the cherry red dollhouse

Hometown zero turned mega-rockstar, Dungeon Master turned guitar god, formerly ridiculed and believed-to-be-devil-worshipping town pariah Edward Phillip Munson was getting married.

TMZ had broken news of the engagement long before Eddie had gotten the chance to make any of the long-distance calls required to tell anybody himself. Which wasn’t terribly surprising, truth be told. It had been months, close to a year in some cases, since anyone from your small hometown had been in regular contact with Eddie.

The cost of fame, you all supposed.

But no one seemed to mind it so much once they had that envelope in their hands.

Robin had called immediately upon opening the one that was delivered to her and Nancy’s place, talking rapid fire as usual, asking if you wanted to fly out early with them to sightsee, if you wanted to go in on the AirBnb with them, if you thought rock stars still registered at Bed, Bath & Beyond or was there some other super-exclusive place they got their linens and dishware?

You forced out a laugh, trying to sound as good-natured as you could when you said you’d have to let her know. Normally, you probably would have accepted without a second thought. 

Normally, you might have been joking with her about how celebrities slept on sheets with thread counts higher than your income. Normally, you’d be over the moon to see a Save the Date for the wedding of your oldest and closest friend.

Except you had yet to receive yours.

It was surprising, to say the least, to come home on the day everyone had been showing theirs off, waving them in the faces of anyone who had eyes to see, to find your mailbox barren—not so much as a catalog or a predatory credit card offer.

Still, you told yourself to keep calm. And actually managed to do so, for the most part.

There were a million and a half possibilities for why it hadn’t arrived. Maybe they had been sent out in batches. Maybe the ink smudged and it had to be returned when the post office couldn’t decipher your address. Maybe Eddie had forgot to put your new address and sent it to the trailer park where you no longer lived instead of your apartment on the other side of town.

You told yourself all these things and more, over and over again like a bedtime story. Trying to reassure yourself that nothing was amiss.

Because why would it be?

And yet your mailbox remained empty. Cluttered with the typical assortment of drab bills and junk mail, with no sign of the weighted, cream-colored cardstock bearing Eddie’s full government name written in a script so elegant you’d think he was a Duke or an Earl of some sprawling English estate rather than a gangly metalhead who hailed from the humble beginnings of Forest Hills.

Anyone you mentioned it to tried to soothe you in the same ways you tried to soothe yourself.

It has to be a mistake, they all said. Lost in the mail, delivered to the wrong address, insufficient postage—they gave endless explanations for the inexplicable. Of course you’re invited. You have to be. He wouldn’t dream of getting married without having his best friend there!

Eventually you resolved to just call him, knowing it would likely go straight to voicemail; knowing it would take a few days for him to get back to you as it always did. But just as you sat down in your living room to dial, your phone buzzed in your hand as a call from him came through.

“Hey!” you said brightly, all the hurt you had been plagued by the past few weeks having evaporated the second his name flashed on your caller ID. “That’s so weird, I was about to call you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

His voice was rougher than expected, raspy and haggard. It sounded the way it did when he’d just gotten off stage, after he’d finished screaming his own lyrics to thousands. Except there was no joy behind his exhaustion, no exhilaration or elation cracking through the way it always had whether he was singing for a sold-out crowd at MSG or the same five drunks at the Hideout.

“You okay?” you asked. “You sound funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, just ahhhh…we were in the studio all day. I’m really beat.”

It wasn’t a lie—he was a shit liar, you could always tell when he was—but there was most definitely something he wasn’t telling you.

Your spine instantly went rigid, panic spiking with a sharp pinch to your nose, and you tried to sound as normal as possible while you picked at a piece of loose skin hanging around your thumbnail.

“So…what’s up? To what do I owe the pleasure?” The teasing edge to your voice came out hollow and phony, lacking all the natural ease that normally came along with talking to him.

It had been years now since he moved out to Los Angeles but you never really felt the distance until his music career took off. When he first got there, he still called you nearly every night. And as you laid in your bed with the phone pressed to your ear, it was easy to imagine he was just a few trailers down stretched on his own lumpy mattress instead of 2000 miles away.

Secretly, you sort of longed for those days—for the nights he poured himself into bed after a shift bartending or caterwaiting or whatever other odd job he had fallen into that week. And still the one call he always made, even if he was bordering on passing out from pure exhaustion, was to you.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained solemnly. “About the wedding.”

“Um…me too, actually.”

“Yeah?”

There it was again—that crack, that fissure, that slight waver in his voice so unfamiliar it made him sound like a stranger. Too serious. Too stoic. Too unlike the boisterous boy you’d always known.

“Yeah, uh…this is kind of awkward,” you chuckled again, the sound of it riddled with nerves, and you wondered if he could tell how much you hated to ask, how long you’d waited, trying to put it all off. “But I was wondering about your Save the Dates? Because everyone else got theirs and I—”

“I didn’t send yours.”

The words are maudlin. Almost pained, like he’d just told you someone died. And your reaction is more or less the same as if he had.

“…Oh.”

“I’m—I’m looking at it right now.”

