#tw: anorgasmia

[rebelfell]

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

It’s finally the night of your date with Eddie and everything is gonna be fine. Great. Fine and great. Right?

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, making out, fingering, sexual anxiety/panic attack, discussion of difficulty climaxing, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 6k 18+, MDNI.

You’ve barely finished knocking on the bright red door to Eddie’s when it swings open to reveal him grinning back at you. He ushers you inside, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he shows you around his place.

It’s a small apartment, but for two young guys living together it’s surprisingly tidy and well furnished. That must be Steve’s influence, you muse, noting the plushness of the sofa and an overstuffed armchair. Shelves piled with books and board games sit off to the side and next to the screen door is a plant that could do with a little water, but ultimately is surviving fine. It’s bordering on cozy in here, cast in the glow of a couple lamps and a candle flickering on the coffee table. The warm, sweet smell of some nonspecific baked goods filling the room.

“So, this is my castle,” Eddie says, bowing slightly and brandishing his arms.

“I like it,” you nod as you glance around. “It’s not quite what I expected.”

“What? You were thinking empty liquor bottles, a couple camp chairs, a half dozen posters of babes in bikinis?” He quirks his brow at you, seemingly reading your mind.

“That may be exactly what I was picturing,” you reply with a knowing smirk. “Though it is you, so maybe a dragon in a bikini instead?”

He laughs at that and bobs his head a few times in agreement as his eyes drift to the overnight bag you’re clutching. “Here, let me put that in my room for you,” he says with a sweet smile.

You hand it over and your eyes follow him as he heads down the hall. He pushes open the door at the very end and you catch a glimpse of his old Corroded Coffin banner hanging on the wall that brings a smile to your face. Below it is his bed, nicely made up with a navy duvet.

Just the sight of it makes your heart race and every thought falls right out of your head.

When he re-emerges from the room, you realize he’s been talking to you and you have to force yourself to focus on his voice rather than your deep contemplation of his sheets.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered dinner already,” he says. “There’s this Thai place that’s seriously incredible, but it takes a while to deliver, so I wanted to be sure it got here on time.”

“That sounds great,” you say, still milling about to take in the rest of Eddie’s place.

He rattles off all the dishes he ordered, each one sounding better than the last, and you pause by the fireplace. A row of knick knacks interspersed with framed photos sit on the mantle. Some are his figures from Hellfire and you delicately touch a fingertip to the top of each one until you reach a photo in a frame made from popsicle sticks.

It’s a picture of you and him—one of the few in existence. You think you must be six or seven based on his buzzed haircut and your braces. Instinctively, you run your tongue over the front of your teeth, almost expecting to feel the thick metal wires there. Eddie moves silently to stand at your side and peers over your shoulder at the picture now held in your hand.

The two of you are at Forest Hills, sitting on top of the dome climber across from he and Wayne’s trailer. You must have spent all summer on that thing, pretending it was a deserted island where you’d been marooned after refusing to marry the merchant sailor your evil father had betrothed you to. The picnic table nearby played the role of Eddie’s pirate ship where he spotted you climbing to the top of the island’s mountain to signal for help. He would oblige, rowing an imaginary smaller boat to your island and bravely scaling the mountainside to sit beside you at the top. He offered you passage on his ship as a member of his crew, assuring you it would be hard work but that your new life would be filled with riches like the freedom to sail the seas and explore worlds unknown you could not even imagine.

Wayne must have interrupted your epic play to snap this photo. Eddie is in his signature pose. He’s got his hands raised to the sides of his head, fingers pointed to resemble horns and his tongue flicked out with his eyes wide and wild. You’re not even looking at the camera, enamored gaze unable to tear away from him.

“It’s like you had a crush on me or something,” Eddie says teasingly.

“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t hiding it as well as I thought I was.” 

You chuckle, but Eddie’s brow furrows and his voice loses that playful edge as he dips into pensiveness. He takes the frame from you and carefully places it back on the mantle.

“Did you really?” he asks. “Did you really like me all that time and I was too stupid to know?”

The question catches you off guard. You’d sort of just assumed he had to know that was the case, given how things had progressed between you, seemingly overnight. Well, overnight plus five years. It's the first time you’ve stopped to question what had inspired his pursuit.

“I’m not sure,” you say slowly. “At the time, I don’t think I knew the difference between how much I liked having you as my friend and how much I liked you. Eventually, I figured it out.”

You pause, summoning the strength to ask the question you’re dying to know. The one you’ve been wanting to ask practically your whole life.

“Did you ever think of me like that? I mean…before now?”

Sadness flickers in Eddie’s deep brown eyes and he takes a steadying breath. He moves into you, slipping his arms around your waist and holding you by the small of your back. You feel yourself tremble as he tucks his chin down and gently rests his forehead against your own. 

“All the fucking time,” he whispers. “I liked you so much, but I…I couldn’t imagine you’d ever want me back. I guess I was too scared to find out.”

“Oh, Eddie,” you sigh mournfully. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he mutters. “Trailer park loser. Criminal. Freak. Who would want me?”

You shake your head at his disparaging words and overwrite them with your own. “Honest. Fearless. Kind. Trustworthy. Genius.”

A bashful smile spreads across Eddie’s face and he tries to look away, but you surprise yourself with your own boldness as your hand comes up to catch his face and turn it back towards you.

“I wanted you,” you confess softly. “I always have.”

He leans in and captures your lips with his. It steals every speck of breath from your lungs and you think you could fly apart into a million pieces if it wasn’t for his hands gripping your waist. It feels like the kiss goes on forever and yet it’s not nearly long enough. You instantly miss the feeling of his mouth when he pulls away, but he keeps his face close to yours.

“Sorry I wasted so much time,” Eddie whispers. “We could have been doing this all along.”

When dinner arrives, you guffaw at the array of food before you. It seems entirely possible he just ordered one of everything on the menu. You dutifully sample a little of each dish and have to resist stuffing your face full after one mouthful of this roasted duck Eddie asserted was the best thing they made. Delicious as it is, your nerves have made your stomach too jumpy to eat much and before long you’re helping Eddie box up the absurd amount of leftovers. 

Guilt pangs in your chest thinking how much he must have spent, but Eddie chatters excitedly about how it only gets better the longer the flavors have to sit and meld together.

“Are you sure?” you ask, handing him the last container.

“Absolutely,” he says as he pushes the fridge closed. “You can take some home with you, too.”

His hand finds the small of your back as you walk back into the living room. His touch is gentle and reassuring as you head to the couch, but it does little to quell your nerves.

“How about a movie?” he asks. “Steve brings home a bunch of different stuff. We’ve got some horror, some comedy…”

There’s a knot in your stomach as he bends in front of their entertainment center, rifling through the rentals piled up next to their VCR. The lingerie under your clothes rubs raw against your skin as you shift in your seat on the couch, threatening you with the stinging humiliation of wearing it all night long only to never be seen.

What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t want to anymore? What if he thinks you don’t want to? Is there some signal you should be giving him? Some move you should be making? Ears now ringing, you clear your throat and he glances back at you over his shoulder.

“Maybe later?” you say softly.

Eddie smiles and nods in agreement before returning to his spot on the couch. He sinks down next to you and lays his arm across the back of the cushions. His eyes stay fixed on your face, taking in every inch. It makes your breath catch as you study him back, his features as mesmerizing as always.

You hurl yourself at him, realizing just a second too late his head is dipping down to kiss you at the same time. His face knocks against yours and you wince as you pull back, a dull aching where his chin connected with your cheek.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter frantically. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “No permanent damage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” he says, his head tilting to the side. 

He reaches out a hand and cups it against the side of your face, his thumb stroking your jaw. You have to resist the urge to ask again if he’s sure, he’s sure. You know you ask it too often. It’s not even conscious at this point, it just comes out. Are you sure? Are you sure?

“Hey…are you okay?” he asks. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out your response, heart still pounding in your chest. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I was supposed to like…make a move.”

Eddie’s brows raise and smiles impishly. “What kind of move?”

“Like a…a hook up move.”

