hi! you can call me katey (she/her/hers). 24. asd. i’m a fan-artist, and fanfic writer.
side blogs: @stardjo @battymunson
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this is my main! I am multi-fandom on here and interact with various interests and topics, or whatever I’m hyper-fixing on—but fandom-wise I mainly interact with DJO/Joe Keery, Joseph Quinn, and Stranger Things content. More specifically Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington (x fem!reader, Steddie), Ronance (Nancy + Robin) and some Billy Hargrove.
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Pairing: Steddie, Steve Harrington x Vampire!Eddie Munson
Summary: Months after Eddie Munson’s death, Steve Harrington still can’t make peace with the empty casket buried beneath the grass. On a hot night in June, Steve finds himself at Hawkin’s cemetery with scraped up knuckles and the sickening, bruising punch of grief burning within him. Eddie is dead. Steve knows that. He spent months trying not to imagine what was left of Eddie in the Upside Down. But when Steve is attacked by a familiar monster, he must grapple with the realization that some things refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-S4 in the gap between S5, eventual sexual content (none in this chapter), heavy grief & mourning, angst, mentions of canon character death, blood & minor gore, mentions of alcohol, brief descriptions of a corpse decompositing/being eaten in the Upside Down, Steve briefly recalls his father slapping him as a child, parental infidelity & emotional neglect, single slur used from Tommy to Steve (not the F-slur), brief mention of vomit.
Word Count: 2,574
a/n: I love the idea of Gothic horror x slow burn romance, angsty Steddie and vampire!Eddie with a bit of an actual bat quality mixed in, so l decided to combine them. Reblogs and feedback always appreciated! Happy reading!
Eddie Munson was dead.
Steve watched his casket be lowered into the ground. He had comforted Dustin. He had felt the burning sting of tears in his eyes as he held them back, trying to be strong for his younger friend. He’d seen the sorrow in Wayne Munson’s eyes, the broken emptiness that came with losing the only family he had left. Eddie was dead. And he had sat through the service with a stiff back, knuckles white from gripping the wooden pew beneath his hands. He’d told himself to be a man, but Steve had gone home that evening of the funeral sick to his stomach, a churning feeling from low in his gut to the lump in his throat. He hadn’t let himself cry then; instead, he had drowned himself in the six-pack Eddie had left in his Beamer just hours before he was killed.
And yet, here he was at Eddie’s grave somewhere around midnight. So many months later. Three maybe? Steve didn’t know; the days mostly blurred together now. He felt defeated—and he knew it was a shared feeling among the entire party. It was a strange juxtaposition: they had won. They had killed Vecna, right? So, why did it feel like the other shoe had yet to drop?
Steve was familiar with that feeling. He’d felt it burning inside him his entire life, a gnawing, wilting thing that ate him alive. He’d first felt it when his dad had gotten a promotion around the time he’d turned ten.
Oh, what a win it had felt like then, when his father had taken Steve and his mother out to Enzo’s. When he’d announced that they were getting a pool. Steve had been so excited. Maybe this would be the thing that would bring his family closer—that would make his family feel like a real one.
That nagging feeling had bubbled up within him so easily then. And his intuition had been right. He had heard a noise downstairs late at night, sleepily stumbling down the stairs in his pajamas. He’d been the one to find his father kissing his receptionist on the couch. Leah Kelly, he had met her once before that at a Christmas party. That was the only time his father had ever struck him. Steve could remember it clearly when he closed his eyes; his father red in the face, vein throbbing in his forehead as he shouted at Steve for being out of bed. The sting of his father’s larger palm across his cheek, the spray of spit as he snapped at him about not telling his mother. It lived behind his eyelids still all these years later.
But Steve had told his mother. How could he not? Not that he understood what he’d seen then; he didn’t know until a couple of years later that his father had been screwing his receptionist. It wasn’t long after that that his mother began leaving him with a nanny, so she could join his father on his business trips. And Steve had hated his first nanny. Rebecca Jones; she invited her boyfriend over constantly, and they’d make out in the pool. Steve had a crush on her, but that had died too. The shoe had almost dropped so many times, after that: divorce lawyers, talks of custody, Steve watching his parents fight, and his mom filling her wine glass for the third time in an hour. But for a reason he didn’t understand, they were still together.
He had felt it far more often after that. When Nancy Wheeler left him for Jonathan Byers, getting stuck in the Russian elevator at Starcourt, Billy Hargrove’s arrival to Hawkins. Yet the most potent had been when he had kissed his former best friend, Tommy Hagan. It was mid-December 1980, right around winter break of freshman year, that Tommy had spent the night. Tommy had kissed him back only briefly in a mashing of lips, too wet with spit, before he jerked himself away, and a sort of fear and disgust had settled in his eyes. Steve knew that fear. He’d felt it the first time a boy had kissed him at baseball camp. The words Tommy had said lived in Steve’s head still, “that’s not what boys do, you pansy.”
Steve’s throat had felt thick the rest of the night, tears burning into his pillow long into the early hours of the morning. The lump had stayed in his throat for another week. He’d waited for the shoe to drop then with an anxiousness that almost gave him a hernia. And even though Tommy never told anyone, Steve wasn’t stupid enough to think that their friendship hadn’t changed after that.
But this was far more visceral a feeling than that had been.
The skin over Steve’s knuckles began to split and scrape as he punched the no-longer-fresh dirt. Blood trickled over his smudged skin as he shouted into the grass, keeling over as if he had been punched in the gut.
“You fucking bastard! God! You asshole! Shit, Eddie!” Steve grunted into the dirt, the most insulting words he could think of, as if that could offend the metalhead enough to rise from the grave. Steve had told Eddie not to be a hero—and what did he do? He took on a swarm of demobats. And for what? Nothing. Nothing, because once they’d gotten their stories straight, they’d found out Eleven had been fighting Vecna in Max’s mind at the same time. Had Eddie just waited—just gone through the gate with Dustin and held on a bit longer—he would still be alive. Or that’s what Steve had been telling himself in his anger.
Robin had told him it wasn’t that simple. And deep down, Steve knew that, but the writhing, ugly heads of grief pushed that logical side of him down. A Cerberus of his own making.
A sob escaped Steve’s puffy lips, new tear tracks staining his cheeks over old ones in the humidity of the night. It was miserable outside, even now, close to what was possibly midnight. Again, Steve wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact that he was miserable, too. But the heat, it was potent and suffocating. Like he had crawled into the mouth of a beast seeking solace, only to be chewed up by gnashing teeth and swallowed down into the monster's swollen belly where his anger lived. Steve had been stuck in that cycle, being digested and crapped out just to become food for it again.
“Fuck,” Steve sniffed, rocking back on his heels as he swiped his sleeve across his nose, smearing a disgusting mixture of tears and snot. A frustrated noise left his lips, and he tried again, ruining his sleeve in the process of cleaning up the mess from his face. It wasn’t the worst thing he had cleaned off of himself. The worst had been the mix of his and someone else’s vomit a couple of years ago. He’s gotten so drunk at one of Tina’s parties that he’d just fallen fac- first toward the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach.
Steve would take that nauseating realization over the reality of what he was feeling now, any day.