You tried to imagine him in California, sitting in his fancy penthouse the record label had helped him secure just as the paparazzi began to swarm his humble fourth floor walk-up. You’d only seen it in pictures, and not even ones he had sent you—Architectural Digest had done a piece on it that came out around the same time the news broke that he had started dating Carli West.

Was he stretched out on his massive leather sofa looking out those floor-to-ceiling windows at the twinkling metropolis laid out at his feet?

Holding the phone to his ear with one hand while the other clutched an envelope with your name and address stamped on the front? 

Or maybe he wasn’t even there. 

Maybe he had finally moved into his girlfriend’s—fiancée’s—mansion in Westlake Village.

“She, um…” his voice cracked again. “She asked me not to invite you.”

The ancient springs in your plaid recliner squeaked in protest as you sank into it, wobbly legs threatening to give out underneath you. Your mind was a blank, eyes staring unfocused at the walls, totally dumbfounded. A low buzz began to drone in your ears, steadily getting louder until it was all you could hear, like a deafening static drowning out every sound in existence.

“I’m so sorry. I swear, I tried. We’ve been having it out for weeks and she won’t budge.”

“B-but…why? I’ve never even met her! What could I have possibly done to—”

“It’s not you,” he insisted firmly. “Seriously, it has nothing to do with you. She just thinks—”

Whatever explanation he was about to sputter, you didn’t hear. The simple press of a button with a red icon is not nearly satisfying enough, though. You desperately miss the harsh clang of a landline being slammed back into its cradle, its metallic reverb echoing in the emptiness and silence.

As it is, all you can do is toss your phone away and blink back tears as it bounces off the couch cushion and thumps to the floor. You opt to leave it there, reaching instead for your keys where they sit in the middle of the coffee table.

You’re not even sure where you’re headed as you follow the same roads you’ve driven most of your life, tires swerving on asphalt that’s still wet with melted snow from the barrage of winter storms you’ve had over the past couple weeks. The night is pitch black in front of you, the air stinging and harsh, threatening yet another cold snap.

It’s not until you’re halfway downtown that you realize you left your wallet at home and have to head for The Hideout. You certainly would prefer not to spend an evening surrounded by countless memories of listening to Eddie’s band play, sitting at the end of the bar watching him bob and weave in and around stumbling patrons to clear empties and wipe down tables—all while razzing Peg with his ineffable, nigh insufferable, Munson charm.

But its the only place you know will serve you with nothing more than lint in your pocket.

You posted up at the near-deserted bar, downing two beers in half as many hours, staring into the middle distance contemplating the impossible.

A movie star hated you. A movie star you’d never met, who had sucked face with half of Hollywood—professionally or otherwise—and who lived in a mansion with nine bedrooms, and who pulled in millions of dollars at the box office…hated you.

That was the only conclusion you could draw from this information, right? It couldn't possibly be an issue of space. They were inviting the entire goddamn universe as far as you could tell. 

So it had to be you. Unless…

Distantly, you register the song on the jukebox changing and the opening chords of melancholy piano playing over Bonnie Tyler’s gritty voice, making you reach for your beer and chug.

“Hey there, Bright Eyes.”

The voice of Steve Harrington might have been the last one you wanted to hear right now, and yet it’s exactly what filled in your ears. You rolled your eyes purely out of instinct as he walked over, and it caused a single traitorous tear to roll down your cheek. You swiped at it, praying he didn’t see.

“Whoa, whoa. What’s with the water works?”

He slotted into the stool next to you and a wave of his scent washed over you, the aroma made up of something gourmand and surely expensive. A few stray pieces of chestnut hair fall forward into his shining eyes as he leans his elbows on the bar and tilts his head to get a look at you.

“Just allergic to your cheap cologne,” you sniffed, the bitterness of your insult undercut by the creak of your voice. Steve’s lips quirked in a small smile. 

You knew well as he did, he never wore anything cheap.

With an overdramatic sigh, he clutched his hand to his heart and wobbled in his seat as he leaned far back like he’d been struck there. It made your chest pang, thinking how that was one of Eddie’s bits—except he probably would have fallen right to the sticky floor just to make you smile.

“She wounds me, Peg,” Steve lamented when he caught the bartender’s eye. “Can we get another round over here, please? And a couple shots?”

Steve might have been the only person on the planet who could charm a smile out of ever-surly Peg. It was a small one, barely eking out, but it was there. She retrieved another beer for each of you and then placed down two shot glasses, which she filled with brown liquor that sloshed over their rims as she slid them over. Pretending not to be pleased when Steve winked at her.

“Alright. Come on, now. Out with it,” he said, pushing one of the shots in front of you.

Reluctantly, you picked up the glass and stared down it for a second like it was the barrel of a gun before knocking it back. The liquor burned down the center of your chest, like a knife slicing you down the middle. It made your throat spasm with the need to cough, but you forced it back.

“It’s not a mistake,” you said gravely after a long pause. Steve’s lips automatically pursed.

“What’s not?” he asked.

“My Save the Date isn’t lost,” you sighed heavily and pushed your empty glass away. “They didn’t send one, because I’m not invited. Because he doesn’t want me there.”

