description: when eddie munson and the infamous blackwater outfit ride into town and rob your family farm blind, you're determined to settle the score. eddie, however, loves a challenge and will settle for nothing less than winning your angry ass over.
pairing: bandit!eddie x fem!reader
tags: outlaw!eddie x fem!reader, farmers daughter!reader, western au, small frontier town, enemies to lovers asf, slow burn, flirting but make it murder attempts, 1880's domestic fluff, readers a badass, they kiss eventually i promise
TW: mentions of deceased parental figure, robbery, old-timey western dialogue
WC: 5.7k
A/N: helloooooo everyone! this was requested by @goofy-cat11 i hope you enjoy<33 request-palooza is among us, so i will be mainly prioritizing requests for the time being. HOWEVER at the request of my beloved @spacejjunk the final part of as above, so below will begin to be drafted and posted within the week. GET EXCITED! or nervous, idk.
reblogs are always appreciated my lovelies <33
enjoy!!! xoxxo
Night had settled over the valley hours ago. The kind of darkness that swallowed the prairie whole, broken only by scattered lanterns glowing in farmhouse windows.
Then, suddenly, the church bell rang three times. Not for Sunday service or for a wedding, but for them.
Immediately, the town went into lockdown mode. Lanterns were snuffed out one by one, doors bolted, and curtains drawn. Dogs that had been barking suddenly went silent, dragged inside by hurried owners.
Somewhere down the road, another bell answered the first, then another, until the whole valley echoed with warning.
Your mother didn't waste a second.
"Inside. Now."
She had already begun blowing out the oil lamps before either you or your little brother could move. The warm glow that had filled the farmhouse disappeared one room at a time until only moonlight filtered through the windows.
"Mama..." your little brother whispered, clutching the hem of her dress.
"It's alright," she lied, pulling him close. "Just stay quiet."
You had heard stories about the Blackwater Outfit bandits for as long as you could remember. Every ranching family within a hundred miles had. They rode wherever they pleased, took what they wanted, and were gone before the sheriff could gather enough men to trail them.
Some claimed they only stole from wealthy cattle barons. Others swore they'd rob anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Whatever the truth was, no one wanted to find out firsthand.
The sound of hoofbeats grew louder with each passing second until they were just beyond the front fence. Against your better judgment, you crept toward the front window and peeled back the curtain just enough to see the lanterns.
A dozen of them, maybe more, swayed from saddle horns as riders passed through the darkness. Their faces remained hidden beneath the brims of their hats, little more than silhouettes against the pale moonlight. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of horses' hooves and men hollering.
Your hand instinctively reached for your father's Winchester, still resting above the hearth where it had remained since the day he died. Before your fingers could wrap around the stock, your mother caught your wrist.
"Don't be a fool, girl," she whispered, her grip surprisingly firm. "One rifle ain't stoppin' twenty men."
"They're on our land."
"And they'll still be on it after they bury you."
You clenched your jaw, your eyes never leaving the riders outside. Every instinct in your body screamed to do something. To scare them off or to fire a warning shot, just to prove that this farm wasn't defenseless just because your father was gone.
Your mother stepped in front of the window, forcing you to look at her instead.
"Your pa knew when to pick a fight," she said quietly. "That's why he lived as long as he did."
You swallowed hard.
"Tonight ain't one worth dyin' over."
When dawn finally broke, the sun began painting the fields in soft shades of gold that would've been beautiful under any other circumstance. The farmhouse still stood, smoke lazily curling from the chimney, and the rolling pasture stretched just as it always had.
Then you noticed the silence. No rooster announcing the morning. No impatient bleating from the goat pen. No low, familiar call from the pasture beyond the barn. You were out the front door before your mother had even finished tying her apron.
The gate to the pasture hung crooked on one hinge; the latch splintered clean in two. Deep hoofprints had churned the earth into thick mud, leading away from the property in a trail so obvious it was almost insulting.
"No..." you breathed. You broke into a sprint then. The heifer was gone, and so were both milk goats.
You rushed toward the chicken coop, throwing the door open so hard it slammed against the side of the shed. Only a handful of hens scattered at your feet, squawking in protest. The rest had simply vanished.
They hadn't taken everything, though.
The old mare remained in her stall, too lame to fetch much at market. A stubborn old rooster strutted across the yard as if nothing had happened, accompanied by a few scrawny hens they'd apparently deemed not worth the trouble.
They hadn't stolen blindly; they had taken exactly what would hurt the most.
The heifer your family had planned to sell before winter. The goats that supplied milk, butter, and cheese. Nearly every laying hen that brought in enough money each week to keep flour in the pantry and to pay taxes on time.
You crouched beside the broken gate, running your fingers through the fresh hoofprints pressed into the dirt. They hadn't just stolen livestock, no. They had stolen the coming winter.
Behind you, your mother stepped onto the porch, one hand covering her mouth as she looked across the empty pasture. She took in the empty fields, the splintered fence, the open barn doors. Everything your father had spent a lifetime building.
She didn't say a word. Her shoulders sank almost imperceptibly before she turned and walked back inside, quietly closing the door behind her.
Anger carried you into town faster than your horse ever could.
The reins were barely tied outside the sheriff's office before you were shoving through the front door, boots thudding across the worn wooden floor. Sheriff Hopper looked up from the stack of papers spread across his desk, his spectacles perched low on his nose.
He regarded you for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. "I was wonderin' when you'd come."
"You knew?"
"I knew they rode through last night."
"They cleaned us out." Your voice was tight enough to snap. "They took the heifer, both milk goats, and nearly every good hen we had."
His expression hardened, though not with surprise. "I'm sorry to hear it."
"'Sorry' doesn't put food on my family's table."
"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."
Finally, Hopper rose from his chair and wandered toward the window overlooking Main Street. "They knew your father was gone."
"They knew that the farm lost its backbone the day he died. Figured it'd be an easy mark."
Your jaw clenched. "So what're you gonna do?"
"Nothing."
"They're the Blackwater Outfit," he sighed. "Outlaws, sure. But they ain't the sort that burns towns or leaves bodies behind just because they can. They take what they're after and keep ridin'."
"They still robbed us."
"They did."
"And you're just letting them?"
Hopper met your gaze. "I've got five deputies and a town full of families I'd rather not bury."
You looked away, shaking your head. "So that's it."
"Sometimes," he said quietly, "keeping folks alive means knowing which fights not to pick."
"Where are they?"
His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't advise it."
"Where?"
Another sigh. "They rented the rooms above McCready's Saloon. They'll likely leave come morning."
You didn't say another word. You simply turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming behind you hard enough to rattle the windows.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, your mind had already been made up. If the sheriff wasn't willing to do anything, you would.
You stood in front of the small mirror hanging beside your bedroom window, smoothing your palms over the nicest dress you owned. It wasn't extravagant by any means, just a deep blue cotton dress reserved for Sunday services and the occasional town social. Your mother watched quietly from the doorway as you pinned your hair back.
"You're headed into town."
You nodded, fastening your father's silver necklace around your neck. "I'll be back."
"Just...come home."
By nightfall, McCready's Saloon was alive with music spilling through the open doors, piano keys carrying into the street alongside bursts of laughter and clinking glasses. Horses lined the hitching posts outside, and every window glowed warmly against the cool prairie evening.
You tied your mare outside and climbed the steps. The moment you stepped through the swinging doors, the familiar scent of whiskey, tobacco smoke, and sawdust washed over you.
"Evenin', miss."