Steve tugged the bandana from his back pocket, wrapping it around his bleeding knuckles. It was Eddie’s. The sight of it made his bones ache. It wasn’t the one that he’d been wearing the night he had died—Steve hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at Eddie’s corpse or even touch him longer than it took to pry Dustin off of him. He’d snagged this one from the coffee table in the Munson trailer once they’d gone back through the gate.
Steve had been telling himself he hadn’t done it for any sentimental value; he’d just needed something to stop the bleeding the living vines in the Creel house had caused on the already scraped skin the Demobats tails had done damage to on his neck.
And of course, he had felt guilty about it at first, once he thought it over. Even more so when the trailer had collapsed into nothing after Hawkins split open. In the following days, he’d considered giving it back to Wayne Munson, having been volunteered by Dustin to help sift through the rubble against police warnings for anything salvageable. But the thought of handing him the equivalent of a bloodied rag felt too grossly symbolic of presenting him with his dead nephew. And so he had kept it.
Little good it was going for Steve now, except reminding him that his knuckles burned.
Punching the ground had been yet another pointless thing he’d done tonight, like coming to the cemetery. Eddie’s body wasn’t beneath the dirt. It wasn’t inside the coffin, or even on this planet. Eddie’s corpse was somewhere else. It was rotting in the upside down, food for whatever creepy alternate dimension crawlies feasted on shit like that. Some sort of demo-bug with sharpened teeth and no face. It was ironic in a way that made Steve’s stomach twist; Eddie would find it to be the most metal thing ever. The stupid jerk would probably have the biggest shit-eating grin about being eaten piece by piece by tiny bug-like monsters in some other dimension. He’d make a reference about that stupid game he played—D&D or a metal band Steve didn't know.
Steve snorted, watching the blood drip down his fingers into the grass. “Pretty fuckin’ metal now, aren’t you, Eddie? You rotting jerk."
There was no answer back. Of course there wouldn’t be. Steve wasn’t sure why hope had bubbled in his chest that Eddie might answer. He was in the upside down, he had never come back. But if Vecna, the mindflayer and all the creepy creatures of the upside down could be real, then why couldn't Eddie finding some way to respond be real? Steve needed answers. He couldn’t place the feeling growing within him, the last time he’d seen Eddie alive. It was something he wished he could have come to understand. Like he’d seen Eddie for the first time again. He remembered how he felt when he first spoke to Nancy—it was like that in a way. But what was the difference? He’d only really known Eddie a few days—so why did it feel deeper than that? He would never know, now. And it wasn’t fair, Steve let the words go off in his head like firecrackers; it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.
Steve was broken out of his state of wallowing in his own self-pity by a sudden, very slight change in the air. It was no more noticeable than a shift in the atmosphere. He didn’t understand what it was at first. He had only ever felt it a handful of times. The first time he’d faced a demogorgon. Protecting the kids at the junkyard. Going into the upside down for the first time. Steve's heart sank. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Goosebumps raised the skin on Steve’s arms, tiny dots that he barely spared a glance. The world seemed to slow as he felt eyes on him, and then a rustling in the trees ahead of him—or, wait—no.
Was that behind him?
It seemed to be coming from all sides now. Quick-moving, darting shadows and lithe movement, despite the heaviness of the crunching leaves.
Steve’s heart raced. A bead of sweat ran the length of his forehead, down his temple to drop onto his jeans. Steve pictured a demogorgon, its face opening wide, and it’s many rows of teeth covered in thick, slimy saliva.
He imagined it as the last thing he ever saw.
A beat of silence passed.
Maybe it was divine intervention or a supernatural-like intuition, but Steve bolted upright and threw himself to the side just in time for a dark mass to crash into a nearby headstone. Something in the backseat of his head had told him to move, even when he felt his body was too sluggish to go. Whatever it was, it was gone quicker than Steve’s eyes could track. He rolled to his feet, adrenaline pumping, but not enough to ease the ache he felt from hitting the ground. His blood was pumping beneath his skin, pulse pounding in his ears.
“Shit,” Steve panted, looking around for something to injure the monster. But there was nothing around him but the gray rock of tombstones he didn’t think he could lift.
He should be running. Heading straight to his Beamer parked just beyond the row of trees—but what if this thing went after Dustin? Or Robin, Nancy—anyone else? He couldn’t let it hurt his friends. He had to stay and fight, even if it killed him.
“W-What the… what—“ the fuck. What the hell was happening? Could it be a demobat that hitched a ride over from the upside down? Steve’s mind raced. He was certain it was far too big to be a demobat. The shadow he’d seen had been almost the same size as he was.
No, no, no. Think Harrington. Mrs. O’Donnell had said in freshman year science that shadows could make things look bigger. Surely that was what this was? Maybe it hadn’t been anything more than a large bird.
But Steve was wrong, as usual. He learned that the hard way when something massive and heavy crashed into his side and sent him careening over Eddie’s headstone, thrown halfway across the nearby plots. Steve felt headstones breaking against his back and whatever had a hold of him, the gnashing of its teeth the only sound against empty air as they tried to sink into his throat.
“Fuck!” Steve shouted as the creature had successfully stopped them rolling and gotten the upper hand, pinning him down against the dirt. Steve’s breath caught in his throat. So, this was how he was going to die? After everything he’d been through? A small part of him felt resigned to his fate. Until a sliver of moonlight caught the face of his attacker. A mess of curly hair, inky black under the night sky. Large, doe eyes resigned to the same darkness. Teeth, sharp and glistening. Two sets of fangs.
Eddie?
No. It couldn’t be. His face was all wrong.
And Eddie was dead.
Steve’s brain was surely showing him what he wanted to see. Like those nut jobs who thought Jesus Christ was showing his face in their coffee. Eddie was no Jesus, but whatever thing wore his face, whether real or imaginary, had sharp, wet teeth heading straight for Steve’s neck to tear out his throat. Steve’s eyes squeezed shut. He felt the hot breath and cool fangs against his skin… but no bite—no gurgle of blood drowning him—ever came.
Steve opened his eyes to find… nothing. He left out a shaky breath and clambered up into his hands against a headstone. Had it not been for the path of destruction ahead of him, Steve would have thought he’d made it all up. He sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. Something told him that he wasn’t alone still, and he forced himself to make a run for his Beemer, looking over his shoulder the entire time. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. What the hell had that thing been? Why had it looked so much like Eddie, yet so unlike him at the same time?
And why didn’t it kill him?
Chapter Two: Heaven and Hellfire, coming next week!
I was up until like 3AM from spending 4hrs planning out and drafting then writing chapter one of In the Flesh - Steddie, which was like cutting butter with a hot knife. But for some reason writing smut is like trying to cut a brick with a little silicone knife or something so I’m gonna write chapter two before I finish any smuts or ask answers I have scheduled 😵💫
This lovely piece done by @magsdoodle is based on Ch 6 from the fic Stranger Worlds by author varsavia on Ao3! Steve hops thru universes to find Eddie, & this one's in ancient Rome, where they're Emperor Geta (Gladiator II) and a warrior prince (Finalmente l'Alba) 😍🔥🙌
Chapter One of my new multi-chapter Steddie fic will be uploaded today, the general idea being a slow burn Steddie fic, exploring Steve and Eddie’s mind’s, featuring Vampire!Eddie and some gothic horror vibes!
