An Otherwise Quiet Night Is Filled With The Sniffling Sounds Of Crying. The Tv Plays On Mute, The Picture

i’m your favourite ; eddie munson

synopsis: eddie’s insecurities always make him question whether or not he really deserves you, but he knows he can count on you to continuously prove him wrong.

warnings: mentions of insecurities in terms of looks & relationship dynamics, few swear words, fem!reader in mind, reader has a mom, dad & little sister, established relationship, lil heated moments

note: inspired by role model’s song “scumbag” (if you haven’t listened to his latest album “kansas anymore” go do it!!!)

“i’m a train wreck, i’m a cigarette. i’m the side that no one’s rooting for. but you stand by me.”

“eds? did you hear me?”.

quickly blinking his eyes, eddie took in his surroundings & came back to reality. pressing a faint kiss to your hair, he nodded his head.

you both were having a movie night at his trailer with blankets & popcorn on his couch. you both weren’t super picky, so the random cable channel playing horror movies did the trick.

“sorry—zoned out. what were you saying, baby?” he tried to recover from his mere moment of weakness, his arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer to his chest.

“i was just wondering…” you teetered, “would you wanna come over tomorrow?” you nerves were taking over now that his attention was fully on you.

“it’s my little sister’s birthday & my parents are doing a barbecue to celebrate—it’s okay if you don’t wanna come, i get it,” you started to ramble, fiddling with the material of eddie’s shirt you wore.

“i just thought it’d be nice for you to meet my family, y’know? b-but you can totally say no—it’s not a big deal” you assured him, but you secretly hoped he’d say yes.

when eddie didn’t answer immediately, you lifted your head from his chest to get a better view of his face, seeing a look of uncertainty on his features. it made you worry if asking this was too much.

“you want me to your family? a-are you sure?”

nodding your head quick, your hand rose up to rest on his cheek, thumb smoothing over his skin. “i’m sure,” you smiled once you saw eddie’s face soften, his doe eyes twinkling under the living room lamps.

“you’re my favourite person, eddie. plus, my mom has been dying to meet you since our first date” your cheeks felt warm at that little omission, & you could see a pink hue bloom on eddie’s.

pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand, eddie pushed aside his insecurities for a moment. “okay,” he exhaled, “i’d love to come over”.

pushing yourself up on the couch cushions to thank him with a kiss, eddie’s hands tightened on your waist, sighing into your mouth the longer your lips were locked to his.

“by the way,” he pecked the corner of your mouth. “you’re my favourite too”.

**~*~*~~*~**~*~~*~*~**~**~*~~*~*

tomorrow had come & eddie was freaking the hell out.

his room had become a larger mess than it usually was, turning into a something that looked like a hurricane with all the clothes thrown everywhere & on everything. all morning, he had tried finding the perfect outfit to wear that would be acceptable in the eyes of your parents, but nothing seemed to work.

so for the last ten minutes, he sat against the edge of his bed with his fingers tangled in his lion’s mane, eyes pinched & breath heavy in frustration.

at least, that was until his landline phone began to ring.

“hello?” he spoke into the mic, voice dropping with defeat.

“eds? what’s wrong?” your voice was concerned, only causing eddie’s breath to hitch.

“nothing baby, it’s all good”.

you scoffed. “sure don’t sound like it”.

rolling his eyes playfully, he fully laid out on his bed, back growing uncomfortable from all the clothes sprawled across it.

“are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or continue to mope about it?” you chided, only making him sigh.

“i have nothing good to wear”. the statement made him seem pathetic in his eyes.

tilting your head (you knew he could tell your movements), you couldn’t help but have a small smirk on your face while you twisted the phone cord between your fingers.

“now i don’t believe that, baby” now you heard him scoff.

“your parents are gonna think i’m a freak—everybody does. i-i can’t help it”. he spoke softer now, insecurities flowing out of him & overtaking his being because he didn’t want to be made a fool out of.

he wouldn’t be able to survive knowing your family doesn’t approve of him.

& your heart drops at the mere thought of it.

“eddie,” you spoke, trying to reel him back in from the negative parts of his mind. “no one is going to think you’re a freak—you’re so much more than that stupid label”.

he continued to stare up at the client as you spoke, his chest growing heavy with anxiety.