For once in his life, Steve was silent. Speechless. He stared at the side of your face until he made a sucking sound with his tongue behind his teeth.

“Nope. There’s no way that’s true.” He shook his head. “He actually said that?”

“Not in so many words,” you muttered.

Steve’s strong brow pinched, his handsome features furrowed, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek and then slipping out past his lips as he tussled with that bit of information.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, shaking his head again. You rolled your eyes.

“He said she doesn’t want me there. Except I’ve never even met her, so clearly it must be him.”

Your words started to wobble the longer you spoke, and you had to swallow the rest before they came spewing out of you like that shot nearly did. Steve picked up his beer and stared at it, his lips still pursed as he thought. It was the most pensive you’d ever seen him.

“Well…maybe she’s intimidated,” he offered after a long pause, punctuated by a swig of beer.

“She’s got a fucking Oscar, Steve,” you snapped. “In what universe would I intimidate her?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you and he were like conjoined twins your entire lives? If he’s told her anything about his life before California, you can be damn sure your name came up.”

You scoffed, rapidly blinking your eyes as more tears stung behind them, threatening to spill over. Most of the town, much like Steve, thought if they ever saw a Save the Date with Eddie’s name on it, yours would be the one written alongside it. 

But you and Eddie were just friends.

Nothing more.

“He’s not—”

“Right, right,” Steve sighed, waving his beer back and forth, his eyes rolling back, “he’s not, you’re not, there’s nothing going on, yadda yadda.”

“Well, there’s not,” you snarled sourly. Never had been, never would be. “We’re just friends.”

Steve’s brow arched. “You and I are friends, and you wouldn’t be sitting here cutting your whiskey with tears if you weren’t invited to my wedding.”

“Like anyone would ever marry you,” you sniped.

The skin around Steve’s hazel eyes crinkled with a smile, seemingly pleased he managed to draw out that little attitude you always saved just for him.

“Well, then it sounds to me like there’s only one thing left to do,” Steve said.

You turned your head with a questioning glance and watched as he pushed his own shot in front of you. With a resigned sigh, you wrapped your hand around it and knocked it back. 

Another slice right down the middle.

“C’mon, champ. Time to get you home,” Steve said, lifting one of your limp arms and draping it over his stupid broad shoulder to help you to your feet, bracing you against him as you swayed.

Last call had long since come and gone. And between Steve’s credit card and Peg’s soft spot for you, you had most definitely been over served. The formerly near-empty bar was now completely deserted—tabs all closed, stools all placed on top of tables, drunks all carted away for the night.

With one notable exception.

“No,” you whined weakly against Steve’s chest as he hoisted you up. “Don’wannagohome.”

“Well, you can’t stay here,” he said, shooting Peg a grateful smile en route to the door.

You grumbled some more as you tried to get your feet to cooperate in spite of your brain’s decision to abandon them. “Steve, really—please, not home. Anywhere else. Anywhere.”

Even in your current state, you knew you couldn’t be trusted within dialing distance of your phone. You would almost certainly say something you regretted, and maybe even moreso, you were terrified to see whether or not Eddie called.

Honestly, it was tough to say which would be worse—returning home to a slew of missed calls and texts you didn’t trust yourself to answer; or the just as unbearable absence of them.

Steve helped you walk across the gravel parking lot to his car and opened up the rear door. With what little control you had left of your limbs, you climbed into the backseat and tried not to think too much about how many girls he’d had back here in much more compromising positions. 

The world went horizontal as you slumped over on your side and you pinched your eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop it from spinning like a merry-go-round. The car jostled as Steve climbed into the driver’s seat up front and cranked the engine, revving it to get heat flowing through the vents.

“Steve?”

Your voice is tiny. Quiet as a pin dropping in the dark as snow began to fall outside the windows. Steve’s head swiveled to look back at you and his jaw clenched at the sight. Your head hung off the edge of his backseat, your neck barely able to hold it up. Your face was lit only by the lone streetlight overhead that reflected off the wet trails of tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he asked.

You inhaled a stilted breath, bottom lip quivering. It’s the smallest you’ve ever felt. 

Smaller even than when you were a little kid and fell off of the shoddily constructed “treehouse” you and Eddie made together, thinking it was the worst pain you’d ever feel in your whole life.

More tears leaked out of your eyes, dripping off your chin. With a shaky exhale, you finally asked the question that had been running rampant around the inside of your head all night.

Longer, actually. If you were really being honest with yourself.

“Is he really gonna marry her?”

Steve made as little noise as possible as he shuffled down the hallway, passing the guest room after stopping at the door to listen for the sound of your gentle snoring on the other side. 

You’d agreed to sleep at his house without nearly as much cajoling Steve anticipated, even going so far as to whisper a quiet thank you to him as you pulled the comforter up to your neck.

To say you were in a rare state last night would be putting it lightly.

He had never seen you so upset in all the time he’d known you and he could count the number of times he’d seen you cry on one hand, with four fingers left over. If there was a list of people you would have chosen to confide in about all this, Steve wouldn’t have made the alternates.