I’m very excited for this fic!! Chapters 2-5 are already queued to upload on their designated days.
Chapter One of my new multi-chapter Steddie fic will be uploaded today, the general idea being a slow burn Steddie fic, exploring Steve and Eddie’s mind’s, featuring Vampire!Eddie and some gothic horror vibes!
I’m very excited for this fic!! Chapters 2-5 are already queued to upload on their designated days.
Synopsis: You’ve known Eddie for years. You may not technically be friends–sort of adjacent friends since he’s your brother’s best friend–but you trust him. And you also know that if there’s someone to call after midnight when you need some help, he’ll at least be awake to answer. Except when he does come to your drunken rescue, it isn’t until the next morning just how chatty you got on the ride back to your place. Including a brief mention of your complete and utter lack of sexual experience–and the desire to fix that.
Warnings: nsfw content - virgin & inexperienced!reader, tattoo artist & brother’s bff eddie munson, clit stim, fingering, teasing, toy use (bullet vibrator), orgasm denial, mentions of trying to learn how to squirt, aged up Eddie (implied older than mid-twenties, but no specified age), more experienced & slightly dominant!eddie, slight dirty talk, eddie’s got a soft spot for the reader, reader’s got a really overprotective big brother (OC - Matthew), aftercare
Word Count: 9k
A/N: We love a lot of different versions of eddie on here, but tattoo artist and brother’s bff…they are so very special to me. Happy Kinktober :) I hope y’all like this oneeee (and what it’ll lead into for the continuation).
“Listen, I’ll show you, but we have to build into it. That’s the most important part. You trust me, right?”
Chewing your bottom lip, you eyed the newspaper-wrapped gift in your hands. The ink was smudged over your fingers, and the comics on the top were old and faded.
“Of course, Eds. I trust you,” you whispered.
Eddie waved his hand at the small box with mild impatience, nodding at it, too. His lighter flicked and sparked in his other hand, the silver scratched and dented. But if it worked, it worked, and he lit the cigarette balanced in his mouth.
“Alright then, open it up.”
Famous last words. But when you were already in that deep….
The noise from the shop carried through to the back. Customers came and went. Tattoo guns buzzed. Laughter and conversation blended in with the music. Meeting there wasn’t your top choice, but it was one of your only ones. Bringing him back to your place alone would’ve earned far too many questions from your roommates. The same came from going to his place, and that was entirely out of the question because he lived with the one person you were trying to avoid with all of this.
If your brother found out….
The fallout of their friendship would be immediate and with far-reaching consequences.
So, you snuck in through the back door of Eddie's tattoo parlor and met him back there as planned. It was still hard to look him in the eye after the other night, and that alone was one humiliation you were still getting over. This? What you could only imagine was in the box after the words that'd just come out of his mouth?
You chewed your bottom lip and nervously thumbed open the taped newspaper.
The comics and old articles unfolded on the breakroom table. The pictures and words were crinkled and folded, the ink smudged beyond just your fingers, the old scent getting mixed in with the small plume of smoke Eddie blew away from you.
There was already a nervousness that had you sitting too still and too tense. Really, trying to act even a fraction as nonchalant as he was seemed impossible. You barely managed a sliver of it, and even then, he seemed to be going easy on you. Replaying the remnants of that night that you could remember, he could’ve been teasing you to hell and back about it. He had, a little, when you’d sobered up. Maybe this still constituted that, but it was definitely restricted. He was holding back.
Or, maybe he wasn’t.
The newspaper opened up to a purple box with a thick, black silicone thing pictured on the front. Phallic. Girthy. With a long, thin tail protruding from one end. Pair with the app and prepare for fun! was written in big, bold letters beside it.
Oh. You blinked at it. You couldn't get yourself to touch it, or lower your hands, really. Staring at it was all you had besides looking over at Eddie, and looking at him was so far out of the realm of possibilities, you just sat there. Dazed.
That…was supposed to go inside of you.
Eddie wanted you to put that inside of you.
Would that even fit inside of you?
Yes, you’d watched porn before. It would. It would. But the thought of trying to make it fit had you clenching up. Pushing something that big inside of you….
“The fair tomorrow,” Eddie said, tapping off a bit of ash into the tray just out of view on the table. “Swing by here thirty minutes early, and I’ll help you put it in.”
Before the…?
You jerked your chin up and looked at him inadvertently. He was joking, wasn’t he? Your heart stuttered before those brown eyes found you, and it stuttered again when they did.
“That sounds like you want me to wear it while we’re at the fair.”
Eddie nodded, cigarette back in his mouth.
“Yup.” He smiled that cheeky, crooked smile that made your stomach flutter. “Okay, it’s a required thing. Like, the…teasing…is part of it. That’s sort of what that’s made for. It’s, you know, curved to hit that one spot that’ll make you squirt.”
Ohmygod, you thought, immediately looking away and scrunching your face.
You just had to go to that stupid party. That stupid costume party where you let your friend pick the showy outfit and feed you one too many shots because you’d just been so determined to do something new. Something fun. You never did anything fun or…or reckless or stupid. Getting shitfaced was at the top of that list cause having your first hangover in your late twenties seemed like a milestone you needed to reach. But it’s been so much so quickly.
You vomited outside once, and stayed there. With a throbbing head, you thumbed through your contacts for anyone who’d be up late. Couldn’t call your brother. Despite the hypocrisy, he’d give you so much shit for doing something like that. The teenage-like treatment was disparaging and had gotten old ten years ago. You weren’t a kid anymore. And you didn’t want to sit there listening to some hypocritical lecture for the twenty-minute drive to your apartment.
All of your roommates were asleep.
All of your friends who could get you weren’t available.
But Eddie. The shining light who always closed his shop and stayed up way too late afterwards. It was a fifty-fifty chance he was available, but screw it. You had to try.
“What has Matthew’s kid sister calling me after midnight?” he’d mused after the fourth ring, his voice cutting through like a gift in throbbing silence.
“Need a big favor,” you answered. “If you’re free.”
There was a pause, and you could make out some movement and clanking on the other end. But the coherence stopped there.
“Where are you?”
You gave the address. The brick pillar on the front porch was nice and cool against your cheek. The tight, cheap bodice of the angel costume dug into your waist and chest. The short, layered skirt stayed poofy while you sat, leaving your short shorts to act as the only coverage between you and the concrete porch.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” More clanking. More movement. “You in a, uh, a safe spot?”
“Mmhmm, outside, yeah,” you murmured. “Had to throw up, but the cold air’s nice.”
“Alright, stay there. Shit. Ten minutes, ‘kay?”
“Ten minutes,” you repeated.
The line cut, and you hummed into the chilly breeze. A light shiver was worth it. It wasn’t exactly sobering, but it felt so, so nice. Especially with the warm, bubbly sensation that came next. Eddie was coming to get you. You owed him something. A cake or…or dinner. Or maybe just a six-pack of the cheap beer he liked. There'd been some inside, but it'd tasted too disgusting to get drunk off of. At least at the start. So shots.
Shots that you’d never do again.
About ten minutes later–or so you just assumed–the familiar thump of Eddie’s van was out on the street. The short yard made it easy for a blur across it to become a leather-jacket-clad Eddie kneeling in front of you, a hand on your cheek and a wince scrunching his nose.