“they’re going to love you because you’re kind, have good humour, extremely helpful, caring, handsome,” you could hear him let out a huff at the last word.

“… & because i love you”.

you both haven’t said those three words yet since you started dating a few months ago. so, now was the first time.

“y-you what?”

fear overtook you now, your heartbeat loud in your ears. did i say it too early you thought to yourself.

“i-i love you, eddie. i hope that’s okay” oh shit.

eddie almost dropped the phone from his hand, still somehow in shock that someone like you loved someone like him. he’s been known as trailer trash, a freak, a thrown out cigarette, a scumbag, a stain on the so called beauty of hawkins—he’s been torn down for too long.

but by the grace of god (or some other being or universe or whatever), you saw past all the tarnished scuffs on him.

it’s something he still can’t fully understand.

“eddie, i-i’m sorry if i just fucked everything—“

“i love you too. sorry it took me so long to say it”

his words took you by surprise, & you couldn’t help but laugh happily into the receiver.

“you don’t have to be sorry, you just have to come over & kiss me to seal the deal” you bit your lip at your coyness, hoping it’d be enough for him to pull through.

“i’ll see you in thirty, sweetheart” eddie said before ending the call, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your chest. your head bumped into your pillow in a lovestruck haze, cheeks hurting from how hard were smiling.

you were so in love with that man.

**~~*~*~**~***~*~~**~*~**~*~*

you waited at the front door while the party festivities took place in the backyard, hearing your mom yell that the food was almost ready from the back door. you tapped your sandal clad foot eagerly, anxious for when the doorbell would finally ring.

& it hit you like bricks when it chimed in your ears.

your hand (which was slightly clammy from nerves) held the doorknob, twisting it slowly until the door was open & your lovely boy was in view.

he dressed in casual attire consisting of a dark red t-shirt, dark blue jeans, & a new pair of sneakers he got with steve the other day. he still wore his rings & guitar pick necklace, dawning those pearly whites of his with a grin when he saw you.

his hands were full, holding onto things with a claw like grip. in one, he held three small bouquets of flowers from the supermarket & his van keys. the other held a purple gift bag stuffed with white glittery tissue paper, the specks of glitter shining brightly in the mid afternoon sunlight.

“hey, baby” he said with a pep in his step, eying you up & down. you could tell he was still nervous, but he was trying his best to keep cool.

without missing a beat, your hands flew up to his face & you kissed him hard, taking him by surprise on your front door step. but who could blame you for doing such a thing after you both confessed your love over the phone?

“you’re gonna,” *kiss* “make me” *kiss* “drop everything”, he huffed, laughing into your lips when you refused to pull away initially.

“sorry,” you heaved. “just love you so much is all” you grinned harder at eddie’s flushed face.

“lemme put everything down & give you a proper one, yeah?”

you agreed, helping him inside your home for the first time, giving him a quick tour of the main floor as you headed to the kitchen to put the flowers in some water.

“my mom is a gonna get all sappy knowing you got us all flowers—thank you by the way” you pecked his cheek with a pop as you placed the flowers into three different vases.

placing the gift bag on the counter, eddie just shrugged nonchalantly. “well, it’s just what a gentleman does” he said, smirking when you smiled at him.

“yeah,” you made your way over to him, hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, chest pressing into his as his cold ring clad hands held your waist, squeezing it every few seconds.

“you really are the best” you leaned closer to him, lips just about to brush his.

“hmm, is that right?” his breath fanned your face, smelling like spearmint gum.

you could only nod, unable to resist the space anymore until he made the final dip forward, capturing your lips in his for a proper kiss where he could hold you close. it was slow, saying all the things you both wanted to say, while being sweet & soft & rewarding all at the same time.

“i love you” he breathed into your mouth, his thumbs fiddling with the smocked material on the lower back of your dress, being careful not to let them drift too low in case someone in your family caught him—& god forbid it’d be your father.

“i love you too” you murmured, pulling apart to laugh & smile & take all of him in like this.

you took a mental screenshot of him, safely storing it away in your brain’s memory box for later.