You smiled at the bartender, an older man named Walter who'd known your family since before you were born.
"Evenin', Walt."
He looked you over, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. "Don't think I've seen you in here dressed like that."
You offered a small shrug. "Figured I deserved a drink."
"Hell of a day for one."
"You could say that."
Walter poured your usual without asking, sliding the glass across the polished bar.
"On the house."
You thanked him quietly before letting your eyes drift across the room. It wasn't hard to find them.
They occupied nearly an entire corner of the saloon, boots propped on chairs, cards spread across a table littered with whiskey bottles and coins. Laughter came easily between them, drawing more than a few curious glances from the locals, who were careful not to linger.
And in the middle of it all sat the man you assumed was Eddie Munson. He looked nothing like you'd imagined. You'd expected someone older. Meaner.
Instead, he couldn't have been much more than a few years older than yourself, his dark curls spilling beneath a black hat as he laughed at something one of his men had said. Rings glinted beneath the lantern light as he shuffled a deck of cards with practiced ease, entirely at home in a town that had hidden from him less than twenty-four hours earlier.
As if sensing your stare, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours from across the room. He smiled slowly, almost confidently. You looked away first, lifting your whiskey to your lips.
Walter caught the exchange immediately. "Oh, don't tell me."
You feigned innocence. "Tell you what?"
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you're about to do something that'll have me patchin' bullet holes in the wall."
A laugh escaped you despite yourself. "I'll try not to make a mess."
"You never do."
Across the room, Eddie murmured something to the man beside him before pushing back his chair. He crossed the saloon with an easy confidence that suggested he'd never once questioned whether someone wanted him nearby.
By the time he reached the bar, you could feel Walter trying very hard to look busy polishing the same glass he'd been holding for the last minute.
Eddie rested an elbow against the bar. "Evenin'."
You took another sip before finally looking at him. "Evenin'."
"I don't reckon I've seen you around before."
"I reckon you haven't been lookin' in the right places."
That earned a grin. "No?" he asked. "Seems I've been missin' out."
"So I've heard."
He chuckled softly.
"They also tell me you've got a soft spot for pretty women."
"I've got a soft spot for interesting women."
You let the corner of your mouth twitch upward. "And which am I?"
He looked you over; not crudely, but with unmistakable interest. "I haven't decided yet."
"Well," you said, setting your empty glass on the bar, "I suppose you'll have to buy me another drink if you'd like the chance."
Walter's eyes flicked between the two of you.
Eddie smiled, already reaching for his coin satchel. "I was hopin' you'd say that."
Walter disappeared down the bar to tend to another customer, leaving the two of you alone beneath the warm glow of the hanging lamps.
Eddie slid the fresh whiskey toward you. "You always this hard to impress?"
"I haven't seen much worth impressin' me."
"Ouch."
"You asked."
"I did."
He rested one forearm against the bar, turning toward you with an easy grin that would've made most women blush.
You simply took another sip.
"So," he said. "You got a name?"
"You got enough names to remember already."
"I'll make room."
"I doubt it."
He laughed under his breath. "You've got quite the sharp tongue."
"So I've been told."
"I like it."
"I'm sure you do."
"You don't seem surprised."
"I imagine you say that to every pretty girl that walks through that door."
He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. "You wound me."
"I was aiming lower."
That earned a genuine laugh, loud enough for a few of his men to glance over from their poker game.
"There it is," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Knew she was hidin' in there somewhere."
You looked at him flatly. "You always talk this much?"
"Only when I'm bein' ignored."
"I can fix that."
"Oh?"
"Beneath this bar..." you said quietly, keeping your eyes on your glass, "...I've got my father's Colt pointed right at your ribs."
The smile never left his face. If anything, it grew.
"I know."
Your fingers tightened around the grip beneath the counter. "What?"
"I said I know."
For the first time since he'd wandered over, Eddie's expression lost some of its teasing edge. His voice stayed low enough that only you could hear.
"I recognized you the second you walked in."
A knot formed in your stomach.
"I wasn't entirely certain at first."
His eyes drifted briefly to the silver necklace resting against your collarbone.
"Then I saw the necklace."
Your hand instinctively brushed against it.
"Your father's."
You stared.
"Folks in town talked."
"They've got nothin' better to do."
"They said there was a young woman out on the Miller place." His gaze returned to yours. "Long black hair. Pretty enough to turn heads. Mean enough to break 'em."
Despite yourself, your brow furrowed.
"They said after your pa passed, you worked that ranch like it was your own."
"It is my own."
"I stand corrected."
"You also weren't supposed to be home last night."
Your pulse skipped.
"We figured it'd just be your ma and little brother."
Rage simmered beneath your ribs. "You figured wrong."
"I reckon I did."
The music carried on around you. Glasses clinked, and someone cheered from the poker table. It felt as though the rest of the saloon had disappeared.
Finally, Eddie smiled again. "I gotta admit...You've got nerve, walkin' in here alone."
"I figured you'd appreciate it."
"Oh, I do." His grin widened. "I just didn't expect to."
Your thumb eased back the hammer beneath the bar with a soft, unmistakable click. His eyes flicked downward for only a second before meeting yours again.
"You really are pointin' that thing at me."
"I told you I was."
"I know."
"And you're still standin' here."
"Course I am."
"...Why?"
"Because," he said with a crooked smile, "you're the first woman who's ever threatened to shoot me before askin' my name."
You rolled your eyes.
"Not worth the ask."
His laugh came easily, warm enough to earn another curious glance from across the room.
"See?" He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him. "Now I'm even more interested."
The click of the hammer settling back into place was almost louder than when you'd pulled it. Slowly, you removed the revolver from beneath the bar and tucked it back beneath your skirt.
Eddie's eyes followed the movement. "Changed your mind?"
"For now."
You slid off the barstool and set a few coins beside your untouched whiskey. "I've lost my appetite."
"You just got here."
"And I've already had enough."
Without another word, you turned toward the swinging doors.
"You leavin'?"
You didn't answer.
Behind you came the scrape of Eddie's chair, then footsteps. The cool evening air hit your face as you stepped onto the boardwalk, boots carrying you down the quiet street without so much as a glance over your shoulder.
"You always walk this fast?"
You sighed. "You always this annoyin'?"
"I've been called worse."
"I can think of a few."
"I don't doubt it."
You kept walking.
"So," Eddie continued, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, "you got a habit of pointin' guns at every man who buys you a drink?"
"Only the thieves."
He laughed. "I was wonderin' when we'd get back to that."
"You robbed my family."
"I did." There wasn't an ounce of shame in his voice.
"You don't deny it?"
"What good would that do?"
You shook your head. "You're unbelievable."
"I've heard that, too."
"You ever stop talkin'?"
"I was hopin' you'd tell me more about yourself."
"I'd rather tell the undertaker where to bury you."
"You've given that some thought."
"You've earned it."
He smiled to himself. "You know...I usually have to work a little harder to keep a pretty girl thinkin' about me."
You stopped so suddenly that he nearly walked into you. "You listen here. I don't like you."
"I know."
"I don't think you're charming."
"I figured."
"I think you're a thief."
"That one ain't up for debate."
"And if you follow me another step, I'll put that Colt to better use than I did in the saloon."
For just a moment, the grin softened. "I believe you."
You turned and continued walking. He fell into step beside you anyway.
"You ain't much for discouragement, are you?"
"Nope."
"You oughta be."
"I've never been particularly good at takin' advice."