And yet it was his shoulder you cried on as he helped you inside his parent’s house. His was the name you gurgled out as you tried desperately not to vomit up everything you had drunk on an empty stomach. His was the hand that rubbed your back when you finally curled up in bed.

How things would go this morning, though, Steve didn’t have the faintest idea.

He’d just put the coffee on to brew when his parent’s landline started to ring and he sprinted into the living room to snatch up the receiver. No one ever called that number anymore except for a few former clients and colleagues of his father’s who hadn’t got the memo the Harringtons had       long since relocated to the city, leaving both Hawkins and their son in the rearview.

“Harrington residence,” Steve chirped.

“Hey, man. It’s Eddie.”

“Oh. Hey. How, um…how are you?”

“I’m, uh…I’m okay. Listen,” he sighed, “I have kind of a weird favor.”

Eddie promptly launched into his rendition of what happened, giving Steve an abridged version of the events he had heard your side of last night. Eddie hit most of the same points as you, but he didn’t give much more than a vague explanation of what exactly had upset you to begin with.

And he ended it all with a heavy, labored sigh.

“I’ve been calling all night trying to reach her, but she isn’t picking up. I just need to know she’s ok. Can you…I mean, would you mind going over there and checking on her?”

Steve’s tongue pushed against his teeth. “Ahhh…so, here’s the thing. She’s actually here.”

“Here?” Eddie echoed. “Here where?”

“At my place. With me.”

The line crackled as Eddie fell silent on the other end. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard. Like Steve had suddenly started speaking a foreign language.

“She’s with you?” he said finally. “She’s there?”

Before Steve could answer, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. He zeroed in on your form as you shuffled down the hallway into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You actually looked a lot more cognizant than he expected. There was still some mascara smudged beneath your eyes, but the black trails left on your cheeks had been washed away. A curious look on your face, you held up the coffee pot and raised a brow, wordlessly asking if he wanted a cup.

Steve’s thumb came up to his lip and he took the nail between his teeth, gnawing on it.

He was positive you had no idea who was currently on the phone. You would have run over and yanked the receiver out of the wall if you did. As it is, you just stared back at Steve blankly.

The plan forms rapidly in his head—not really a plan, per se, more like a nebulous outline of one. And before he knows it, or before he can think better of it, he’s inhaling sharply into the phone.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, eyes still locked on yours. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

letting this one out of the vault because a) I like it and I can do what I want, and b) idk, I guess it’s sort of my goodbye. I don’t feel particularly inspired to write anything new, and I haven’t in quite some time. I originally saw this as a series, but I’m going to say there won’t be any more of this coming.

i'm not leaving leaving, i'll still be scrolling and reading when I can, but I feel like it would be disingenuous to act like any day now I'm gonna be cranking out a new series or updates.

I truly love everything i’ve got to make on here, and I'll never forget the feeling of creating them, the words flying out of my fingers, scenes taking shape in my head faster than I could get it down on the page. I'll never not miss it, I think. And I'm so grateful for all the people I've gotten to know through our writing and all the stupid, silly fun we've had <3

Sure, he had an instagram account. He barely used it himself, but he loved seeing the pictures you posted — the ones he’d taken of you — and he never failed to leave embarrassingly sweet and suggestive comments underneath them that made even your best friends blush.

Another thing you absolutely loved about Eddie was that he was possessive.

Not in a toxic way. Eddie never tried to control you or excessively claim you, nor did he treat you like you were anything less than your own independent person. He never isolated you from your friends or questioned where you were every second of the day.

He was possessive in the way that he never missed an opportunity to remind everyone that he belonged to you. He’d proudly walk around with the hickeys and scratches you’d left him, grinning smugly whenever someone pointed them out with a dubious look.

“Courtesy of my princess,” he’d say without a single ounce of shame.

You were his favourite subject, how could you not be? Eddie could spend hours talking about you. He could write ridiculous, overly dramatic sonnets about your laugh and the way your nose scrunched whenever something genuinely amused you. He could probably design an entire comic series inspired by the way your hair danced in the wind. Hell, he’d tattoo your fucking name across his neck if you asked him to.

That’s how hopelessly, ridiculously obsessed and possessive he was with you.

Which was exactly why, the moment you stumbled across the trend on TikTok, you knew you had to try it on him.

The calling your boyfriend your ‘friend’ trend.

It was stupid, and it was evil, and it was going to drive Eddie absolutely fucking insane.

Even though he didn’t care much for TikTok, or any other platform for that matter, Eddie always jumped at the chance to do whatever random thing you wanted.

“What are we doing again?”

“Uh…” you mumbled, balancing your phone on the kitchen counter. “There’s this viral…”

Taking a few steps back, you gently pulled Eddie by the wrist until he was standing beside you, squinting at the screen to check whether the lighting was good enough. Scrunching your nose, you gave his wrist another little tug when you noticed he’d drifted just outside the frame.

“Stay right here,” you instructed. “Do not move.”

Turning around, you walked over to the fridge, grabbed the light blue can, and returned to his side.

