured that maybe a refreshing morning swim would be enough to get his mind back in the right place again. It’s what he always did to relax back home. 

It would probably be a lot colder than he was used to, maybe slightly rougher and a lot saltier but he reasoned with himself that he was a strong swimmer, and he was a little desperate to work out his anxious energy.

Robin and Hopper would probably tear his head off when they found out he went swimming alone again, but he wasn’t worried.

He would be fine.

There was only a single moment when Steve first stepped onto the slippy pebbles down below that he wondered if he had perhaps been a little too cocky about his swimming ability.

The early morning air was damp and crisp and the sun would occasionally break through the clouds in bright little patches but even then, it didn’t bring much warmth.

But this was water and Steve understood water. He’d spent his whole life swimming so he pushed the thoughts out of his head.

He would look back on that moment and curse his stupidity later on. 

He did have the presence of mind to start slow, though.

He knew the water was going to be freezing compared to home and if he didn’t properly prepare himself he could easily seize up once the cold hit him and that could put him in a lot more danger than he needed to be in. 

So he slowly waded in, allowing himself to become submerged up to his knees and he already felt fucking numb.

If he were home he would have just stripped nude and dove right in, but he didn’t exactly want to flash any nearby fisherman who had gotten blown into the dock at the back of the castle or give anyone looking down from the windows above an eyeful.

So he’d kept his braies on and tucked his undertunic in tight. Though he knew once the water made contact with the white linen, they would be practically see through, anyway.

So he had attempted to combat this by keeping a change of clothes nearby as well as the thickly woven linen sheet he used to dry himself off after bathing. 

Steve kept wading forward, almost making it a challenge to himself to push through the cold. 

Once he got moving he’d warm up. Once he got in and started to swim he would barely be able to feel it anymore. 

He crouched down until he was covered up to the neck in bolstering sea water that would have been hip height had he been standing and once he had allowed himself a few breaths to push through the chill, feeling the movement of the water tilt him around in a way that could almost be called relaxing if it had been warmer, he ducked.

The shock of the cold and the salt and the movement of the water all still hit him, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would have been had he just jumped in with no preparation. 

Steve took off at a stiff and hard pace, being sure to keep himself parallel to the shore for his own safety and only managed to get a couple of laps in up and down the short length of the beach, getting tossed around by the waves before he started to wish for warmth again.

He turned, pushing his way back towards the shore, arm over arm and legs kicking behind him but as he kept swimming, he found he was moving nowhere.

Almost like he was stuck in a nightmare, no matter how hard he pushed against the cold grey waves around him, the shore refused to get any closer.

Fear was beginning to take over his mind now and the cold had crept into the very bones of him, his body was beginning to tire the harder he pushed against the waves and still the shore refused to get any nearer. 

With a quick glance around, trying not to panic too much, he looked for anything that might be available to him.

Why had he come out swimming alone?

What was going to happen if he drowned here?

What were Robin and Hopper and Chrissy and Eddie and Max going to do if the crown prince suddenly disappeared while at the royal seat of another kingdom?

It wouldn’t be good.

It would not be good at all.

What would the kids at home think?

What would happen to his people?

He had no siblings. No one to take up the mantle for him if he were to disappear below the waves.

In a last ditch effort to survive Steve began to swim parallel again, aiming for that broken down dock and he nearly shouted in relief when it came closer and closer as it should have done. 

He grabbed onto the pole extending down into the water, wrapping his arms and legs around it for a few moments before he gathered the courage to let go with one arm and reach up to use the half rotten slats where one would usually walk, to lead himself back to shore.

The feeling of the stones beneath his feet was salvation.

He crawled out of the choppy waves on hands and knees, almost kissing the ground beneath him, his lungs burning, his muscles heavy and tired and panic only truly managing to set in now.

His blood must have still been high, pumping through his veins because as he sat there, back on his haunches, shivering in the cold air, he pushed the panic away from him and remembered he had to get warm. He wasn’t going to freeze to death out here after just escaping the water.

Barely five minutes later he was as dried as he could be, dressed and hobbling his way back up the steps, determined to get back into his room and camp out in front of the roaring fire until someone came to get him for his dreaded meet-up with Billy.

He didn’t look back at the water. 

Maybe he would leave swimming as an activity he only did in Torthúil from now on.

Steve let out a heavy exhale and swore to himself he would never let Robin or Hopper find out about this.

“WHAT IN THE HELLS WERE YOU THINKING, STEVEN?!” Robin screamed at him. “GOING OUT THERE ALONE?!”

She had zero care for anyone overhearing her and the scandalised looks she was getting from the household staff passing in the halls told Steve all he needed to know about how often they saw someone of his status getting screamed at by their advisor.

Not often it seemed. 

They were all looking on warily, eyes darting between the two of them like a fistfight was about to break out, which wouldn’t be the most unbelievable thing to happen.

She had burst into his room without a care in the world, something she hadn’t done in years. 

Not since the time when she had slammed open his bedroom door only to find him on his hands and knees on the bed, enjoying himself in a way he had never, ever wanted to discuss with her again.