Eddie chuckles, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he scoots closer and leans in so close you can feel the warmth coming off his skin and smell the light, fresh scent of his aftershave.

“How about you let me worry about the moves?”

You inhale sharply, his words zinging straight to your core and making you squirm in your seat from the need to be closer to him. His eyes flit down to see your thighs pressing together and a knowing smile curls up the corners of his mouth. His beautiful, perfect mouth…

He helps you climb onto his lap and wraps his arms tight around your waist, squeezing you against him. He stares up at you, the tip of his nose bumping against the bridge of yours and then mashing into the softness of your cheek as his lips cover your own.

The kiss ignites everything inside of you. Years and years of built up feelings for the boy beneath you begin to smolder—a pile of kindling finally stoked into a flame. 

Experimentally, you shift your hips and begin to rock back and forth in a slow, deep grind. You can feel the effect you have on him in his stilted breath and the prodding of the hardness growing in his jeans. He kisses his way along your jaw and when his lips ghost over a sensitive spot on your neck just behind your ear, you give an involuntary thrust forward.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, tightening his already firm grip on you. “Do that again…”

You oblige him happily. Enthralled by the need in his voice and spurred by his gritty tone, you grind down on him again and squeeze your thighs around his hips. A strained gasp bursts from his lips and he fumbles to grip the back of your neck and hold your mouth against his.

He’s wearing another button up tonight, dark hunter green this time that sets off the rich brown hue of his eyes. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and begin to unbutton it from the bottom, revealing inch by inch the clingy white tank underneath. It does little to nothing to conceal the solid muscled form of his chest and it makes your heart pound imagining it bare. But sitting down, there was still that soft roundness to his belly you’d always liked. It made you want to scratch him like he was a stray mutt from the junkyard, scraggly and carefree.

When the last button is pulled open, you help him shrug off his shirt, revealing corded arm muscles that twitch and flex as he reaches out to wrap you back up in his arms.

“God, Eddie, I need you—please.” 

Your voice is plaintive and desperate in a way it’s never been before. He groans into your neck and you feel your hips take on a life of their own. The seam of your jeans catches perfectly on your clit and the feeling makes you rock harder, sliding back and forth on his lap and despising every single layer of clothing separating you.

“Hang on, hang on,” he pants, breathless as he sits up and slips his hands up your back to hold you in place. A chill runs down your spine and you sit back on his thighs, body going rigid.

“What is it? D-did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he laughs, his pale cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. “But if you keep that up, I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans.”

Heat rises in your own face, his words filling you with a mix of excitement and shyness. And you know he has to be able to feel how it causes you to flutter. He smooths his hands firmly up and down your back, bringing one of them up to the nape of your neck and beginning to massage your hairline with his fingertips.

“How about we…slow down a little?” he asks, his voice gentle but still husky with need. 

You nod wordlessly and let your eyelids drift closed, rolling your head into his strong fingers as they continue rubbing your neck. Shivers ripple down your back and your mouth falls open with relief when he finds a knot in your shoulder and presses down on it. A heavy, resonating moan releases from deep in your chest and you immediately stiffen.

Panicking at the realization the practically pornographic sound you just heard came out of you, you slap your palm over your mouth and stare wide-eyed at Eddie. He just smiles.

“Don’t hide it, sweetheart,” he hums. “I wanna hear you.”

He pulls your hand from your mouth, bringing it to his own instead. Warm lips and hot breath caress your fingers and the pad of your thumb brushes over the impossibly soft skin of his lip. You tug it down gently, letting it spring back up.

“Your moans are so pretty,” he sighs. “Will you make some more for me?”

The words are lilting like he’s writing lyrics for a song. He looks up at you with those pleading eyes and you bury yourself in the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his curls. His lips and teeth nip at the skin behind your ear, causing you to release breathy sighs and moans just for him. He shivers beneath you and the evidence of his pleasure throbs, unable to be ignored. 

Your mouth seeks his blindly, messily, desperately. Your own hands slide up his chest and around the back of his neck, raking your fingers into his curls until the heels of your palms meet the base of his skull. Firmly and slowly gripping the hair close to his scalp, you guide him deeper into the kiss. He moans into your mouth and relaxes his whole body, giving you the control to put him exactly where you want him.

So much for slowing down, you think.

His hips suddenly jerk upwards, lifting you with him, and you moan again. It’s not as loud as before, but its enough to make your lips break from his. It all feels too good, too overwhelming. The anticipation is killing you now. You’ve spent your whole life waiting, you can’t waste another second. It’s time. It has to be. It’s now or never.

“Can I, um…freshen up?”

Eddie looks up at you with a dreamy expression, his eyes a little glazed and pink lips puffy from kissing. He nods down the hall to the door adjacent to his bedroom, his eyes never leaving you as you slip off his lap.

You don’t enter the bathroom, though. 

Instead you push open the door to Eddie’s room and slip inside, leaving it just ajar enough to spark his curiosity. You place yourself at the end of his bed to wait for him, half sitting up leaning back on your elbows. The mattress dips as you sink into the softness—a far cry from the lumpy thing he slept on in Wayne’s trailer. Your heart races hearing the soft clinking of his belt as he comes down the hall and pushes the door fully open. 

He leans against the frame and smiles.

Eddie looks at you like a kid on Christmas Eve—not feral and wide-eyed like he’s ready to tear through a mountain of presents in an early morning frenzy, but serene and reverent like he’s looking at the tree bathed in the soft glow of twinkle lights strung on its branches.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You smile and tuck your bottom lip behind your teeth. “Hi…”

He gently pushes the door closed behind him and moves towards you where you sit on the bed. But rather than climbing onto the mattress, he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you and rests his hands on the tops of your thighs. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, voice still hushed like he’s afraid this is a dream and you’ll twist into smoke if he speaks too loudly. 

You nod back at him. “Me too.” 

His hands move steadily up your thighs to your waist and he gathers your blouse to lift it gently over your head. Lit only by the lamp on his bedside table, the blue of your bra looks even more like the night sky and the light catches on the silvery threads, making the stars sparkle. Your whole body shivers with excitement as he takes you in, his eyes drawn to the swell of your breasts and your nipples standing rigid, pushing out from behind the unlined mesh.

“Fuck…”

His voice is soft. So soft, you think he might not even realize he spoke out loud. You smirk at him, a little disbelieving even as he sounds genuinely awestruck. His eyes dart back up to yours and he grins, chuckling with mirth at his own reaction.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…you’re so…god, you’re gorgeous.”

Eyes falling to your breasts again, he reaches out to cup them gently and lets his thumbs brush over their stiff peaks. You hum softly at the feeling of him flicking your nipples with calloused pads worn that way from years of guitar playing. With a soft kiss, he continues on—his hands reluctant to leave them, but eager to touch you more places. 

He slides them downward, relishing every inch of the curve of your waist until he finds the top of your jeans. “Do you want these off?” he asks, voice wavering slightly. 

Your own breath is getting uneven itself as the beginning flames of nerves start to flicker and nip at your ankles. Eddie’s eyes parse your reaction, but you divert his attention by unbuttoning your fly and helping him shift your pants over your hips and down your legs. He tugs them off until they sit in a heap on the floor and he can take you in fully, the reveal of your matching set clearlying having the desired effect.

“Wow…” He stares, eyes soft with awe. His strong hand flexes to extend his fingers and he reaches out to gently stroke the navy material. “I like this a lot,” he says.

“That’s good,” you say, peering at him shyly. “I got it for you.”

His eyes light up at that, brows raising in disbelief. Not that he thinks you’re lying, but that he can’t possibly fathom how he got this lucky.

“Seriously?” he breathes. “No one’s ever…”

He clears his throat, trying to choke back the incoherent stream of words threatening to spill out of his mouth. And his mind scrambles to say something that doesn’t sound completely idiodic. He feels like a caveman seeing fire for the first time and trying to think of a word for it.

He’s just so fucking happy.

Cupping your face tenderly in his hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks, he gazes deep into your eyes. “You’re so special to me,” he says. “I want to be sure I do this right.”