“Hi,” you murmured. “You came.”
“You called,” he answered on a short breath. “Sure as shit wasn’t going to leave you drunk and stranded here. C’mon. I gotcha.”
An arm around your midsection. Yours around his shoulders. Everything was a bit of a drunken blur from that point. Getting across the lawn, into his van, buckling up. A blanket, you were pretty sure, went over your lap, and he gave you something. Water. He gave you water and a pill. An aspirin. An aspirin and a plastic gas station bag.
And he turned his music down. That was the main note. It was so quiet in there when he pulled away and cranked the heat up. His music was so low you couldn’t hear it. Or it was just off.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're the last person I thought I'd ever get a drunk call from," he said while pulling out into the road. One hand waved in your general direction, encompassing all of you. "Should I ask, or…?"
And that was all you remembered in the moment. The ride back to your apartment was a mix of senses. Cigarette smoke and the general rocking of his van that made you want to vomit. The cracked window and deep breaths that brought you back down to Earth. His hand on your shoulder while you leaned your head against the door. His grunt against the side of your head when he helped you out of the seat, trying to get your keys out of your bag to unlock your front door.
“Yeah, if this comes back to you tomorrow,” he’d said, whispering while helping you down onto your bed and giving your forehead a little flick, “you’re never drinking again.”
Words you barely processed in the moment. Words that slammed into you without any apology about fourteen hours later, after Eddie pulled your heels off and tucked you in, left you with a glass of water, more aspirin, and a note with his personal hangover cure. When you were draped over your couch while groaning at your roommates half-jeering about your foolhardy attempt and half-ripping into your friend about feeding you so many shots and not seeing you home.
You'd sworn them to secrecy that you'd called Eddie. They all agreed. Apparently, it was the only sincerely positive thing they could all agree on regarding their clashing personalities. He wasn't going to leave his best friend's sister out on her ass drunk and alone. One point won in their books.
One point that was overwhelmingly drowned when those bits and pieces of the night came crashing into you all at once. Embarrassment wasn’t the right word. Humiliation didn’t feel right either. Mortified–that’s what you were. As you rolled off the couch, a hand over your stomach, your heart pounding–you were just mortified.
“I’ve never had funnnn.”
“Eds, I’ve never gotten drunk before. You think I’ve had sex?”
"I've seen so much stuff in videos and…and in stories and stuff, stuff I don't think I can even do. I mean, some of these people…. Eds, when they cum they…you know…. I've barely figured out how to do that myself."
“That was going to be my next step. Finally finding someone to experiment with, but, um, my track record is going so well with new experiences right now. So, it’d have to be with someone I trust…. I trust you. That’s why I called you. You’re a complete dingus, but a trustworthy one. A really, really nice and trustworthy dingus. Just don’t tell my brother I like you. That’ll cause…so many problems.”
Your knees gave out just beside your bed, and you let yourself collapse. The panic wasn’t kind. That mortification wasn’t either. You’d never be able to face Eddie again. Who the hell said stuff like that? How drunk were you?
“Yeah, if this comes back to you tomorrow, you’re never drinking again.”
That's what he'd said. The words bounced around in your head with every throb of the hangover. Which, unless you were reaching way in the wrong direction, that sounded like he almost understood. Right? He knew you were just speaking nonsense because you were so drunk. Yeah. Yeah.
So what were your options? Either face it head-on or leave it to simmer awkwardly in the background and pretend it hadn't happened? You were going to see him in a few days at the haunted fair anyway. Would Eddie roll with it when you saw him? Oh, dang it.
Dang it.
You knew what you had to do, and a few hours later, still hurting, you were strolling in through the front of Eddie’s shop. Waiting in the back for him or hoping you could catch him there was a fool’s errand. If he was with a client, too, it could be hours before you saw him. Just stopping by to say hi also wasn’t out of the realm of your adjacent friendship. So…going in the front was the way to go.
Walking in through that front door with your diminishing courage in hand, the red and black color-scheme of the shop assaulted your senses with heavy metal music joining it. Cigarette smoke swirled, too, and as you coughed through it, waving at the familiar faces peering up to greet you as a customer first, then their old co-worker’s sister next, you spotted him.
Hard to tell if it was a gift or a curse that he was just behind the front counter, changing out a few pieces of art hanging on the wall. A curse. It was a curse. The glance you got was a casual one at first. His face scrunched into one of focus while he tried to get the art hung up properly. Then recognition in a way that came with a crooked smile he immediately tried to dampen. Tried being the keyword. He hopped down off the step-stool when you willed your legs to move and carry you up to the counter.
“I’m going to take a guess that you’re not suddenly here for a piercing or some ink,” he said, facing you with the undamped smile joining a glint in those brown eyes that you couldn’t look at. You kept your gaze averted down to where your hands were near his on that glass counter. Down on the piercing options in the case underneath.
“I….” Wanted to die. Wanted to run and hide and never face what you knew you had to. “I wanted to say thank you for last night and….” Oh. Your stomach twisted into something so nonsensical it hurt, and you chewed on your bottom lip and shook your head. "And–"
“You remembered some of the bullshit you rambled on about, didn’t you?” he mused.
Eddie leaned forward onto his forearms, then. A lean that suddenly brought him closer. Face to face. His arms resting on either side of your hands. Touching. No coat to cover where his sleeves were pushed up. Where the sides of your hands met him.
“Yeah, some of it,” you breathed. A knot in your throat made for more than one hard swallow. You’d said a lot of stupid shit. “Sorry. I…. Can we….” It was hard to catch your breath. You still didn’t even lift up your chin to look at him. Screw that. You shook your head while a shaky breath left you. “Can we just pretend I didn’t say any of it?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Oh, great. You nodded. That was great. All that was left was just getting over that fact that you’d said it at all. Any of it. Good God. You nodded again. All of that fell on you and only you.
“Or,” he said under his breath. So, so quietly, that you had to lean forward to really hear him under the music. Or? Your heart already skipped at the single word, but when his fingertips brushed against your elbows, making the thick material of your sweater feel obsolete, you almost whined. You'd never whined before. "Or…if you wanted some help with any of that from someone you trust…?"
Your eyes jerked up, and you almost leaned back. He was so much closer than you'd realized. Plenty of innocuous space for someone just glancing over. But the turn the conversation took wasn't innocuous. Wasn't the casual, innocent conversation two adjacent friends would have.
Those brown eyes searched yours for a moment. He tapped at your elbows a little like he couldn’t keep his fingers still.
“Just an offer,” he said with a cheeky smile.
Just an offer? Just an offer? There was so much to unpack there, you didn’t even know where to begin. Him offering, him offering at all, the possibility of accepting, what the implications of it meant–if there were any. But the biggest, most obvious response came rolling out of you without a second thought to it.
“Matthew would kill you if he even knew I called you last night, let alone if he found out what I said.” You shook your head. “Half of what I said.”
Eddie just rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t Matthew’s business. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t let him find out.” He held out both hands and half-shrugged again. “It’s just an offer. So you’re not stranded out on a porch again, drunk off your ass, in the cold.”
You shifted a little, taking a deep breath and looking around the shop instead of at him. At the art of the fantasy creatures he’d put up behind him. In his style. They must’ve new art he’d finished. You’d recognize that style anywhere.