“so,” you patted his chest. “ready to meet everyone?” you asked, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his bottom lip while he sweetly tucked some of your hair behind your ear, fingers brushing over your earrings with a smile (because you’re wearing the ones he bought you).

eddie thought you tasted just as sweet as you looked.

“yeah,” he interlocked your fingers with his own, squeezing three times “now i am”.

“i’m a scumbag, i’m a scumbag (but you stand by me)”.

Eternally yours

Summary: Eddie grapples with the realization that he exists solely in your imagination, while you cling to the fleeting moments you have.

Warning: I found this fic in my drafts from the end of last year. I completely forgot about it and reading it today made me incredibly sad. Why do I write things that hurt? Read at your own risk.

Word count: 744

Eddie stares at your hand resting beside his on the dock. He wonders how his hand can feel so real when it looks and moves just like yours. He can feel the wood beneath his fingertips. He can hear the water brush against the dock. He can see the moon casting a light on your face. It’s all so real, but he’s not. Suddenly, he is acutely aware of his body and the self-awareness causes him to feel uneasy.

Breaking free from his thoughts, you ask Eddie what he does when you’re not around. His voice trails off as he searches for an answer, realizing that his memories revolve solely around you. He musters the words, “I don't know…maybe I only exist when you’re around.”

The weight of your gaze intensifies the ache in his chest, as he grapples with the paradox of your presence while feeling his own absence. You exist and he doesn’t. How can he make sense of that when you're staring right at him, making him feel so alive?

“Do you think of me when we're not together?” He asks softly, feeling cracked open by his vulnerability. If he were to ask you what his lungs looked like, he'd swear you could simply peer down and tell him.

“All the time.”

That eases the ache and he smiles. The cool night breeze envelops both of you as Eddie tentatively lifts his hand, feeling the air flow through his fingers. However, a tremor runs through him, and you reach out to steady his hand with a gentle touch.

“Don’t get lost in it. Just stay with me.” You say.

Eddie tightens his grip on your hand, but his chest rises and falls quickly. He does not meet your eyes, because he is getting lost in it. The panic starts to set in. But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his hand. He hears his name on your lips, and it's as if you pulled him out of the hole he was falling into.

With his brown doe eyes fixed on yours, Eddie’s hand rises to touch your cheek. His fingers trace your face delicately, committing every curve and line to memory. He hesitates before asking, “Is this okay?”

You affirm with a single word, “Yes.”

Noticing a change in your expression and your attempt to control your breathing, Eddie’s thumb caresses your cheek as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

A small smile appears on your face before you admit, “I think about this all the time. You have no idea.”

Curious, Eddie asks, “Think about what?”

“You. And how your touch would feel…” Your voice trails off, cheeks flushing.

Eddie gently tilts your chin up. “How does it feel?”

Your eyes meet and he waits for your response, captivated by each of your breaths. But then, a tear falls from your eyes.

“Better than I could imagine, which is silly because this is all in my imagination,” you confess, your voice breaking as you look away.

Eddie wipes away your tears, his face filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Suddenly, you envelop Eddie in a tight hug, surprising him but easing his tension. He reciprocates, pulling you closer. Holding you tight.

“I miss you,” You whisper.

The words fall from your lips. Eddie is filled with confusion because he doesn’t know the pain you’ve endured because of his story. He doesn’t know how his fate ended, because this version of him lives on only within your mind—suspended in time. You met him in the middle, where his story was still happy and he was filled with promise of it being his year.

He lets his unanswered question dissolve, softly assuring you, “I’m right here.”

And he is, yet he isn’t. Time has passed, and the world has moved on from him, unbeknownst to Eddie. So, you securely hold him in your heart and mind, ensuring his existence continues.

“You know,” he starts, stroking your hair, “If I exist only because of you, then that’s a life worth living.”

The lake stills, the wind ceases, and just before Eddie can comprehend you're gone, he smiles. The world darkens, freezing him in an eternal moment.

Eddie Munson ceases to exist, residing only in the mind of a shifter, between the pages of the writer, the pen strokes of an artist and through the words of those who read him back to life in every possible scenario.

For every moment you experience in reality, he waits—until you meet again.

Masterlist

BatEddie!!

Ow

“Hey,” Eddie giggles as he watches you nuzzle the softness of his belly near his hip, rubbing your nose back and forth along the warm skin exposed from the band tee turned sleep shirt riding up his torso, faded scars on display.

