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moonyslibrary98 · 3 months ago

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dear stranger, | chapter two from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.2k

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: forced proximity, angsty, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, emotional hurt / no-comfort, eddie is a bit of an asshole, a little mutual pining, also touches on topics of: divorce, death, grief, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Eddie’s first interaction with you, a short conversation outside Benny’s one faithful Thursday evening, only solidified the idea of a potential relationship, but he was a couple of years older and coming from a completely different world to yours. Trailer trash, and whatnot. He simply didn’t think you’d be interested in him like that.

Instead, riddled with self-doubt, Eddie opted to go down the friendship route and being your friend was easy.

Despite not sharing a lot of the same interests, the two of you always managed to find common ground and the conversation flow came naturally.

Eddie, in his fuck-the-patriarchy and everything-that’s-cool way, introduced you to a wide variety of hobbies which, in your world, were considered wildly out of the box: Dungeons and Dragons, Warhammer, all sorts of Anime, punk rock and heavy metal music. The list goes on.

Hoping to humanise your lack of interests aside from your social status, you taught the metal-head all things pop culture. Cue marathons of various seasons of different Real Housewives, making him read Twilight and asking him to choose Team Edward or Team Jacob, and judging celebrity red carpet looks.

There also appeared to be a few short things you both agreed on:

The colour blue sucks.

Lord of the Rings franchise is one of the best book to movie adaptations to ever exist.

Pizza is clearly the best food and can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Additionally, a debate arose one night to potentially include point four: Leia is a cute name for a girl. Eddie looked at you with those pretty brown eyes and smiled wide in agreement ‘cause even though you were still just a couple of kids, the potential of a future that saw your friendship blossoming, one way or another, excited him. However, the conversation happened when you were both quite high. Point long forgotten by the time the sun greeted the morning sky.

All in all, Eddie worshipped the ground you walked on. Back then, he would’ve done anything for you, you merely had to ask. The not-so-secret crush blossomed with every interaction and he swore if anyone ever dared to hurt the girl he told himself he couldn’t have, all hell would break loose.

How come, a hellish three years later, he’s the one doing the hurting? The question, of course, is rhetorical. He knows exactly what led to the breakdown of your friendship. That doesn’t mean however, he’s not completely riddled with guilt for how he just reacted to seeing you for the first time since the end of Senior Year.

His focus remains locked on where you’re after disappearing as his hand rubs the part of him you’ve just bumped, and Eddie swears he can still feel your arm against his shoulder. A tingle, an imprint, a ghost. His fingers curl into a fist against the material of his jacket and he eventually drops his head, sigh escaping his lips. Nancy is going to kill him for making you cry.

Upstairs, there’s a knock on your door.

You quickly wipe any last tears that have trickled down your cheeks and call out to whoever is on the other side that it’s open. Robin reveals herself, head tilting to the side as she notices the miserable look on your face.

“Nancy is already crucifying him,” is all she says before wrapping her arms around you, pulling you in for a comforting hug.

“She doesn’t have to do that,” you protest, resting your chin on her shoulder. “He’s got every right to be upset with me.”

“But the thing is, babe, everything we told you is true. Like, he does ask about you constantly, and he didn’t even have an issue with you coming this weekend when Nancy told him you accepted her invite,” she elaborates, pulling back from the embrace and leaning against a set of drawers.

“He’s just acting like a dweeb ‘cause you hugged Harrington first.”

You whine, a little too dramatically, while burying your face in your hands. It oddly feels therapeutic. Robin huffs out a laugh at your reaction, poking your arm to get you to look back at her.

“He’s never going to forgive me, Rob.” You sigh.

“Yes, he will.”

“How can he forgive me when he doesn’t want to listen to my apology? He practically said to pretend he’s not here.”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “Honey, you realise that all you have to do is listen to his stupid-ass request?” She says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The second you start giving him the cold shoulder, he’s gonna want your attention.”

And Robin was right, of course.

You didn’t notice it at first, fully understanding of Eddie’s request to steer clear from one another, plus dinner prep was a perfect distraction from his lingering presence.

Nancy tasks you with making the potato salad. A simple request and one you are happy to oblige. She positions you at one of the counters, your back to the kitchen island where Eddie is sitting nursing a beer. He’s messing around on Spotify, skipping through songs, and it takes everything you have not to comment about how he should just fucking pick one playlist and let it be.

The one person definitely unbothered by the constant switch in music is Argyle who fell asleep at the table. Body completely relaxed on the chair, head hanging backwards, and light snores escaping his parted lips as Rob tries to balance a stack of Pringles on his forehead.

Jonathan is Nancy’s sous chef, her helping hand, fulfilling every little request she has while preparing the rest of the grand meal. They’re giggling together and you can’t help but smile to yourself, thinking about how lucky they are to have found someone they feel so comfortable around.

Eddie was that someone for you, the thought crosses your mind, sending a twinge signal to your stomach. The twist in your gut is a sort of pain comparable to slicing your hand open, and at that moment your gaze shifts to the knife in your hand, grip tightening. You’re frozen for a minute. Unsure how to continue with the salad when all you can think about is the boy behind you. The boy that wants nothing to do with you.

Yet, unbeknown to you, also the boy who immediately notices the pause in your movements.

Eddie doesn’t act on it though. He thinks about it, only for a second too long because Steve approaches you first, briefly placing a hand on your back to gauge your attention, before leaning against the counter next to where you’re chopping potatoes. You smile at him. Eddie can see that it’s timid, small. Clearly there’s something on your mind and he feels guilty for most likely being the person that’s caused your dampened mood.

“How are you doin’?” Steve asks, crossing his arms across his chest, eyes glued to the side of your face.

“Good.” It’s not entirely true, but you know Eddie, as well as everyone else currently alert in this kitchen, can hear your conversation. “Delaying cutting these onions ‘cause I know they’re gonna make me cry,” you joke.

Steve chuckles. “Well, all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.” He says before twisting in his spot and reaching for a chopping board. “I happen to be a pro at cutting onions.”

The light laugh that escapes your lips causes Eddie to roll his eyes. Not that you see his reaction though. You also don’t see how his grip tightens on the bottle of beer, or how his jaw clenches when Steve’s arm brushes against yours while you both work on the salad.

But despite the anger — the jealousy — bubbling inside of him, Eddie doesn’t stop listening in on your conversation with Harrington. In fact, he shuffles his chair closer, lowering the volume on the laptop by one. He can’t help himself. He’ll forever be invested in you, even if he says he’s not and that he doesn’t care. It’s all a pathetic lie to cover up the fact that he’s never quite gotten over you.

“So, how’s Vegas treating you? Bet it’s all parties and no responsibilities,” Steve nudges.

“God, I’d be disowned if that were the case,” you reply, chuckling lightly. You don’t tell him you’re sober, it doesn’t feel like the right time. “First year I was there, I worked. My dad scored me a reception job at his firm, so I saved a little cash and moved out on my own, just in time for the following year, when I started my degree.”

Steve hums, impressed. Eddie’s feeling proud, then a little sad because you got into college and he wasn’t there to congratulate you. Seemingly, no one from this group was.

“Gone into teaching, like you wanted?” Steve asks.

“Not entirely,” you pause briefly, “But what’s with the third degree? We’ve got all weekend to catch up.”

Harrington snorts out a laugh. “True,” he agrees with a smile, “I guess, you’re just such a mystery now. The usual social stalking doesn’t work ‘cause you haven’t updated anything in three years, and whenever I tried to call, you didn’t answer.”

You’re not sure what to say since he’s not wrong in his words, so you opt to say nothing at all. Steve seems to understand your reverence, nudging your arm with his own in the form of a silent assertion that he’s really not mad.

Eddie starts to feel guilty for being the one who isolated you from your friends, your support system. Though you never said it, he knows you left because of what happened at Chrissy’s stupid party. Ashamed of your actions and how they affected the group. Actions that were a result of his rash decisions.

“Fucking— Are you seriously going to listen to me spill my feelings for you, then try and jump into bed with fucking Harrington?!” Eddie’s yelling, arms stretched out as if he’s daring you.

The sound of Nancy clearing her throat forces the memory to freeze. Eddie glances up at the petite brunette, whose got one eyebrow arched as if to ask what the fuck he’s doing. He shrugs, taking another swig of his beer, then glances back down at the laptop and continues his not-so-secret eavesdropping.

“Tell me this, though,” Steve prompts, glancing at you, “are you happy?”

You pause your own movements, taking a moment to ponder his pretty loaded question. When you meet his brown eyes, you smile a genuine smile, surprising even yourself as to how easy it is to answer.

“Yes,” you state simply, “I’m happy.”

The screech of a chair being pushed back fills the air, causing both you and Steve to turn around, at the same moment that Eddie walks out of the kitchen. Nancy is quick on his heels, only flashing you an apologetic smile, and the entirety of the last twenty-odd seconds leaves you even more confused.