But he supposed she felt safer here, felt like he wouldn’t be slamming himself back onto a specifically blown and shaped glass item he’d attached to his headboard. 

At least not on his first night. 

So Robin hadn’t found him in a position like that this morning, but she had found him dry and dressed and primped to perfection but with the guilty evidence of his wet clothes and drying linen on the rack by the fire.

She’d only needed to take one look outside the window to the beach down below and then another at his guilty face before she’d started screaming the whole castle down.

Two of his household guards, Callahan and Powell, standing sentry by his door hadn’t reacted, one of them had yawned as she had screamed that she was going to pluck the guard's sword from his hip and cut all of Steve’s hair off.

They did become more alert, however, when two Stoirmeach guards had been drawn down the corridor by the shouting and had stood more firm in the entryway, jovially but with finality telling the guards that there was nothing to get so fired up about. 

It was just a sibling spat.

Steve hadn’t heard what had been grumbled in response, but judging by how Powell’s back had gone ramrod straight and Callahan’s hand twitched at his side, it wasn’t pleasant. 

“Thank you for your concern, but we can handle our own affairs.” Powell had growled back. “As we said. It is a sibling spat.”

Robin hadn’t cared about what had happened outside the door and she hadn’t cared that they were garnering a lot of attention from the staff and the Stoirmeach guards who looked at them like they were committing some kind of crime.

Or more specifically, looked at Robin like she was committing some sort of crime.

Steve had to grab her by both shoulders and turn her to look him in the eye, begging her to calm down and remember that they were not at home and that they needed to be more careful.

“He’s right, kid.” Hopper’s gruff voice came from behind her, speaking to Robin but with his eyes open around the courtyard they were just beyond the bounds of, keeping a watchful eye out. “This kingdom doesn’t seem to share our… egalitarianism.”

He leaned a little closer to the two of them, lowering his voice.

“We are in what could very easily become enemy territory if something were to go wrong.”

“You don’t think it’s as serious as that, do you, Hop?” Steve asked, a little scandalised.

“Yes I do.” He replied, his face awash with seriousness. “We have only been here a day but the entire castle already knows you two do not put much stock behind the way they do things here. Regardless of our feelings on how they run this kingdom and their people, this is their culture and their way of life and it is not… becoming to scoff and disregard it so easily.”

“You can’t be asking Steve to start treating me like… like dirt?” Robin asked, bewildered.

Steve would never entertain the thought, regardless of whether Hopper was asking him to do so or not, but Hopper just shook his head.

“No I am not. But I am at least asking you to have some more respect and maybe think about how your actions might affect those around you.” He turned to face Steve again. “You are here as Princess Christine’s guest and therefore, she is responsible for you—”

“Hop, I am the only one responsible for my actions.”

“At home, maybe. But here, they will blame anyone else instead of the ones in power to save their own skin. Whether that be the princess, Eddie or any of the other staff. You are not at home.”

Steve's mouth straightened out into a thin line.

He knew Hopper was right, as much as he didn’t like the thought of it, he was amongst a different culture and a different peoples and it was not his place to look down upon how they did things here, no matter his personal feelings.

Across the courtyard, the figure of Billy appeared, walking in long confident strides towards them.

Steve had hoped that he would have been able to have Chrissy at his side for this tour, at least as a buffer between the two, but he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her this morning.

“Could one of you go and locate the princess, see if she’s okay?” Steve tilted his head back to Hopper and Robin, keeping his eyes on Billy. “Send my condolences that she’s been usurped in this way. Maybe see if you can happen to run into us on this tour while the other stays with us for propriety’s sake?”

And so Billy doesn’t try to shove his hands down my pants in some dark corner, Steve thought to himself.

He immediately looked to Hopper as the most suitable candidate to find Chrissy but he was surprised when Robin volunteered herself almost before he had finished speaking.

He eyed her suspiciously while she fidgeted under his gaze, her cheeks slowly getting pinker and pinker.

But in the end he couldn’t really see an issue with it. Billy would inevitably be far more deterred with Hopper following a few paces behind in his gleaming armour and with his sword on his hip, rather than Robin with her willowy figure, ornate waistcoat embroidered with musical notes and nothing aside from her barbed words to throw.

“Prince Steven.” Billy’s oily greeting washed over him as Robin hurriedly excused herself and Steve was sure it was so rushed so she didn’t give herself a chance to snap at him.

Steve’s smile was strained as he turned to face him.

“Steve, please.”

“Oh?” Billy grinned at him, extending himself into a shallow bow. “So familiar already?”

He straightened up, holding an elbow out to him.

Behind him, Steve could feel the heat of Hoppers glare directed both at that elbow and from the lack of acknowledgment

Steve took his elbow with light fingers, trying to keep the touch as minimal as possible but Billy immediately pulled that elbow in tight to his side.

“Not familiarity, necessarily.” Steve had to fight to keep the words from lashing out as Billy began to lead them. “Just a preference.”

“Seems a little improper to have everyone address you in such a manner.” Billy leaned a little closer, still with that smile, obviously angling for some kind of confirmed favour.