“So it’s just about drinking, then?” you murmured.
Because that’s what it sounded like.
A smile grew in your peripheral vision.
“I didn’t say that.”
Your breath hitched. Back went your focus, and you swallowed hard when you locked eyes again. That cheeky smile that always had your stomach fluttering was waiting for you. A rather dangerous thing when you clearly weren’t thinking straight.
You weren't going to agree. Eddie was just messing around with you to bug you about last night. Just joking around about some drunk rambling that went off the deep end. Yes, that's exactly what it was.
“You’re hilarious, Eddie, really.” You shook your head and pushed back from the counter. “You don’t have to be a jerk. I just came to say thanks–”
“I’m not joking,” he interjected.
Oh.
You stilled.
One hand was draped over your upper arm. A casual touch. Barely holding you, but just enough to mean exactly what you thought it could mean. He wasn’t just joking.
That fluttering in your belly got exponentially worse.
“Come by tomorrow around…uh…three if you’re interested. Come in the back. I’ll meet you back there for my break. If you don’t, whatever.”
The bell above the front door jingled, and Eddie perked up, his hand sliding down to yours when he straightened. Hand to hand, his thumb curling around and pressing into the center of your palm.
“Shit, that’s my two o’clock. Just, uh…just think about it, ‘kay?”
He gave your hand a squeeze. It pushed your answer right out of you.
“Okay.”
And you were walking out the door in a burning daze that latched onto you for the next twenty-four hours. One that you blamed entirely for where you ended up. Every dangerous thought, every dangerous possibility, every dangerous fantasy. An argued pro and con table that you went back and forth on endlessly.
But by the next day, you were stuck on the same point.
He’d offered, and you did trust him. And since it wasn’t like you had anywhere else to meet or talk? You sank down in one of the chairs in their back room, eyeing the newspaper-wrapped box Eddie slid over to you.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The box was a cold touch underneath your fingers, and the image on the outside was textured compared to the rest of the cardboard box. It was so much to handle at once, and so much to think about. But you’d shown up, you’d spent the entire night battling between that growing ache between your legs and nerves trying to drown you.
He wanted to put that inside of you and have you wear it at the fair.
To make you….
Fire kissed the back of your neck.
He was just jumping right into it then. And without knowing how far the agreement went–was it just going to be this? Was it going to be…a list or something? Was he going to sleep with you? You had very little ground to stand on and compose yourself. But the possibilities?
Oh, God.
“I’ve never had anything besides my fingers inside of me, Eds,” you said very, very quietly.
“It’ll fit, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He took another slower, longer drag of his cigarette. “And if you don’t like it, I can work around it.”
Another deep breath came and heaved your chest. You’d watched porn. You’d read your fair share of smutty stories. You made yourself look at him again–really look at him.
“You’re throwing me in off the deep end, aren’t you?”
That crooked smile could have you doing things you couldn't even imagine, and that was before the other night. He didn't need to know it to that extent. The fact that you'd shown up at all said it close enough.
“Nothing you can’t handle,” he answered. Slowly, he leaned over and two fingers pressed against the top corner of the toy. “But I’m hanging onto this until tomorrow. It’s, uh, one of those things I should definitely help you with.”
He dragged the box and the newspaper underneath back toward him. That you could accept. You weren’t about to mess around with that by yourself. It was daunting. So you just nodded.
“So…come by here around, um, 4:30?” you asked.
Eddie rewrapped the package haphazardly.
“Yup.” His leg bounced a little under the table. He tapped off a bit more ash into the ashtray. “I’ll meet you back here again. The door locks, I’ll keep everyone out.”
Anticipation was a fine spark in your belly. This was a foolish, ridiculous plan to even half-consider, and look at what you were doing. Foolish. Idiotic.
“I…will see you tomorrow then.” You pushed up from the table onto weak legs. “Thanks, Eds. For this.”
He threw a big, beaming smile your way.
“‘Course.” He tapped the box like it was a drum, hitting it with his hands. “See you tomorrow then.”
Yeah.
You strolled out to the parking area behind the shop, the cold air whipping around you.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, you were showing up to the shop so Eddie could…. And then you'd…. While you were at the fair all night. With your conjoined friend groups. Sorta conjoined. You were both going to the fair at the same time, and some of your friends tolerated your brother's more than others. So you'd hang around together and go on the rides, then do what you wanted in between and after.
But the idea that Eddie wanted you to walk around during all of that with something inside of you that he clearly had control over? The deep end. He was throwing you right into the deep end before you even had a chance to really talk about it all. Which, as you stared at your ceiling that night, brimming with anticipation, it hit you.
If this was Eddie’s first thought on solving your drunken spew of I want more explicit experiences, how shallow was the end for him? How deep did his deep end go?
It wasn’t until you were putting your car into park that you really realized what going into Eddie’s shop entailed. What waited for you there.
It was probably some sort of bad luck that you were wearing the same angel costume from the other night. But you’d cleaned it, and managed to steam the skirt down and get the layers to behave so it wasn’t so revealing. Thigh-high white socks matched and kept your legs warm enough in the chilly evening air. Chunky heels would make you regret the decision later, but they tied the costume together so well.
When attendees got 30% off tickets for coming in costume, you were going to take advantage of it. And since you did get plenty of compliments on it the night of the party–before you were too drunk to remember them–it felt like the right choice for the evening.
Plus, the white wings attached with some elastic around your shoulders was the perfect excuse as to why you left early instead of carpooling with your roommates. Had to get new wings since yours vanished somewhere at the party, and they did tie the whole costume together. So, after a quick stop at the costume shop, you were there, at the back of Eddie’s shop, pulling open that unlocked back door.
This wasn't some five-minute stop to pick something up from him. This wasn't even some illicit romance where he was going to sweep you off your feet and make that old crush flourish like blooming flowers. It wasn't even something in the realm of romance.
You stepped around the corner and nudged open the cracked door into their break room. A little tremor found your hand against the door, and it spread down to your toes when Eddie glanced up from his seat. The wrapped package on the table. A box of gloves next to it.
His eyes did a slow drag over you with a dash of recognition in them when he saw the costume.
You pushed the door shut, fumbling for the lock. But you got it. When his eyes were pulled back up over you, you found it. It clicked and latched.
This was dirty and intimate, and you were going to have someone else touching you like that for the first time. Inside of you. Presumably. Eddie was….
“Nice costume,” he mused with a slightly mocking smile.
“I want the discount,” you answered. Your voice was breathy, and the nerves were finding their way beyond just that. They danced in your chest and dropped past your stomach. Where your white shorts were skin-tight against you, long enough to cover, but short enough to still tease–as your friends said. “Or are we going to pretend that you didn’t almost get that discount canceled when you and the guys tried to bring in those realistic foam weapons last year?”
That crooked smile stayed nice and wide.
“They were part of the costumes,” he started.
As if he could justify being a dingus just for the sake of bending the rules. It got a laugh out of you, though, and that made the air in the room feel a little less daunting. You cracked a smile and shook your head.