“So far so good,” you whisper.

He’s left his button down in the living room, leaving him stripped down to only his white singlet. The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he lifts his arms and you whisk off his tank to unveil his bare chest. A couple new tattoos catch your eye. A black widow spider now sits over the demon head on his left pec, just beneath his collarbone. There’s a sword etched into his ribs and as you follow the point down, you spot two pale nicotine patches in the usual spot on his hip.

It makes your heart swell thinking of how he’d explained it that night you played pool. For when I’m really nervous, he’d said. It still seemed so silly that you could make him nervous. 

“Can I kiss you more?” he asks.

You nod and close your eyes to wait for the feeling of his mouth on yours, only to gasp softly when he goes to your neck instead. His lips vibrate with a gentle groan as he kisses down the column of your throat, sucking at it lightly and listening to how it causes your breath to hitch when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. Shivers cascade down your back as he continues on his path, kissing over the mounds of your chest, down your belly, nudging your legs apart.

“Eddie, you don’t have to—ohhh…”

His mouth trails over your hip and they flex upwards, seeking more. He smooths his hands over your legs and every inch of your skin he touches buzzes with anticipation.

“Please, sweetheart?” he says, baring his teeth in a sinful smile from between your thighs. “Been dreaming about this so long…I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips ghost over your heat, the tip of his nose brushing against your sensitive button through the thin barrier of your underwear. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to slowly nod his head, giving a preview of the motions he’s dying to use on you. Warm, broad palms coast over your hips and ringed fingers curl around the elastic band circling your waist.

“Can I take these off?” he asks. “I want to see you.”

You hum a noise of approval, so dizzy with need you can’t even form a real word. He glides your panties down your legs, nails raking over your skin all the way down to your ankles. Fighting the urge to cringe at how exposed you feel, you bring your focus back to Eddie—back to his eyes and the way they drink you in. The tip of his tongue ekes out between his lips to wet them and he turns his head to make a path of delicate kisses along the inside of your calf.

You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay, you chant internally. God, you want this so much.

Excitement pools in your belly and the feeling mixes with your nerves into a lethal cocktail. As he kisses up one leg, your other begins to tremble against his ear. You feel as though you’re about to float away and drift untethered into the ether.

“Eddie?”

His kisses pause at your knee joint and he looks up at you. “Yes, princess?”

“I…I need you closer,” you admit meekly.

He obliges instantly and slides up onto the bed, cradling your body against his. The hardness in his jeans prods against your side and you almost black out thinking how he could be inside you any minute now. Except Eddie seems perfectly content taking his time. 

He skims his fingers from your navel up your sternum, relishing every quiver of your body. His touch follows the graceful lines of your collarbone and neck up to your jaw. With his other arm under you, head resting securely in the crook of his elbow, he traces more of your outline. 

At last he begins his descent, teasingly light touch weaving back and forth across your tummy in swirling patterns down to your mound. He tenderly spreads you apart and strokes your center, fingertips brushing ever so gently over your clit. His eyes stay fixed on your face as he applies more pressure, seeking your reaction.

“That feel good?” he asks, his breath warm on your cheek.

“Yes,” you gasp softly. “Keep going.”

With a little more intention, he dips a finger into your entrance and his chest rumbles with a moan. “You’re so wet,” he whispers. “Is that all for me?”

You can’t answer, your eyes falling closed and your head tipping back—almost wanting to cry because it feels so good in a way it never has. He slides further inside, gently massaging your warm, wet walls. With his thumb pressing on your clit in time with his thrusts, he adds another finger, stretching you open further. Your pussy positively blooms for him, enveloping his fingers and taking him in eagerly.

“Oh, god, Eddie…”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he husks, his digits expertly curling inside of you as his thumb swirls outside. He lowers his voice further, a heated whisper in your ear. “I wanna hear you come…”

His voice sends a jolt straight to your core, but the words cause your mind and body to diverge. You try to stay present. You try not to dwell on it, but his statement echoes. It fills your head and ricochets around the inside of your skull, taking over everything. That’s when you feel it.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing down there or how good it felt just moments ago. That rigidness you know all too well permeates your body and stills everything—a boulder at the bottom of a frozen lake kind of stillness. You can’t believe you let this happen. You can’t believe you’re ruining this. You can’t believe how stupid you were for thinking it would be any different. Your heart races, pounding like a battering ram behind your ribcage like it’s trying to burst out. 

“Eddie,” you croak. “Eddie, stop!”

He pulls back immediately, his eyes round with concern at the sudden panicked tone in your voice. He stares at you, his own expression descending into remorse.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he says. “Does it…did it not feel good?”

“No, no, it—I mean, yes, it did, I just…”

Your chest gets unbearably tight, the pressure crushing your windpipe. You try to inhale, but it feels more like sucking air through a pinhole. You sit up, hands fumbling for the sheets to cover yourself. Your whole body is on fire. Blistering, burning, searing pain replacing every speck of the pleasure you’d been feeling. And Eddie…poor Eddie is looking at you like he’s about to cry.

“Hey,” he soothes, timidly reaching to touch your knee. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you gasp, still struggling to get air and failing. “I-I-I feel…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice steady but urgent. “Look at me, yeah? Take a deep breath in and blow it out quick like you’re blowing out a birthday candle? Okay? Do it with me.”

He locks eyes with you as he demonstrates, sucking in a breath and holding it in his chest until you do the same. Once you have, he blows out a big puff of air and begins breathing steadily in through his nose and out though his mouth. You mimic him, remaining held by those deep  brown pools until you feel your heart rate slow and finally steady.

“That’s good,” he says, shifting so he can rub his hand in wide circles across your back. “You’re doing so good, just keep going.”

You can’t decide if he’s patronizing you, praising you for breathing of all things. But his words are calming regardless and his hand on your back has a comforting weight to it. He keeps up with rubbing small circles across your back until you swallow hard and open your mouth to speak.

“I have to tell you something,” you say.

“Okay. What is it?”

“I can’t, um…I’m not going to…I don’t…finish.”

He frowns, brow furrowing as they knit together. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never been able to get there. And I-I guess I panicked. I didn’t want you to spend all this time on it when it’s not going to happen.”

“Oh,” he exhales softly. “So…never?”

You shake your head, hugging your knees to your chest. “No,” you sniff. “Never.”

“But what about with Carl? You guys were together for like years.”

“Yeah, but he never…” You sigh and pinch your eyes closed. “I mean, I never—”

“He never made you come?”

Shame radiates in your chest like heartburn and you feel the sting of tears that threaten to spill over your eyelids. “I know, okay?” you whimper. “It’s humiliating.”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant. I mean, it should be humiliating for him. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see how,” you shrug. “It’s not your food’s fault for being cold if the microwave is busted.”

“You’re not busted,” Eddie insists. “He’s got to try. He should have helped you get there.”

“He did try. We’d have sex and it would feel fine, but we’d always get to this point where I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. And it…it was just easier to get him taken care of.”

“But what about with his fingers? Or his mouth? Or a toy?”

Your face burns at the memory of similar past conversations. Bringing up things you thought seemed obvious only resulted in Carl feeling insulted, like you were saying his dick wasn't enough for you.

“It, um…it took too long.”

“What’s too long?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “It felt like an eternity. And I’d get all wrapped up in my head kind of…kind of like I did just now. And it didn’t make sense to waste all that time—”

“It’s not a waste of time,” Eddie scoffs. “Did he actually say that to you?”

Anger flashes briefly in his eyes and you quickly shake your head. It was true, Carl never outright called it that. He just didn’t disagree with you when you apologized for taking so long.  And when you started to feel him getting tired and frustrated, it only added to your stress.

“How about like…on your own?”

“I mean, I-I’ve tried.” You look down again, your body still prickling as you try to answer without crying. “I don’t know why, but I can’t relax? I start thinking about, like, f I’m doing it right or if I’m doing it wrong. And I wind up laying there for hours trying and I feel like such a failure. Like I can’t experience this thing everyone else can and I don’t think I ever will.”