Steve knew his returned smile was cold.

“As I said,” he turned his head, being sure to catch Billy’s eye to drive his point home. “Just a preference.”

Billy, to his credit, didn’t let the sour mood surrounding them dull his hosting skills, pressing on as though Steve had been nothing but receptive towards him, slowly taking him on a stroll through the castle.

In the daylight, without the harsh storm of the night before, the corridors and hallways were a little brighter, but not by much. Braziers and lanterns still fought to chase away the dark and the chill, fireplaces, large and imposing flared with light in every room.

Their windows were undecorated, their walls held a scant amount of art and the rugs they had keeping the cold at bay were plain and functional.

Steve had rarely seen the seat of a royal family kept only to practicalities.

“The castle appears to be quite… conservative in its decoration.” He said, after Billy had shown him through yet another reception room that looked as plain as the others.

“We don’t do pomp and circumstance here.” Billy replied. “There’s no need for braggadocious smuggery. We’re a kingdom of substance, so we don’t see the need to pretend to have more by showing off.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Wonder what the king and queen would think of my kingdom, then.” His tone was light but pointed at the same time but it didn’t seem to properly register with his tour guide as they stepped outside and into the castle grounds.

“I couldn’t say.” Billy shrugged then leaned in again, conspiratorially. “What do you think I would think of your kingdom, Your Highness? I would love to see it sometime.”

I’m sure you would.

Steve grinned back. “Perhaps too braggadocious for your tastes.”

Billy hummed at him, as if they were in the middle of some coy tête-à-tête.

“I suppose you’ll just have to invite me to find out.”

Steve couldn’t even find the words to respond. The audacity.

Billy glanced back at Hopper, who had remained silent the entire time apart from the sounds his armour made as he followed close behind.

“I had hoped we could have taken this tour alone.” He said, his tone light and probing.

“I don’t think that would be quite proper.” Steve’s answer was firm. “I am betrothed, after all. Don’t you agree?”

“If you are missing your kingdom, however,” Billy pushed on as if Steve hadn’t said anything, grinning at him as the clack clack of wood on wood started to reach them, “my home is quite a sight to see. More decorated than the castle by far. Perhaps you would enjoy seeing it?”

“Perhaps not.” Steve almost snapped back, coming swiftly to the end of his patience.

But again, the corner of Billy’s mouth turned up in a smirk, like Steve was a child throwing a tantrum or simply playing hard to get.

“Deflect!” A familiar voice shouted, drawing Steve’s attention over to a small sparring circle enclosed with a rough wooden fence. “Good! Again!”

Eddie lunged forward with power, swinging his wooden sword down towards the determined freckled face of a red haired girl who deflected his blow with a shout.

Lucas was leaning his elbows against the fence, looking completely enraptured at the sight in front of him and as Steve got closer he could see that Lucas’ eyes only followed the girl that Steve recognised as Max.

If he was a betting man, he’d bet that a wistful, lovesick sigh wasn’t too far off.

The loud crack of another hit echoed across the grounds. Neither Eddie, Lucas nor Max had noticed their presence.

Max’s deflection faltered, leaving her open for a quick twist and a killing blow from Eddie, though he didn’t take it. Steve wasn’t sure if Eddie even knew the opening was there or if he was just going easy on her.

“C’mon, Red. More power!”

“You’ve got this, Max! Take him down!” Lucas shouted at her from the sidelines. Eddie didn’t turn to look at him but Steve could see the small grin on his face.

“Stalker.” Max shot back but she also couldn’t stop the small tilt at the corner of her mouth.

They readied themselves again and Steve found himself leaning forward, eager to watch.

Eddie pushed himself forward, lunging with force and swung.

“Plant your feet, Maxine!” Billy shouted out of nowhere, startling everyone in attendance.

Eddie’s sparring sword cracked down hard on Max’s shoulder as her deflection lost power in her surprise.

Wood thunked to the ground as Eddie dropped his sparring weapon, his expression hidden by his hair but his back and shoulders tense, fists clenched at his side.

Max glared at her stepbrother, her opposite hand cradling her injured shoulder and she took a few bold steps forward.

It almost seemed like she was putting herself in between Billy and Eddie on purpose.

Lucas looked like he was ready to jump the fence and run to her side but his movements were halted when Hopper’s voice boomed out.

“Sinclair! Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

Lucas jumped to attention, his eyes swinging between Hopper and Max, but Hopper wasn’t even looking at him, he was glaring at Billy who seemed to be staring back at Lucas with just as much vitriol.

Lucas, one of the most observant of all of the kids Steve knew, quickly realised that it was less that he was in trouble and more that he was being told to get away. So with a shaky nod and a bow in their direction, he scampered.

“I don’t like my squire to be caught dilly dallying.” Hopper said, mostly for Billy’s benefit, letting him know exactly what rank Lucas had.

“That boy is your squire?” Billy scoffed with cruelty in his tone.