“There’s this viral beverage I wanted to try.”

“…And you wanted to get that on camera?” he asked quietly, the words carrying just the slightest hint of hesitation.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

You placed the can on the counter and shot him a sweet smile over your shoulder.

Eddie simply shrugged, nodding as though your explanation made perfect sense. “Alright. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Ready?”

“I guess.”

With one smooth swipe, you switched your phone from photo to video, started the timer, and hurried back into place. You gave Eddie one last tug when he instinctively stepped out of frame again.

“Hey, guys!” you greeted brightly once the recording started, smiling at the camera as you reached forwards to grab the can. “I’m here with my friend Eddie today.”

Beside you, Eddie — who had been smiling awkwardly at the camera ever since you’d hit record — immediately stopped smiling.

“And today we’re gonna try the new Spindrift drink!”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing when you noticed Eddie turning his face towards you.

“What—”

Before he could finish, you held the can towards the camera as though clinking it against the screen before turning back to him.

“You wanna go first, bud?” you asked as you popped the tab up and broke the lid open.

Eddie, who had been staring at you with wide, uncertain brown eyes, slowly turned to look at your phone like he was a character on The Office.

For a long second, he simply stared at the screen. His gaze drifted down to the pretty light blue dress you’d put on — somehow the exact same shade as the can in your hand — before slowly lifting back to meet your eyes.

“…What the fuck?” The words came out equal parts confused and unamused.

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows as you continued holding the can out for him to take.

“Bud?” His nose wrinkled as though the word itself left a bad taste in his mouth. “Friend?”

“…Uh, yeah,” you replied slowly, tilting your head in practiced confusion. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” His eyebrows remained knitted together as the corners of his mouth slowly turned down. “Did I… did I do something?”

“We’re literally just trying this drink.” You let out a small laugh, pulling a face as though he’d just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. “Why are you acting weird?”

“Me? Acting weird?” Eddie repeated, hesitantly lifting a hand to scratch at his jaw. “You just… called me your friend.”

“Uh, yeah?” you scoffed. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big…” He blinked at you, looking completely lost. “Sweetheart, why do you keep calling me your friend?”

“Because you are?”

“No, I’m not.” Eddie shook his head, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“Exactly.” You nodded matter-of-factly. “My boy,” you paused dramatically, “friend.”

The second the last word left your mouth, a tiny snort escaped. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth as you hastily disguised it with a cough, praying Eddie hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

The longer you looked at him, the harder it became to keep the act going.

Eddie’s bewildered expression slowly gave way to suspicion as he watched your nose scrunch behind your hand, your shoulders beginning to shake with poorly concealed laughter.

“…You’re bullshitting me.”

Eddie rested his hands on his hips like an exhausted father of three and turned his head towards the phone. His teeth found his lower lip as he worried it beneath them for a moment before slowly looking back at you, one eyebrow raised in complete disbelief.

“Friend,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m gonna show you fucking friend.”

He stared at you for another long second before finally reaching over and taking the can from your hand, setting it carefully back down on the counter.

Before you had a chance to react, he reached for your phone, tapping the bright red button to stop the recording.

Eddie left your phone exactly where it was before slowly turning back to face you. The look he gave you was one you knew all too well; you rarely got to see it, which only made it all the more memorable.

His eyebrows were drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance as he tilted his head back just slightly.

“You know…” he began slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue across his lower lip before continuing. “You’re real fucking funny, sweetheart.”

“Eds—”

He barely gave you a second to react before scooping you up into his arms and effortlessly throwing you over his shoulder.

“Maybe we should show your TikTok followers what I’m about to do to you, huh?”

You watched the black-and-white checkered kitchen floor slowly disappear beneath you as Eddie carried you out of the room.

“Eddie, what are you—”

“I’m gonna show you what a great friend I am,” he scoffed.

As if to prove his point that he was the furthest thing from being your friend — like you needed the reminder — he gave your ass a hard slap as he stepped into the hallway leading to your shared bedroom.

A startled shriek escaped you at the sudden sting of his palm, and you immediately began squirming in his hold, hoping to convince him to put you back — but no such luck, unfortunately. Eddie merely tightened his grip around your legs, a low, humourless chuckle rumbling from his chest as he nudged the bedroom door open with his socked foot.

He swiftly pushed the bedroom door shut behind the two of you with the heel of his foot before taking a few slow steps towards the bed — the fresh linens perfectly made from earlier that morning, when you’d changed them.

Carelessly, Eddie lowered you onto the mattress, letting you bounce lightly against it before straightening back up. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing his unruly curls away from his face as he stood at the foot of the bed, broad shoulders filling the space with an almost unfair amount of confidence.

“I’m not your buddy,” he said, his voice low as you pushed yourself upright. “And I’m not your friend either.”

“Eddie, baby,” you began with a small, sheepish smile, tilting your head to one side. “It was just a—”

“I’m your boyfriend,” he interrupted without missing a beat. “But I guess you need a little reminder of that, hm?”

“I-I though you were gonna show me—”

“And I think you’ve said enough already, hm?” he scoffed.