“And they could fall off on the rides and mess something up. I think the underpaid workers are pretty valid here, Eds.” Brushing down the bottom, you reached for the comfort of banter. Joking was your middle ground. He knew how to drive you up the wall as easily as he could make you laugh. It was part of the whole problem with trying not to like him so much. “I, uh, I think your jealousy is showing, since they barred you guys from dressing up again.”
Which was generous. They could’ve outright banned them from the fair entirely.
A small scoff had that cheeky grin drifting back into the realm of mocking. He lolled his head back and, with one dramatic move of his arm, he draped it over the edge of the table. His hand landed on top of that wrapped box.
Your mouth went dry.
“Okay, them banning our costumes is bullshit, and I wouldn’t even be going if Gareth wasn’t working one of the vendor carts to give us free food.” He pulled at the newspaper, unwrapping the box with a flick of his fingers. “Plus, they actually managed to do something right with their haunted maze last year, and I wanna see if they can strike gold twice.”
They had. You could admit to that. Because you’d chickened out of going through the maze when two of your friends went through it earlier in the night and came out shaking. Maybe you were chicken, but a chicken who didn’t freak out at every weird noise while trying to sleep. Even Eddie hadn’t managed to goad you into it.
“It’s okay, Eddie,” you said, finding the smallest shred of confidence while fixing the bottom of your costume instead of watching him unwrap the box. “You’re not going to combust just because you like attending our town’s mundane yet popular fair. God forbid you like something the mainstream population does.”
“Yeah, well, I have something that’s gonna make the night a hell of a lot more fun for me, so the actual location doesn’t matter.” He tapped the box. “Assuming you’re still interested.”
Your next breath caught, and the answer was already given before you fully registered that you'd nodded your head. You were. It’s why you were there. Just…admitting and facing that answer was far from what you were capable of facing right then. It made you feel nervous and strange and excited all at once.
But there was a very, very important question you had to ask first. The purpose of the entire night was, as he'd said with the toy, to tease. Since, if you were going off of his word, teasing was the whole point in order to make you…squirt.
So…. So he was going to tease you. At the fair. Around everyone. For the whole night. For the purposes of making you…cum. Squirt. Eddie was….
You cleared your throat and shook the cobwebs from your thoughts.
“So the plan is, um,” you said, eyes closed hard while you waved in the general direction of the box. “For you to…. Tonight….”
“Come on, you can get there,” Eddie said under his breath with a cruel tease in his voice.
"Are you going to…." You frowned. "The goal for tonight...is it going to happen at the fair, you know…around…everyone?”
You managed to get your eyes open, and Eddie had a skeptical look waiting for you. His hand was on the box lazily, mid-grab. He pulled it to his lab and used the knife in his pocket to break the top seal.
“Do you think I’m an asshole? Jesus Christ, (Y/N), no, alright. If this is successful, it’s messy. Besides, while I could try throwing the toy on high and seeing if you just buckle over and cum, there’s a bit more nuance to it. It’s more hands-on than that.”
He gave you a small, teasing smile while he pulled the interior plastic layer out from inside the box. You were already clenched around nothing before you saw the toy. He talked so nonchalantly about…making you…cum. You couldn’t keep up, and that was one comment.
“Don’t fret, ‘kay? We’ll find somewhere nobody’ll know I’d been teasing your pretty cunt all night.” He tossed the box aside and set the plastic layer on the table. A warmth spread down between your thighs. “And I’ll make you cum your brains out. Now, c’mere, we’re running outta time, and I need to make sure you’re stuffed pretty before leaving.”
The switch-up. Was it fair to call it that? Eddie didn’t censor himself around anyone, let alone you, but there was a certain whiplash in that instant vulgarity. Maybe because it was directed at you. Maybe because he was pulling on a pair of those black gloves he wore out front. Maybe because he was so casually getting up to charge the thick thing that’d be inside of you in less than thirty minutes.
And you liked it.
It was one thing to like Eddie when he made you laugh or gave you special attention when you hadn’t even thought he’d noticed something you’d said under your breath. But the low throbbing that started right then? The weakness shivering down your spine and into your legs? Were you with anyone else, you would’ve slapped them for even suggesting this back when you’d visited him the morning after.
But Eddie?
You walked over to the edge of the table, slowly, setting your bag down and planting your hands on the edge of the table. Sitting down didn’t feel right, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. This was so far out of your depths of even fantasies, you just…. You waited.
With bated breath, you waited for him to turn around. Waited for your eyes to catch. Waited for that slow stroll back from the outlet and the toy, where he fixed his gloves while dropping his eyes over you again. Languidly and searingly.
You glanced back over at the toy. Huge.
“Eds,” you murmured when he came up to your side, “are you sure it’ll fit?”
One hand skated up past your wings. Even gloved, it was still a warm touch against the back of your neck. He held you with just enough strength that your breath hitched. Your arm brushed his chest while his eyes finally found their way back up to yours, and he had a crooked grin plastered between his rosy cheeks.
“It will. Stay like that for me.” His other hand was a sudden touch to your stomach that made you jolt, and the smallest laugh snuck out of him. Any sort of coherent response was out the window when his hand skimmed lower. Down past where the costume was pulled tight enough to dig a little too hard into your waist. Down over the outer layer of cheap white material and to…to the….
His hand slid underneath the layers.
Fingertips dragged down the front seam of your skin-tight shorts.
Your breath hitched at the first touch. Lighter than you’d ever expect from someone like him. But he stepped closer, and trailed his fingers down, down, down to where you felt yourself clench, and then back up, up, up to the top of your shorts.
His fingers curled around the top.
Around your underwear, too.
And with one twist of his hand and a turn of his other, your head was tilted to look his way when his fingers skimmed over your cunt. Down with the added and unexpected sensation of the glove, your eyes opened without meaning from his turn of your head, and your eyes locked as he cupped you between your legs.
Oh, God, what the fuck were you doing?
Eddie’s breath matched your shuddering one as the tip of one finger–
Your head fell forward. He barely prodded at your entrance. Slow, gentle thrusts, and your feet were moving further apart. You planted your hands on the table a little more to support yourself, eyes shutting and chest heaving.
Your next breath was a whine, and it came with Eddie's fingers moving higher. The one on your neck left, too. It only took one step, but Eddie was behind you. He breathed almost like you did while reaching under your dress and pulling your shorts down first. Getting them to the floor with a hard yank once they were at your thighs.
When they were around your ankles, he used the toe of one sneaker to keep them steady, and then he guided one leg out of them.
In the break room.
In the break room of his shop.
The door was locked, but–
“Relax,” he breathed, one hand coming back around and cupping you through your underwear. Rubbing. He cupped and then brought his fingers higher, running lazy circles right over your clit.
The gasp you let out was quiet, but broken.
Eddie was….
He….
He hooked two fingers and pulled your underwear to the side. Both hands were between your legs. Running over you. Parting you. His hips pushed forward–his lap against your ass with…with something hard. Something hard that meant…. That…. Your weight fell onto your hands more.
His fingers found your clit right then.
“Oh, God.”
“C’mon, you know that’s not my name,” he breathed. His mouth brushed against the side of your head as he started lazily rubbing your clit. Oh, sweet God. “Who’s already got you fucking soaked like this, (Y/N)?”
Eddie. My God, you thought. Sputtering out your next breath, his fingers rubbed your clit a little faster. A little harder.