All throughout dinner, you notice how Eddie is oddly quiet, only chiming in when someone — not you — directly addresses him. No one comments on his unusual behaviour, though Robin shoots you some knowing looks from across the table every couple of seconds.

Then when the group agrees to move outside, while you get comfortable on the patio furniture, Eddie deliberately chooses the chair closest to the steps, as if he’s planning for a quick escape. He lights a cigarette, staring out at the lake, and your entire body is screaming to ask what’s on his mind, but then again, he’s made it quite clear he wants nothing from you.

So you decide to continue pretending his sullen mood isn’t affecting you.

“Merlot or Pinot Grigio?”

“Hmm?”

Steve’s at the door, a bottle of red and white wine in each hand. He lifts them up slightly, repeating the question, then waiting patiently for an answer. Although he doesn’t have to wait long because you quickly shake your head a firm no.

“I uh… I actually don’t drink anymore.”

Eddie’s ears perk up at your answer, though he doesn’t actually look in your direction. Still pretending to focus on the ripples in the dark water ahead.

“Oh.” Steve shifts awkwardly. “Well, now we know why Nancy didn’t offer any with dinner. Assuming she knows?”

“She does.”

“Then I’m sorry for offering.”

“Don’t be,” you say and it’s true.

He goes back inside without another word, leaving you alone with Eddie.

The silence is overwhelming and frankly, a little awkward. It’s odd to be so close to one another, yet feel as though you’re oceans apart. It’s also odd to have revealed this new and intimate detail about yourself, yet since it wasn’t said directly to him, Eddie might as well still not know.

You don’t know how to act, so you take out your phone.

There’s a text from your mom, ‘Really hope you’re having a good time, honey. Send some pictures, if you can.’

‘surviving ;)’, your fingers work across the keyboard, then you go into your album and select a photo of yourself with Robin and Nancy. The only one taken so far. ‘everyone says hi.’

‘Everyone?’

Your eyes flutter to where Eddie is sitting. He’s still looking at the lake.

‘almost everyone…’

As the three dots appear on the screen, your phone dings with the unmistakable sound of an Instagram notification. Your super secret secondary profile makes itself known, and you hold your breath for a split-second. But if Eddie heard it, he doesn’t say anything.

When you open the notification, the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

That, Eddie notices. Well, he noticed the sound too, but he’s not going to pry about your use of social media after pretty much telling you to fuck off earlier. His mind however, is running in circles. The metal-head knows you haven’t posted anything new on Instagram since you left Hawkins, so you must only be using the app for messaging, but who from your old life — that isn’t here this weekend — would be dming you at this hour of the evening? The second you smiled, at whatever the fuck you were after seeing on your phonescreen, well, Eddie wishes he handled your reunion earlier a little better because maybe you’d privy him to that information. He wants, no, needs to know who else you’ve been in contact with.

And he knows exactly who to ask.

A little too lost in your dm’s, you don’t notice Eddie put out the cigarette he’s been smoking and stump back inside. You don’t notice him approach Steve, mumble something in the guy's ear and point to his phone. You don’t notice them glancing at you through the large window, or whisper manically back and forth. You don’t notice Nancy joining in on the conversation, hands on her hips like a disapproving mom.

“She’s not in touch with anyone else,” she says and because she sees Eddie in particular is not buying whatever she’s selling, Nancy adds, “She’s got a second profile.”

Both boys are stunned, albeit only for a minute. Then the back-and-forth begins again. Questions arise. How long has Nancy known? Why doesn’t anyone else know? What’s the handle? Why not just use the old, original profile?

“It’s none of your business,” she tells them in a hushed tone of voice, “If she wanted you to know what is going on in her life, she’d post on the profile she created in high school, okay?”

Steve huffs, wine long forgotten, instead opting for something a little stronger. He pours four glasses of whiskey before motioning for Eddie and Nancy to take one, the last being for Robin who disappeared to talk to her girlfriend again. He takes a sip, liquid burning down his throat.

“I just don’t get the secrecy,” he says with a shrug.

With the glass pressed to her lips, Nancy looks out the window to where you’re sitting. A sigh escapes her lips. There’s a small smile present on your expression, focus remaining on your phone, and Nancy hates herself for being the person that’s ruined that, along with breaking the promise she’s made you about seven months into your time in Vegas.

She wanted to know how you were getting on. Considering by then you told her you weren’t coming back to Hawkins any time soon — one of the only texts you’d sent her since the time you left. The brunette girl wanted to know you were safe, happier. Calls weren’t going to work since you were barely replying to messages, and it’s not like at that point in time you were keen on letting the rest of the group know what you were up to, so your main Instagram account was out of the question.

Nancy suggested a second profile.

Then she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.

“There’s two things you should know,” she breathes, glancing between Steve and Eddie. “First thing’s first though, you need to fucking forgive her.” Poking Eddie’s chest, her expression is stern. “You’ve forgiven Harrington here, so the least you can do is have a normal conversation with her.”

“Nance—”

“Eddie, I swear to fucking Christ. If you’re actually incapable for swallowing your pride for one fucking second—”

The sound of the sliding door causes her to halt her words and the three of them turn their heads to where you’re now standing, wide-eyed and apologetic because it seems at first glance you are after interrupting a very important conversation.

“Sorry,” you say with a meek smile, “I just came to get a glass of water.”

And you don’t mean to eavesdrop when they start whispering amongst themselves as you fill a glass with ice. In your defence, however, they’ve never been good at keeping their voices quiet, and they’re no better now. You hear your name escape Eddie’s lips, then something about Instagram coming from Steve.

Oh.

Having filled your glass with water, you turn back to look at the three of them.

To your surprise, the metal-head is already looking at you. His expression is hard to read, but regardless, it makes your heart skip a beat. It also makes you think that the only way for him to start trusting you again, he deserves to know what you’ve been up to these last few years — even by means of a now not-so-secret Instagram account.

So you call Steve’s name, not looking away from Eddie at first. When Harrington doesn’t react, in too deep with Nancy, you say it again, louder. He spins on his heel then, at the same time that you shift your attention in his direction.

Sighing softly, you tell him to pull up Instagram and then you dictate the handle and although you’re watching Steve type in every syllable that escapes your lips, from the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie’s fingers also work the screen of his phone.

Proof of both their curiosities dings in your pocket.

You quickly take out your own phone, silently accepting their follow requests while choosing not to comment on the fact that there were two: Eddie’s name gracing your notifications for the first time in three years.

With a quick refresh, there in all its Las Vegas glory, is the last three years of your life.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy says, now standing in front of you, “They’re relentless little fuckers.”

“Hey!” Steve’s offence is melodramatic and Nancy just rolls her eyes at the boy, before linking your arm with hers and leading you back outside. Having one quick glance at your newly found account, Harrington follows quickly behind.

Eddie on the other hand is frozen in place.

He tries to keep a straight face as opens the first image, quickly scanning the caption, before focusing on the picture posted two days ago. Apparently you were in Fort Wayne, visiting your mom. There’s a smile on your face that he hasn’t witnessed since high school and his heart tightens thinking about how he’d do anything to be the reason for your happy expressions again.

Did you stomp all over his heart? Yes. Rationally, Eddie should hate you for that alone, not even mentioning how you flushed years of friendship down the toilet. And for a long, long while, he did. Eventually, the metal-head realised the hate was superficial because he was actually more angry with himself.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate.”

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

That stupid party, and putting you in the position he did, all while you were clearly too drunk, was a huge mistake on his part. It wasn’t the right place, nor the right time. Eddie just thought you looked so beautiful that night, and the alcohol cruising through his own veins clouded his judgement.

Then you reacted the way you did. When Eddie found you in the downstairs bathroom of Chrissy’s house in the arms of Harrington, well, you both said some equally rude things in the aftermath. They came from a place of anger, but he could never actually hate you.

You left without a word, before Eddie got a chance to apologise for his shitty behaviour at the party. Before he got a chance to tell you that he doesn’t care that you kissed Harrington, or whether you feel the same way he does. All he cares about is being in your life.

Now, your life resides on a profile Eddie didn’t even know about until mere minutes ago.

He’s scrolling, slowly. Taking the time to examine each photo, down to the comments left behind. Each image only adds to the ache in his chest. There’s experiences here he selfishly thinks he should’ve been a part of, as opposed to the people you’ve actually tagged. He’s known you for far longer than this dude Jax, who you seemingly went and got a tattoo with.

What hurts the most though, is seeing the proof of how happy you’ve been the last three years. How happy you’ve been without him in your life.

“So, babe, who the fuck is Jax?” Robin asks with a smirk.