Eddie didn’t miss a beat before making his way over to the vintage dresser the two of you’d found in that little antique shop a few weeks ago.

“Last time I checked,” he began slowly, dragging the tip of his finger across the worn wooden surface, “you didn’t share this fucking dresser with Robin.”

Another chuckle escaped him. Dry and amused this time, despite the mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes that gave away just how much fun he was actually having.

“And all that talk about adopting a ferret together?” He held up two fingers as he continued listening off his evidence. “Sorry, sweetheart, but adopting an animal isn’t exactly something you do with your friends. Not usually.”

Leaning back against the dresser, Eddie folded his arms across his chest and looked at you with a cocky grin stretching across his face.

“You know what else isn’t something friends do?” He arched an eyebrow, though the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t actually expecting an answer. “The three orgasms I’m about to give you, just to prove my point.”

“T-three?” you gulped. “I’ve never—”

“Exactly.” He nodded slowly, the smug grin tugging wider at the corners of his mouth. “One orgasm for each time you called me something I’m not.”

Eddie uncrossed his arms, resting them against the dresser behind him as his fingers lazily drummed against the worn wooden surface, his eyes never once leaving you.

The baby blue dress looked painfully good on you. It hugged your waist in all the right places, and the neckline…

Jesus.

It drove Eddie nearly as insane as the little stunt you’d pulled in the kitchen not even five minutes earlier.

His dark brown eyes wandered slowly over your face before drifting down the length of your body, lingering for just a moment before finding yours again.

Pushing himself away from the dresser, he closed the distance between you with slow, unhurried steps. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he climbed onto the bed, both hands sinking into the duvet on either side of you until his nose barely brushed yours.

Eddie looked at you through his lashes, a smug grin slowly spreading across his plush lips as he watched your own part ever so slightly.

“What?” he murmured. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him before he leaned in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a long moment, savouring it, before finally pulling away and settling back onto his heels.

Eddie’s hand lazily curled around the neckline of his black t-shirt, peeling it off without the slightest hint of urgency.

You swallowed as your attention was immediately pulled away from his eyes and towards the tattooed expanse of his chest, busier now than it had been when the two of you had started dating. Your gaze lingered on the newest addition to his collection — a neo-traditional raven inked along the right side of his stomach.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as he gently tipped your chin back up with the crook of a finger.

Without caring where it landed, Eddie tossed the shirt over his shoulder before stepping back from the bed. Standing once again at the foot of the mattress, his fingers slowly trailed down the planes of his stomach until they reached the button of his jeans.

“The dress stays on,” he said quietly.

He undid the button, tugged the zipper down, and let the worn denim fall to the floor with a muted thud.

Eddie’s knees sank back into the mattress, making the bedframe creak underneath his weight. He reached out for your thighs, slowly running his hands up and down your legs until, finally, trailing his fingertips higher until they skimmed the lace trim of your panties. Hooking his fingers into the lace, he slowly dragged your panties down your legs, exposing your glistening folds to his dark brown eyes.

He hummed appreciatively as his fingers ghosted along your slick folds, marvelling at how wet you were for him already.

Leaning down, he captured your mouth in a slow kiss, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he took his sweet time to taste and explore your mouth like he always did when he wanted to torture you. Eddie swallowed your low gasp, relishing in the soft sounds that escaped you.

Breaking away, Eddie blazed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pausing to lave attention on your pulse points as he nibbled right above your collarbone.

Eddie trailed kisses down your chest, making sure to skip your hardened nipples under the soft fabric of your dress, until his face finally hovered above your aching core. Being the obsessed freak that he was, he breathed in your heady scent before shooting you a smug grin.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.” He placed a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of your thigh as he reached for one of your hands. He gave you a gentle squeeze before placing your hand on the back of his head. “Because I’ll not be going easy on you.”

With an arched, daring eyebrow, he plunged in, tongue delving deep into your slick heat. He lapped and sucked, worshiping you with lips and teeth and tongue until you were a trembling mess, falling backwards until your head hit the pillows behind you.

Your hips bucked involuntarily at the sudden feeling of Eddie sealing his mouth over your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly with the tip of his tongue as he slowly plunged a thick finger knuckle-deep into your tight pussy. He pumped and curled his digit, stroking your slick walls until you were fluttering around him.

“A-ah! F-fuck, Eddie—”

He sucked harder on your clit, adding a second finger into you as he thrusted them faster and deeper until you’re shattering with a broken gasp, your release gushing over his chin as he worked you through the aftershocks.

Holding your gaze, Eddie slid his fingers out of you and pushed them into his mouth. His tongue lapped eagerly at them, licking them clean, while his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure at the way you tasted.

After licking his digits clean, he pulled the top part of your dress down until the fabric sat underneath your breasts. Cupping your boobs, he thumbed your hardened nipples teasingly. Eddie’s dark brown eyes locked onto yours as he slowly rolled one hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging harshly. It made pleasure zing straight to your core, making you squirm underneath him. He lavished the same attention to your other nipple, pinching and tweaking it until he had you begging for more.