“That boy,” Hopper growled back, barely containing his irritation, “is the firstborn son of Lord and Lady Sinclair of Sycamore, so yes. That boy is my squire.”

Steve could see something in Billy begin to boil and if his suspicions had been correct before about him being the type of man to have a temper, he didn’t want any of them to have to suffer the fallout.

He turned back to the two in the ring with what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face. 

“You were sparring very well, Maxine.”

“Max, Your Highness.” She sneered right back, still cradling her shoulder. Eddie still had his back to them, fists clenched at his side.

Steve held his hands up in surrender, well used to teenagers at this point in his life.

“Max.” He smiled at her again, moving up to the edge of the fence and leaning his arms against it. “Eddie seems to be teaching you well.”

There was a light scoff next to him, Billy coming to settle right at his side, their shoulders pressed together and Steve had enough of the subtle hints. 

He shifted his body away, putting a gap between them again, so they were no longer touching.

“Surely you’d be better off sparring with someone actually trained, Maxine.” Billy grinned.

“What? Like you?” She spat back. “The last time you made me train with you, you broke my fingers.”

Steve felt his own fingers tense against the wood. The message underneath that statement was profoundly uncomfortable. It was clear that Max wasn’t suggesting it had been an accident.

“That’s because you don’t plant your feet.” Billy leaned a little further forward. “How about a sparring match then? A little one to one between me and your pretty boy Outsider?”

The look on Billy’s face was downright lascivious, all of his attention now firmly on the length and curves of Eddie’s body and Steve could almost sense his desire to get up close and personal.

He wanted to jump in, almost physically and put another barrier between Billy and Eddie but he had no right to, it wasn’t his place and nothing had been outright stated or enacted upon in front of him, so he would also have to deal with the fallout of Billy probably claiming innocence while everyone here could feel that that was not the case. 

A light shudder ran through Eddie’s body when he heard the words pretty boy, and Steve could see his throat bob with a swallow before he turned.

Eddie’s usually warm brown eyes were now cold and sharp as flint, hardened and wild like a cornered animal.

“No.”

“Hey now.” Billy smiled again, the same way he had at Steve, like everyone was playing hard to get. “That’s no way to talk to a knighted superior is it? What would the queen have to say of such things?”

“You are not knighted. Your father is.” Eddie growled back, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “And it was bought.”

“Oh.” Billy simpered. “Well maybe it was just that certain others didn’t have what it takes to be given such a title.”

“Okay.” Steve held his hands out again, trying to figure out how to bring this boiling situation down a notch, but Eddie turned his cold eyes onto him and seemed to lump him into the same category as Billy.

“You want to ‘spar’ too?” He asked, using air quotes around the word spar like Steve had some kind of ulterior motive. 

Steve looked at him, the way he was gripping his wooden sword, the way he had lunged and attacked Max with so much control over his swings, so confident in his body and where he was putting his sword.

Eddie was skilled, no matter where he was born or the lack of title he’d been born under. 

Steve himself was skilled as well, he had years of training from the swordmasters of Torthúil but he didn’t want to get involved in whatever one sided harassment Billy had going on towards Eddie.

“Maybe another time, I think Max is more deserving of your skills at the moment.” He gestured back over to her. She was still glaring at Billy and looked like she was a few seconds away from swinging at him with her own wooden weapon.

Steve wanted to get Billy away, he didn’t want to bear witness to him throwing his status around anymore, trying to use it to get his way, something Steve was sure he had done numerous times before and he didn’t like the idea of Eddie or Max having to face the consequences of it.

He outranked Billy and while he was only a visiting prince he was still a prince.

“I believe we still have a tour to complete?” Steve asked, angling his body back out towards the rest of the grounds.

Billy turned his smile back on him, offering Steve his arm again.

Steve took it and while they were walking away, he glanced back over his shoulder and found Eddie still staring at him, watching him retreat with something unreadable on his face. 

Steve, thankfully, wasn’t forced to deal with Billy on his own for much longer. Even with Hopper behind him, there wasn’t much he could do to intervene but the sight of Robin and Chrissy rounding the corner in front of them, arm in arm in a much more familiar way than Billy and Steve were, was a relief to him.

Billy had just finished lamenting to Steve about how heartbreaking it was that Eddie had such an attachment to him, an attraction that he was clearly fighting, trying to push Billy away to deal with his feelings and Steve had to bite his tongue hard not to bitch Billy out because in what world was that the truth.

From what he had seen, Eddie was nothing but disdainful and defensive around him.

Billy’s mouth turned down into a frown when he saw Robin and Chrissy approach, their heads bent low together and Chrissy seemed to be glowing.

Robin had a sweet almost lovestruck smile on her face looking down on the princess that wavered slightly, her eyes almost looking guilty as Steve took his excuse to get out of Billy’s grip and offer his own arm to his betrothed.

Steve kept trying to catch Robin’s eye, tried to figure out what was going on inside her head as the five of them continued on through the castle, Billy sulking behind Steve and in front of Hopper, Chrissy on Steve’s arm and Robin on her other side, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

He would have to find out from her later what was bothering her.