Having been the last person to find out about your secret account, she was sure to take her time to tease you in retaliation. Starting light, with small jabs on the new wellness hobbies you’ve picked up over the years like hiking through the Nevada Trails Park, sunset yoga in the desert, and a new affinity for green smoothies. Then moving quickly to your new choice of friends, not judging them by any means, more expressing curiosity as to why these specific people replaced the group from Hawkins.

“Jax is a friend,” you answer simply.

“Looks awfully cosy for just a friend,” she teases, glancing up at you briefly before twisting the phone in Steve’s direction, to show the picture.

You roll your eyes ‘cause there’s really nothing going on between you and the boy in question, so the teasing you can take. You’re not ashamed.

“He’s great as a gym partner, honestly, he’s great for most boyfriend related activities, but he would, one-hundred per cent, make a terrible actual boyfriend.” You say with a soft laugh, sinking further into the cushioned seat as you further let your guard down.

Steve smirks. Satisfied. Clearly glad there’s nothing between you and Jax, though you don’t comment on his reaction. Instead, your gaze momentarily shifts to Eddie, who still hasn’t said a single word.

The brunette boy is staring at his hands. Fidgeting with the metal rings that coat his fingers. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about, and it takes everything you’ve got not to ask him. Is he proud of the person you’ve become? Or is his continuous resentment spiralling out of control, because maybe he’s wondering why you could change for those strangers, but couldn’t change for him? But that, you couldn’t even answer for yourself.

“So you haven’t been dating anyone?” Robin further probes into your new life.

When you glance back at the blonde, she raises a brow, and you know she’s only asking because she wants the same thing as you: some sort of reaction out of Eddie.

You shake your head. “No.”

But it’s Steve who reacts instead.

“Come on, sweetheart!” His tone is full of disbelief. “You mean to tell us that no one in Vegas tried to sweep you off your feet?”

You let out a soft laugh.

“They sure tried. I’m just not interested,” you answer with a smile, then reach for your glass of water, bringing the brim to your lips.

“Why?” He asks.

“Steve—” Nancy tries to cut in, aware of what you’re going to say next. Aware of the reason why you haven’t dated, and no, unlike everything else that’s happened since you’ve seen this group last, this decision you made not to date wasn’t because of Chrissy’s party.

“I uh…” You clear your throat. “I haven’t dated since Billy.”

The group goes silent. Suddenly it’s all really… awkward.

“Jesus, babe,” Robin exhales dramatically, “That’s like—”

“Forever?” You interject, trying to keep your tone of voice as positive as you can. “I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. No one in the group is really sure what to say next, how to steer the conversation away from this topic.

You glance at Eddie who, for the second time this evening and to your surprise, is already looking at you. Brown eyes full of compassion. They say more than words ever could and you’re suddenly feeling hopeful. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you could be friends again. Maybe…

Though there’s still a lot of mending to do before any of that can happen. Starting with:

“Billy dying really fucked me up.”

Acceptance. Admitting your flaws, owning up to your mistakes. Making amends with the people that tried their very best to stand by you in the worst of times, even when you made it damn near impossible to do so.

“I kinda fell off the rails and I uh—“ You swallow your breath, gaze shifting from the brunette boy to the lake behind him. The sight of water soothing to your soul. “Well, I made some mistakes and I’m sorry. To all of you.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Nancy says quickly and the rest of the group nod along. Aside from Eddie, who is back to fidgeting with his rings.

One by one, everyone eventually says goodnight. Jonathan and Nancy are the first to go, citing an early wake-up excuse and reminding everyone the canoes are rented for eleven in the morning, so breakfast would be at ten. WIth that information in tow, Argyle checks out next. You learn how he hates the open water, so he’s hoping extra sleep will make him less nervous in the morning. Robin gets a call from Vickie. She says she’ll be back shortly but after she disappears, Steve jokes that the next time the blonde will be seen is breakfast. This leaves you with a less than desirable duo.

Steve and Eddie.

Silence stretches for minutes at a time. Out of some sick and twisted principle, you don’t want to be the first to leave because that might get misinterpreted as running away, and this entire weekend is about proving how you’ve changed. Plus you’re not going to give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you walk away twice in the span of one afternoon.

Luckily, awkwardness never seems to phase Harrington. Not for long, anyway.

He makes small talk, asks further questions about your new life, wonders if you are open to visitors and practically plans a trip out to see you in Vegas: sooner rather than later, as he puts it. He gets you to laugh on a few occasions and the sound comes naturally, no reservations or concerns.

You make note to apologise to him privately for everything you put him through the night of Chrissy’s party, although you already know he’ll tell you it’s no big deal because Steve Harrington has a heart too pure for this world. It makes you momentarily sick that you took advantage of his kindness in a moment of drunken despair.

“Okay kids,” Steve begins and stands, stretching, “If I tuck in for the night, will you kill each other? Or should I stay to play peacekeeper a little bit longer?”

“We’ll be fine,” Eddie answers shortly. The sentence being his first set of words in hours.

You exchange a glance with Harrington, who seems just as surprised as you by the metal-heads response, and offer up a timid smile.

“Goodnight, Steve.” You say kindly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Then he turns to address Eddie, “‘Night, Munson. Don’t be a dickhead.”

Eddie grumbles something under his breath, but you don’t quite make out the specifics. Instead, you watch Steve’s frame disappear into the lake house and once he’s fully out of sight, a sagging feeling settles in the pit of your stomach — what now?

Although, nothing happens. Silence settles around the two of you. Only the sound of the night, the woods, the water graces your ears and, despite the company, it all feels quite peaceful.

Eddie lights a cigarette. Hesitantly, he offers you one, avoiding your gaze as he holds out the box. You politely decline, further wrapping yourself up in your hoodie and sinking into your seat.

After a few more minutes of utter quiet, Eddie exhales, blowing smoke into the midnight air and finally looks up in your direction. You’re aware instantly, that his chocolate-button eyes are latched onto you. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine. Clearing your throat, you tilt your head to meet his wide eyes then, surprising yourself, you offer him a small smile.

The metal-head surprises you too. For not only does he smile back, he says: “I’m sorry.”.

“You don’t—”

But he cuts you off. “I do. About earlier. I was an ass and yeah, I’m sorry.”

All you can do is nod. Not like you don’t believe him, you do. You know Eddie well enough to tell he’s being genuine. Unfortunately, a lot has gone down in the past and three years have passed since. Plus, only a few hours ago, he told you to practically shove your own apologies which can only mean he’s not really interested in having you back in his life. For that, you can’t blame him and as much as you’d want “I’m sorry” to fix things, it’s not that simple — you understand that now better than you did when you first arrived here.

You just need to get through this weekend, you remind yourself and slowly stand up, your own self-deprecating thoughts getting in the way of what you really want to tell him.

Eddie’s eyes remain on you, as if he’s analysing your every move, which, unknown to you, he sort of is. This girl he thought he knew, now a mystery and it’s in part all of his fault. He’s aching inside because everyone else seems to click with you easily, like no time stole memories they’ll never get to experience. Steve cracking intimate jokes mere moments ago causing something vile to bubble inside of the metal-head.

An apology for his earlier comments is a good place to start rebuilding, that’s what Nancy said. He likes to think he listens to advice, even if he doesn’t think it’s good, so he did what his friend told him too and now he wishes he hasn’t. Even more so when you clearly don’t want to hear anything from him.

“I appreciate your apology, but we don’t have to talk about it,” you say matter-of-factly, “We don’t have to talk at all, just like you wanted.”

And Eddie can’t dig himself out of the hole he jumped into.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson series #eddie munson x fem!reader #AAAGGHHHY!!!!#so invested

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moonyslibrary98 · 3 months ago

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“From father’s house to husband’s house to a grave that still might not be her own, a woman acquiesces to male authority in order to gain some protection from male violence.”

Right Wing Women, Andrea Dworkin.

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moonyslibrary98 · 3 months ago

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stanford!art x best friend!reader social media au

part six | seven | eight

a/n: the texts switch groups mid convo so be sure to check the group chat name!

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patrickzweig i look really hot in that photo

yourusername @.patrickzweig @.tashiduncan come deal with your man!! tashiducan @.patrickzweig you look… UGLY 😊 patrickzweig @.tashiduncan good thing i have a degradation and humiliation kink 💚 artdonaldson @.patrickzweig twin 👯 yourusername @.artdonaldson okay loser artdonaldson @.yourusername 🤤🤤🤤 tashiduncan @.artdonaldson why are you openly being a freak on instagram

tag list: @coolgrl111 @sassyvilliantrope @lovingmenisacurse @simmerinsauce @thecontrash @antxnxlla @prttygrrrl @moonyslibrary98 @faistluvr @challenger-fan-club @r4veeen @layne-10 @arcticwisteria @teenage-iridescence @tennispilledsincaraz @what-is-happening-helpp @yericosmic @hipothetical-introvert @wandas-lovey @cillianssluttiestbitch

#art donaldson #art donalson x reader #stanford!art donaldson x best friend!reader #giggling and kicking my legs

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moonyslibrary98 · 3 months ago

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kissin’ lace in the backseat

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

something something eddie loves your lace panties something something

cw: 18+ oral (f receiving)

a/n: this is really short i’m so sorry but at least my brain let me put something out 🙂‍↕️

“I like these.”