Oh, God. Oh, shit.
“You,” you threw out there, unsure if you were actually supposed to answer him.
“And what’s my name?”
Jerk. He knew the exact vulnerable position he had you in, and he was playing around like that? You felt yourself clench, and you pushed harder onto your hands.
"Eddie." His other hand skimmed down your bottom. Down where his other hand pushed your hips back, and he moved his own. The circles tightened over your clit without warning, and there…. One finger found your entrance from behind and pushed in without pausing. "Eddie.”
“If it hurts, tell me,” he murmured. “And if it feels good, tell me.”
His finger pumped in and out of you at such a slow pace, it was almost mean. You'd taken your fingers before. Three of them was your limit and that was just one time. He didn't have to be so gentle with you, but you couldn't say anything against it. He moved his entire body as his finger pushed into you. Almost simulating….
The brief flash of him fucking you came with a deep press of his finger into you, and rubbing against a spot that made you moan. It came out choked as you tried to stay quiet, but Eddie did it again. And again. And again. And with the attention he was giving your clit?
Break room. At his tattoo shop. With customers and employees out front.
And you were letting Eddie get knuckle deep inside of you just in the back.
“That…that feels….” Your whole body shuddered under his touch. “Good. Feels good.”
Your cheeks burned like a sunburn beneath the sun, and Eddie, he…. He laughed. It shook against your back.
“I can tell. This too?”
On a slow pull out of his finger, a second joined. Just as slow as when he’d given you his single finger, he gave you two. In they pushed, in they curled, in they…scissored. Your elbows bent before you relocked them, and your knees almost gave out. His mouth grazed over the back of your jaw, and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned a little. Closer. Toward him.
His mouth was a faint touch.
Not quite a kiss, but he wasn’t pulling away.
And where he wasn't pulling away, you couldn't help but lean toward more. The touch of his breath against bare skin. The brush of his lips behind it. Two fingers pushed into you, the sounds vulgar and wet in that new silence. Yes, the music from the front of the shop carried back. Underneath it, some of the conversations and laughter did, too. But above it, sequestered off behind a single door with that single lock, were your choked gasps and the wet thrusts of Eddie's fingers.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said when you felt yourself clench hard around his fingers. He worked your clit just a little faster, and the clench became a flutter, and there was that build. Trickling and throbbing, pushing you closer to your orgasm. That rise in pleasure that didn’t even feel possible when Eddie pumped his fingers into you. But the attention he was giving your clit…. “Unfortunately, though….” His touch lifted from your clit, but his fingers still pumped into you. Deep and slow. “As badly as I wanna make you cum right here that quickly, fuck, uh, you can’t.”
Hold on.
You lifted one hand and found his wrist, but that was about as far as you got. He moved his fingers a little rougher. Pulling up a bit and making you fall forward, your whole body moving with his fingers. Oh, what the…. A moan rose in your throat so quickly, you bit down as hard as you could on your bottom lip to muffle it. It was choppy with his movements, pushing you to the tips of your toes.
Would he fuck you like that?
You clawed at his arm, the sounds pushed out of you with every wet thrust.
Would he please fuck you like that?
“Look at you.” He brushed your clit just a little, and the choppy, muffled sounds became a whine. “Jesus Christ, (Y/N). Fucking look at you.”
His fingers pulled out, sparing you the rough movement for one second. His finger brushed over your clit again. Just a slow drag. Barely any pressure. Enough to make your already-spinning head stay spinning. And a third finger pressed with the other two.
“The toy’s smaller than this,” he whispered, his finger lifting from your clit again. But, just above, his hand went flat. “Come back, take it yourself.” He pushed just a little, and heat struck you right along with his words. Back. He wanted you to push back onto his fingers. You. Back. Oh. You sank your hips back just a little, and there was the pressure of his fingers. There. More. Bit by bit. “There you go, yeah. Fuck, yeah, yeah, just like that.”
His words were shaky and quiet.
His fingers were deep inside of you.
He pressed his mouth against the side of your head with what you wanted to be a kiss.
“Can’t cum until the end of the night,” he breathed, and there was a smile. Heard and felt it.
You didn’t have anything to say to that. He had three fingers stuffed inside of you that he slowly started to pump, his hand slid back down and just barely brushed against your clit, and you were supposed to wrap your head around that casually? That the charging toy mocking you from the counter over there was going to be inside of you for hours, as full as his fingers were making you, and you couldn’t climax? You were already close now.
Just a little more. You hung your head and shuddered. He moved his fingers faster. Just a little harder. Moving you to the tips of your toes again while riding the waves of pleasure they pushed you on.
Just a little more, and you’d cum.
Wanted it.
Your toes curled.
Wanted it so badly.
“Eds….” You winced when the next ripple of pleasure fluttered through you, but his fingers kept away from your clit.
“Gotta….” He swallowed hard and nodded. “Gotta wait, (Y/N). Trust me.”
You did. Wouldn’t have so much as called him to pick you up if you hadn’t. And being there like that? You trusted him so far beyond what you’d even realized.
“Fine, okay.” You trusted him. “If that’s how it’s gotta be done.”
You were committed to it. You’d shown up to have him help with…that. Showing you how, or helping you to…do that. Cum. Squirt. It wasn’t any easier to think when his fingers drilled into you in a slow and steady, but rough pace. Just…just made you think about that. Already being in that position had your stomach flipping and flopping and fluttering about. But later–a long while later–he'd…. The crashing waves within you with pleasure riding the white-capped peaks and pushing you toward the climax you were teetering on the edge of.
Eddie.
Eddie was going to make you….
His fingers gradually left you with a loud, vulgar wetness.
Dripping.
“Stay there.”
Dripping. You dripped down your thighs as you stood there. Empty. Empty and wet. And Eddie strolled over to the counter. You stared at his back as he unplugged the toy, went over to the sink by their fridge, and turned on the water. Couldn't see what he was doing, but it didn't matter. You were standing with your feet apart, clit throbbing, cunt dripping wet, and missing him.
His fingers.
The guy you'd walked in on, asleep on the bathroom floor, his vomit surprisingly in the toilet. Who'd trip over his own feet when he got too excited and nearly broke his arm trying to do a jump off of an amp at The Hideout. He flicked your forehead when you walked into his room to ask where your brother was. Countless times. It was a full-on running bit that Matthew would tell you to swing by to grab something or drop something off for him, and you'd show up, and maybe there’d be a note for you. But just about every single time, since Eddie was the one you were the most comfortable with, you were knocking on his door and bugging him.
Each time, a flick to the forehead for bugging him while he was sketching a new tattoo. Working on a new campaign. Playing guitar. Reading. Smoking. Drinking.
“Buuuuusy,” was all he’d say. Never told you to stop bugging him.
Never kicked you out of his shop, either.
The same guy who had to hold your brother back when one of the other guys at the shop–Corbin–got his certification to pierce, and, without thinking, asked to show you his handiwork. He meant his certificate. Framed. That he was already holding up. You could see your reflection in the glass when Corbin said it.
But your brother was…protective.
And now Eddie?
He waved the toy at you when he spun. That…. He….