You hum, peppering kisses to every inch of skin you can reach, breathing the comforting scent of Eddie in as you melt further into him.

Warm, woodsy, vanilla. Him.

Another nip to his hip sends him squirming with a breathy chuckle, every touch tickling him more.

Sweetheart

“Could eat you right up, baby,” you sigh, pressing one last kiss to his belly and wrapping your arms around him.

Your eyes close as you run your fingers along his side, listening to his gentle breaths as they begin to even out, signaling he’s already drifting off to sleep with such ease.

Wrapped in the arms of a lover

i wish i had met you earlier (eddie munson x reader)

cw: depressing pillow talk and comfort idk, reader was sad and lonely an: a nod to the only boy ive ever loved who coincidentally became the only man ive ever loved. we grew up together and i still wish i had met him earlier. wc: 1k

“I wish I had met you earlier,” you whisper.

“Earlier?” he smiles, nose scrunching at the silliness, not knowing the depth of your sentiment. 

“Yeah,” you smile back. It’s hard not to do— to smile, when his eyes are so soft, and his lips are that plump, just kissed colour, and your body still hums from the evening behind you. His lashes flutter the slightest bit, blinking away your flattery with a bashful roll of his eyes. 

“You’d be sick of me already if we met earlier,” he lightly huffs, cheek squishing further into the softness of your shared pillow, crooking his smile. 

If the lights were on, you’re sure you’d see a flush suffuse across his face. It would highlight the curvature of his cheeks that accompany his boyish simper, and it would emphasize the winsome rounded tip of his nose. When he blushes like that, your heart always adds an extra beat into its rhythm, one that lives for him. You can picture it so clearly, your heart flutters all the same— that’s not the point of this though. 

“I wouldn't be sick of you,” you promise.

“No?”

“I'll never get sick of you.” 

Tactile as always, he draws his affection over your features, trusting his touch to communicate what he feels. His fingertips dance over your cheek bone, daring to grace close enough to your eye to feel the very tips of each silken lash, flittering with every reflexive blink. He feels the fan, every feathery gust of air, and it affects him in magnitudinous ways— feeling any part of you is like that, a full-hearted reminder that you are here. You are here and you are his. 

His palm settles to your cheek, fingers curving just below your ear, cradling the edge of your face. His own version of a promise, he shares his warmth and oath-taken heart through his touch.

“When would you have wanted to meet?” he asks curiously, blinking his own thick lashes at you as his gaze meets yours. 

“Just before high school.”

He smiles widely, “you answered that quickly,” he says, thumb tracing once over the hill of your cheek and back down.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you smile back. You lean into his touch and he draws his thumb across again. You close your eyes for a moment and he does it another time. 

“Why?” 

The softness inside you hardens momentarily at the question. Swallowing thickly, you also know the answer, but it doesn’t come out as quickly. It gets stuck to the roof of your mouth, stuck to the tip of your tongue. His eyes encourage your honesty, and on the sole notion of knowing him and knowing his heart, you trust him with this part of you.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so lonely.”

His thumb glides across your cheek and you watch as his eyes give way to his realization that it wasn’t a light hearted question for you. It wasn’t just pillow talk like it was supposed to be.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so sad,” you continue, trying to smile.

“You were sad?” His brows turn up, worry lines settling in. It’s a sorrowful look he gives you, not pity, but a softness, a grief, a regret. 

For a split moment, you think that maybe you should lie— make it all go away. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t, not with him. Not when his hand is so graciously connected to you, and the warmth of his bare chest radiates into yours, and your shared pillow smells like your shared shampoo, and the sheets smell like the laundry soap you picked out together, with hints of your lotion and his body wash scattered throughout like every kiss you’ve ever shared here. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t— especially not when you love him and he loves you. 

“I was so sad, Eddie.” 

You muster a smile, but it betrays you, trembling just under your lower lip. The corners of your mouth remain pointed high, but it’s not a smile, not with the way your lips purse tightly, holding back what your eyes cannot. Your lash line fills, but less than a few side fallen tears survive the heavy blinks that draw them back inwards.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, thumb tracing under your eye this time. He pulls you forward with the lightest touch, a gentle encouragement, and a purposeful reminder that he’s here. He's here and he’s yours. 