A dark, wet splotch appears on his sheets as a tear falls from your eye. You brush furiously at your cheek, smearing the trail it left behind.

“I guess I get close. I think? I don’t know, it feels good up to a point, and it feels kind of, vaguely, like something, but then it just starts to hurt and ache. And I guess that could be it, but…like, the way people talk about it? I can’t imagine what I feel is what they’re referring to. You know?”

Eddie’s head hangs low. His expression churns with a myriad of emotions like he can’t decide which one to feel. Sadness for you. Anger at Carl. Disappointment with himself.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Furiously, you wish you’d just faked it. How hard would it have been to breathe sort of heavy and writhe around a little bit? It would have been worth it to avoid all this. But even as you’re thinking that, something tells you Eddie never would have bought it. He was too attentive, too attuned to any shift of your mood, of your body. He would have seen right through you.

“Don’t apologize,” he says calmly. “I’m glad you told me, I just…I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have rushed you. I wouldn’t have said that…”

He hangs his head again and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. You sneak a glance at him, the sadness in his eyes that you caused making your heart ache. This is all your fault, you think. You don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve anyone.

“I, um…I’m gonna get out of here,” you say quietly, scooting towards the other side of the bed. Eddie’s head jerks up at your movement.

“Wait, what?”

“I should just leave, I’m…I’m really sorry.”

“Hang on, hang on, don’t go—” He lurches forward, reaching for your waist to stop you and then abruptly pulling back when he realizes what he’s doing. It breaks your heart a little, the look in his eyes like he’s afraid to touch you now. Again.

“Eddie, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” he says. “Please stay? This is my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed so fast, I was just excited for you to stay over. And I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It was,” you say solemnly. “It is, I mean. I do want this. I’ve wanted this for so long, I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me and now I’ve ruined the whole night.”

“No, no, not at all.” Eddie shakes his head emphatically. He lifts his hands and cups your face, calloused thumbs rubbing the smoothness of your cheeks. “Absolutely nothing is wrong with you,” he says. “You’re perfect. The only thing that could ruin tonight is you leaving.”

“Are you sure?” you rasp.

He smiles and chuckles at your refrain. “How about from now on, you assume when I say something—anything—it means I’m sure?”

“But are you…” You catch yourself mid sentence. “…certain?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and chuckles as your lips finally quirk into a small smile. “I’ll give you that one,” he says begrudgingly. “But no more.”

You give a reluctant nod and he grins.

“And yes, I’m very certain,” he says. “I bought all these snacks for breakfast. And I found this little basket we can put them in. I thought maybe we could drive out to the lake and read like we used to? And then go to that diner way outside of town? With the great milkshakes?”

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks again, but now it’s from happiness burgeoning in your chest. “That sounds really nice,” you whisper.

He grins back at you.

“Okay, then. I tell you what…why don’t we table all this for right now? Neither of us is gonna make any moves for the rest of the night. We’re going to get in comfy clothes and watch TV, or smoke, or play cards, or talk…whatever you want. And whenever you’re ready, we can go to bed.”

Reactively, your shoulders stiffen and his eyes go wide.

“No, no, no! I didn’t mean—” He slaps his hand to his forehead and sighs at his own flub. “I meant sleep. I…I really just want to sleep next to you. And wake up with you in the morning. And spend the rest of the day together. Is that okay?”

He gives you those eyes again, round and open and vulnerable. Hopeful. It makes it easy to nod at him with a gentle smile. Because it’s more than okay, it sounds perfect. He smiles back and reaches for your hand. You let him lift it to his lips and his breath is warm as he kisses your fingers.

“I just want you here,” he murmurs to your knuckles.

You bite your lip to stop the Are you sure? already queued up on your tongue. Eddie lifts off the bed and pulls a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt from one of the drawers in his dresser. The fresh smell of his detergent wafts towards your nose and you inhale it deeply.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he says. “Just come back to the living room when you’re ready.”

Still smiling as he leans over you with ease, balancing on his fists pressing down into the mattress, he kisses you. It’s not a messy or desperate snog, but not quite a chaste peck either. It’s deep and yearning. Full of wanting, but asks for nothing.

He heads into the hall and his bedroom door clicks as he pulls it shut behind him. When you hear the bathroom door also click closed, you creep out from beneath his sheet and reach for the panties bunched up at the foot of the bed. You strip off the matching bra and stuff the pair into the bottom of your overnight bag. To replace them, you exhume a simple gray pajama set of an oversized shirt and loose, flowy shorts. The light material is cool against your skin, soothing for the first time the existential itchiness that had consumed you all night.

In the living room, Eddie sits on the sofa, comfortable and casual as can be in his soft sweats. There’s not a speck of disappointment or frustration on his handsome face as he flips through the channels. His mouth splits into a grin when he sees you, eyes dancing as he takes you in, just as dazzled by the sight of you in plain pajamas as he was by your lingerie.

He pats the cushion next to him and jerks his chin up to beckon you over. From the TV, the eerie tinkling theme of The Twilight Zone begins to play and you all but scamper over to the couch. He chuckles as you pad across the carpet and nestle into his side, folding your legs under you.

He reaches behind your head to pull down the knit blanket draped over the back of the sofa and proceeds to tuck it securely around you both. “Comfy?” he asks, still smiling down at you. 

You nod and his arm curls securely around your shoulder. It rests there naturally, like it’s the one place in the world it’s always been meant to be. “Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, stretching your neck to press your lips against his.

“Of course. Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His voice is tender and rumbly and you can feel his chest vibrate with the words as you lay your head against him. The softness of his t-shirt on your cheek and the warmth of his skin you can feel through it fills you with contentment. You mold yourself into his side, already thinking how nice it will be when you inevitably fall asleep right here. Right where you belong. Eddie’s head dips and he rests his cheek on the top of your head as he begins to recite along with the narrator,

“You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination…”

Thank you for reading/interacting - love you, mean it (◕‿◕)

tags: @vintagehellfire @mygirlchaos @autumnleagues @valerievortex

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #tw: anorgasmia #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst

[throwing-summers-at-the-walls]

I need a hysterectomy I can't keep living like this

#ok i just need to take my pill regularly but still i just hate having it anyway #useless stupid organ that gives me nothing but blood and pain ? bye #plus one of the side effects of my pill is suicidal ideation LOL #i wonder if it had/has an impact on my ideation #and my anorgasmia. though the latter is most probably caused by 7 months of valium #i hate psychiatry btw #benzos should be for short term use the instructions say #lol drug suicidal people bc theyre crazy and stupid psychiatrists say #this is a mess bye ill probably delete that later if i remember #tw suicide #personal

[canmom]

nsfw/mutuals only

for some reason like... at least a couple of mutuals on here are talking about their experiences of sex and like...

it’s making me think like, it seems like a whole lot of trans women seem to have a lot more of it/a lot more casually than i ever did in the path of ‘horribly repressed nerd who mostly sits on [her] computer or plays warhammer’ -> ‘non-monogamous trans girl who is dating quite a few people but doesn’t really do sex with many of them bc we all used to be repressed nerds who don’t really know what we want to do and/or we’re all incredibly tired most of the time’

and during that ‘repressed nerd’ period i was like... completely convinced that the very idea of sex disgusted me and that i would never ever do it. so when everyone else was figuring this shit out, i was... not doing that.

it seems like, at least some proportion of other tw were going to gay bathhouses or hooking up with people or whatever, not just people on here but also if you like crack open a book of trans lit or something there’s usually a lot of sex. which sure is probably not necessarily reflecting the ‘reality of trans life’ or whatever but still like... i think a lot of trans girls do it more than i do? which is fine obviously. but the consequence of that is like...

when i do sex i mostly like... make a lot of dumb jokes about, well, anything because i like making my partner laugh and smile and kind of want things to be awkward almost, and like in terms of the actual sexing... i seem require a lot of direction to initially figure out what they enjoy, and then i just do that handful of things a bunch. i’m really bad at knowing what i personally want, except like really tame stuff like stroking my back and cuddling.

i used to kind of... idk if dissociation is the right word, but my mind would wander and i’d like, not be able to remain the moment. and then i’d catch it happening and feel sad bc i couldn’t stop it and i wanted to enjoy being there.

that seems to happen less since GRS at least, but i don’t really know how to get anything that would qualify as ‘orgasm’ with the new parts. like i can sometimes get pretty nice sensations but it’s substantially different from how it used to be and i don’t know if i’m ‘doing it right’. like if my partner tries to do something with my clit and i’m not really getting very much out of it, idk how to like, advise them on something better to do.