"You'll get yourself killed."
"Maybe."
"You oughta worry about yourself."
"I am."
You shot him a look.
"I'd hate for you to miss your chance to shoot me."
You groaned. "Lord, you're insufferable."
"So I've been told."
"You keep repeatin' yourself, Munson."
"I've noticed you keep listenin'."
Before you could fire back, his hand reached out, fingers closing lightly around your forearm.
"Hang on—"
You caught his wrist, twisted hard, and stepped beneath his arm, using his own momentum against him. In one smooth movement, Eddie stumbled forward until his shoulder met the hitching post with a dull thud, your hand still firmly controlling his wrist behind his back.
He blinked. "...Well."
You released him immediately, taking two steps back. "Don't."
He rolled his shoulder, more surprised than hurt. "I was just tryin' to get your attention."
"You had it."
"I can see that."
For the first time all evening, Eddie wasn't smiling while flirting; he was smiling because he was downright impressed. And a little turned on, but hey, can you blame him?
"You learn that from your old man?"
You said nothing, and that was answer enough. He rubbed his wrist absentmindedly before looking back at you.
"I've gotta say..."
You sighed. "What now?"
"I was interested before." He flashed that crooked grin again. "Now I'm downright fascinated."
You shook your head, muttering something about him being hopeless as you started back toward the road leading home.
This time, Eddie stayed where he was. He watched until you disappeared into the darkness beyond the last lantern on Main Street, grinning like a goddamn idiot.
The sun had barely cleared the horizon by the time you were already out in the barn.
The old Jersey stood patiently in her stall while you worked, her hide mottled with age and her hips more pronounced than they had been even a year ago. She'd given good milk once. Now, you were lucky to coax half a bucket from her.
It wasn't enough to keep a family afloat, not by a landslide, but it was something. You rested your forehead briefly against her side, letting out a slow breath as the steady rhythm of milk hitting the pail echoed through the quiet barn.
That was when you heard it, the sound of another horse.
You frowned. Your mare was already tied outside. The hoofbeats slowed, stopping just beyond the open barn doors.
"You know," a familiar voice called, "I was hopin' for a warmer welcome."
You closed your eyes. "...Of course."
Setting the bucket aside, you stood and turned. Eddie leaned casually against the fence, one hand resting on the reins of a chestnut heifer.
Your chestnut heifer.
Your heart lurched. "What're you doin' here?"
"Mornin' to you, too, Sweetheart."
You ignored him, brushing past to the animal instead. The heifer gave a soft, familiar low as you ran your hands over her neck, checking for injuries. She looked healthy, fed, and untouched.
"You brought her back."
"I did."
You looked up at him, suspicion settling in almost immediately. "Why?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Felt like it."
"I don't believe that for a second."
"Didn't expect you to."
You folded your arms. "So what's the catch?"
"No catch."
"You expect me to thank you?"
"I'd settle for you not threatenin' to shoot me before breakfast."
A reluctant huff escaped your nose before you could stop it, causing Eddie's eyebrows to lift.
"What?" You snapped.
"Nothin'. Just didn't know you had it in you to laugh."
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt. "You're unbearable."
"And yet..." He gestured between the two of you. "Here we are."
You shook your head, leading the heifer toward the pasture.
"You know, most folks would've sold her by now."
You paused. "What?"
"The old Jersey."
His gaze drifted toward the weathered cow still standing patiently inside the barn. "She's got maybe another season left."
Your shoulders stiffened. "My pa raised her from a calf."
"I figured."
"You don't sell family."
You reached over the fence to scratch the heifer between her ears, smiling softly when she nudged your shoulder in return. "You gave me quite the scare, didn't you?"
Your voice had lost every ounce of the sharpness you'd used on Eddie. It was quiet and gentle, almost affectionate.
The heifer bumped your hand again, causing you to laugh under your breath. Only then did you realize someone was watching.
You glanced over, and Eddie hadn't taken his eyes off you.
"What?"
He shook his head slowly. "Nothin'."
"Mhm."
"I was just thinkin'."
"Dangerous pastime."
"It can be."
A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you're nearly as mean as you pretend to be."
You snorted. "Are you forgetting I had you at point-blank range a day ago?"
"You did."
"I threatened to kill you."
"You sure did."
"I still might."
"I know." He pushed himself off the fence.
"But..." he said, nodding toward the heifer happily grazing beside you, "...I've got a feelin' you've got too soft a heart to actually pull the trigger."
Your smile vanished. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Not yet." He tipped the brim of his hat. "But I'm workin' on it."
Before you could think of another retort, he swung easily into the saddle. "I'll see you around."
"I sincerely hope not."
His laugh carried across the pasture as he turned his horse toward the road.
Your mother and little brother had left before sunrise, the wagon loaded with fresh bread, preserves, and the few eggs your remaining hens had managed to produce. They'd make the trip to the next town over, hoping to bring home enough money to stretch another week.
You'd stayed behind to mend fencing. The morning air was cool against your skin as you knelt beside a split fence post, hammer in one hand and a fistful of nails in the other.
You heard the horse long before you looked up. You smiled to yourself despite every intention of not doing so.
"Thought you were leavin'."
Eddie guided his horse through the open gate, a crooked grin already waiting for you.
"I was."
You drove another nail into the fence. "So what happened?"
He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease, dusting off his coat. "I found a reason to stick around a little while longer."
You snorted. "I can't imagine she's very bright."
"She's stubborn as hell."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is." He looked directly at you. "I kinda like it."
You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile as you stood and brushed the dirt from your skirt. "So."
"So."
"You just wander onto people's property whenever the mood strikes?"
"Only pretty girls'."
"You've got a death wish."
"I've been told."
"You repeat yourself."
"I've noticed."
You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you this time. It was barely audible and so barely there, but Eddie caught it anyway.
"There it is again."
"Oh, hush."
"I knew you could smile."
"I smiled at the thought of hittin' you with this hammer."
"I'll take what I can get."
You rolled your eyes. "You're impossible."
"And yet you haven't asked me to leave."
"I've considered it."
"But?"
You looked around the farm. "You can stay awhile."
His smile softened. "I appreciate that."
The two of you wandered without much destination after that. He followed while you checked fencing, refilled the water troughs, and gathered what little produce the garden had managed to offer.
"So..." Eddie glanced toward the weathered barn. "Your pa built all this?"
You nodded. "Every bit of it."
"It shows."
You looked over at him. "What d'you mean?"
"Nothing's fancy." He reached out, running his hand along one of the fence rails. "But every board's where it's supposed to be."
"He always said if you're gonna build something, build it once."
"He sounds like a smart man."
"He was."
Eventually, you wandered farther out into the pasture, where tall grass swayed with the breeze. Eddie bent down suddenly.
"What're you doin'?"
He plucked a tiny yellow wildflower from the ground. "Hm."
"You stealin' from me again?"
"This one's legal."
"I'm fairly certain it's still my field."
"I'll pay taxes on it."
He stepped in front of you, twirling the flower between his fingers before carefully tucking it behind your ear. "There."
You stared at him. "...What?"
"It matches."
"The flower?"
"No." He smiled. "The attitude."
You shoved his shoulder. "You are so full of it."
He stumbled back dramatically. "I've been assaulted."
"You'll live."
"I don't know..." He clutched his chest. "...That one might've cracked a rib."
"It barely touched you."
"I bruise easily."
"You're an outlaw."
"And?"
"And somehow a little shove's what does you in?"
"It's tragic, I know."