One day you’d like to explain it all, but it’s a hard feeling to understand. You’re not sure if it’s wholly a feeling to begin with— it’s more like a ghost. A haunting of all the feelings that used to exist. It washes over you in fast moving gray clouds, settling into your chest like heavy smoke in your lungs, lingering only long enough to remind you of how it was. Just enough to make you sputter, but not enough to hold the bleak weight of it all once again.

Breath coming out heaving and choked, Eddie’s palm glides to the back of your neck. His thumb presses soothingly into the tensed and taut muscles, and as soft as air he breathes a whispered apology against your lips— a simple ‘sorry,’ but it translates to so much more when he holds you like he does. 

Sorry for bringing it up. 

Sorry for the ghosts in your lungs. 

Sorry for the years of you that died all alone with nobody to mourn them. 

Sorry that no matter how many flowers you bring to their grave, they still come back, just like this, to haunt you.

Sorry— breathed against your lips and into your lungs, filling you with the gift of a life with him in it. 

“It’s not your fault,” you answer.

“I know,” he replies.

“I’m still glad I met you when I did,” you say. 

He looks into your eyes, steady gaze sincere with a tender adornment. Entirely loving, but his usually gladness is hindered by the gravity of the moment. He moves in closer to you again, lips just barely brushing yours as he speaks. 

“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispers.

———

ty! <3

Haikyuu boyfriend headcanons ; Tendou edition ⋆｡˚ ⤾

-> Insists on late night chats especially when he's feeling talkative. Will literally roll over at 2am and whisper "if we can't see air can fish see water?" — and yes he expects an in depth answer

-> The type to just show up. He rarely texts before he visits just shows up with snacks and a grin, repeatedly ringing your doorbell (he literally has a key and does this purely to see you adorably get mad)

-> Very observant and immediately knows when something's off with you, even if you try hiding it. He'll never pressure you to talk just plops down beside you and sneaks attack you with tickles until you're both out of breath laughing.

-> absolutely LOVES cuddling. The position doesn't matter, little spoon or big spoon he just loves having you in his arms or being in yours. (would still prefer being the big spoon so he can gaze at you and nestle his nose in the crook of your neck)

-> Would talk to you in silly accents just to make you laugh when you're in a bad mood. Like he'll start doing a Gordon Ramsey impression and randomly yell "ITS RAW" until you giggle

-> Kisses you when you're talking — not to shut you up, but because he gets overwhelmed with how much he loves hearing your voice. You'll be mid sentence and suddenly he leans in to kiss your check and says "sorry you just look so cute right now."

-> Gets jealous and a bit insecure if he catches someone else flirting with you. He'll wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close with a forced smile, and stare down the other person until they leave — not that he doesn't trust you its just deep down he thinks you're too good for him.

-> Loves hand feeding you chocolate when watching a movie. If a bit smudges on your lip, he'll lean in with a mischievous grin to lick it off before giving you a kiss.

note : most of the hc's i'll do on here are just reposts from my tiktok (@/haikyuuism). But im also hoping to make different content here (maybe even working on fics). So if you have hc/sceanrio reqs lmk !

it’s been so fucking hot outside and i am plagued with the fact that i know eddie is the type that has to touch you when he sleeps. it’s not even really something he knows he does, he just does it.

goes to sleep (and he is a hard sleeper, never wakes up) and is mouth open snoring, and it’ll start with lifting his leg so his shin is touching you, or a foot touching your leg. then he’ll roll and his side is pressed up to your body, sometimes an arm thrown over you. it’s kinda nice in the winter when you’re freezing and enjoy the extra body heat, but in the dead of summer, it’s misery.

you try to push him off, shove him only for him to roll away and come back stronger like a tidal wave, nearly laying entirely on top of you. he’ll grab at you sometimes, try to pull you in while you’re pushing him away.

the room is too stuffy, the ac not working hard enough and the fans not cutting it. you end up fighting eddie until you wake him up with a tired, frustrated huff.

“what? what?” his voice is groggy, sleep ridden and spacey.

“scoot over.” you huff, pushing him with your foot for emphasis. “you’re smothering me.”