Your eyes should’ve been glued to it, but as he came closer, they fell. Just a glimpse. At what you hoped you hadn’t imagined in your current state. And you hadn’t. It really was just a glimpse, but as Eddie came up behind you, there was the obvious bulge in his pants. The kind that was from…what you knew it was from.
You.
Or maybe just the circumstance.
But…you were still part of it.
You–
Eddie dropped some paper towels onto the table and pressed the toy between your legs, running it up and down, brushing it against your clit each time. It wasn’t as long as the box had made it seem. It was maybe the length of his fingers and as wide as three of his. He’d said it was smaller, but it was still so much. Cold at first, until you warmed the smooth silicone.
And–
Oh. He tilted it up and shuffled. His phone dropped to the table just beside you, and he nodded at it. It was already unlocked.
“Open the app. We need to pair it.”
He wanted you to do it? Gloved. He was gloved, and his fingers were busy. Very busy. Just looking down at your phone came with an addition of two then three fingers back into you. Slow, scissoring pumps.
Oh, God.
Lifting a shaky hand, you tapped the app. His fingers worked you a little harder. A little deeper. The app loaded in. Eddie pressed something on the toy, and you tapped the pair option.
A dial showed up on the screen.
Spinning.
Spinning.
Spinning.
Spinning.
Humming.
Vibrating.
The screen changed to a remote with options that blurred away. Tears stung as the toy hummed to life on a low, torturous vibration. Right against your clit.
“Eddie,” you whined, the sound pushed out of you while you clamped around his fingers.
He pulled the toy back. He pulled his fingers out, too.
“There we go.” Wet fingers spread you. His middle finger prodded your entrance while he tapped the back of a clean knuckle over the off button on his phone. “Do what you did earlier for me, ‘kay?” The tip of the toy came to you. Where his finger was. “Sink back onto it for me. See if you can take it.”
You tucked your chin down, clenching your jaw through the ache begging for more on your clit. The walls of your cunt fluttered along with it, screaming for more. For him. A sliver of something gnawing in your belly–you were sinking back onto a vibrating toy with Eddie. A surrealness that made nerves dance in that same boat you'd been in when you sobered up the morning after he'd picked you up.
The desperation was so immediate.
Needed that sensation again. To be filled. By him. The toy was all that was offered, and with the promise at the end of the night, the consequences of getting caught all shoved aside, you needed. You wanted.
"That's it," he said through his teeth. You sank back onto the thick silicone, mouth falling open as you took it. "Slower. Slooower." So slower you went, the stretch the same as his fingers, but more uniform. Different. All the way back, you sank. "There you go."
The girth disappeared, and you could feel the long end that was left outside of you.
It….
Solidly, it was inside of you. Still and thick. A new pressure that already had you falling forward.
“Atta girl,” he whispered.
His knuckle tapped his phone.
The toy hummed to life and rocked inside of you. Rocked a little back and forth, shaking, rubbing, hitting spots that– Eddie dragged his knuckle over the side of the screen where a bar was raised on a vertical set of numbers. One to fifteen. The number one blurred into number five, and the low became a medium that had you clenching around it, and your elbows gave.
“Ed–”
The vibrations cut out before you could finish, and his name became a breath against the table.
“Oh my god,” you breathed.
"Alright, even five's a bit too much for you. Good to know." The pull of a glove brought an inside-out one next to you. A hand went to your hip and squeezed. "You okay down there, (Y/N)?"
Were you okay? You couldn’t think. Couldn’t push up on your hands just yet. You had to go around for however long with that inside of you, with Eddie in charge of it? Eddie, the guy who forgot soup on the stove so many times, Wayne started getting him fire extinguishers for birthdays.
You nodded. That wasn’t what he was asking about, though.
“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you breathed.
“Yeah?” With the hand still in that black glove, he reached between your legs and pulled on the silicone tail. Out just enough to make you stretch, then he pushed it back in. It rubbed. Everywhere. It…. He repeated that a few times, thrusting it into you slowly. Fucking you on it. That’s what it felt like. And your hips started to tilt back to give him easier access, but you stopped. That…. You couldn’t. You were running out of time, and…and this was all so much.
So, so much.
"Isn't uncomfortable or anything?" he asked, stilling the movements and letting the toy settle back in.
It was new. It was different. But you shook your head.
“It’s not.”
“Good. Alright, hold still again for me.”
You did as he said. He reached around for a paper towel. Folding it around his fingers, you still jumped when the rough material hit the inside of your thighs. Up along the inside of each, folded over, and then went back down. Then scrunched into a ball, and a new one was gathered for where he gently dabbed it between your legs.
Your heart stuttered.
Was he cleaning you up?
You said nothing.
He said nothing.
He just wiped, dabbed, and then pulled your underwear back to how they were, and tucked the tail of the toy back around in presumably the most comfortable position. How he knew that…you didn't want to know. Eddie had his fair share of partners you'd seen him with over the years. Some lasted longer than the others. Some were just one-night stands. You tried not to make it your business for the sake of that gnawing in your belly whenever you thought about it.
He pulled off the other glove and knelt down. He helped you step back into your shorts, then guided them back into place. Exactly how you’d had them on when you got there.
With a hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, Eddie righted you.
Oh.
Walking you back a step so you could really face each other, you felt it. A clench in your jaw came right along with a widening in your eyes. The toy might’ve been off, but it was nestled in where you were already sensitive. Your breath hitched at Eddie’s shit-eating grin, and his eyes dropped to his phone.
“Don’t,” you said quickly. He’d just cleaned you up. And the quick snap earned a cocked brow, and you could see it. The playful contemplation of doing it to mess with you. But his hand didn’t move. Not from where yours reached for it. Taking his wrist before…before you even realized you’d reached for him. And meeting those brown eyes, you said the only thing you could really think to say in that circumstance. “Be nice. And please.” You squeezed his wrist harder, giving him a pleading look that made the color on his cheeks look a little darker. “Don’t forget about the soup on the stove.”
Eddie lifted his hand and–thump.
His middle finger hit the center of your forehead with the slightest bit of force.
“Have some faith in me, (Y/N), Christ. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
It was so hard to hold his gaze, but he was sincere. You knew his sincerity because you knew his insincerity. He’d been sincere the other night when he’d helped you back. He’d been insincere when he’d told your brother that, yes, he would definitely reprimand Corbin for showing you the certificate he’d been excited about getting for years.
Came with an eye roll and everything.
“You sure you can handle this?” he asked, planting both hands on his lower back and lolling his head, really looking at you. "'Cause just say the word, we'll call it off any time."
So long as nobody found out….
Walking around the fair with that inside of you to come alive at Eddie’s whim….
There was so much to process and no time to do so.
You nodded.
“I can handle it.”
"M'kay." His eyes danced across your face while he stepped toward the table. He picked up the gloves and paper towels. "Then I will see you there in about…fifteen minutes?"
It was a twenty-five-minute drive.
You laughed–which made you clench around the toy–and you stumbled half a step forward. Almost into him. Kind of into him. Into him. He caught you at your forearms, keeping you relatively steady.
Instead of lending attention to the obvious, you just nodded slowly.
“I’ll see if I can make it there in Munson time,” you muttered.
That earned a wide grin that did nothing to extinguish the heat running rampant inside of you. A hard swallow and a squeeze of your arms marked the time to go. No point in lingering. Time was out.