“P-please, Eds—”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

Reaching between your bodies, Eddie pushed his boxers down just enough to free his aching length. The sight of his cock made your mouth water every single time — long, thick mushroom tip, and painfully pink.

He notched the broad tip of his cock against your slit, teasing and probing before sinking into your slick pussy with one powerful thrust.

“Is this what a friend does to you? Huh?” He chuckled darkly as he looked down at you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Answer me.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you bit your lip. “N-no.”

He could swear you were molten silk clutching him tight, stroking his length with each desperate roll of his hips as you met his thrusts.

Eddie pistoned his hips faster, harder, burying himself to the hilt again and again. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, breathy pants and bitten-off curses.

“F-fuck.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Gimme another one,” He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, chasing your second release like his life depended on it. “Be a good fucking friend and come on my cock.”

“H-harder, Eds. P-please.”

The desperate, broken plea spurred him on. He grabbed your hips bruisingly tight as he drove into you with ruthless precision, angling to hit that special spot deep inside that always made you scream. The obscene slap of his balls against your ass echoed through the room, while his curly pubes brushing against your swollen clit pulled desperate gasps from your lips.

Your fingers curled into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp before you pulled at his roots, while your other hand raked down his sweat-slicked back. Your leg locked around his waist, heel digging into the plush fat of his ass as you urged him impossibly closer.

“You’re so fucking tight f’me, baby,” he growled, voice wrecked.

“E-Eds, I’m g-gonna—”

Your release crashed over you, white-hot and blinding as you clenched down hard on his aching cock. Your walls puled around him as he continued grinning wolfishly at your open mouth and glassy eyes.

He leaned down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. Eddie slipped his tongue inside your mouth, bobbing his head as he sloppily sucked on your tongue.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “Just one more, you can do it. I know you can.”

“I-I can’t, Eds,” you whimpered, desperately licking your lips to get rid of the dry feeling. “P-please—”

Eddie trailed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, suckling at your pulse points hard enough to leave marks.

He grabbed at your hips, guiding you to meet each roll with a grind of his own. His breathing was strained as his hips worked feverishly now, chasing that high. Curving one hand around to rub tight circles on your clit, Eddie doubled his efforts, determined to tip you over the edge and watch you fall apart on his cock, crying his name.

Sweat slicked your straining bodies as he plunged into your sloppy heat over and over. The wet squelch of your messy cunt, the lewd slap of flesh, your needy cries — it’s almost too much, even for Eddie.

“That’s it, baby. Soak my fucking cock.” He rasped desperately, fingers flying over your throbbing clit.

Eddie could tell you were close, pussy clenching hard around him, thighs trembling around his pistoning hips.

With a final twist of his wrist, he sent you over the edge with a high pitched, broken moan that somewhat resembled his name. Your pussy fluttered and gushed around him, soaking his thighs with a hot and unexpected jet, clenching so hard on his cock you milked him for all he’s worth.

“Ed-Ed— Fuckfuckfuck.” Your head was tilted back, neck on display and mouth wide open. “Mmpff!”

“Jesus— F-fucking take it,” he gasped, nuzzling into your neck to sink his teeth into your skin.

With stuttering hips, Eddie’s rhythm faltered as the feeling of your squirting pussy drenching him, unravelling the last thread of his control. With one last moan, he buried himself to the hilts pulsing and shuddering as he filled you up, painting your greedy pussy in that addicting sticky, milky white.

Eddie pushed himself up just enough for his gaze to drift lazily to where the two of you were connected, his tired, wide eyes settling on the mess you’d made of the fresh linens, like he’d just witnessed a miracle.

The sight drew a slow grin to his face. He caught his lower lip between his teeth before a quiet, satisfied chuckle escaped him. Reaching up, he gently tapped two fingers against your cheek before letting his hand cradle your face, his thumb brushing softly over your skin as he tipped your chin back towards him.

“So,” he murmured, his fingertips pressing ever so slightly into your cheeks. “Who am I?”

You blinked your eyes open, still dazed, your tongue sweeping absently across your lower lip before you managed a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“M-my boyfriend.”

A smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Damn right I am.”

Neither of you spoke much after that. You simply stayed tangled together, basking in each other’s warmth while your breathing gradually slowed and your racing heart settled back into its familiar rhythm.

After a while, Eddie wrapped his arms around you and drew the two of you a warm, well-deserved bath.

He settled into the tub first before gently pulling you back against him, your back resting flush against his chest. One arm stayed securely around your waist while the other slowly worked your favourite soap into a rich lather, his touch gentle as he washed over your arms.

“I love you,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. “But do not ever call me your friend again.”

A giggle escaped you as you nodded. “Deal.”

Some hours later, after Eddie had helped you into one of his oversized t-shirts and patiently combed the tangles from your hair, the two of you found yourselves curled up on the couch, you lazily scrolling through the comments on your TikTok while he started working on a joint.

He’d frowned when you’d told him you were posting it, though the look quickly faded once you explained that the trend was about getting your partner’s reaction — not trying the can of sparkling water that was still sitting forgotten on the kitchen counter.