“‘m sorry, baby.” eddie mutters, lids already pulling closed with sleep, rolling over towards the edge and away.

you’d have time to try and wedge a pillow between the two of you, hopeful that it would keep him away for a little while. he always ends up rolled over on the pillow, hand on your head or your hip, just to feel you- even when you keep shoving him off.

fictional boyfriends (e.m.)

summary: eddie gets jealous of your newest fictional boyfriend from a game he got you into.

warnings: kinda sweet. kinda cringe. eddie is jealous of astarion. twilight reference jumpscare. not edited. biting and vague mentions of sex at the end.

wc: 2.5k+

a/n: this is the dumbest, cringiest thing i have ever written. but on this side of town, we embrace the cringe <3 happy valentine's day, enjoy me combining my current favorite fictional men (astarion and eddie) for my own personal delight. maybe one day i'll write a serious fic regarding the biting kink

It’s not that biting had ever been off the table with Eddie, per se.

Nips between kisses, using a little more teeth when he’d kiss across your neck, a joking sinking of your teeth into his shoulder when you were vying for his attention — they were all normal occurrences between the two of you. There was just never much discussion about it. No conversation explicitly had in which the two of you said, “Why, yes. This is something I’d like to bring into the bedroom.” 

Until that damn game.

When Eddie introduced you to Baldur’s Gate 3, the last thing he expected was to watch all your free time you used to spend pestering him suddenly handed over to some fictional vampire. He thought it’d be a game you tried, grew tired of, lost interest in, and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t expect a sudden competition for your goddamn affections. 

“Baby, please come to bed,” he all but whines as he drapes himself over your shoulders, trying to nudge off your headphones. He could feel just how warm your ears had grown beneath them. He swears he can feel your back crack from the slightest bit of his weight on your shoulders. And, sue him — he was tired and he wanted to cuddle. 

“One more minute,” you mumble the same phrase to him that he has used a million times on you; he instantly knows it’ll be far more than just sixty more seconds if he agrees, “Let me just finish this-“

“No,” he’s still whining, but it’s more stern now as he properly removes your headset, earning a glare from your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been playing this game all afternoon, sweetheart. I think I might die if you don’t offer me some immediate attention. Truly.”

For emphasis, he lays more of his body weight on you, your chair creaking from holding up both of you now. 

“Eddie,” you moan out, wiggling beneath his dead-weight, “I swear to God, get off of me-“

“I’ll get off of you if you come to bed.”

You pause. Your hands hover near your keyboard and mouse, but you’re no longer walking your avatar across the world of Baldur’s Gate, and he knows he has you considering it.

More weight. More groans. At this rate, he’s questioning if your chair won’t break from his outrageous method to get your attention. 

“Fine.” 

The small yes he lets out only earns him a punch to the shoulder. But it gets you off the game, and that’s still a win for him.

He doesn’t even care about appearing over eager as you follow him back to the bedroom. He’s gone as far as preparing the bed, pillows fluffed and comforted pulled back while awaiting your arrival. He’s already washed his face and brushed his teeth (something he usually fights you on as you nag him before bed), and the moment he’s got you in the room with him, he’s dragging you right onto the mattress with him.

“You’re gonna hurt us!” you yelp as he wraps his arms around you and flops down, dragging you with him, but it’s through a laugh. He knows you really couldn’t care less — he’d never deliberately injure you, irritated about your newest fictional boyfriend or not. 

“Oh, no,” he mocks, rolling so you’re laying on top of him, “What ever will you do if I injure one of your precious wrists, and you can’t use it to flirt with your new boy toy tomorrow?” 

“Astarion would be devastated,” you giggle into his chest, not moving off of him despite all your protests. It’s nice — to feel the full weight of you, to just get to bury his nose in the crown of your head as he shamelessly inhales the sweet lingering scent of your coconut shampoo, “He’s even needier than you.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you serve as his functional juice box.”

“I do not!” you wiggle against him, and it only makes him tighten his arms, “He’s needy because he loves me.”

“Well that makes one of us.” 

Your head lifts off his chest in an instant, faux offense shadowing your features, “You tryin’ to say you don’t love me, Munson?”

He smirks, pressing his lips together tightly, making you huff in frustration. 