A laugh burst from you before you could stop it, so loud and so very real that Eddie could help but beam at the sound.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"Mhm."
"I was startin' to think that sound was a myth."
Heat crept into your cheeks. "You aren't funny."
"I wasn't tryin' to be."
Embarrassed, you reached up to flick the flower from behind your ear. Before you could, Eddie caught your wrist. This time...gently.
"You can leave it."
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go almost immediately.
You looked down at your hands.
"So..." you said quietly. "You really oughta get goin'."
"I probably should."
"You know," Eddie said after a moment, "I don't remember the last time I stood still this long."
"That because you're always runnin' from the law?"
"Nah."
He looked out over the pasture. "...Just never had much reason to stop."
You folded your arms across your chest, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "What a charmer you are."
"I've been called worse."
"Oh, I'm sure." You nudged a loose rock with the toe of your boot. "I reckon you find a pretty girl in every town, throw around that smile, tell her she's different, then ride off before sunrise."
Eddie let out a quiet laugh. "So that's what you think of me?"
"I think you're an outlaw."
"Fair."
"And a flirt."
"Guilty."
"You've probably got women waitin' on you from here to Montana."
He scratched at the back of his neck. "...Can't say I do."
You raised an eyebrow. "Really."
"Really."
"I don't believe you."
"I know."
You started walking again, expecting him to fall into step beside you. He, in fact, did.
"I've danced with girls," he admitted after a moment. "Bought a few drinks. Shared a kiss or two."
"A kiss or two," you echoed.
"Maybe three."
You laughed through your nose. "My, aren't you the heartbreaker."
"Nah."
"No?"
He shook his head. "I don't stick around anywhere long enough."
"Hard to court somebody when you're wanted in half the territory."
"You could always stop robbin' people."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Oh, right."
He smiled again. "Exactly."
The two of you walked in silence for another minute before he spoke again.
"I meant what I said yesterday."
"Which part?"
"'Bout you."
You looked at him.
"I don't usually notice people."
You scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."
"I notice if somebody's dangerous."
His eyes met yours.
"Or interesting."
"And I'm both?"
"I think so."
You looked away first.
"You don't know me."
"I know enough."
"Oh?"
"You work harder than anyone else on this farm."
You frowned.
"You talk to the townsfolk more than you let on."
"I listen."
He shrugged.
"They all said the same thing."
"And what's that?"
"That after your pa passed..." His gaze drifted toward the barn. "...most figured your family would sell the place."
Your jaw tightened.
"They also said you'd never let that happen."
A breeze stirred between you, carrying the scent of fresh hay.
"I saw you mendin' that fence this mornin'."
"So?"
"You didn't replace the whole rail."
"There wasn't enough lumber."
"You carved a new notch and made the old one fit."
You blinked.
"You noticed that?"
"'Course I did. I notice a lot of things."
He smiled softly. "I noticed you've got calluses on your hands."
You instinctively tucked them behind your back.
"I noticed you always look over your shoulder before you leave a room."
You swallowed.
"I noticed you still wear your pa's necklace every day."
His voice had lost every trace of teasing.
"And..." he said quietly, "...I noticed you talk to every animal on this farm like they're old friends."
Heat crept into your cheeks. "I do not."
"You called that old Jersey 'sweet girl' this morning."
"I did not."
"You scratched her behind the ear and said, 'C'mon, sweet girl. Give me just a little more.'"
"...You heard that?"
"I was standin' ten feet away."
You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "That's mortifying."
"I thought it was adorable."
"It was not adorable."
"It absolutely was."
You peeked at him through your fingers. "You really don't quit, do you?"
He smiled that crooked, lopsided smile that somehow looked more sincere than cocky this time. "Not when I find somethin' worth stayin' for."
Word had spread quickly after the Hollow Creek Gang rode in late one autumn evening, expecting an easy score. By sunrise, they had turned tail and disappeared over the state line with fewer horses than they'd arrived with.
Nobody in town had missed who chased them out. It became something of an unspoken arrangement after that.
Sheriff Hopper remained the law, collecting taxes, settling disputes, and locking up the occasional drunk who got a little too friendly after payday. But whenever strangers with bad intentions started asking too many questions about the valley, they were met with a much simpler warning.
"Munson's territory."
It wasn't official; Hopper would've rolled his eyes if anyone suggested it was, but it worked.
The Blackwater Outfit still rode where they pleased. They still robbed railroad payrolls, wealthy cattle barons who squeezed every last penny out of smaller ranchers, and the occasional card game if Eddie was feeling particularly lucky.
Funny enough, the valley never seemed to lose another cow. Your farm changed, too. Not all at once, but little by little, day by day.
A bundle of fresh lumber appeared beside the barn one morning. A week later, Eddie showed up, claiming he had "accidentally" bought too much fencing and needed somewhere to put it.
Then, he painted the new chicken coop a bright shade of blue before realizing he'd used house paint instead of barn paint.
Your mother had stopped asking questions sometime around the third delivery. Instead, she'd simply shake her head whenever Eddie rode up the lane.
"That boy's impossible."
"He is," you'd agree. Then you'd walk outside to greet him anyway.
It became just as common to see Eddie's horse tied outside your barn as it was to see your own. Sometimes he'd help mend fences.
Other days, he'd spend hours pretending to help while somehow accomplishing very little besides distracting you from your work.
"You missed a spot."
You glanced over from where you were whitewashing the side of the barn. "I ain't painted there yet."
"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Carry on."
You laughed. "I've never met a lazier man."
"Lazier?" He pressed a hand against his chest. "I am deeply offended."
"You've been sittin' on that fence for near an hour."
"I've been supervisin'."
"You've been napping."
"They're remarkably similar."
One evening, you found Eddie sitting atop the split-rail fence overlooking the pasture, lazily spinning your father's old pocketknife between his fingers.
"You know that's mine."
"I was holdin' it for you."
"You stole it."
"I borrowed it."
"You've got a funny definition of borrowing."
"I've got a funny definition of lots of things."
You climbed onto the fence beside him, and after a moment of appreciating a day's work, he cleared his throat.
"I been thinkin'."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It usually is."
He smiled to himself before growing uncharacteristically serious. "I don't much care for ridin' anymore."
You turned to look at him. "What?"
"I used to think if I stayed in one place too long..." He shrugged. "...I'd become someone easy to catch."
"And now?"
"Now..."
His eyes wandered across the fields, the barn, the farmhouse. Your mother hanging laundry across the clothesline, your little brother chasing chickens he'd never catch.
Then, they found you. "...Now I think I'd rather be easy to find."
"Eddie..."
"I ain't sayin' I'll stop bein' me."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"I know." He reached over, absentmindedly taking your hand. "I just..."
He laughed quietly. "...I like comin' home." Home.
You looked down at your joined hands before squeezing his fingers. "I've got somethin' to tell you."
"Oh?"
"You were right."
His grin appeared instantly. "I usually am."
"I did smile in the saloon."
He laughed. "I knew it."
"But..."
You leaned over just enough to kiss him, slow and soft, sweet enough to stop every clever remark he'd been about to make.
When you pulled away, he looked genuinely speechless. "...Well."
"Speechless?"
"You might've finally managed it."
"I'll cherish the moment."