(i can quote a study that says the odds ratio is ludicrously high for ‘increased education level’ as a prediction of ‘anorgasmia’ after GRS, which might be a statistical artefact because only 8 patients reported anorgasmia, but maybe that’s like... the repressed nerd demographic showing up lol.)

sometimes i kind of wish i’d been the kind of trans girl who participated in gay culture before she came out even though it would probably have left me a lot more traumatised, because it feels like it would all come (no pun intended) more naturally in that case. :/

that nervousness and lack of experience is why i am kind of shit at writing sex scenes in fiction, i guess, even though i kind of badly want to do them better. people seem to like my awkward attempts in e.g. house and the wip 30yrs, but to me it’s obvious i’m super embarrassed and have no idea what i’m doing.

#sex cw

[rebelfell]

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

When you move back to Hawkins after graduating college, you find yourself reconnecting with an old friend in a new way. Your first two dates with Eddie Munson are everything you’d ever dreamed, but the next one has you unraveling.

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, fem!reader, deceased parent, mentions of poor sexual experiences, some drinking, sexual anxiety, making out, fingering, panic attack, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 7k 18+, MDNI

You used to like this mirror.

It was vintage. Full length with an ornate gold frame, swirling embellishments on the top and sides. Not to mention it was a fucking steal at $10 from an estate sale. You’d liked it enough to make it one of the scant number of things you hauled all the way back to Hawkins when you moved out of your shoebox apartment in the city.

Right now, though? You kind of hated it. 

Usually, standing before it made you feel stately and elegant, even if all you had on was ratty denim shorts and a threadbare t-shirt riddled with holes and bleach stains. Yet here you were in one of your favorite outfits, hair meticulously styled, face glowing and dewy after spending an hour on it, and all you felt was ridiculous.

Not the mirror’s fault, technically. But it was the messenger. It told you at every twist of your hips, at every outfit change, at every pluck and tug of your clothes, that you were never going to look right—that you were never going to feel right. And it mocked your every failed attempt to do so.

You inhale, breath shallow and shaky as you try yet again to calm down. It’s just a date, you remind yourself. It’s just a date and he’s just a guy. There’s nothing to be worried about. 

Except it wasn’t just a date. It was the auspicious Third Date.

And it certainly wasn’t just a guy…it was Eddie.

This was something you’d been waiting for forever. For longer than forever. For longer than you could count. Eddie Munson was your oldest and dearest friend. Growing up, you were like each other’s second heads—facing the worst of what small minds in a small town in Indiana cooked up. You stood, middle fingers brandished like swords, dreaming of a wider world.

It felt strange to think this would only be your third date when you’d basically been dating since you were thirteen. You went to movies together, wasted weekday afternoons at the record store, lounged on the gravelly bank of Lover’s Lake reading well-worn paperbacks—Two Towers for him, Dorothy Parker for you. He begged you to sit in on Hellfire when he started the club your junior year and only had three members, himself included. He’d sneak you into the dive bar where his band played Tuesday nights, and you would immediately stick out among the five drunks who assembled every week. But as long as all you ordered was ginger ale and swore up and down you weren’t a cop, the bartender let you sit there all night to watch him.

Nights never ended the way “real” dates did. No hands being held as he walked you from his van to your doorstep; no kisses under flickering porch lights scored by a cricket symphony.

He never touched you too much, always quick to withdraw his hands when they lingered on your hip or back or arm. That would change, though, if he smoked or drank a bit and his cuddly side came out. Secretly, you longed for these times. You reveled in having his chin rest on your shoulder or his arms wind around your waist to hold you close. It never felt gross or crossed the line into groping like with other, lesser, guys looking for something to fondle. With Eddie, it felt more like he was showing you how he wished he could be all the time.

At least that’s what you let yourself imagine. 

He always apologized the following day, just short of castrating himself over it. It made you want to slap him. Slap him and then kiss him and slap him again. How could he not get it? How could he not see how goddamn in love with him you were? How could he not feel the same way? You waved him off, assuring him he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the while thinking, you fucking idiot, and not even knowing if you were referring to him or yourself.

Then came graduation. Or rather, your graduation and his sullen admission he wasn't eligible, which lead to the longest, most difficult conversation of your lives so far. It wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was you swinging wildly between reactions—scolding him for not telling you sooner; grasping at the straws of extra credit assignments your teachers would never assign; volunteering to stand guard while he broke into the administration office.

Eventually, though, you had to face the reality of losing him and it left a prominent break in your heart. Your acceptance letter to a school in Indianapolis that used to make you feel weightless, like you could finally fly out of here, now felt more like chains dragging you away.

You had half a mind to take him with you. You must have rehearsed the speech you wanted to make something like fifty times. Screw Hawkins, you’d say. Screw their closed minds and their disdain for anything even a little different. He could get his GED—you’d help him, happily. He could find work in the city and take community college classes or go to trade school. The two of you could live together and watch slasher movies every Friday night, falling asleep on his chest when you got tired just as you’d done all throughout high-school.

Of course those thoughts inevitably spiraled into what would happen once he started dating. A bigger city meant a bigger pool of people, all with the potential to realize the kind, sweet, caring boy who was bursting with passion for his fantasy games and music and his other rich interests was actually a massive catch and not a social pariah. In no time, it would be someone else falling asleep on his chest and you watching them be carried to his bed.

You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe even moreso, you couldn't bear the thought of asking him to come with you and him saying “no.”

So, you went alone. You packed up your car with the barest necessities, you kissed your dad goodbye and said you’d see him at Christmas. But it was Eddie who saw you off, taking you into his arms and holding you there with your head tucked under his chin. You buried your face in his chest, tears leaking onto the patches you’d helped him sew on his denim vest. He told you how proud he was and how much he was gonna miss you. He said to write. To send pictures.

All you could do was sniffle.

At college, you tried expanding your horizons. You joined a couple clubs to make new friends and started going to parties. You met people like Carl. And even though he was handsome and seemed nice enough, you turned him down when he asked you to dinner. It wasn’t until much later, when your roommate scolded you for doing so, that you even felt some doubt about it. What was even the point when you knew he wasn’t what you wanted?

Except what you wanted might never be yours.

That first trip home to Hawkins was wildly unnerving. You knew it hadn’t actually been that long since you left. But why did it feel so strange that everything felt exactly the same? Had you really changed so much already that your home no longer felt like home? 

Even seeing Eddie again felt like rupturing old wounds you thought had successfully scabbed over. You withdrew from him without even realizing you were doing it. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t dare voice it. His greatest fear loomed: you were done with Hawkins. 

Done with him.

It took a while to strike the balance between the old and the new. You’d run away so fast and tried to overwrite everything in your life, returning to Hawkins felt like entering a fantasy world. And Eddie became like an apparition, a specter of everything you missed most. 

You started writing to him more, sharing stories about your classes, gossip in the dorms, drunk adventures in the city. And he wrote back, telling you all about the new members of Hellfire who also happened to play instruments and were eager to replace the members of Corroded Coffin who had graduated and moved away. Eventually, the letters became more like a diary. 

You could confess things you’d never imagined telling anyone—stuff about your mom and how you’d spent every day wondering if she’d be proud of you; how you worried about your dad and wondered if he would ever get over her; how you feared you might never find love like theirs and even if you did, how it might be taken away from you like it was from them.

And he confessed back to you. Amidst his ideas for new D&D campaigns and song lyrics, he gave you deeper insight on things you knew already—his father’s sordid criminal history and his mother’s inability to cope, which led to her dropping Eddie on his uncle’s doorstep at the ripe old age of eleven. Reading about Hawkins through his eyes made it feel more real and less like a dream you’d woken up from. It kept that connection open, a bridge between your worlds, so  you could experience college and all the new things it had to offer, but still felt connected.