Of course he loves you. There wouldn’t be a ring in his sock drawer that he’s terrified of you finding if he didn’t. 

You pout, subtly and adorably so, starting to lift off of him, “If you’re going to be mean, I’m just going to go back to someone who appreciates me-“

“Mean?” he scoffs, enjoying himself far too much. He’s missed your attention, your affection. The effect it has on him is similar to a high, making him dizzy on serotonin as he rolls over and pins you between him and the mattress, “Oh, baby, that’s not me being mean. I can show you mean, if you want.” 

He’s always thought you looked prettiest like this. Under him, eyes wide as you look up at him as if he’s the only thing in this room worth looking at. Worth more than your prized bookshelf, more interesting than all the various posters the two of you have hung on the walls. You look at him as though he’s the greatest thing to exist in these four walls, and he doesn’t take it lightly when your favorite albums and candles are right there.

“You don’t have a mean bone in your body, Munson,” you whisper softly, face going soft for him. The two of you are still surely joking around, the playfulness of it all thick in the air, but there’s something genuine in your words that makes him even more enamored with you. 

He should have predicted you’d fall for Astarion when he showed you the game. You had a thing for people who put up the tough front, but who really just needed a little extra softness and patience under the surface. He was living proof of it.

Unlike your fictional vampire boyfriend. 

“Yeah?” he taunts, leaning down until the tip of his nose brushes yours. His hair works like a curtain, messy as ever as he shields the two of you from the outside world. One of your hands have crept up so that you palm rests against his cheek, and he can hardly remember that flare of jealousy that had gnawed at him when you’d spent your entire afternoon absorbed in the game instead of him, “I bet I could be meaner than Astarion. Although, I’m not sure just how mean that man has ever been to you, given all the war crimes you commit for his approval-“

He’s cut off when the thumb of the hand cradling his face trails up, pressing on his bottom lip. It only makes him grow even closer to you, pressing in, drawn by your touch.

You squint your eyes at him jokingly before cooing, “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Damn right,” he doesn’t even try to deny it, caught in the web of your trap with ease, “Does your pixelated lover even know what a catch he’s got?” 

You snort adorably at that. He pulls away to see the full force of your laughter, lifting up into his elbows to admire how your face scrunches with your smile. He bets Astarion would make some sarcastic comment about it — about the crinkles by your eyes that he aches to pepper with kisses, about the indents in your cheeks when you smile this wide, about the sound of your genuine laughter when you unrestrained and entirely comfortable like this. But there’s not a single joke forming on Eddie’s tongue. He’s all but hypnotized. 

God, he fucking loves you. So much so he’s jealous of a video game character.

“I’m not sure I’d consider this,” you lift the hand not holding him carefully still to motion at your current state of being, “A catch, my love.” 

He has to disagree. Messy hair or not, wrinkled pajamas or not.  You’re the greatest catch of this entire existence; not just Eddie’s, but the Universe’s. Nothing you could say or point out would deter him from this belief. He loves you, mess and all.

“My love?” he chooses to tease instead, all the words of affection threatening to choke him if he so much as considers letting them pour out, “I like the sound of that. If that’s the Astarion effect, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.”  

His elbows are sinking deeper into the mattress. With every passing second, his face is dropping closer to yours, and he’s not sure if it’s by instinct or choice. But when his lips finally brush yours, he decides it’s all the same — it doesn’t really matter what sort of gravity is at work here, as long as it keeps bringing him down closer to you.

“Shut up about the game and kiss me, Eddie.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

The kiss is as sweet as ever. A comfortable dance that still sends shivers down his spine. If either of you looked closer at his arms bracketing your shoulders, you’d see the goosebumps raising as you eagerly returned all his affection.

You taste like the chocolates you’d been snacking on during your gaming. You taste like the greatest gift ever given, and he doesn’t care if he’s exaggerating or not. You’re divine — his favorite good morning and his only goodnight. 

And he’d say all that, but you’d probably accuse him of trying too hard to be like Astarion. Probably bring up that ridiculous line the character once said about you being made by the Gods, just to ruin him.

You were, though. Made by the Gods, specifically to ruin Eddie. Fuck the game. 