He laughed again before pulling you back for another kiss.
summary: summer nights meant hanging out with the group in steves backyard- smoking, drinking, playing games. but when a game of never have i ever gets a little spicy- eddie munson finds himself on a mission to right what he thinks is the ultimate wrongs of the universe. based off of this request by anon
warnings/tags: smut!, unprotected sex, bratty! reader, softdom! eddie, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, the gang bringing the dramatics as always.
masterlist
The string lights swayed overhead like they were in on the joke, casting everything in a warm, slightly blurry glow. Steve’s backyard smelled like chlorine, cut grass, and the joint that kept making its slow orbit around the circle. You were sunk into one of the ancient lawn chairs, the plastic straps digging into your back in a way that somehow felt grounding against the floaty, giggly haze in your head. Everyone was loose-limbed and loud- Steve half sprawled on the grass like he’d melted there, Robin cross legged on a blanket and already talking with her whole body, Nancy tucked against Jonathan’s side with her cheeks pink from the tequila, Eddie draped dramatically across the picnic table like a rockstar who’d lost his stage.
The game had started tame enough an hour ago- “Never have I ever skipped class,” “Never have I ever lied to my parents about where I was”- but the drinks and smoke had done their job. Now it was spiraling into glorious, unhinged territory.
Steve sat up just enough to point his beer bottle at the group like a scepter.
“Alright, my turn again. Never have I ever… gotten high and tried to cook at three in the morning.”
You lifted your bottle immediately. So did Robin, Eddie, and- after a guilty pause- Nancy.
Robin cackled, nearly spilling her drink. “The toaster incident! I stand by it. Pop-Tarts are a perfectly valid midnight meal.”
“You put the Pop-Tart wrapper in the toaster,” Steve shot back, wheezing. “I had to unplug the whole damn thing before the kitchen caught fire. You’re a menace.”
Eddie threw his head back with a theatrical groan. “Amateur hour. I once tried to make grilled cheese at three a.m. while stoned out of my skull. Used a fork. On an electric stove. There were sparks. I named the scorch mark on the wall and we had a funeral for it the next day.”
Nancy was giggling into Jonathan’s shoulder, trying and failing to look dignified. “I made… I think it was supposed to be pancakes? But I used cornflakes instead of flour because the bag looked similar and the labels were blurry. It was… crunchy.”
Jonathan’s quiet laugh rumbled under her. “I remember that. You tried to serve it to me like it was intentional. ‘It’s deconstructed,’ you said.”
“Shut up,” Nancy muttered, but she was smiling.
Robin pointed at you, eyes sparkling. “You drank too! What was your crime against the culinary arts?”
You shrugged, fighting a grin. “Tried to make mashed potatoes but ended up just sticking the potato in the microwave and forgetting to cook it. Bit into a raw fuckin' potato.”
The group lost it. Steve actually rolled onto his back in the grass, clutching his stomach. Eddie sat up so fast he almost fell off the table.
“Legendary. Absolute madwoman.”
Robin wiped tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay, my turn. Never have I ever… had a secret hookup that I never told anyone in this circle about.”
A beat. Then Eddie and Steve both drank without hesitation.
Robin’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME? Both of you? At the same time? Separately? Details. Now. I demand details.”
Eddie grinned, all teeth and chaos. “Relax, Buckley, it wasn’t with each other. Though that would’ve been a hell of a story. No, this was… senior year. Very short-lived. Very ill-advised. She thought I was mysterious. I thought she was hot. We both realized we were wrong by morning. End of saga.”
Steve took a long sip like it might save him from the interrogation. “Mine was… after senior year. Different person. We agreed it was a one-time thing. Haven’t thought about it since. Until right now. Thanks for that, Robin.”
Robin was vibrating. “I hate both of you. I tell you everything and you’re out here hoarding girls like dragons. Unfair. I want names. Or at least embarrassing details. Did anyone cry? Was there a walk of shame? Was it in a car? Be specific.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow, amused. “I feel like we’re one question away from a full confessional.”
Jonathan just shook his head, small smile in place. “I’m staying out of this one.”
Eddie pointed at him. “Smart man. Jonathan knows the value of silence. Unlike some people.” He shot a look at Steve, who flipped him off lazily.
Robin was still going. “I’m circling back to this later. Mark my words. This is not over.”
The laughter died down into comfortable, tipsy quiet for a second, the kind where everyone was just enjoying the buzz and the night air. Then Eddie shifted on the picnic table, rings catching the light as he leaned forward with that signature glint in his eyes- the one that always meant trouble was incoming.
“Alright, my turn again, you beautiful disasters. I’ve been saving this one.” He paused for dramatic effect, looking around the circle like he was about to drop state secrets. “Never have I ever… not come during sex.”
The air shifted just slightly. Steve made a face like he’d tasted something sour. Robin shook her head immediately. Nancy didn’t move. Jonathan stayed still.
You lifted your bottle and took a slow sip.
For three full seconds, nobody said anything.
Then the backyard exploded all over again.
Robin made a noise like a dying seagull and actually fell sideways onto the blanket. “YOU DRANK?! You actually drank?! But you’re- you! How is that even possible? Was it recent? Was it that one guy? Oh my God, tell me it wasn’t that one guy with the weird shoes-”
Steve sat upright, beer forgotten in the grass. “No. Absolutely not. Rewind the tape. You’re telling me some absolute clown had the privilege of being anywhere near you and just… tapped out? Like the job was done for him and he clocked out early? That’s not even selfish, that’s a federal offense. I’m personally offended.”
Eddie had gone very still, the usual manic energy sharpening into something focused and almost offended on your behalf. He stared at you like you’d just announced the end of the world.
“Sweetheart. No. We’re not doing this. Who the fuck was it? Give me a name, a description, a license plate number- I’m not picky.”
Nancy blinked rapidly, her analytical brain clearly fighting the tequila. “I… okay. That’s surprising. From you. Are you- I mean, obviously it wasn’t great if- wait, that came out wrong. Do you want to talk about it? We can talk about it. Or we can drop it completely. But also we’re all very invested now, so. Your move.”
Jonathan’s voice was quiet but sincere under the chaos. “That really sucks. Like… actually sucks. Sorry that happened.”
The questions started flying, voices overlapping in drunk, protective, nosy waves.
Robin, half-sitting up again- “Was it bad-bad or just ‘eh’ bad? Did you fake it or just lie there like ‘well, this is happening’? Because I have strong opinions about faking it and I need to know if I should be adding this person to my shit list-”
Steve, pointing dramatically- “On a scale of one to ‘I want to key their car and also their life,’ how bad are we talking? And do I need to go do recon tonight or can it wait till I’m sober?”
Eddie, already in full dramatic mode- “I’m in mourning. Actual mourning. The concept that you have experienced subpar anything and didn’t immediately tell us so we could form a council of war? Rude. Disrespectful. I demand emotional damages.”
Nancy, trying to sound reasonable while clearly spiraling a little- “Statistically it happens more than people admit, especially if there’s alcohol or if the other person’s… not great at listening. But still. You? Really? Do you want advice or just… collective judgment of this mystery idiot?”
Jonathan, dry as ever- “Or we can just sit here and roast them in silence. That’s also an option.”
Eddie was still staring at you, something unreadable flickering behind the theatrical bullshit. Steve looked ready to stand up and demand an address. Robin was vibrating with secondhand outrage and best-friend protectiveness. Nancy had that little crease between her brows. Jonathan just watched you, steady in the middle of the storm.
The game was forgotten.
The night, however, felt like it had just cracked open.
The group was still staring at you, the night air thick with weed smoke and the kind of drunk, high curiosity that made everything feel like the most important conversation on earth.