Eddie’s mouth lingers, hot, centimeters away from your nearly naked cunt. The only thing between him and your bare skin is a full-lace pair of baby blue panties.

He kind of loves them. Okay, he really loves them.

Like, for some reason it’s turning him on more that you’re not fully bare. The way the underwear barely holds you in, lips ready to spill out from beneath the garment with one little bit of movement. Hair peeking through the delicate fabric — because fuck him if he’s ever gonna ask you to shave.

You’re delicious right now, and Eddie wants to savor you. He’s never seen you in anything like this.

“Yeah?” You wiggle your hips a little bit, sprawled on your back in the back of his van.

The subtle motion makes the tip of his nose just barely make contact with your clit, and you moan. You fucking moan, at the slightest bit of friction.

God, Eddie’s a goner.

Your skin is warm from the golden hour sunlight that filters through the windows, and he likes the way you feel beneath his palms. He nods his agreement as he lets his hands glide up your torso, slipping beneath your shirt to reveal — sure enough — a matching lace bra to your panties.

The thought that you intentionally picked out a matching set for him is making him want to ruin you.

He groans, letting his fingertips flit briefly across the cups before he’s dragging his hands back down, index and thumb turning their attention to the little bow at the waistband of your underwear. He plays with it absentmindedly, his eyes drinking you in completely.

“Eddie, come on,” you whine at him, glancing down your body to meet his eyes where they hover between your thighs.

“Sorry baby, you’re jus’ so pretty,” he praises, his voice a husky rasp. You can feel his breath hot against you, and it only makes you wetter.

You sigh, a soft little sound, letting him trace his fingers up and down the outsides of your thighs. His nose brushes your clit again, intentionally this time, before you feel his mouth suction onto your core.

Over your panties.

The moan that comes out of you is sharp, guttural. You can feel both the warm wetness of his mouth and also the pleasant scratch of the lace against your skin. It makes your fingers curl hard around the blanket beneath you, gripping tight to soft fabric to keep yourself tethered. Your body practically throbs with desire.

“Eddie—” you gasp, back arching, a sly little laugh escaping him as it happens.

His tongue presses itself flat against your folds, saliva soaking blue lace. You hiss at the friction of the fabric against you as he presses his tongue in, ever so slightly breaching your hole. He flicks his tongue back and forth, teasing you and himself all at once.

Eddie’s in heaven, plain and simple, his cock straining hard against his jeans. Worked up beyond belief over a stupid pair of underwear. He feels kind of like a teenager, creaming his jeans over seeing a thong for the first time or something.

But he can’t help it. There’s just something about the way these look on you. There’s something about you, period.

Shamelessly, he sucks, pulling the fabric into his mouth. Tasting your arousal, stripping the lace of it, looking up at you with those torturous brown eyes all the while. He moans around the mouthful, the expression on his face sinful as you stare at each other. You buck your hips, whining, reveling in the firm squeeze of his hands at your thighs.

He lets go of the panties eventually, pressing his face in close to kiss over your core. He starts at your clit, working his way down until his lips press over your entrance. A finger hooks inside of the now drenched underwear, pulling them aside just enough to let himself tongue fuck you properly.

You can tell how worked up he is in the way his hips rut against the floor of the van, the way his tongue sloppily takes what it wants from you. He’s nearly making out with your pussy, uncaring that you’re dripping his saliva and your own arousal onto his blankets.

“So fucking hot, wearing your little matching set for me,” Eddie’s voice rumbles against you, pink plush lips torturing you. “Pretty lace, just for me. All for me.”

You could already tell, but the verbal confirmation that he likes it makes your face go incredibly warm. He’s so gone, so lost in you, it has you reeling.

So when he makes you cum in mere minutes with his mouth, your body shaking harder than possibly ever before, you decide you need to buy more lace panties.

For, you know, research purposes.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#good looorddd

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moonyslibrary98 · 4 months ago

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the way you just capture and describe their love is just so AHHHHHH!! love love this, one of my new favorites

🎃Trick? or Treat?🎃

Summary: Eddie’s friends don’t actually believe you’re really dating him, and they require some proof. Cause no way has the freak scored a girl like you- 3k- a dirty funky little drabble really…

Reader is related to my Eddie Series. Come take a look-

Seguir leyendo

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie drabble #eddie munson fic #OMG #HELLOOOO???#so so so incredible #this is just so beautiful

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moonyslibrary98 · 4 months ago

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i'm just like him counting down the days LMAOOO I'm so invested

stanford!art x best friend!reader social media au

part five | six | seven

artdonaldson

liked by yourusername and others

see all comments

artdonaldson ONE MORE MONTH!!!!

patrickzweig calm down man

artdonaldson @.patrickzweig CAN'T, TOO HAPPY!!! yourusername @.artdonaldson what the hell is wrong with him artdonaldson @.yourusername LIFE IS WONDERFUL!!!

tashiduncan when the hell did you take that photo

patrickzweig @.tashiduncan i actually took this one on art's phone artdonaldson @.patrickzweig photo credits to pat

yourusername one more month until what?

artdonaldson @.yourusername wouldn't you like to know yourusername @.artdonaldson that's why i'm asking?? artdonaldson @.yourusername well duh but i can't tell you yourusername @.artdonaldson why not artdonaldson @.yourusername just can't!!

yourusername • close friends

#art donaldson #art donalson x reader #challengers #stanford!art donaldson x best friend!reader #stanford!art donaldson x reader #stanford!art donaldson #social media au #challengers social media au

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moonyslibrary98 · 4 months ago

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stanford!art x best friend!reader social media au

part four | five | six

a/n: lmk if you want to be on the tag list <3

yourusername

liked by tashiduncan and other

see all comments

yourusername i miss my friends

nicholasward why am i not featured in this post lol

yourusername @.nicholasward it’s obvi a friend appreciation post nicholasward @.yourusername that dog isn’t your friend yourusername @.nicholasward put some respect to gromit’s name

tashiduncan ugh i love you angel

yourusername @.tashiduncan you are the best friend a girl could ask for

patrickzweig wait send me my photo i look so good

yourusername @.patrickzweig BOY SHUT UP 😭 patrickzweig @.yourusername I HAVE NO GOOD PHOTOS tashiduncan @.patrickzweig have you considered the fact that it’s because you’re ugly? patrickzweig @.tashiducan here lies patrick zweig. rip

yourusername • close friends

tag list: @coolgrl111 @sassyvilliantrope, @lovingmenisacurse, @simmerinsauce, @thecontrash, @antxnxlla, @prttygrrrl, @moonyslibrary98, @faistluvr

#art donaldson #art donalson x reader #stanford!art donaldson x best friend!reader #stanford!art donaldson x reader #challengers social media au #social media au #nic when I find you...#yippeeee #this is actually so much fun

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moonyslibrary98 · 5 months ago

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read 'em and weep #2

you and Eddie have an impromptu lunch.

Chapter 2 Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series Read Ch. 1 -> Here!

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, meal-sharing, budding romance, The Last Unicorn, ugly flashbacks, and Wayne Munson: #1 Uncle. No description of reader's physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: mentions of food & eating; allusions to Eddie's experience of abuse/neglect and its negative effects. (please note: I want to handle these topics delicately & respectfully - if there are issues with the way I've written that portion of the chapter, please tell me!) Word Count: ~3.4k if u are one of the big sweeties that replied or left comments on chapter one of this fic, just know that i read it over and over again while giggling and kicking my feet in the air. i am giving u a big wet forehead kiss!

The lamp on the end table is flickering weakly, yellowish light dimming and brightening and dimming again, over and over.

Without looking up from the worn paperback spread over his knee, Eddie quickly bangs on the table with his fist. It rocks slightly on its wobbly legs, but the bulb ceases its flashing.

'Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.'

Eddie arches a dark eyebrow, impressed. Damn. I’m gonna have to try that.

It’s hot in the trailer. The fan Wayne has set up on the floor by the TV offers little relief against the balmy air, and Eddie’s bangs are stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s tied his hair up as high on his head as he could get it, desperate to get the mass of curls off of his neck.

It’s been two days since he last saw you and he’s been reading as though his life depends on it. A few pages with his morning toast and coffee, a chapter on his lunch break, and in the evenings – though he sat in the living room with Wayne – he kept his eyes trained down on the book in his lap, rather than the fritzy television screen.

His uncle had taken notice. He eyes the way his nephew’s shoulders hunch forward, the tip of his tongue poking out between his closed lips, the way his brow is furrowed in deep concentration.