“You know,” he whispers against your lips, breaking for air as he adjusts positions. Your thighs open up and welcome him home, letting him slot right between your legs comfortably. He’s not trying to seduce you, but he can’t even be mad about it. He feels like a starved man now that your attention has been divided as of late, “If you wanted a lover who bites, all you had to do was ask, darling.” 

If you weren’t so wrapped up in the kisses he was pressing down your jaw and along your neck, you would have ripped him to shreds for the awful impersonation. 

But you’re already far gone, lost in his touches and his adorations. You let the half-assed attempt at a British accent slide, and you even bare your neck to him at the minute threat. 

Biting had never been off the table, per se, and Eddie was really fucking glad for it.

When he presses one, two, three greedy kisses to that sweet spot just below your ear, he has one intention in mind. Not his usual sucking and nipping and soothing, not leaving behind one of his ordinary love bites. No, he lets himself get caught up in the moment, and when he catches that quiver of excitement the moment he drags his teeth over your neck carefully, he’s fully committed to his decision.

He bites.

Not hard enough to draw blood, or even be terribly painful. He knows it’s nothing like the game or any of your subsequent fantasies you might have had from it. His canines are fairly dull, even as they dig carefully into the skin of your neck, holding for a moment for effect. But your legs tighten around his hips, and he almost wishes he was a damn vampire, able to actually pierce your skin in the moment. Drink your blood. Whatever the allure was with the origin companion.

You let out a soft gasp which has him keeping your skin between his teeth a few extra seconds, and then he’s letting go. Lifting his head and looking into your eyes, a silent exchange of is this okay?

If the glazed over look is anything to go off of, it’s more than okay.

He returns with reckless abandon, switching between his usual desperate kisses and the newer, sharper ones. He has one goal in mind: to mark you up as his, to the point in which you’ll be scolding him in the morning. It’s like a drug, to feel you writhe beneath him as he paints the picture. 

Love notes of freshly born bruises, the imprints of his teeth – a letter across your delicate skin that reads, he was here, and he loved you, more than anyone else in this Universe may ever be capable of. 

“If I had known how much biting would rile you up, I would’ve started doing it ages ago,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, finally pausing his assault. 

He settles for softer presses of his lip, peppering the affection where he had been a bit more violent. 

Your hands that had taken to tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck have gone more relaxed, no longer tugging but instead just lingering. Pulling him closer. Touching him with softer hands than he’s ever felt deserving of. 

“Guess you’ve got a certain vampire to thank for that,” you tease, but he can hear just how breathless he’s left you. He had sworn he could feel the pulse of your facing heart beneath his lips, even if just for a moment. Even if he just imagined it. 

“Please. Astarion is not getting the credit for that,” he scoffs, lifting up onto his elbows again to just look at you. His lover, his favorite person. It’s nice to see your face when it’s not washed over with the cast of a computer screen. “That was all me. And even if it wasn’t, I won’t forget that you had a Twilight phase.” 

Your hand quickly drops between the two of you, only to smack at his chest. The thump holds no weight as you whine, “I told you that in confidence.” 

He dips down, capturing one last kiss, “It’s okay, baby. It’s good to know that you have a type.”

“I do not-”

He cuts you off with a more playful bite to your neck. Less about marking you, and more just to make a point. 

“Just,” another nip, “admit,” another graze of his teeth, “it.” 

You’re fighting a smile when he looks down at you again, impossible to hide behind your mask of annoyance. “I am not admitting that I have a thing for broody, pathetic vampires.” 

“Well, I’ve got broody and pathetic down-”

“Eddie,” your thighs still bracket him, one hand still clinging to the back of his neck. When you say his name, the game is over. “We can spend all night bickering over the fictional men I love, or you can give me a reason to forget their names. It’s up to you.” 

His eyebrows jump up his forehead, and he’s just about to give up the bit, but not before one last snide remark.

“Kind of hard to do that when I share a name with one of them, but as you wish, sweetheart.” 

Another bout of beautiful laughter from him. Another smack on the chest from you. It’s good – it’s everything Eddie has ever wanted, and it is good.

He does, of course, make you forget their names. And if you find it difficult to get out of bed the next moment, dramatically unable to make the walk to your gaming computer, well – he won’t try to hide his smug smile in between the soft rays of morning light.

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