You shrugged, keeping it short because the buzz in your head made long explanations feel impossible.
“It was that guy I went on a couple dates with. He got his and that was it. Didn’t really care if I did or not. It just… didn’t happen for me. I didn’t make it a thing.”
Silence for half a second.
Then the backyard lost its collective mind all over again.
Robin made a noise like she’d been personally stabbed. “He what?! He got his and just- rolled over?! Like a fucking seagull that stole a fry and flew away?! I’m going to kill him. I don’t even remember his name but I’m going to find him and I’m going to-”
Steve sat up so fast he almost face-planted in the grass. “No. Nope. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. You don’t just- Jesus Christ, what a fucking loser. I’m actually angry. Like, real anger. My blood pressure is up.”
Nancy’s voice was tight, the tipsy analytical tone cracking into something sharper. “That’s not even selfish sex, that’s just… using someone. That’s unacceptable. I’m sorry that happened to you. Really.”
Jonathan just shook his head slowly, quiet but firm. “Guy sounds like an asshole. You deserved better than that.”
But Eddie-
Eddie went very, very still.
The manic energy that usually lived in his hands and his voice had narrowed into something focused and almost dangerous. He slid off the picnic table in one fluid motion, boots hitting the grass with a soft thud, and crossed the circle until he was crouched right in front of your chair. Close enough that you could see the way the string lights caught the silver in his rings, the faint scar on his bottom lip, the way his dark eyes had gone hot and serious in a way you’d never seen directed at you before.
His voice came out low, rough around the edges from the smoke and the drinks.
“No. Fuck that. That’s not okay. That’s not even in the same zip code as okay.” He shook his head once, hard, curls falling into his face. “You’re telling me some mediocre, selfish little shit got to touch you- got to have you- and didn’t even have the decency to make sure you came? That’s not a mistake. That’s a crime. And I’m taking it personally.”
He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted, and rested one warm, ring-heavy hand on your knee. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your jeans, barely there, but the touch lit up every nerve ending like a live wire.
“I’ve always liked you,” he said, voice dropping even lower, just for you even though the whole group could hear. “Like… liked you. I’ve thought about you a lot. More than I should’ve. Way more.”
Robin made a tiny, high-pitched noise somewhere behind him. Steve muttered “Oh shit, he’s really doing this,” but didn’t sound mad about it.
Eddie didn’t look away from you. His hand stayed on your knee, thumb still moving in that slow, deliberate stroke.
“And now I find out some asshole left you hanging? Nah. Not happening. Not on my watch.” His mouth curved into something that was half grin, half promise. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. I’m making it my personal fucking mission to give you an orgasm so good you forget that guy’s name, his face, and the entire concept of bad sex. If you’ll let me.”
He leaned in closer- his lips just shy of your ear- his whispering voice turning darker, flirtier, filthy in that Eddie way.
“I’d take my time. None of that ‘get mine and dip’ bullshit. I’d learn what you like. What makes your breath catch. What makes your thighs shake. I’d use my mouth, my fingers, my cock- whatever you wanted, however long it took. I’d make you come so many times you’d be begging me to stop… or begging me not to.” His thumb pressed a little firmer against your knee. “And I’d enjoy every second of it. Because I’ve wanted to hear you fall apart for a while now. And I’m really fucking good at getting what I want when I decide something matters.”
The group had gone mostly quiet behind him, the air crackling with secondhand tension and drunk fascination.
Robin whispered, “Holy shit,” like she was watching a car crash in slow motion and couldn’t look away.
Steve cleared his throat. “Munson, you’re really out here shooting your shot in front of all of us? Bold. I respect it. But also… maybe give her a second to answer before you start planning the victory lap?”
Nancy’s voice was a little breathless. “I mean… he has a point about the mission part. The delivery could use work, but the intent is… surprisingly pure? In a very Eddie way.”
Jonathan just gave a low, amused hum. “He’s been staring at you for months. We all noticed. This isn’t news.”
Eddie didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry and suddenly very, very serious under all the theatrical bullshit.
“So?” he asked, voice soft but rough, thumb still stroking slow circles on your knee. “You gonna let me fix it? Or you gonna make me work for it first? Because I’m good with either. I like a challenge. And I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for a long time.”
The open backyard felt smaller suddenly. Just his hand on your knee, his voice in your ear, the way the buzz in your head made every word feel heavier, hotter, more inevitable.
And Eddie Munson was looking at you like he’d already decided you were the only thing that mattered tonight.
You didn’t even hesitate. The buzz made everything feel simple, inevitable.
“Okay,” you said, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m in. Fix it.”
Steve made a noise behind Eddie as Robin excitedly poked him in the ribs.
“Oh my God. No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am begging you two. Not here. Not tonight. Not while we’re all sitting in my backyard like this. The pool does not need to see whatever the hell is about to happen. I’m serious. Take it inside later. Or tomorrow. Or never in front of me. I’m begging. On my knees. Metaphorically. Please.”
Eddie threw his head back and laughed- loud, bright, delighted, the sound cutting through the night air like it belonged there. He didn’t even look at Steve. His eyes stayed on you, dark and shining, like Steve’s panic was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.
You tilted your head at Eddie, feeling bold and bratty and loose from the weed and the tequila and the way he was still touching your knee like he owned the right.
“You better mean it, Munson,” you said, voice light but edged with challenge. “You talked a real big game just now. Don’t pussy out on me later. I hate when guys talk shit they can’t back up.”
Eddie’s laugh cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
For a second he just looked at you- really looked- and something in his expression shifted. The hunger that had already been there sharpened into something hotter, darker. His pupils blew wider. His hand on your knee tightened, fingers flexing once like he was physically holding himself back from doing something stupid in front of everyone. He liked that. The brattiness. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, in the slow, dangerous little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth before he schooled it back into something cocky.
He didn’t say anything about it out loud. Just let the moment hang there, thick and electric between you.
Steve was still muttering prayers under his breath. Robin had her face buried in her hands, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie she couldn’t look away from. Nancy looked equal parts scandalized and fascinated. Jonathan just raised his eyebrows and took a very long, very deliberate sip of his beer like he was pretending he wasn’t there.
Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from you long enough to glance at Steve, still grinning like the devil himself.
“Relax, Harrington. I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.” He gave your knee one last slow squeeze before finally- finally- pulling his hand back. But he didn’t go far. Instead he dropped down onto the grass right beside your chair, close enough that his shoulder pressed against your leg, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him through his jacket. He leaned back on his hands like he had no intention of moving for the rest of the night.
The group, blessedly, took the hint and started bullshitting again- Robin launching into a rant about some customer at the video store who tried to return a tape with peanut butter on it, Steve jumping in with his own horror stories, Nancy adding dry commentary that made everyone laugh. It was easy, familiar noise. The kind that usually filled nights like this.
But Eddie stayed exactly where he was.
Close.
His shoulder stayed pressed to your leg. Every so often his hand would drift back- casual, like it belonged there- resting on your calf, or brushing against your ankle when he gestured while talking to the group. When the conversation got loud he’d lean in a little, voice dropping just for you.
“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmured at one point, low enough that only you could hear, the words curling warm against your ear. “Good. I like that.”
Later, when Robin was mid-story and everyone else was distracted, he tilted his head back against your chair and looked up at you through his lashes, voice even quieter.
“Still thinking about what you said. The way you said it.” His fingers traced one slow line along the seam of your jeans, barely there. “Bratty looks good on you. Real good.”
You knew it.