[Part 1] [Part 5] [Part 7] [AO3] [Cover Art] [Eddie&Chrissy Art]

As always, major thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work, @arelliann for their beautiful artwork, dividers and header, and to all my cheerleaders helping to keep me motivated. 🥰

[ghost-proofbaby]

69 + eddie munson

that number is just so fitting for eddie lmao. we love to see it. (also, are we even surprised taylor is all over my damn wrapped?)

#69: "MIDNIGHT RAIN" BY TAYLOR SWIFT (EDDIE MUNSON)

"he was sunshine, i was midnight rain."

warnings: serious thoughts of self-doubt and self-deprecation, angst?, hurt/comfort (this one ends happier i SWEAR)

wc: 3k+

There was more to Eddie Munson than what meets the eye. 

An entire town, somehow, had gotten it through their heads that the boy who lit up your days was something dark. A storm cloud, a hellraiser, a Satan-worshiper, a tornado of the utmost destruction – every nasty synonym they could roll off their tongues, they would spit at him. He was violent rain, he was uneasy nights, he was howling winds. They looked at him like an overcast for their sweet summer days, and they couldn’t be further from the truth. 

There was nothing violent nor stormy about the boy currently curled beneath bed sheets with you. Something soft and to be held – and that’s exactly what you did as the night swallows the two of you whole. You held him. His soft breaths ruffled the material of your shirt against your stomach, his curls tickling all the way up to your chest as a hand mindlessly twists at the end of a few stray strands. 

The clock on the nightstand blinks with a time far too late for you to be up, but you can’t help it. You’d woken up a few hours ago, and begged sleep to return to you, but it simply wouldn’t. Eddie had even roused at some point, twisting and noticing you awake in his half-dazed state, but his supportive state had been plagued by drowsiness, and the beckoning of his dreams won the war in the end. You didn’t mind it – it was nice to lay like this, the weight of his head on your torso and to feel his steady breathing rather than being left alone to your own thoughts. 

This town assumed Eddie was the terrible storm, but you knew better. 

He was the farthest thing from a storm possible. Even amongst his chaos, even amongst his wild demeanor, he still managed to embody the sun at the end of the day in your eyes. Warm, sought after, calming, relaxing. Bright and brilliant as ever. Those chestnut ringlets, those honeyed doe eyes – how anyone saw so much as a strike of lightning in them was beyond you. You were the one carrying storm clouds. You were the one with heavy forecasts, downpours that slaughtered in the dead of night. 

It was the thunder in your head that was keeping you awake. Not his, never his. 

“R’you still up?” he mumbles, nearly scaring you. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d awoken again, too busy staring at the ceiling as you watched shadows of the current rain trailing down the window reflected on the walls. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking down, moving your fingertips from the ends of his hair to his scalp before scratching in small circles, “Go back to sleep, baby.” 

“Can’t-” he starts to mutter, cutting off in a yawn as he twists so that his face is no longer buried in your chest, eyes still pinched shut for a moment before he can continue his thought, “Can’t sleep if I know you’re up. What’s bothering you?” 

Endless things. Your chest was coiled in terrible knots, strangling you on repeat with each second passing as you had been left alone with your thoughts. Haunted by every echoing step you had taken the last few days, taunted by every word you hadn’t said. 

Just how many mistakes had you made in the last twenty four hours alone? And how had they still, somehow, led you home to him? What had you done to be deserving of him?

“Just the storm,” you lie easily, keeping a soft tone, still trying to beckon him back to sleep. As if on cue, a distant roll of thunder can be heard following a brisk flare of light through the window pane. 

But his wide eyes only blink up at you, clearly awake now, “‘s that all?” 

His words are still slurring together a bit, but as he lifts his weight off of you, you know there’s no coaxing him back into rest. There’s no facing the storm alone tonight – and not the one that currently pelts the outside of the house. 

You can’t look him in his eyes. You’re terrified for him to see the rolling waves of nimbus formations behind your own. 

“Yeah, that’s all,” you say, patting your chest, trying to change the topic, “C’mere. Lay back down, there’s no use for us both to be tired tomorrow.” 

He sits up fully, your hands falling from his scalp, out of reach as he balances on his knees with a face of newfound determination, “I’m not letting you just lay here awake while I use you as my own personal drool catch. I know there’s something more than the storm bothering you.” 

Damn him. And damn his attentiveness. 

Even with the moonlight illuminating him, he emits his own specific shine that gleams golden through the dark room, striking you right in your heart. Your boy made of sunshine and kindness, good intentions and a pure heart.

Your sun. 

“It’s stupid,” you start, picking at the threads of the comforter as he settles to lay comfortably beside you. In an instant, the positions are switched, and he’s pulling you to lay on his chest, “I just… It can all get a bit loud, you know?” 

It’s not about the people in the town who talk. Not an ounce of their gossip can really get to you, hardly scratching at your skin. At most, they only leave their mark when they talk badly of Eddie. And even then, you know your truth. 