“Take it easy, Ed. You look like you’re tryin’ to lay an egg over there.”

“Huh? Oh,” Eddie shifts back in his seat, face relaxing into a sheepish grin. “Yeah, okay.”

Wayne’s demeanor would appear gruff to most. But in spite of the surly pull of his mouth, the older man’s got this tell-tale twinkle in his eye that nobody recognizes better than Eddie.

“Good book? That looks new.”

“Yeah, s’from the library. I got a couple of ‘em.”

Wayne nods in approval. “Glad you’re branchin’ out. That copy you have of The Hobbit is fallin’ apart. Best you leave it be for a while,” he jokes.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Hey, it was pretty beat up when I got it. I don’t think I’m the one to blame for that,” he retorts, staring pointedly at Wayne.

Wayne simply waves him off, an amused smile buried beneath his graying whiskers.

The next day, Eddie’s van sidles up the street towards the library – he’s acting on a strike of inspiration from the previous night. As he’d lain in bed, he’d been despairing over the fact that it was going to take him much longer than he’d like to get through all those books and, consequently, he had no idea when he’d be able to come and see you again to chat about them.

He’d let his head loll off the side of the bed, the back of his hand flung over his eyes in theatrical melodrama, when it occurred to him that he didn’t necessarily say he was only going to come back after reading all of them.

Instead, he’d go through them one by one, and pay you a visit after each book was finished.

God, he was a genius. Why’d it take him so long to finish high school?

Eddie pulls into a space and cuts the engine. He peers at himself in the rearview mirror, nervously smoothing his hands over his hair, which is already starting to frizz from the humidity. That’ll have to do, I guess. He grabs the book from where it’s lying on the passenger seat and exits, practically bouncing on his heels. There’s a bit of a flutter in his belly, something between excitement and anxiety; but more than anything else, he’s just eager to see you again.

So naturally, he’s disappointed when he gets inside and you’re not at the front desk.

Figuring you must be poking around the shelves somewhere, he sets off to find you. He ducks a left towards the fiction section and, when he walks by her, gives a stiff nod to Marissa, the uptight librarian. She returns the gesture with a steely gaze and wrinkled nose.

Eddie huffs. What did she expect him to do – steal from the library, where everything is free with a card? Only a Munson could take advantage of a public institution funded by taxpayers and still be made to feel like a criminal.

Eddie strides through the library, glancing in each aisle to see if you’re there. When he reaches the final row of shelves, he makes a loop around, strolling back up the other side, searching. He’s so focused on finding you that he’s completely oblivious to staff room door coming up on the wall to his left, until it swings open and smacks him in the face.

“Ow!”

There’s a horrified gasp. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

Eddie can see your blurry figure – oh there she is – through the hand that’s massaging the bridge of his nose, and he instantly straightens back up. “That’s alright,” he says with a wince. “I’ve had worse, trust me.”

You look mortified anyway. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he assures you. “No harm, no foul.”

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, mouth pulled down in a worried grimace.

“It’s okay,” he says with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry.”

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of you sure of what to say next. Then both of you start to speak at the same time.

“Oh, sorry –”

“No it’s fine, go ahead –”

“You first.”

This is going well. “I was just bringing this back,” Eddie tells you, holding up the book in his hand. “And I believe I did promise to tell you whether or not I cried while reading it.”

The hesitant, awkward look on your face immediately dissolves and turns into something sweeter, a smile so bright and pretty it nearly knocks the wind out of him. He thinks it’s like watching the sun break through the clouds.

“Done already?” You sound impressed. There’s a swell of pride in his chest – nevermind the fact that it wasn’t really a long book.

Eddie shrugs modestly. “What can I say? I’m a speed reader.” He tries to say it nonchalantly, but his cheeks dimple in a suppressed smile.

You fold your arms over your chest and lean back on your heels, taking a good look at him. He flushes under your appraisal.

“Well…” Your lips pucker as you contemplate what to say next. “I can’t take the book yet, because I’m actually off the clock right now,” you explain. “I was just heading out for lunch.” You give the red lunchbox in your hand a little shake.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“But,” you continue, with a giddy tremble in your voice that Eddie’s not sure is real or simply a product of wishful thinking, “if you’re not too busy, you can join me. If you still want to talk about it.”

He’s on cloud nine.

“Sure,” he says.

When he follows you, he feels like he’s floating.

The two of you end up outside, at one of several rickety picnic tables on the lawn behind the building. It’s still too warm outside for Eddie’s taste, but the shady elms provide a bit of reprieve.

Eddie takes a seat on the bench; you perch yourself on the flat tabletop. He tries not to stare at your bare knees, which are just exposed beneath the hem of your skirt, and dappled with the small dots of sunlight that sneak through the leaves above.

Instead, he watches you remove the contents of your lunch, arranging each item carefully on a napkin covering the space between you and him. A thick slice of brown, sweet-smelling bread; a small orange and a Tupperware with strawberries; two hardboiled eggs; and a carton of peach yogurt.

You pick up the orange first, nick the soft flesh with your thumbnail, and start peeling away the rind.

“So,” you begin, gaze focused on the piece of fruit in your hand, “The Last Unicorn. Did you like it?”

Eddie lets out an breathy chuckle. “I really did, actually.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” he admits. “No offense.”

“No, I get it. I tell people all the time to read it and they never do, I guess ‘cause the title sounds kind of corny. But it’s so good.”

“It was good,” he agrees. “But it did make me sort of sad in certain parts.”

You nod mournfully in understanding, not needing him to elaborate. “I know.”

“That bit at the end, about regret.” Eddie flips to a specific page, the corner dogeared to mark the place. His intonation changes, becomes deeper and richer, the same way it does when he’s sitting in his DM throne: “‘I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret.’” He snaps the book shut again, voice returning to normal. “That’s pretty heavy stuff – you know, for a unicorn.”

“So did you cry?” you ask excitedly.

He sucks air in through his teeth, like he’s about to deliver bad news. “I hate to break it to you, but no.” You cock your head to the side in suspicion.

“If you did, would you really tell me?”

“I would.” He draws an X across his chest with a ringed finger. “Cross my heart.” You could get anything out of him, he was sure.

“Hmm.” You tap a finger against your lips in mock contemplation. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

You finish peeling the orange, and start pulling it apart into pieces. You gather a few slices in your palm, and hold them out to Eddie in offering. He leans back abruptly, feeling a squirm of embarrassment.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to give me anything.”

“Food is meant to be shared,” you say simply. “Have some.”

He stares at your outstretched hand, and you wait patiently, clearly not taking no for an answer.

Eddie takes the fruit hesitantly. “Isn’t it bad enough that I’m already out here bugging you on your lunch? Now I’m actually gonna eat some of it, too?”

The look on your face is comical. Stern, but impish, and made even funnier by the wad of half-chewed pulp bulging in one of your cheeks. “Well, first of all, I invited you out here. Second, yes, you’re going to eat some of it. You see this?” You hold up the big orange chunk. “It’s a clementine. As it grows, the insides conveniently divide into these little segments that are so easy to pull apart and dole out, it’s practically a faux pas not to share them with someone. Plus!”– you jab a finger at him for emphasis –“You significantly decrease your chances of contracting scurvy.”

Eddie’s in utter disbelief – he wants to bury his face in his hands and scream. He’s not sure how else to cope with this, with you, with the sudden certainty that he’ll fucking die if you don’t agree to go out with him soon. Instead he settles for, “Are you trying to tell me something? Do my gums look weird?”

“No.”

“Would you really tell me if they did?”

“I would,” you tell him, echoing his earlier statement. “Cross my heart.”

You and Eddie continue snacking and chattering on, both of you trying to cram in as much conversation as you can before your lunch ends.

“Here, this is the part that gets me – when Molly meets her for the first time – ‘Where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?’ God.” You shake your head. “They kept that scene in the movie, and I cried then, too. It made me so sad.”

At the mention of the film, Eddie sees his chance, and decides to take it. He wets his full lips, and squares his shoulders. He keeps his voice as casual as possible. “You know I recognized the author’s name, but not from his books.”

That piques your interest. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Peter Beagle also wrote the Lord of the Rings screenplay. From that cartoon movie they made like ten years ago.”

“No way! I didn’t know that. I’ve never seen it.”

Perfect. Eddie contorts his face into a mask of devastation. “What?!” He suddenly wrenches himself up from the bench, and backs a few paces away, like you’ve got something contagious. “You wound me, sweetheart. I thought you were cool.”

You raise an eyebrow at him in good humor. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t a single thing I’ve said to you yet that should lead you to believe that I’m cool. Three days ago I gave you a book with the word unicorn in the title.”

He ignores your self-deprecation. “We have to rectify this immediately.”

You sit up a little straighter, eyes widening slightly. Is that pleasure he sees in them? God, he sure hopes so.