He didn’t push it further. Didn’t drag you off into the house or make good on any of the filthy promises from earlier. Not yet. But he stayed glued to your side for the rest of the night- laughing at the group’s bullshit, throwing in his own dramatic commentary, passing the joint when it came around again. Every time someone wasn’t looking his hand would find its way back to you. A thumb stroking slow circles on your knee. Fingers hooking lightly around your ankle. Once, when the laughter got loud, he turned his head and pressed his mouth to the side of your thigh through your jeans- just a quick, hot press of lips and teeth that no one else saw.
The night kept spinning around you in a haze of smoke and laughter and string lights.
But Eddie Munson didn’t move from your side.
And every time you glanced down at him, he was already looking back- dark eyes full of heat and something dangerously close to a total loss of control.
The house had gone quiet.
Everyone drifted off one by one- Steve muttering something about “no sex in my backyard” under his breath as he headed inside, Robin still giggling about the night’s chaos, Nancy and Jonathan disappearing into one of the guest rooms with quiet goodnights. You tried to sleep in the room Steve had given you, but your head was too loud, your body too wired from the weed, the tequila, and the way Eddie had stayed glued to your side all night.
So you slipped outside again.
The backyard was cooler now, the string lights still glowing faintly. You lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the house, letting the first drag burn slow in your lungs.
Eddie was already out there.
He was sitting on the picnic table, boots on the bench, a cigarette of his own between his fingers. He looked up when the door clicked shut, and the second your eyes met, the air changed.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and crossed the space between you in a few long strides.
The kiss was immediate and rough.
His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding back for hours. One hand slid into your hair, gripping tight at the roots, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of the picnic table. You gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your bottom lip. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was exactly what the tension between you had been building toward all night.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, voice low and ragged.
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
You shook your head.
His hands stayed on you- one still fisted in your hair, the other sliding under your shirt to grip bare skin at your waist.
“Do you know what you like?” he asked, voice rough. His thumb stroked once over your hipbone. “Be honest with me.”
You swallowed, pulse hammering. The bratty edge from earlier was still there, loosened by the night and the way he was looking at you like he wanted to ruin you.
“I think I like it rough.”
Eddie’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Yeah?” He gave your hair a deliberate tug, just enough to tip your head back. “Good. ‘Cause I like you bratty. Mouthy. Makes it hotter when I get to shut you up.”
He kissed you again before you could answer- harder this time, rougher- and then he was lifting you onto the picnic table like you weighed nothing. The wood was cool under your thighs through your jeans. He stepped between your legs, hands already working your button and zipper open with impatient fingers.
“You gonna be good for me?” he murmured against your mouth, even as he shoved your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion. “Or you gonna keep running that mouth?”
You couldn’t help it. The brattiness slipped out easy.
“Depends. You gonna actually do something, or just talk about it all night like you did earlier?”
Eddie laughed- low, dark, delighted- and the sound went straight between your legs.
“There she is.”
He pushed you back until you were lying on the picnic table, the string lights blurring above you. Then he dropped to his knees on the grass between your spread thighs like he belonged there.
The first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, almost teasing. Then he groaned against you like he’d been starving for it, and everything got rougher. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in as he held you open. He licked and sucked with focused intensity, tongue working your clit in tight, relentless circles before dipping lower. When you tried to squirm, he growled and pinned your hips down with one forearm across your stomach.
You couldn’t stay quiet. Couldn’t help the way your hips tried to rock against his mouth.
“Fuck- Eddieeee-”
He pulled back just enough to speak, voice wrecked and smug.
“Still mouthy. Good.” He nipped at the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Keep talking, sweetheart. See what happens.”
Then he went back in- hungrier this time. Rougher. Two fingers pushing inside you without warning while his mouth stayed locked on your clit, sucking hard. The stretch burned in the best way. He curled his fingers just right, fucking you with them in time with the relentless drag of his tongue, and the picnic table creaked under you.
You reached down, fingers twisting into his hair, and tugged. Hard.
Eddie moaned against you like you’d given him a gift.
“Yeah,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and filthy. “Pull it. Be as bratty as you want. I’ll just make you come harder for it.”
He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. He ate you like he had something to prove- tongue relentless, fingers rough and deep, the hand not inside you gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d have marks tomorrow. Every time you got mouthy- every gasped “fuck you” or “is that all you got?”- he responded by being meaner with his mouth, rougher with his fingers, until your back was arching off the table and your thighs were shaking around his head.
The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through you with a broken sound you couldn’t bite back. Eddie didn’t stop. He worked you through it, tongue gentler now but still moving, fingers slowing but not pulling out until your whole body went limp against the wood.
Only then did he lift his head.
His mouth was shiny, eyes blown black, curls messy from your hands. He looked wrecked and triumphant at the same time.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up to kiss you- slow and deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
“See?” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse. “Told you I’d fix it.”
His hand was still between your legs, two fingers still buried inside you, lazily stroking like he wasn’t done yet.
“And we’re just getting started.”
Eddie didn’t give you much time to come down.
He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then his hands were on your hips, flipping you over so your stomach pressed against the cool wood of the picnic table. The position was sudden, a little rough, exactly the way you’d told him you liked it. Your jeans were still around your thighs, keeping your legs close together as he kicked your feet a little wider.
“Stay just like that,” he muttered, voice wrecked.
You heard the clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper. Then the hot, heavy drag of his cock against your ass as he leaned over you, one hand braced on the table beside your head.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed against your ear. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing, not pushing in yet. “All this from my mouth? Or you been thinking about this since I had my hand on your knee earlier?”
You pushed back against him on instinct, trying to get him inside. He laughed softly and pulled his hips back.
“Uh-uh. Not yet.”
“Fuck you.”
“Trying sweetheart. But someone's impatient even though she just got what she wanted. Didn't she?”
“Need more.”
“Ah ah- don't be greedy.” He growled and your cunt clenched down in reaction. You had a taste and you needed everything.
He kept teasing- slow drags of his cock over your clit, the tip catching at your entrance before sliding away again. Every time you tried to rock back or get mouthy, he’d grip your hip harder and hold you still.
“Eddiee-”
“Yeah?” He sounded way too pleased with himself. “Something you want?”
You twisted enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still a little breathless. “Stop fucking around and put it in already.”
His laugh was low and dark. “There’s that mouth.” He finally notched the head at your entrance and pushed in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips were flush against your ass. The groan he let out vibrated through both of you.
He started fucking you in long, deep strokes- rough enough that the picnic table scraped against the grass and the edge bit into your waist with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your spine.
It felt good. Too fucking good. You were still sensitive from his mouth, and every drag of his cock hit exactly right. Your breathing got ragged fast.
Eddie noticed.
He slowed down immediately, hips rolling in these deep, grinding circles instead of the hard pace from before. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight like he was holding himself back too. “You don’t get to come until I say.”
You made a frustrated sound and tried to push back harder. He tightened his grip in your hair and gave one sharp thrust that made your vision blur, then went right back to that slow, torturous grind.
“Eddie, come on- ”
“Beg nicer,” he teased, even as his voice cracked a little. “Or keep being a brat. I like both.”
He edged you like that for what felt like forever- fucking you hard and fast until you were right on the edge, then slowing down or pulling almost all the way out until the feeling faded. Every time you got close he’d laugh under his breath and call you a brat, and every time you snapped back at him he’d reward you with a few brutal thrusts that made your legs shake.