“We’re the talk of the town again, huh?” Eddie chuckles, fingertips grazing at the small bit of the nape of your neck that’s exposed from beneath the neck of your shirt. Lazy circles, wobbling triangles, hardly-distinguishable squares. All mindless shapes that he’s probably unaware of painting over your skin, and they send shivers down your spine all the same. 

It’s not the people in the town who are loud. 

It’s that voice in your head, the whisper that he’s too good for this. There is something simply so inherently good about the boy that lays beneath you. Something so golden, so warming that it aches and nearly stifles you. He deserves more. He deserves someone who can offer him the world, not someone who will never manage more than rotting away with the worms below the dirt. 

“Why did you choose me?” you blurt out before you can think better of it.

The storm outside the window picks up in pace, raindrops racing faster down the glass. You try and pick one to follow in particular, but they all disappear quicker than they appear to begin with. 

“What do you mean?” 

You can’t make sense of it, the way he loves you. As if he doesn’t see the storm always on the horizon, as if he can’t feel the sharp pain that resides permanently within your chest. A pain you were born with, a pain you’ll surely die with. The nasty thing that pangs every time you grow too comfortably, that screams for you to run when things get too good. 

You just don’t get it. 

“Everyone is always asking me why I’m with you,” you wish you could choose your words more carefully, but you can’t. They only come tumbling out, an avalanche of honesty over the crack of thunder that sounds, “Saying things like how I’m so nice, how you’re so… so… not. And I just don’t get it, because you are. You’re… everything, Eddie. You’re the sun incarnate, so good and so nice at your core. And they never have time for me to wax poetic, to go on and on about just how good you are. They always act like you’re the impending doom, and I’m always in danger, when it should be the other way around.” 

His slow motions on the base of your neck pause, “I’m not sure I’m following along, sweetheart.” 

You lift your head, look up at those eyes that could hold an entire Universe inside of them. The kind that do when the sun’s rays hit them just right in the daytime. He is everything. Every star, every first bloom of spring, every fresh breath of air. 

And you aren’t.

You’re built off of late nights and terrible troubles. Of racing thoughts and sweaty palms, and a mouth that always fumbles with its words. Something unhinged and something unattractive at its core. It’s not the outside so much, not that you don’t feel pretty enough for him, but the inside. That inner natural disaster waiting to happen. A tsunami of forces waiting to engulf you both, drown him right along with you. 

You want to run because you want to save him from that fate. You can’t save yourself, but you could save him. 

“I’m the storm, the unpredictable and violent one,” you choke out, placing a flat palm on his chest, “You’re… not. They think you are, but you aren’t. You deserve better than to sit around with me, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and for my torrential downpour to start. You don’t deserve to sit in the rain with someone who isn’t worth it.”

How many breakdowns had he already bore witness to? How many late nights had he already sacrificed his rest to spend talking you through a spiral? How many times had he given up all that he deserved, just to sit in the rain with you? 

“Quite the metaphor you’ve got going there,” he laughs under his breath, but all the joking fades when he sees that disaster-torn look cross your face, “Have I ever told you how when I was younger, and it would rain, I’d insist on sleeping with the window open?” 

Your brows furrow, “What does that have to do with-”

“You have your wild metaphors, let me have mine,” he interrupts, sitting up a bit, leaning forward until your forehead nearly bumps against his, “Wayne hated it. It would get everything soaked – the curtains, the carpet, my desk – and it would run up his electric bill. Said he’d always come into my room in the morning to find me shivering under the covers, and have to run up the heater to stop my teeth from chattering. The old man never lets me forget, either,” he pauses, and brings a gentle, warm palm up to your cheek, “But even after countless lectures, you know what changed? Nothing. Every day, whenever I saw the clouds or smelled the rain coming, I still got so damn excited. I still ran home to open up my window, and I smiled like a fool the entire fucking time. It only drove Wayne more insane.” 

“Okay?” you question, peering into his eyes, still not following, “So, you love rain. Are you trying to say you want to open the window right now? Or-”

“You’re so close to getting it,” he chuckles, closing the distance between the two of you, shutting you up with a brush of his lips against yours. 

“Getting what?” you mumble into his mouth, frowning a bit as he pulls back and his lips hover. 

That palm holds you steady, keeping you close as his other hand wanders to your hip, giving a soft squeeze to the tender flesh, “I love rain.” 

He loves rain. 

Your mind twists and gravels, tries to make sense of it when you’re still so consumed by him. The brush of his lips against yours as he whispers. The caress of his breath over your cheek, still minty from when the two of you had brushed your teeth together before bed. The warmth seeping out of his skin against yours, warming you even as the storm wages on. The smell of his sheets mingling with the damp air fighting through the vents from outside. 

He loves rain.

It clicks. 

“You love rain,” you say carefully, eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you. 

He nods, forehead finally bumping yours. “I fucking love rain. Always have, always will.” 

The storm within your head that had been raging for hours, that had kept you up as your sunshine had slept soundly, goes still as night. It all stops – the wind, the thunder, the downpour. Every single thought halts in its tracks as you look at a boy who’s watching you with such adoration, with such promise of offering up the entire world if you asked. You have his heart in your hands, and he’s well aware you could destroy it at a moment’s notice, but he trusts you. 