But he doesn’t want to be pushy, or come on too strong. “If you want to,” he clarifies. “I have the video at home. If you’d like to see it sometime.”

You nod. “That would be f-fun,” you say. A wave of shyness seems to wash over you, like it did at your last parting the other morning. Your slight stutter has Eddie thinking you might be feeling the same way he is.

While you write your number down for him on a shred of napkin, Eddie munches on another bite of the brown bread. Apparently there’s zucchini in it, which he thinks is super weird, but it actually tastes pretty good.

Your break is winding down, so you lob another question at him. “Have you always liked to read fantasy?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Eddie chews on a sliver of orange. “To be honest, I had a bit of trouble learning to read as a kid. I sort of ended up learning on The Hobbit.”

You look at him, impressed for the second time today. “Really? Wow. That’s a little more advanced than the Dr. Seuss books I was reading.”

He just shrugs, giving you a weak smile. He glances down at his watch.

“You better get back in there, honey. I’ve taken up enough of your time this afternoon.”

Eddie knows he didn’t offer you much with that last one.

But what he remembers is being left alone in dirty apartments for hours on end, and the endless cycle of evictions. He remembers that he only made it to school sporadically, and that he was miles behind his peers. He remembers that when he started second grade, he could read and write little more than his own name.

And then Al Munson had left to try his hand at being a crooked bastard somewhere else, without the burden of caring for his son.

That’s how Eddie ended up on the porch of Wayne’s trailer, pale and underfed, feet crammed into sneakers a size too small. All of his belongings fit into a single plastic grocery bag. He’d been confused and angry that he had to relocate yet again, and this time he was living with a stranger, his father’s older brother, whose fumbling attempts at parenthood left Eddie spitting with fury.

He just didn’t understand why. Living with his father, with his sleaze and his casual cruelty, had often terrified Eddie. But it was still the only life he’d ever known. Where had he gone? And how could he leave his boy behind?

And the expected routine of an average seven-year-old boy utterly mystified him. He didn’t understand why he had a bedtime, or why he had to drag the comb through his hair even though it tugged painfully at his snarled tresses, or why he had to keep going to school every single day, even though his teacher berated him constantly for breaking rules he didn’t even know existed, and the other students wouldn’t play with him during recess.

The enormity of the change threatened to overwhelm him. It was too much, and he was too young. There was a dull rage inside him then, simmering just below his skin, building in intensity each day, growing with each injustice he faced.

One night he’d picked a fight with his uncle over something small – brushing his teeth. Wayne, ever patient, was trying to calmly explain the necessity of the practice to Eddie, who wasn’t having it.

Still reeling from the sting of his father’s abandonment, and fed up with his uncle and his authority, trying to make him do all these stupid things he’d never had to before – he finally snapped.

They stood opposite each other in the doorway of the trailer’s small bathroom and, with a shout of agitation, Eddie struck Wayne in the ribs with all the strength his skinny arm could muster.

“Hey!” The older man’s fingers instantly closed around Eddie’s thin wrist and, for the first time since Eddie had arrived, his face was lined in anger.

Eddie instantly flinched backwards, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable, retaliating blow.

But it never came. There was only the sound of Eddie’s shallow breathing.

“We don’t hit each other in this house, Eddie. You don’t hit me, and I don’t hit you. That’s not how we handle things here.” Wayne’s voice was firm but gentle. “I know how your daddy is, boy. But I’m not like him, and you don’t gotta be like him neither.”

Eddie slowly opened his eyes. They were huge and wet in his little face. His chin began to quiver.

Without saying a word, Wayne picked him up off the bathroom floor and carried him into the living room. He set a sniffling, trembling Eddie down on the worn sofa, and knelt down in front of him, placing his careworn hands on his knees.

“I can’t imagine how hard this has been on you, Ed. I know that you’re young, and a lotta this stuff don’t make sense to you yet. But I love you, kid. An’ as long as you’re under this roof, I’m gonna do my best to take care of you.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but simply knuckled at his tears with small fists.

Wayne pursed his lips, feeling out of his depth, but determined to make good on his promise to his nephew. “Listen, it’s not too late yet. Why don’t we stay up and read somethin’ before you go to bed?”

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice was small and hoarse. Wayne pulled a crumbled tissue out from the pocket of his jeans and passed it to his nephew.

He turned to the coffee table, eyeing a stack of books he’d purchased for Eddie; mostly Dick and Jane readers. They’d been recommended by Eddie’s teacher, at one of several meetings Wayne had had with her regarding Eddie’s behavior. She’d emphasized that the boy was ‘dramatically behind’, and that he would have to put in ‘a tremendous effort’ to catch up. From the tone of her voice, she definitely didn’t believe that Eddie would be up for the task.

Wayne picked up the first reader from the top of the stack, and fanned through the pages, full of dull watercolors and three-word sentences. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and, after a moment of deliberation, let the reader slip through his fingers. It fell quietly back onto the table, hiding the rosy, uninteresting children from view once more.

There was a short bookcase crammed against the wall between the couch and the kitchen counter that Wayne made his way over to. He crouched down beside it, scanning the worn spines of the books in his little collection, searching. When he found what he was looking for, he gingerly pulled it out, and gazed down at the cover. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, along with a sudden flicker of hope.

He plopped down on the couch next to Eddie, and angled himself and the book so that the boy could see the pages and follow along.

“How ‘bout we give this one a try?”

Eddie wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Whas’it about?”

Wayne smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “An adventure.” He looked back down at the page, cleared his throat, and began:

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

thank you for reading! Read Ch. 3 -> Here! taglist: @eddiesgirlforever , @eds6ngel , @sheisahauntedhouse , @lokis-tardis-companion19 , @teary-eyed-egg , @whenshelanded

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #I think I love this part more and more with each read #reread

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moonyslibrary98 · 5 months ago

Text

read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten.

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson.

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?”

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #reread #love this like the first day

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moonyslibrary98 · 5 months ago

Text

There's Something About You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, handjob, dirty talk, inexperienced!Eddie

If one thing is for certain, it's that Eddie has no idea how he's found himself here. In the bedroom of a cheerleader honor student goddess who shouldn't even know he exists. Yes, you've smiled at him from a distance in class. From time to time he's caught you giving him a little wave from across the cafeteria. But to be quite honest with himself, Eddie always assumed you were fucking with him. Throw a wink at the school freak and watch him get an embarrassingly unprovoked boner.

Yet here you were. Sitting next to him on your bed - disarmingly pink and covered in soft cushions and frills and all things girly and diametrically opposed to all that is Eddie Munson. Dark and crass and bumbling and weird Eddie Munson.

"If you flunk out of Mr. Flout's class one more time, what's going to happen to you?" you had asked him casually earlier in the day as you'd walked by him staring at his test marked with a big red F. Eddie had looked up at you, shock quickly melting into an indifferent smirk.

"There's always trade school, baby," he'd shrugged and thrown up a peace sign.

That was when you suggested he come by your place that evening for tutoring.

Eddie is no fool. He knows what girls like you want. So he'd made sure to come equipped with his trusty lunch pail full of treats that would take the edge off being Miss Perfect / Daddy's Little Girl / Goody Two Shoes - whatever mantle it was that you wished to pluck off your head and cast gently aside for one blissful night. He assumed maybe a downer, maybe an upper, maybe a combo of both. He didn't know you well enough to assume. You seemed happy enough when skipping down the halls with your gaggle of friends, but maybe there was a secret side of you that wanted to disappear. You seemed focused when you were working on papers or quizzes in your shared classes with Eddie, but maybe you needed something that would give you that much more of an edge. Something to help you lock in.

Or maybe you just wanted to be able to turn your brain off for a bit. Eddie knew what that was like.

Sitting in your room now, however, Eddie was less sure. You hadn't closed the door behind him and immediately asked to check out the merchandise. You hadn't proffered up cash in an attempt to speed along a transaction. Instead you'd sat him down with a textbook and a notepad and actually started studying. It was weird. Eddie wasn't used to this kind of drug dealer foreplay. He assumed you were just nervous, though, so after a while, he decided he would have to be the one to make the first move.

"What's your poison, princess?" he asks, after a few moments of silence has settled between the two of you. You look up from your own book and furrow your brow. When you don't speak, Eddie continues. "Upon which journey of medicated oblivion do you wish to depart?"

That doesn't seem to make it any clearer for you.

"Huh?" you ask. The way your nose wrinkles in your confusion is kind of cute, but Eddie does his best to ignore it.

"Drugs. What drugs did you ask me here to sell you?" He speaks plainly because apparently you aren't ready for euphemism. Wow, you must be really new to this space.

Surprise ripples across your face, followed by immediate amusement.

"I didn't ask you here for any drugs. But you're welcome to partake if you like, of course." You gesture to his pail, proving you had known what was inside all along. Eddie shakes his head.

"I don't sample the goods, sweetie. I just sell 'em."