Then the end of your sophomore year brought more bad news. 

Again, he wasn’t eligible. Again, he wasn’t graduating.

You’d not been able to let go of that fantasy of him joining you at school. Every time you walked across the quad, leaves crunching beneath your boots, sunlight dying as it dipped behind the old brick buildings and cast everything in a hazy golden autumn glow, you imagined a pair of clean, white sneakers next to yours and a ringed hand squeezing your fingers.

He promised you this was his year. Swore it, in fact. ‘86, baby! he’d scrawled big and messy under his signature at the end of one of his letters. And maybe it would. He said he was doing better—army crawling his way towards a D in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, already planning how he would snatch his diploma and flip the bird at the principal as he walked the stage.

He was certain enough it made you start to believe it too.

You never dared to broach the subject of what he wanted to do after graduation. He hadn’t mentioned applying to any colleges or looking for work. The rest of the band was graduating with him. Maybe they’d all move here to get more exposure. Maybe they wanted to record a demo they could pass out to record companies. Or maybe Eddie wanted to go solo.

The lack of information made you antsy. Was he being decidedly cagey about his plans? Was he hiding something? Or was he just afraid of disappointing you again?

It was nearing the end of the school year when you finally broke. You had to see him.

For once, your spring breaks were going to overlap. You blew off your classes on Friday to make the drive and managed to get to Hawkins High just as the final bell was ringing. His van still sat in the parking lot and you pulled in alongside it to wait, practically jumping out of your skin with excitement. Thirty whole minutes crawled by before you finally spotted him.

He emerged from the woods at the back of the practice sport fields, chattering with ease to maybe the last person on earth you would have expected to see.

Chrissy Cunningham was just as pretty as she’d always been. She was a couple years behind you and Eddie in school, but everyone knew of her from the moment she made the varsity cheer squad as a freshman—a staggering feat no one else had ever managed. She still had the same bouncy ponytail, the same enormous eyes and cherubic cheeks you imagined must ache at the end of each day from her constant smiling. And she was somehow smiling even wider than normal at whatever Eddie was saying as he grinned back at her.

It made your stomach churn thinking what they could have been doing to have her smiling like that. You knew he’d started dealing for Reefer Rick to earn extra money, but in what universe would the queen of Hawkins High be struck with the urge to buy a bag of skunky weed? 

Unless it wasn’t weed she was after at all.

Panic doused your body. You jammed your key back in the ignition and sped out of the lot, praying he didn’t see you. You drove straight back to school, tears streaming down your face for the entire journey, making you hate yourself more with every salty trail that stained your cheeks. Because what else did you expect? For him to pine for you like you did for him? For him to be like you and not date anyone, ever? To keep everyone who even attempted to get close at a distance? Reserving a space in your heart for someone who might not even want to fill it?

You loved him more now than you ever had. Even without seeing him every day, even without having him constantly at your side. If anything, it had gotten worse. Your feelings piled up within you just as his letters did in your room. They all lived in a box under your shitty dorm bed to be pulled out over and over and over so you could parse every line for hidden meaning. Crying at his words, so heartfelt and honest you didn’t even notice the grammatical and spelling errors.

By the time you got back to campus, you felt raw and spent. Your face was streaked with tears and you were breathless from crying. For days, you walked around campus like a ghost until you bumped into Carl, the only other soul not off on some debaucherous Spring Break trip. And when he asked you for seemingly the hundredth time if he could buy you dinner…you said yes.

It came in the mail a few months later. Your address scribbled messily on an invitation to the Hawkins High Class of 1986 graduation. Eddie had included a photocopy of his final grades and written “proof it’s not a clerical error” with a little smiley face in the corner.

You called him that night to tell him how proud of him you were. And you were proud of him. So unbelievably proud. But when he asked if you were coming, you lied. You said your boyfriend’s parents would be in town and that he wanted you to meet them. You told him how sorry you were, all the while thinking Chrissy could congratulate him enough for the both of you. 

And in spite of yourself…you let yourself pretend you heard a little dejection in his voice when you used the word “boyfriend”—fictitious as it was.

The truth was, you’d only been officially dating Carl for a couple weeks. And he was perfectly nice. He’d kissed you and it felt fine. It didn’t quite live up to what you believed it should feel like, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe what you imagined wasn’t realistic. Maybe what you thought it should be wasn’t feasible.

Maybe you just had to let that go.

And dating Carl was simple and uncomplicated. It served a purpose. It made you feel at least like you weren’t languishing in a wasteland of your unrequited feelings. It made you feel like you were trying. Sure, the sex wasn’t great. But you hardly expected it to be good for you. 

You’d hooked up with the odd guy here and there over the years. It was a pattern that began with some guy you met downtown whose assignment was to keep you occupied while his friend put the moves on your roommate. You were a little drunk and a lot lonely, so you’d gone along with it. It was quick. A little uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t make you eager to repeat the experience. But at least you could say you’d done it.

Part of you thought maybe it would get better, but it never did. 

Even guys you thought were decent at first were quick to gloss over the preamble and lead up, jumping straight to stuffing themselves inside you with no regard to your winces of discomfort. It didn’t take long before you started to assume you had to be the problem. Even by yourself, it took you ages to reach any sort of precipice. And even when you did, even when you felt your heart rate rising and your body heaving in response, the pay-off was…underwhelming.

With Carl, you thought it could be different. Maybe you needed a deeper connection; maybe you needed a few times to get comfortable with someone to properly ascend that peak. But the more you did it with him, the less attainable that seemed. Maybe you were just broken. 

You also tried not to dwell on the fact that the only times you ever got close were when you pictured a different face hovering over yours; when you imagined your fingers twisted up in dark, shaggy curls; when you visualized pale skin littered with tattoos and sinewy arms caging you in; when you lit that one candle you only bought because it reminded you of Eddie’s cologne.

The decision to move back home turned out to be less a decision and more a necessity.

A whole year out of school and you’d had truly terrible luck finding a job—at least a decent one that actually wanted to pay you. Carl, ever the charmer, wondered why you even wanted to work when you’d just wind up quitting when you got married. Really, you appreciated it. It was exactly the kind of comment you needed to jolt you out of a relationship that had been on autopilot.

You were a mess. Lost. Aimless. Barely treading water. Wishing you could call the one person you knew would cheer you up, but unsure if it would only result in more heartache. In the blink of an eye, it had been over five years since you left home and it was starting to feel like your only accomplishments were breaking up with your boyfriend and buying a mirror.

Then came the call from your dad.

He’d taken a nasty fall at his hardware store. He was fine, for the most part. But he was now significantly weaker and would have to have surgery as well as physical therapy after. And he certainly couldn’t run his store anymore. It had never run particularly smoothly to begin with and his books left something to be desired—another thing you’d be helping with once you moved back. He never outright asked you to do so, but he also didn’t have to.

The only good news was the bad news: a massive fire that disintegrated Starcourt Mall had led to an influx of renovations to the downtown area. In the wake of the mall’s destruction came a resurgence in small businesses that breathed life back into the desolation the mall caused.

It was in this newly resurrected downtown where Eddie was making his mark. He had opened a hobby shop where he still hosted his weekly D&D games with a lot of the kids who had originally been in his club. His store became like a beacon for all the kids (and even some of the adults) in Hawkins who felt there was no place for them. Eddie gave them somewhere to belong and celebrated all the things that made them targets of ridicule to everyone else.

It was also your first stop on your first day back.

The whole shop was so Eddie. As you walked inside and took in the decor, it seemed entirely possible he had just moved everything from his bedroom at Wayne’s right in here. He’d even rigged the entrance with a speaker that played the guitar riff of “Enter Sandman” when someone came through the door. 

You wished you could bottle the moment he came out front, your arrival signaled by the song.

“Holy shit…”

The box of miniatures and figurines he’d just finished pricing in the back fell to the floor with a thump and a rattle of plastic parts. He barely registered it, though. With round, unblinking eyes he stared, too stunned to move a muscle until a smile cracked his face wide open.