The last time he pulled you right to the edge and held you there, you were shaking, forehead pressed to the table, cursing him under your breath.
“Please,” you finally bit out, voice wrecked. “Fuck- please, Eddie- ”
“Yeah,” he groaned, like the word broke something in him. “That’s it.”
He fucked you hard after that- fast, rough, the hand in your hair pulling tight as his other hand slid around to rub tight circles over your clit. You came with a broken sound, whole body locking up. Your vision whited out and your ears were ringing.
And then you were squirting- sudden, hot, and completely unexpected. It splashed against his thighs and the front of his jeans, your cunt pulsing hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you.
Eddie made a shocked, punched-out noise behind you, hips stuttering.
“Fuckin’- holy shit- Jesus Christ-”
You were still coming, still gushing with his fingers locked on to your overstimulated clit. The sound he made was half groan, half stunned laugh. He kept fucking you through it, short and desperate, until he pulled out at the last second and came across your lower back with a low, broken curse.
For a second neither of you moved. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard in the quiet backyard.
Then Eddie let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“Did you just-?”
You twisted enough to look back at him, equally stunned, face hot. “I- I didn’t know I could do that.”
He was staring at the mess on his jeans and your thighs like he’d witnessed a miracle. Then he started laughing harder, the sound bright and a little wild. You couldn’t help it- you started laughing too, the two of you cracked up and messy and still half-dressed against the picnic table in Steve Harrington’s backyard at god-knows-what hour.
Eddie leaned down and kissed the back of your shoulder, still grinning against your skin.
“Jesus Christ. We’re doing that again. Like… soon. A lot.”
You were both still giggling as he helped you up, using his shirt to clean you both up as best he could. Your legs were shaky. His hands were gentle now, the roughness from earlier softened into something careful as he pulled your jeans back up and tucked himself away.
“Come on,” he murmured, still smiling. “Before Harrington comes out here and actually murders us.”
You snuck back inside quietly, shoes in hand. Most of the lights were off. Eddie didn’t even pretend to go to a different room. He followed you into the guest room Steve had given you, shut the door behind him, and pulled you straight into the bed with him.
The sheets were cool. His body was warm. He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off and tugged you against his chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist. His rings were cool against your skin where his hand rested under your shirt.
Neither of you said much. Just quiet breathing, the occasional soft laugh when one of you remembered the picnic table, and Eddie pressing lazy kisses to the top of your head.
You fell asleep like that- tangled up in him, still tasting him on your tongue, the faint ache between your legs a reminder of exactly how thoroughly he’d kept his word.
The morning light was already leaking through the curtains when you woke up. Eddie was still half on top of you, one arm slung heavy across your waist, curls a complete disaster against the pillow. He made a low, sleepy noise when you tried to move, pulling you closer instead of letting you up.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your shoulder.
You stayed like that a little longer anyway.
Eventually the smell of coffee and something sweet pulled you both out of bed. You threw on yesterday’s clothes- Eddie stealing your hoodie since he really can't eat breakfast in a cum covered shirt- and headed downstairs together.
Steve was in the kitchen in an apron that said “Kiss the Cook” like an asshole, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission. The rest of the group was already scattered around the table and island- Robin perched on the counter, Nancy nursing coffee, Jonathan quietly scrolling on his phone. They all looked up when you and Eddie walked in.
The staring started immediately.
Robin’s eyes narrowed. Nancy raised one eyebrow. Jonathan’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. Steve didn’t even turn around from the stove, but you could feel the judgment radiating off him.
Robin was the one who broke first.
“Okay, so… why is Eddie’s shirt literally just lying by the picnic table outside?” she asked, way too casually. “Like, full-on abandoned. We found it this morning. It was just… there.”
You couldn’t help it. You laughed- short and bright and a little guilty. Eddie muttered “Hope you didn't touch it.” under his breath, low enough that only you could hear it.
Steve finally turned around, spatula in hand, and gave you both the most exhausted dad look imaginable.
“I heard you last night,” he said flatly. “Both of you. Through the window. My window. The one that faces the backyard.”
You groaned and dropped your face into your hands.
Eddie, the traitor, just grinned and stole a piece of bacon off the plate Steve had already started stacking.
Robin pointed at you with her coffee mug. “So wait. Does this mean the game from last night is officially over? Like… mission accomplished?”
Nancy actually looked a little proud. “Glad your little problem is fixed.”
Jonathan just nodded once, quiet but sincere. “Good for you.”
Steve flipped another pancake with unnecessary force. “I’m not saying I’m happy about the volume, but… yeah. Congrats on finally coming during sex. Truly. We were all rooting for you.”
Robin raised her mug like she was toasting. “To finally getting to finish during sex!”
Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders, smug as hell, and pressed a loud kiss to the side of your head.
“See?” he said, way too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d fix it.”
You elbowed him in the ribs, but you were smiling anyway.
Steve just sighed and started plating pancakes.
“Sit down and eat before I change my mind about feeding any of you.”
I’ll spill my thoughts here since I don’t know where to.
I recently got a cat, adopted (but I birthed him), and I had trouble picking a name for him. Everyone, yes, everyone gave their two cents about the names I am picking for him. Either they would give me advice (like cats responds to names ending in -ie sound) or would say the name I chose for him was too human.
Like… he’s mine. They’re adding doubts and I know it’s between me and my cat, and I decided before that I’d wait for him to choose his own name.
Aaaa fuck it. My thoughts dissipated while typing. He woke up too so… it’s play time 😄
Recovering from autistic burnout as a high-masking adult:
To recover, you literally need to manually learn skills that most people learn as a toddler
You need to learn what makes your body uncomfortable, and what to do to fix it
If you are high-masking, that usually means that you have learned to ignore every distress signal your body sends unless it is a distress signal that a neurotypical person would recognize. People have likely been unintentionally gaslighting you about your lived experience your entire life
If you feel bad or panicked for no reason, stop and try to pay attention to your body. Are you tense? You are likely feeling physical pain somewhere. If you've been gaslit about your pain your entire life, you might not be able to identify it.
Go through a sensory checklist.
SIGHT: Try closing and covering your eyes. If this gives you relief, the lights are probably too bright. You may also need differently-colored lights
SOUND: Cover your ears. Does this give you relief? If so, you may need earplugs or noise canceling headphones. You may also benefit from a neutral or pleasant background noise, like soft music or brown noise.
TOUCH: Are your clothes uncomfortable? Your chair? Your body? Do you feel greasy, like you need a shower? Do you need softer, sensory-friendly clothing?
TASTE: Do you need to brush your teeth or tongue? Would chewing on something help?
SMELL: Is there a strong or unpleasant smell in the room? Do you need to clean or empty a trash can? Would an air purifier help? Would a pleasant smell like a candle help?
INTEROCEPTION: Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? How is your posture? Are any of your muscles tight or sore? Scan your body slowly from head to feet, tensing and loosening each group of muscles. Going for a walk or doing a series of quick stretches may help a lot.
Learning how to do this stuff is not intuitive, if you've had an entire lifetime of gaslighting telling you that everything hurting you isn't a big deal and you're being dramatic over nothing.
This takes time, it takes work, it's not intuitive, and it's hard. Most people forget how hard it is, because they learned this as toddlers.
If you want to recover, you need to relearn your whole body. And get over your idea of "normal" and just wear the damn sunglasses and put on the headphones. If people stare, fuck em. You're disabled and they can deal with that.
Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.
gracieabrams
amandla
stormborns
areudirty
origamiaround