You snort in response, a decidedly unladylike reaction.

"You and I both know that's bullshit, Munson. I've seen you in class. Nine times out of ten you're high as a kite."

Eddie smirks and runs a sheepish hand through his hair. Oh you'd seen him, huh? You were looking?

"Guilty as charged. Then what did you ask me here for?"

"To study," you answer simply. The look on your face, however, implies that isn't all there is to it.

"And...?" Eddie presses. Your smile grows wider and you close your book. You shift on the bed beside him in a way that shifts your skirt, baring your thigh. Eddie's eyes go straight to that exposed swath of skin, right on cue.

"And...if we fool around a bit, that's a nice bonus." You say it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Obviously that's an additional thing that would happen on a study night like this. As obvious as a round of flash cards or a homemaker mother coming in with a tray of cookies and juice.

Which reminds him...

"Aren't your parents around?" Eddie asks. He adds a lilt of humor to his voice, though he means the question seriously.

"They're in Indianapolis for the night. I'm here all by my lonesome," you say with a faux coquettishness that causes an ache to begin forming in his throat. "You're here to keep me company."

All of a sudden the closed door to your room emanates with a kind of vibrating anticipation. A rushing begins in Eddie's ears, followed by a high pitched ring. Is he going to pass out?

You take the book from his lap and place it on the floor.

"So what's your poison, Eddie Munson?" you ask.

This is it. Eddie is actually short circuiting. He swallows but the sound resonates as a cartoon gulp.

"We don't have to...that's...we don't need..."

You place a hand on his shoulder and it just about burns through the fabric of his shirt.

"I know we don't need to do anything. What do you want?"

Eddie hesitates, but you read it as him not wanting to push, so you take matters into your own hands. Literally.

'Wait, what are you - oh fuck." Eddie's eyes blow wide as you sink to the floor in front of him, kneeling between his legs with one hand on his thigh and one hand on his crotch.

"I'm narrowing down the options for you, Munson," you say with a grin. "Helping you make a decision. I know it was hard to decide what you wanted. Really hard, it seems." You put more emphasis on your innuendo as you begin to stroke him through his jeans. You're right. He's hard. Just from this fucking teasing conversation he is hard as a rock. His cheeks and ears burn with humiliation.

“That’s…fucking…”

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s fucking. But maybe a version of it,” you chuckle. Before he even understands what’s happening, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper. If he hadn’t been wearing relatively constrictive boxer briefs he knows he would have all but sprung out the moment you freed him from the denim. You cup him through the fabric of his underwear and slide your hand up and down. “Now what have you been hiding from me, hm?”

Eddie can’t speak. He truly can’t form words. This can’t be happening right now. The amount of times he’d fucked his fist to the thought of you…this was absolutely absurd. He must have smoked too much weed and slipped into a catatonic state, trapped in his own erotic fantasies because what the actual fuck.

Eddie’s continued lack of response does start to unnerve you, though. You slow your hand on his clothed cock and look up at him, trying to keep humor in your voice.

“What’s going on? You’re acting like you’ve never had a girl on her knees before.”

“Um…”

“Stop messing with me,” you snort. But when Eddie continues frowning, you drop your hand from his lap. “You mean to tell me…”

“You can get up for this conversation,” Eddie says quietly, reaching out a hand. He doesn’t like the juxtaposition of the power dynamics. You on your knees in front of him. A situation that should objectively make him feel powerful, and yet all he feels right now is small. You take his proffered hand and allow him to pull you up to your feet. When you take a silent seat beside him on the bed, Eddie knows he’s going to have to explain.

“So…yeah. I’ve never ‘had a girl on her knees’ before.” You nod understandingly, but Eddie knows you can’t possibly fully understand yet. “I’ve never ‘had’ a girl…period.”

A beat passes.

Another beat.

Eddie had been staring down at the leather bracelets encircling his wrists, fiddling with the frayed edges. But at the continued silence he looks up to find you watching him, eyes wide with comprehension.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, I wouldn’t have pressured you -,”

“No!” Eddie says a little too emphatically, making you jump. He grabs your hands to keep you next to him. “You didn’t pressure me at all. I want…this. I want…you. I just…”

“You just…?” you prompt, dipping your head down to force him to meet your eye despite his dropped chin.

“I just don’t know what I’m fucking doing here, babe,” Eddie forces out with a humorless chuckle. You bite your lip to keep from laughing along.

This is uncharted territory for you. Yes you’re experienced, but you’d really only ever been with guys who had way more experience than you. It was kind of where your forced confidence and teasing personality came from - a little bit of a fake it till you make it mentality. It usually kept guys from bowling you over or taking too much if they got the sense that you knew what you were doing. That you knew what you wanted.

This is a completely different situation. You look at the shaggy-haired metal head in front of you and your heart throbs. Before this evening you’d seen him as a fun little roll in the hay. A cheeky little ‘fuck you’ to your overbearing parents and to the pristine nature of your wholesome image. Eddie was brazen at school. A loud-mouthed, swaggering, innuendo-spewing class clown with a guitar and a million things to say. You’d thought he’d be a decent ride, if nothing else. But now you see him, uncertain and shrinking into your bed, and you realize that you don’t know him at all. And based on the way he’s looking at you with fear and shame, he clearly doesn’t know you either.

“That doesn’t matter to me, you know. Especially since I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, that I can tell, sweetheart.” Eddie’s laugh is genuine this time. He adjusts himself at the crotch, an action that calls your attention to the bulge still protruding in his boxers through his open jeans. He’s still hard. In spite of all the embarrassment and discomfort. Eddie Munson must really want you.

Well good. Because you’ve decided that in spite of everything, you really want Eddie Munson.

When you reach down and push aside his hand, Eddie recoils only for a second. Your hand closes around his cock and he melts into the touch.

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” he exhales.

“That feel good?” you ask.

“That better be rhetorical. Because this feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in the goddamn world.”

“That’s an exaggeration, Eddie,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“No, it reeeeally fucking isn’t.”

“Well then you’re gonna explode when I do this.” Before Eddie can even realize what’s happening, you’ve peeled down his underwear, exposing his cock to the cool air of your bedroom. Your hand wraps around his length, feeling the velvety skin over his throbbing hardness and Eddie all but yelps.

“Holy FUCK.”

“Yeah?”

“Ok now that is better than anything I’ve ever felt.”

You lick your hand and bring it back down to glide more easily along his shaft. You watch Eddie shudder.

“You do realize it will only escalate from here. You can’t keep saying that.”

Eddie grips at the denim on his own thigh and grits his teeth. Your hand has begun to pick up speed.

“Little newsflash for you, babe. I’m not exactly in control of the words coming out of my - GAH.”

You smooth your thumb over the mushroom head of his cock, pleased by the wetness gathering at the tip.

“You touch yourself, don’t you Munson? This can’t be so revolutionary.” You’re teasing him but you love how responsive he is. Love the way he looks at you like you’re made of shining gold.

“My hands don’t feel anything like this and you know it.”

You lift one of his hands with your free hand and smooth your fingers over his skin.

“Yeah. These calluses from guitar?”

He can’t believe you’re speaking so casually while still continuing to jerk him off into oblivion. He’s the one being stimulated, sure, but how can you remain unphased when it feels like all of the heat in the universe is being concentrated in this room right now. Surely he can’t be the only one whose every molecule is on fire.

When Eddie doesn’t respond to your callus question, you decide to take escalation into your own hands. Or rather…Eddie’s.

When you place his hand on your breast, it has the exact effect you think it will have. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his jaw drops to the floor.

“Uhhh….”

Dumbstruck.

You decide that’s how you like him.

“You gonna just sit there?” you ask playfully, dropping your hand and marveling at the fact that Eddie’s remains light and motionless when you left it.

“What…can…how…?”

“Play with them,” you reply with a little shrug. When Eddie hesitates, you nudge him to move back up the bed. Once his back is up against your pillows, you straddle his thighs - just before his knees - and immediately get back to work on his cock.

This time Eddie reaches for both of your breasts, and this time his grip is a little more firm. He begins to squeeze and release. When he finally gets adventurous enough to lightly twist your nipple through the fabric of your top and your unpadded bra you reward him with a moan.

“So that…felt good?” Eddie asks hopefully.

“You watch porn, Eddie. What do you think?”

“I think I want to take these puppies out, let them breathe.” Eddie looks up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen, clearly finally feeling more comfortable.

“Ah, there’s the little shit I know and love,” you laugh. Your words send a zing through Eddie’s bloodstream but he suppresses it. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like the way your blouse simply falls away after he unbuttons it. And the way your breasts sit up in your bra - plump and ready for him to have his way with them.

And so he does.

When Eddie’s hands engulf your breast this time, their grip is definitive. You inhale sharply with the strength of his squeeze. Finally some stimulation.