In just three long strides he crossed the store and swept you into his arms, lifting you up and whirling you around. “You’re here!” he gushed, arms crushing you around the middle in the most exquisite pain. “You’re really here!”

“I told you I was moving back!” 

You laughed heartily in his ear as he placed you back on the ground, telling yourself it must have been the unexpected lift making you breathless and not how the sunlight coming through the windows hit his eyes and made them shine like molten honey. He kept you close, letting his hands rest on your arms and squeezing them like he had to be sure you weren’t a mirage.

“I thought it was one of those ‘too good to be true’ things,” he said sheepishly, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “Had to see it to believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” you sighed.

You were already prepared for the loss of his touch, for when he would shamefully retract his hands, but he never did. He held you comfortably, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. He let you go reluctantly, not regretfully, letting his fingertips trail softly down your arm.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice coated in warmth. “I missed you so much.”

You nodded, your throat pinched as you tried not to cry. “I…I missed you too.”

Eddie’s smile grew even bigger, his eyes seeming to dance with excitement. “Well, we have to celebrate,” he said. “I close up shop at six. Meet me back here and we’ll go to the Hideout?”

You stalled, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you considered. Almost on instinct, you’d nearly agreed right away. Old habits and what not. But did you want to fall immediately back into your old patterns? Hawkins had changed so little since you left, it felt too easy to slip back into the trap. Could you really go right back to hopelessly pining for him as you’d done so long?

“Come on,” Eddie urged, flashing those doe eyes he knew you couldn’t resist. “It’s one drink.”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “One drink.”

One drink turned out to be three. Starting with your first legal drink together at his old haunt while a different band of hopeful kids fumbled their way through clumsy Metallica covers.

“Please tell me we were never that young,” Eddie sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’ve never been young,” you teased. “You came out of the womb a crotchety old man.”

A little later, you absconded to the corner booth and tucked yourselves away from the rowdiness of the growing crowd. You were flushed from the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream and from how close Eddie was sitting. It felt just like old times, except it was nothing like old times.

Because this time, he was flirting with you. And not being subtle.

You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but it only became more obvious the longer the night wore on. There was a whole new confidence and intention in the way he talked to you. He’d never been shy, never had any trouble drawing people in, but there was a fire lit behind his eyes tonight you’d never seen before. And you were the sole object of that blaze.

“So…still with Carl?” He finally asked, after bolstering himself to do so for the last three hours.

You took a long sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his over the rim of your glass. The liquor made you bold, the burn at the back of your throat adding smokiness to your voice.

“No-pe,” you said, popping your lips on the final syllable. Eddie smiled wolfishly and leaned in.

“Good,” he purred. “Cos that would have made it real awkward when I asked you out.”

He took you to dinner two days later. Rang the doorbell and smiled at you as he stood on your porch wearing a black button down under a darker black velvet vest. His black jeans were a new- looking pair of the same kind he’d always worn, sans the ragged holes over his knees.

Despite the thin material of your sundress and the balmy weather outside, you were sweating with nerves. The breeze played with your skirt as he walked you to his van and the coolness of it on your clammy skin made you shiver. But when Eddie suddenly darted ahead of you to open your door and turned around with his hand held up to help you inside, it made you melt. 

The gesture filled your body with warmth, chasing away any hint of a chill.

After dinner, he suggested you walk a block or so to a bar where Eddie liked to play pool. And as you did, his hand reached for yours and he threaded your fingers together. You stared down at it, stunned. How many times had you wished he would do that? How many times did you imagine the heat of his palm against yours mixing with the coolness of his chunky silver rings on his fingers? It had always seemed so impossible and he’d just done it.

Like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Easy. Natural.

He held your hand all the way into the bar, only letting go of you to accept a tray of balls from the bartender when Eddie requested a table. With a couple of beers in hand, you followed him to his favorite one that was tucked away in a little alcove, practically private.

You set down the beers and watched as he racked the balls, gaze lingering on his long frame and chuckling at the way he shimmied his hips as he leaned over the table to break. “Eyes on me,” he told you, playful smile revealing his teeth.

It was a redundant request, because it was entirely impossible to look anywhere else.

Eddie had filled out quite a bit since high-school. He was never an athlete by any means, but evidently a regime of guitar playing and dice throwing was enough to maintain decent tone. You stared at him unabashed as he walked around the table, lining up his shot. His vest now flapped open and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the familiar smattering of bats under his elbow and the puppetmaster etched inside his forearm. It made you wonder how many more tattoos—new ones you’d not yet seen—were hiding under the rest of his clothes. He smirked at you, smug as he leaned over the table, thoroughly enjoying the way your eyes followed him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawled before sinking a bank shot.

You rolled your eyes, trying to fein being unimpressed. “Trying to distract me, Munson?” you asked, chalking the tip of your cue in a much more sensual manner than necessary, letting your fingers lazily stroke the stick as Eddie watched transfixed. He huffed a laugh at the display.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Evidently, both of you were equally distracted. Most of your games lagged for a mutual inability to sink more than one shot in a row as the other did their best to pull focus. It was far easier for you, having only to lean forward slightly across the table from him to reveal a healthy dose of your cleavage. That, coupled with a coy smile and batting eyelashes, spelled disaster for Eddie. Everytime you did it, he’d scratch his shot and chuckle dryly at his own hubris.

He took a different approach, choosing instead to stand as close to you as he could as you lined up your shots. His musk and cologne filled your nose, a tantalizing woodsy smell that made your head spin as you struggled to keep your eyes on the ball. He rested his hip against the table, handcuff belt buckle glinting as it reflected the light from the lamp hanging overhead.

You could practically hear the childish taunt of not touching you, not touching you.

“Just take your shot, baby,” he cooed, low and husky. The sound made your heart hammer.

A couple hours of teasing and toying later, both of you were ready to explode. Your glasses sat empty on the nearby table, neither of you terribly interested in a refill. And as Eddie sunk the eight ball again, his eyes flashed to the tray for the balls rather than going to re-rack them.

“I guess I should get you home?” he asked.

A little sullen at the idea, you nodded and returned your cues to a rack on the wall while Eddie brought the balls back to the bartender and settled the tab. Only when you were walking back to the table to get your purse and passed a pair of men who reeked of tobacco did something occur to you: Eddie hadn’t taken a smoke break once.

“Did you quit?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled as he drew nearer to you, relishing the way your chest heaved as you reacted to his closeness.

“Took a couple years, but yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I still need a little help, though.”

He tugged his shirttail out from the waistband of his jeans, causing his belt and the chain on his wallet to jingle slightly as he lifted his shirt to flash a strip of his stomach. You’re so distracted by the action and the cut of his v-muscle it takes a few seconds to register the beige nicotine patch stuck on his hip. You stared at him and then back at it, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

He leaned in, his face the closest it had been to yours all night, his voice hushed so only you could hear. “For when I’m really nervous,” he said.

Streetlights and stars blurred as you stepped out of the bar and he whirled you into the alley. The rough brick scraped your back and snagged on your dress as you were flattened against it and you gazed up at Eddie, string lights overhead shining brightly in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Are you ready for this to start?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight his eyes trained on your face. Your hands settled lightly on his waist and you gave an impatient tug as you nodded. It was all the invitation he needed. 

His mouth met yours like the sun met the horizon. The softest kiss you’d ever had deepened gradually until you were grasping at him, fisting his shirt in your fingers. Your lips felt molded together, pliant to the other’s movements, but still insistent as they chased one another.

Control shifted subtly between you, taking turns drawing the other in and pulling back. More teasing, more toying. Yet you never denied each other long, unable to stay apart.

God, this was it. This was what it was always supposed to feel like.

It could have been hours you stood out there kissing and laughing, but you’d never have known. The only thing that alerted you to the passing of time was when the lights inside the bar shut off and the employees filed out for their final smoke break before heading home.