Eddie, who normally didn’t give a rat’s ass about social media beyond hyping you up in the comments of your Instagram posts, had eventually let his curiosity get the better of him. Leaning over your shoulder, he stretched his neck to get a look at your phone.

Congratulations on your pregnancy girl!

oh, she’s exactly where she wants to be

I’m gonna show you fucking friend???? HELLO???

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, while Eddie merely blinked confused at the phone in your hand.

“…Pregnancy?”

“It’s a TikTok thing, babe.”

He frowned a little harder before reading the next comment.

“‘The way he looked at her after she said ‘my boy… friend’, girl I would have folded IMMEDIATELY’.”

A smug grin spread across Eddie’s face as he turned to look at you, a quiet scoff escaping him while hr raised his eyebrows in triumph.

“See? The internet agrees with me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Eddie simply looked back down at his hands, carefully finishing the joint he’d promised to roll while the two of you soaked in the bath.

“Shut up.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Make me, sweetheart.”

Permanent tag list? Just ask!

When he calls to say he’s stopping by your place on his way home from work? Surely it’s just a coincidence that you’re always fresh out of the shower when he arrives, wearing only a towel and asking him to rub lotion on your back because your hands can’t reach that far.

You know…normal friendly stuff.

And the whole time he goes along with it all, trying to shove down his guilt for being attracted to his sweet and unsuspecting best friend. He feels like a terrible person, filled with shame and self-loathing every time he touches himself while thinking about you (which happens a lot).

Things continue on like that until one night when you give him a lingering kiss goodbye, and as your sweet lips press against his, it finally dawns on him—is it possible something else is going on?

He's never been close with any other girls, so maybe he’s reading too much into things? Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part and you act like that with all of your friends? But at the same time, he’s been around you and some of your girlfriends on occasion, and he’s pretty sure you don’t give each other back rubs in your underwear.

Something just isn’t adding up.

Confused and conflicted, it all gets to be too much, so he vows to go cold turkey—no more time alone with you until he can figure things out and get his head on straight.

No more late night movies in his bed. No more tickling or massages or lotion applications. He’s going to avoid any and all situations where things with you might cross the line.

And to your dismay, his plan works. A little too well. He hardly ever comes around to see you anymore and you miss him. The loneliness is almost too much to bear.

So one day you call him up in desperate need of his assistance, hoping he’ll be willing to help you. He’s always said he would do anything for you.

You tell him that you got asked out by this really great guy who’s super handsome and you need Eddie’s opinion on the lingerie you bought for your upcoming date. It’s a bit more risqué than what you usually wear and you want to make sure it doesn’t look too trashy. You don’t want to give this totally-real-and-not-made-up guy the wrong impression, after all.

“As long as you don’t mind?” you purr into the phone while he grips onto his kitchen counter for strength. “All of my other friends are busy and, I mean, you’re practically one of the girls.”

And Eddie’s no fool. He knows it’s a bad idea to agree to your proposal. Being alone with you in that way sounds…dangerous. But at the same time, you need his help. You’re practically begging and he doesn’t want to let you down.

When he gets to your place a short while later, the lights are low and you answer the door in a silky robe that doesn’t leave much to his imagination.

“Thanks for getting here so fast, Eddie.” You smile. “You’re such a good friend, and I could really use your help.”

And he helps you—down on his knees with your soft thighs pressed on each side of his messy head, those trashy little panties pulled aside to let his thick tongue curl and dive through your dripping cunt.

With his plush lips wrapped around your needy clit, he finally hears you sigh his name out loud, the way he always imagined it would sound in his dreams. And when your legs start to shake and you cum for the first time on his tongue in a flood of sticky sweetness? It isn’t quite enough. He still comes back for more.

After all, what’s a best friend for?

🎶 maybe i’m delusional and the way you act is usual 🎶

hi…just emptying the drafts of some drabbles + imagines 🤍 sometimes i write these as little mini fics with a plan to flesh them out later as a full fic with dialogue and detail. there is a longer version of this in progress but i’ll probably never finish it ;)

“Just like that, pretty girl. Just— fuck— like that,” Eddie pants above you. His camera pointed directly at the area where you’re connected. Watching the way the plump of your ass ripples with every thrust.

“Eddie,” you whine, your voice almost overshadowed by the sound of your ass meeting his thighs. His hand settles on your rear, kneading and pressing the pads of his fingers into the skin. He moves the camera up. The lens trailing your quivering body in your uniform, your soft hands clutching at his comforter and your face pushed sideways into his bed.

“Yeah? Whose dick are you taking, pretty girl? Who’s making you feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, his voice broken up by groans and ragged breaths. He damn near forgets about the camera entirely when your pretty cunt tightens around his dick. A broken moan echoing behind the camera.

“You, fuck, it’s yours,” you breathe out, nearly overshadowed by the squelch of your pussy. You let out a cry when Eddie’s hand suddenly comes down on the flesh of your ass, his rings leaving behind a sting.

“Uht uht, say my name,” he orders, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches you try to hide from the camera. He fucks you a little harder until a mumbled string of his name over and over again comes from you. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.”