“It does feel good,” Eddie smirks. Your pleasure must be clear on your face.

“Don’t get cocky,” you try to admonish him. It’s time to up the ante, so you wrap one hand around the base of his cock and begin moving your other hand faster up and down.

“Holy shit.”

“There we go,” you say, satisfied. You’ve enjoyed being in control. This is such a rare luxury for you and you’ve decided you like it. The wet warmth blooming between your thighs definitely indicates that.

“Hey…slow down…”

“Too much?” you ask, immediately slowing your motions, worried you’d pushed him too far. Eddie’s hands grip your breasts, almost as if to ground himself.

“No it’s fucking amazing I’m just…I’m gonna cum - oh!”

You immediately pick up the pace right back to what it had been a second ago.

“That’s the idea, handsome.”

Eddie is lost in a flurry of sensation. Nobody has ever called him handsome before. But nobody has ever jerked him off before either, so maybe that’s not the most pressing thing for him to ruminate on. There you sit straddling his thighs with your hands moving on his cock, your breasts bouncing in his hands. He feels like he’s going to pass out if you don’t stop immediately.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, squinting up at you. Your words make no sense in the haze of his pleasure.

“Take off your shirt,” you repeat, relatively urgently. He does as he’s told, ripping his shirt off by the back of the collar. When the fabric pulls up and over his face, he is greeted by the sight of you now without your bra.

“Holy fucking shit.”

You spit in your palm and begin stroking him again in earnest. With both of your hands focused on his length, your arms push your breasts together. Eddie moans on the verge of agony.

“I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“This your first set of tits, Munson?” you ask, amused. This language is much more crass than you’d usually use, but there is something about Eddie - his lack of experience or maybe his unabashed enjoyment - that makes you feel comfortable speaking this way.

“The first set that I can actually physically touch, yeah,” Eddie replies with full honesty and roguish smile. He surprises you by getting a big handful and pushing them together. His thumbs play with your exposed nipples and your hips begin to move against him.

“You’re so turned on right now, aren’t you,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. His eyes squeeze shut against the divine pleasure of knowing that you’re rocking against him just as much as he’s rocking into your hands.

It’s a glimmer of the dirty talk you might eventually be able to get from him. You like it. Like the teasing quality and the way it matches up to the way you’ve been addressing him. It does things to you and you know it would balloon his ego to know that you’re soaking through your panties right now.

So you say the one thing that you know will throw him over the edge.

“I want you, Eddie Munson. I want you inside of me.”

The sputtering of words catching in his throat matches the way his hips stutter, cum spurting up and over your fists. It splashes hot and wet against his abdomen, which you had thankfully had the foresight to make him bare. Eddie lets out a guttural, shuddering groan.

“Are you…fuck…jesus…are you fucking kidding me?” His hands fly off your breasts to cover his face. “God DAMN it.”

Surprised by the sudden tone switch, you lift your wet hands from his leaking cock.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s….that was…I didn’t get to…” Eddie sounds confused and frustrated and breathless all at once. When he drops his hands from his face he looks up at you with a crumpled expression. “What about you?”

You have to bite your cheek to keep in the laugh that you know would hurt his feelings.

“You just had your first handjob and you’re worried about me?”

Eddie furrows his brow.

“Well yeah. I want you to cum.”

You shrug and gently dismount him. Reaching for your bedside table you grab a couple tissues, one which you hand over to Eddie.

“That’s a hit or miss kind of thing, so don’t even worry about it.”

Eddie wipes gingerly at the cum on his stomach and around the base of his flagging cock.

“You mean…you don’t always cum?”

“Not always. But that’s normal.” You glide around your room, picking up your discarded clothes and dropping them neatly in your laundry basket. You open the top drawer of your dresser and pull out a gauzy white nightgown that, when pulled on, floats just to the upper middle of your thighs. You drop your skirt off your hips, leaving you in just a pair of panties beneath the delicate fabric.

Eddie watches from his seat on your bed, still bedraggled from your shared sex act, shirtless with his jeans and boxers pulled down and his member now resting on his belly. It twitches with interest, however, at the sight of your nipples peaked through your nightgown.

“I…I’d like to help you with that.”

Your face, and heart, soften at the earnestness in his voice. This poor, sweet, inexperienced weirdo in your bed wants to help you cum. Something that countless jocks and hot guys never even gave a passing thought to. Eddie stumbles to his feet and pulls up his boxer briefs and jeans.

You climb back onto your bed into the space he’s now vacated.

“Yeah? You want to help me cum, Munson?” You tease him as you lay against the pillows, one hand on your breast while you plant one foot on the mattress to bring your knee up. Your nightgown just barely covers your center, meaning Eddie can see a small swatch of your panties. Light pink. He feels his jeans tighten immediately.

“I do.” He’s eager. It’s adorable. Eddie places a knee on the edge of your bed, mesmerized by the way your hands move over your body.

“We’ll get to that,” you say quietly. Your voice breathy and inviting.

“We will?”

“Want to know the first step?” you ask. Eddie nods emphatically, eyes still trained on your hands, one of which has migrated to the apex of your thighs.

“You’re gonna go home -,” You’re interrupted by a disagreeable harumph from Eddie. You smile. “You’re gonna go home and I’m going to touch myself to the thought of your cock.”

You can physically see the way the wind is knocked out of him.

“Okay?” you prompt when he doesn’t reply. Eddie shifts restlessly.

“Or I could help you now.”

“No,” you disagree firmly. “We’ll build up to that.”

Eddie frowns. You know he’s disappointed, but you can feel your heart rate increase as you swirl your fingertip over your clit through your panties. Orgasms are hard for you to come by - pun intended - so you felt the urge to chase this one without additional variables.

“Next time,” you add, hoping Eddie can see the promise in your face. He watches you silently for another moment, committing the image of you laid out and touching yourself to memory, before he nods and takes his knee off the bed.

“Next time.”

When Eddie leaves a few minutes later, the sound of his noisy van shuddering to life and peeling out beyond your window, you finally indulge yourself in the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night.

You enjoy sex, sure. It wasn’t something that you had given much thought to. You’re pretty in a small town. You’re a cheerleader. It came with the territory that you were an object of lust and desire. Other young men enjoyed getting you naked and emptying themselves of their pent up hormonal tension. You found pleasure in the weight of their bodies and the knowledge that you were wanted. But there had never been much more to it than that. They rarely focused on pleasuring you beyond a tepid rub at the general vicinity of your clit. Their cocks sometimes rubbed a long neglected place deep inside of you, but the friction was always short lived. The occasional orgasm was always welcome but always fleeting. Even in the privacy of your own bed you found that they were often more work than they were worth.

But tonight, you’d had a different experience. The man was beneath you, not on top of you. You had helped him reach a peak he’d never known before. And he’d looked at you like you were a goddess.

When your fingers delve deep inside of you, you’re barely able to reach the place that aches with the promise of deeper pleasure. But for once, you have the feeling that somebody might be able to get you there.

When you cum from vigorously pressing on your clit, you cum with the vision of Eddie Munson in your mind’s eye.

Next time, you think as you ascend. Next time.

~*~

---

I really hope you enjoyed this. PLEASE tell me if you did and what you liked about it. I want to see if it is worth doing a part 2 <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #inexperienced!eddie munson #holyyy 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

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moonyslibrary98 · 5 months ago

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the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

#tbr

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moonyslibrary98 · 5 months ago

Text

your writing is just so AHHHH, I can’t begin to explain it. love this so so much

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch.

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you.

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan.

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.”

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out.

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.”

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.”

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.”

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.”

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene.

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.”

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.”

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever.

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you.

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them.

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut.

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him.

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.”

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.”

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint.

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius.

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.”

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue.

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.”

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may.

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.”

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be.

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years.

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love?

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it.

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks.

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t.

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)?

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t.

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working.

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters.

fuck.

you are not getting over him anytime soon.

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward.

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault.

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it.

it must be especially bad this time around.

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up.

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him?

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed.

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers.

she waves her head, face in the pillow.

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?”

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.”

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you.

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing.

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…”

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.”

so she doesn’t.

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you.

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm.

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there.

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened.

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her.

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet.

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact.

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys.

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place?

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet.

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you.

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay?

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them.

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left.

here he is. remus lupin.

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful.

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open.

oh.

he wasn’t sleeping after all.

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating.

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering.

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow.

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake.

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking?

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?”

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now.

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist.

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.”

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?”

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened?

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards.

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?”

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon.

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.”

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.”

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper.

“no.” he says firmly.

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders.

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.”

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins.

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body?

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.”

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves?

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real.

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?”

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes.

your mouth hangs open. “but…”

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.”

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?”

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good.

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours.

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined.

remus. your remus.

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose.

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?”

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?”

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.”

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now.

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.”

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.”

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be.

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