He loves you. 

“Now, come here,” he insists, scooting back on the bed until his back is flush to the wall and his arms are wide open for you to crawl into. You don’t deny him. Slowly, you make your way to his chest, letting your ear press against his skin and listen to the steady and sure rhythm of his heart as his arms wrap around you, “We don’t have to go back to bed, but you do have to let me be here for you. Let me just sit with you in the rain, with the window wide open, yeah? Your storm can get the curtains wet, you can freeze me out – I don’t care. I like the storm… I love the storm,” he whispers as you settle against him. You finally glance at his old alarm clock, the one Wayne had bought him back in sophomore year when he’d insisted he was tired of waking the boy up every morning. Those blinking numbers read 12:43 just as his lips press to your temple, “I love you.” 

Such a quiet declaration. Full of meaning, full of intent. The only rain still pounding away is the one outside of the trailer, sounding off in a tinkling tune of water against metal slates. It’s almost melodic as you feel his exhale against your hairline. 

“I love you too, y’know?” you whisper right back, a hand coming up to curl around his wrist as he places his hand on your shoulder. It’s not enough to just hear his heartbeat; you need to feel the pulse beneath his skin, thumb digging in helplessly as you focus on just him and his rays of light as your clouds begin to break, “I’m sorry if I’m hard to love, or dramatic sometimes-”

“Never,” he cuts you off, “You’re never hard to love, sweetheart. Not for me.” 

No more words are needed as the seconds pass and the two of you stay like that. You, counting every beat of his heart. And him, still bleeding sunshine even in the black of night. Messy crown of curls, a smile that never quite leaves his lips. It’s impossible to wrap your head around – the boy who could light up even the darkest of rooms, who glows even at midnight, loves the rain in a way you never thought possible. Loves your rain specifically, and all the storms you always fear and battle with through every sleepless night. It doesn’t phase him in the slightest. 

“Are you ever going to get tired of me?” you ask, more out of curiosity than insecurity now as your fingers fall to trace over one of the tattoos inked into the skin of his chest, “I mean, I know you say you love rain now, but people can change. Hell, even I’m changing constantly. No two storms are ever exactly the same, or whatever the fuck they say.” 

“Do they say that?” he murmurs. You can hear the sleep returning to him, drawing him under, “To answer your question, no. I don’t think I will ever get tired of you. Change all you want. I’m just happy to be here.” 

You smile, and you know he feels it as he squeezes you a bit tighter, “What if I decide to shave my head tomorrow? Or dye my hair the ugliest shade of neon yellow I can find? Or tattoo my entire face?” 

“If you dye your hair neon, can you dye one of my strands to match?” you snort at his response, tilting your chin to catch him looking at you with a playful smile, “And I’ll still love you if you’re bald. As a matter of fact, I think I can see a bald spot already forming on the back of your head, so…” 

Your hand flies up to your hair, feeling for what he’s talking about as he descends into cackles. Head fully thrown back and eyes tightly screwed shut. 

God, he’s beautiful. Too beautiful for you to even get genuinely upset with his teasing. 

“Fuck you,” you say as you realize he’s joking, forcing a faux pout and throwing your head back down onto his chest hard enough to make him emit a small oof, “If either of us are going bald, it’s you.” 

He gasps, still dramatic even as he’s half-asleep, “How dare you. I was even going to offer up some of my luscious locks to make you a wig if you needed it.” 

“You don’t have long enough hair for that.”

“Yet,” he insists as your eyelids grow a little heavier, “I’ll just keep growing it out. You know, in case you need it, even though you were so mean to me.” 

Your body sinks deeper into him, as if you could bury you both into the safety of this mattress for the rest of your days. 

“I hate you,” you lie, half playful as the thunder outside the trailer becomes nothing more than a lullaby. 

He slips down further into the comforter, resting his head on his pillow rather than the uncomfortable wall as he holds you tight to him, “I love you, too, my little rainstorm.” 

You don’t even have a quick defense against his teasing nickname as sleep takes hold of you. You’re already far gone, eyes shut and mind slipping away as he kisses the top of your head before joining you. 

Storms are easier with Eddie. Window open and all.

[finniestoncrane]

12 Days of Kinkmas • Day 9: Exhibitionism - Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist • dividers minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: public sex, handjob

It was a festive miracle that you’d managed to convince Edward to join you at the New Year’s party of the guy in your desk cluster. He hadn’t technically been invited, but you were given a plus one, and you were determined to prove to the others in the office that he was worth inviting. He could be sweet, and he was interesting, they just needed to see him in the right light.

And Eddie of course had agreed. It was absolutely no secret to you, regardless of how well he thought he hid it, that he had a little crush on you. You were always catching him staring at you, always finding him right behind you with exactly what you needed, be it a pen or a coffee or some friendly advice. He didn’t speak to anyone else like that. He didn’t speak to them at all.