Giggling like terrible criminals begging to be caught, you and Eddie hugged the shadows and made your way back to his van. You rode home with your panties soaked, subtly shifting in your seat, trying not to think about the arousal pooled between your thighs. And at home, back in your room, you were so tempted to dip your fingers into the slickness as you thought about Eddie’s breath on your lips; how the ends of his curls tickled your sternum when he leaned into you; the way his scent lingered on your skin after being pressed between his body and that wall. 

But you didn’t dare risk the disappointment that would follow when your pleasure receded like waves being drawn into a riptide; when you backed down from the edge of that cliff, feeling even emptier after not reaching that peak. Again. No, you couldn’t spoil this night with all that.

You saw him more throughout the week. He started popping into your father’s store almost as soon as it opened, offering you coffee and a kiss. And he spent the first hour of the morning with you at the front counter, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, swatting him with a folded up newspaper after you finished doing the jumble together.

He just shrugged with all the casual ease of somebody whose own shop didn’t open until 11. Or noon if he was hungover. “What could be better than hanging out with my favorite girl?”

Favorite girl. The words lived in your brain all day. It made you positively giddy every time you thought about it, even causing you to accidentally enter a customer’s 15% discount as 51% and not even bother correcting it. The loss on a value pack of paint brushes and trays seemed a paltry fee for the smile that spread across old Mrs. Gershwin’s face when she saw her total.

Eddie started calling every night at 9:30, practically on the dot, and it didn’t take long for you to get in the habit of settling into your bed around that time so you could pick up the receiver in your room before the ringing disturbed your dad dozing in his recliner downstairs. 

“So when do I get to take you out again?” he asked, clearly not oblivious to how it made you melt on the other end of the line. 

You blushed your way through making arrangements for an early movie Saturday followed by dinner. Then, before beginning the long process of saying your goodnights, you paused to ask him the thing you’d been wondering since that night at the Hideout.

“Eddie…are we really doing this?” you asked, torn between giddiness and trepidation.

“I certainly am,” he hummed into the receiver.

He talked the whole way through the movie and still had more to say at dinner afterward. 

It didn’t bother you, though. You loved listening to him talk. Your ears had gone so long without his rambling, it was more like music than words. His feet toyed with yours under the table and after you ordered dessert, he excused himself to use the bathroom only to slide into your side of the booth when he came back. You giggled over tiramisu and cheesecake, your sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Later, the tastes of your desserts would mix in your mouths as he kissed you deeply in his car dropping you off.

Everything about it felt so alive. So ripe with the promise of what this could turn into, what it had already become. In two dates with Eddie, you felt more connection than you had in two years of dating Carl. Not that it was fair comparing them. Nothing and no one could ever compare to this.

It was a Wednesday when he made a new proposition. You had already crawled into bed and swathed yourself in blankets to wait for his call. And after the few customary minutes of talking about your respective days, he brought up his idea for Friday night.

“Would you want to come over here for dinner?” he asked.

“You…you mean like your place?”

“I was thinking mine, but if your heart is set on a neighbor’s, I’m sure breaking in wouldn’t be too difficult.” He’s smirking so hard you swear you can hear it over the phone. 

“I guess yours will do,” you chuckled. “Does this mean I’ll get to see The Hair in person?”

Eddie was living with Steve Harrington, which had taken a commanding lead for being the most confusing thing you’d learned since returning home. Apparently they’d been brought together by a shared friendship with Dustin Henderson, one of the kids from Hellfire Eddie had taken under his batwing during his third and final senior year. Dustin had spent months insisting both boys would get along if they only gave the other a chance until his badgering paid off.

Now, the pair shared a tiny apartment downtown, walking distance from Eddie’s shop and only a short drive to Family Video where Steve was now the manager. And Dustin evidently couldn’t go five minutes without congratulating himself for bringing the two of them together. Eddie liked to joke that they were now co-parenting the little shithead (affectionate).

“Actually, Steve is out of town this weekend,” Eddie said, struggling to contain his excitement and keep his cool. “So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Oh, yeah?” you said, voice spiking just an octave too high.

“Yep. And, um…you could stay over if you wanted? If that sounds good to you?”

Stay over. You knew what that meant. There was something gut wrenchingly endearing about the way he asked—the innocent peal of his voice. But there was no doubt in your mind what he was getting at. This wasn’t going to be like crashing on his couch after a movie night or pouring yourself into his bed after a Corroded Coffin show that lasted to the wee hours.

This would be something new. Something completely different.

“That sounds great,” you said, finally.

And it did sound great. It just also sounded a little terrifying.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. But television and film had successfully indoctrinated you with knowledge of that classic Third Date milestone. And it made sense. He wasn’t some stranger. You’d known each other for so long, it stood to reason things would continue to accelerate between you. And was that such a bad thing? 

This was Eddie, after all. He was your best friend. He was your other half. You weren’t sure if  you even believed in soul mates, so to speak, but if they did exist you couldn’t imagine anyone besides him in that role. He had stoked life into the coals within you that you were certain had burnt into a lump of ash. You never felt with anyone the way you felt with him. 

So if you were gonna do this, you were gonna do it right.

You went shopping, fighting off anxious nausea as you perused the racks of lingerie in the far corner of a little boutique. Averting your eyes from the more salacious options, you settled on a matching set of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread to look like stars. It was made of thin mesh that gave the illusion of coverage, but revealed plenty through the sheer netting.

It also looked a little like something a wizard might wear. And for obvious reasons, you had a feeling Eddie might like that. 

Securing your purchase you thought might make you feel more prepared, but it only caused your thoughts to unravel further. This was the first time Eddie would be seeing your underwear and it wasn’t even your own. At least it didn’t yet feel like your own the way your drawer full of less suggestive garments did. What if he thought you looked ridiculous? What if he laughed or got turned off because your thighs were too big or the pudge of your stomach grossed him out? Worse yet, what if you failed to live up to the implications? What if he saw it and assumed you knew what you were doing, only to be woefully disappointed by your skills? Or lack thereof?

It was impossible to reconcile the two wolves fighting for dominance in your mind. On the one hand, it was wildly exciting: the thought of finally getting to be with him and touch him and have him touch you back. At the same time, though, you were overwhelmed at the prospect. What if it changed things between you? You’d always thought you wanted more than friendship with him, but what if in that pursuit you lost the person you treasured more than anything in the world?

And then of course there were the normal fears. 

After so much unfulfilling sex, you couldn’t help but be fearful your body would betray you as it always had. It was hard not to pin all your hopes on this and you didn’t want to add any more pressure to this night than you already felt. But even if you backed off that peak and failed to reach the summit, surely the ascent would feel just as nice as long as it was with him. 

Right?

This was what you tried to tell yourself as you turned one last time in front of your mirror. 

Literally everything about this night was making you uncomfortable and it hadn’t even begun yet. The lingerie that felt fine when you bought it was tight and itchy on your skin, and it felt glaringly obvious you were wearing it under your clothes—like a diaper or a straightjacket.

You’d shaved, even though it made you feel like a creepy bald Barbie, and even though you found the concept kind of disturbing. Whose brilliant idea was it anyway that to be sexy you had to look like a child between your legs? And you always wound up completely bare because you could never get it even and kept having to take more from each side until nothing was left.

Still, you did it. Because that was what everyone did, right? That’s what he would expect?

Shaking your head, trying to fling away all your thoughts, you busy yourself packing your small overnight bag. It was the same one you must have brought over to Eddie’s a hundred times over, but for the first time you found yourself doubting it. Would he think you were high maintenance for wanting your own toothbrush and a change of clothes? For bringing something comfortable to sleep in? Would he think you were a weirdo for not just sleeping naked? God, what if he saw it and figured you’d been sleeping with so many guys, you just kept it packed all the time?

Panic creeps up the back of your neck. It burns hot on your cheeks and makes your heart pound in your temples until you’re so dizzy you have to lean against the door with your head bent.

Breathe, you think. Breathe, breathe, breathe. 

Frustratingly slowly, the thrumming in your chest subsides. You managed to bring yourself down off the ledge and find your center—Eddie.

Eddie would make everything alright. 

He always did.

Part Two

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