His sweet personality, and the intriguing secrecy that seemed to run beneath it, had captivated you. You’d developed your own crush. But, given how shy he was, he had rejected every other offer from you to hang out. This, however, was less pressure. This was a party with everyone you both worked with. It wasn’t one on one. There was nothing he could mess up. So, he had reluctantly decided that it might be a nice idea.

Entirely unaware of your ulterior motives, Eddie had stayed standing next to you as the TV was turned to one of the many channels showing the big countdown. He hadn’t flinched, not quite realising, when you turned to him as you reached the number four, looking into his eyes as you counted down the remaining three seconds together. And when you leaned in to kiss him as the clock struck midnight, you were pleased to find he didn’t pull away.

But finally having him in your grasps had awoken something in you. It was either that or the champagne you had been drinking since 10pm. Either way, finally getting what you wanted only spurred you on, and you found yourself deepening the kiss even after everyone else had left their partners and had continued dancing and talking.

It felt like it was just you and Eddie there, close to the corner of the room. Emboldened by the success of your plan, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, holding him there, as your other hand drifted from his waist to his hip, and then quickly moved to the front of his pants. Palming at his cock, you were surprised to feel that he was already stiffening, and as you looked up at him with a smile, he began to stutter, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

“It’s ok, Eddie…”

You unzipped his pants slowly, reaching your hand inside of them and feeling his warm length against your palm.

“… no one will know… it’s so loud in here, and so dark…”

He gulped loudly, swallowing his nerves, his eyes rolling back as you pulled his cock free of his pants and began to stroke it, holding him close to you to offer some semblance of privacy.

“A-are you… sure you uh, want to do this? With me?”

You pressed your lips to his neck, letting your tongue flick over his skin, feeling a dribble of precum on his tip as you ran your thumb over the head.

“Of course, Eddie. I’m going to start this year as I plan to finish it.”

[jmagnabo92]

For the kiss prompts (if you still want them) can I please request Buddie + good morning kisses? I'm such a sucker for those🥰

Hello Anon! This is the first time I've posted anything Buddie (Only recently watched the show and fell in love with them), so, I really, really hope you like it :)

***

There’s a part of Buck that still can’t believe this is real.  That in the aftermath of his coma and the lightning strike that he and Eddie had both come to realize that they’re friendship was not-at-all normal and they’d much rather be together than spend another minute apart. 

The confession had come on the heels of Buck getting out of the hospital and Eddie insisting that Buck stay with him and Christopher despite his parents arguing that they would stay with him at his loft. 

The way that Buck had looked at him hoping he would save him had Eddie blurting out that he’d be staying with him and Christopher because he needed to be somewhere that’s healing (and they learned with his broken leg that alone in his loft wasn’t the answer, hence why he ended up staying with them after two weeks back then). 

Buck can’t help wondering how they didn’t end up together back then – sharing Eddie’s bed and acting like a couple should’ve given them a clue, but well, they’ve been clearly oblivious.

He doesn’t care how it happened, he’s just grateful that on getting home (to Eddie’s) and Christopher off to sleep that Eddie confessed.

“I know I probably shouldn’t have jumped in and assumed that you wanted to come be with me and Christopher, but I love you and I hated the way that they were making decisions for you after all the shit they’ve put you through.”

Buck had only heard one thing… “You love me?”

“I – uh – don’t – I mean, I don’t – can’t … ruin this… friendship.”

If Buck thought that he meant he loved him as a friend that stutter wouldn’t make sense, and after his coma experience and the way that he felt when he heard about Eddie and Chris in that dream, he knows how he feels now. 

He’s never been the best with his words, so he pulled him close and kissed him passionately.  Right in the middle of their kitchen and never looked back.

It’s only been like a week, but Buck’s happy to wake up in the mornings wrapped up in Eddie and met with sleepy eyes and lazy kisses. 

Especially when he’s awoken by those kisses. 

Eddie’s always the one waking up first and he always leans in to kiss Buck’s neck, his cheek, and then, once Buck’s eyes open, his lips.  There’s something special about those lazy, good morning kisses.

He hums as he feels Eddie’s lips against his neck, and then, his cheek.  He knows what comes next and he’s thrilled that in a week, they’ve already developed a happy routine. 

He blinks his eyes open, and Eddie leans forward, brushing his lips, somewhat cracked from sleep, against Buck’s.  It’s lazy and comfortable and not meant to provoke anything, but Buck always chases the kiss back when Eddie pulls away, putting him on his back and leaning up above him. 

They’re both grinning by the time that Buck pulls back. 

“Good morning,” Eddie breathes, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Good morning,” Buck grins.  He glances as the clock and notes that they still have a couple of minutes before the alarm goes off.  “Any chance you wanna make it a great morning?”

Eddie laughs.  “We don’t have long enough for all that, but I think we can spend a few minutes making out if you don’t mind a little morning breath.”

“Not at all,” Buck assures him.  “Best way to start the morning.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before kissing him again, thrilled that Eddie seems to agree… at least until the alarm blares and they have to start their day officially, still, those few minutes every morning are worth waking up before the alarm, always.

***

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