summary: youve always had this...problem when it comes to sex. youve never made it across the finish line like...ever. you intended on keeping this a secret. especially from your older coworker eddie but your best friend had to just open her stupid mouth and now hes on a personal mission to right the wrongs of the universe.
warnings/tags: 2002 au, age gap (15 years), bartender! eddie and reader, pining, smoking, smut (oral f receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, breast worship, multiple positions, praise, big dick! eddie, aftercare)
masterlist // join the taglist
The bar was a goddamn ghost town at three in the afternoon. Half the stools still had yesterday’s coasters stuck to them. The jukebox was stuck on some early 2000s alternative bullshit that no one had the energy to change. You were wiping down the same stretch of sticky counter for the third time when Jess leaned her elbows on it, chin in her hands, eyes gleaming like she’d just gotten away with murder.
“I’m serious,” she said, voice low and conspiratorial even though the only other person in the place was Eddie, restocking the well bottles with his back to you both. “This guy. Last night. I don’t even remember his name. Doesn’t matter. He went down on me like it was a calling. Like he’d been training for it since puberty. I came so hard I thought I was gonna black out. Twice. In like twelve minutes.”
You snorted into the rag. “That’s disgusting. And also… congratulations?”
“Thank you.” Jess preened. “I’m glowing. Look at me. Post-orgasmic radiance.” She tilted her face toward the neon Bud Light sign like it was a mirror. Then her expression softened into something more pointed. “Speaking of which… you still having your little problem with men?”
You froze mid-wipe. “Jess—”
“What problem?”
Eddie’s voice cut across the bar, casual as anything. He didn’t even turn around at first, just kept lining up the Jack and the Jim like he hadn’t been listening the entire time. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow was already arched high under the messy fall of his hair. He always looked unfairly good—black band tee stretched across his shoulders, silver rings flashing every time he moved, that perpetual half-smirk that made it hard to tell if he was about to roast you or flirt with you. Probably both.
Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know. Her problem.” She jerked a thumb in your direction. “She’s never came from a dude before.”
The bottle of whiskey in Eddie’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “Jesus Christ, Jess—”
“What?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You’ve told me like six times. And he’s right there. He’s basically part of the furniture at this point.”
Eddie set the bottle down with deliberate care and turned fully, resting his forearms on the bar. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Never?” he repeated, voice low and amused and way too interested. “Like… ever? Not even the accidental ones? The ‘oops I moved wrong and something happened’ variety?”
Heat crawled up your neck. “Can we not—”
“Nope,” Jess said cheerfully. “We’re airing it out. Self-awareness is in bitch.”
Eddie tilted his head, studying you like you were a particularly fascinating puzzle. The long hair, the rings, the faint scar through his eyebrow—everything about him was unfairly magnetic, and he knew it. He’d always known it. The way his eyes lingered a half-second too long when you reached for the top-shelf bottles. The way yours did the same when he stretched to change the lights over the pool table.
“Huh,” he said eventually. “That’s… tragic. Actually tragic. Like Greek tragedy levels of tragic.”
You glared at him. “It’s not tragic.”
“It is,” he insisted, deadpan. “You’re twenty-one. Peak prime. And you’re walking around out here unsatisfied like it’s some kind of personality trait. That’s criminal. Someone should fix that.”
Jess grinned. “See? He gets it.”
“I get nothing,” you muttered, scrubbing harder at a non-existent spot on the wood. “And for the record, it’s not like guys haven’t tried. They’re just… bad at it. Or distracted. Or weirdly determined to go for the Olympic gold in thrusting while forgetting the rest of the body exists.”
Eddie made a soft, wounded sound. “Ouch. Collectively roasting half the male population. Bold.”
“Deserved,” you shot back.
He leaned in a little, elbows sliding closer across the bar. The metal of his rings clicked against the wood. “So what you’re saying is… every single guy who’s ever had the privilege has been mid at best.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“And none of them managed to, y’know—” he made a vague, elegant gesture with one hand, rings flashing, “—get the job done.”
Jess was delighted. “God, this is better than daytime TV.”
You pointed the rag at her. “You started this.”
“And I’m thriving.”
Eddie ignored her completely, eyes still locked on yours. There was something sharp and curious under the teasing now. Something that made your stomach pull tight.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re taking notes for later.”
His grin spread slow and wicked. “Baby, I’ve been taking notes for months. This is just the first time the subject’s come up in conversation.”
Jess actually clapped. “Oh my god.”
You felt your face go hot. “Eddie—”
He straightened up, palms raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Hey. Just saying. If the bar’s this dead every afternoon, maybe we should start a support group. I can lead the hands on portion of the presentation.”
You threw the wet rag at his chest. He caught it one-handed without even flinching, laughing under his breath as the damp fabric slapped against his shirt.
“You’re the worst,” you told him.
“And yet,” he said, tossing the rag back onto the bar between you, “you keep looking.”
Jess made a delighted little noise and stage-whispered, “I live for this shift.”
Eddie just winked at you—slow, deliberate—and turned back to the bottles like he hadn’t just set the entire afternoon on fire.
The next two hours crawled by in that special brand of dead-bar purgatory where every glass you washed felt like a personal insult. A couple of regulars drifted in, ordered cheap beer, and left again. Jess kept shooting you meaningful looks every time Eddie got within ten feet, which was constantly, because the universe had decided you two were stuck on the same side of the bar for the rest of the shift.
He waited until Jess disappeared into the back to change a keg before he started.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and conversational as he dried a pint glass with unnecessary care. “Pop quiz time. You ever come from oral? Like, someone actually knowing what they’re doing down there.”
You nearly dropped the bottle of vodka you were restocking. “Eddie.”
“What? Scientific inquiry. I like to learn.” He tapped his temple with one ringed finger. “Answer the question.”
You glanced toward the empty booths, then back at him. “No. Not really. It’s usually… fine. Then they get bored or their jaw starts hurting and they switch to something else.”
He made a soft, wounded sound like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Christ. The bar is in hell. Next question—missionary. Ever gotten there that way?”
“No.”
“Doggy?”
“Eddie—”
“Answer.”
You exhaled through your nose. “Once I thought I was close. Then he asked if I was okay because I went quiet and the whole thing died.”
Eddie actually stopped drying the glass. He stared at you for a second, then set it down very carefully. “I’m going to need a list of names. Ban them from the bar. They're never allowed in your presence again.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m invested,” he corrected, leaning a hip against the counter. The afternoon light caught on the silver at his knuckles. “Okay, reverse cowgirl. Ever tried that one?”
You gave him a flat look. “You’re just listing positions now.”
“It’s a thorough survey. I’m a thorough guy.” His mouth curved. “What about when you’re on top and you actually get to control the angle?”
Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “Still no.”
“Against a wall?”
“No.”
“Bent over something?”
“Eddie, oh my god.”
He held up both hands, rings flashing, but he was grinning like a man who’d just found a new favorite hobby. “Okay, okay. Solo work. You can get yourself there, right?”
You hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. That’s… the only reliable method, honestly.”
Something shifted in his expression—still playful, still teasing, but there was a new sharpness underneath it. Like he’d just filed that particular answer into a mental drawer labeled Important.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “So the equipment works. The operators just suck.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He reached past you for a clean stack of coasters, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and stale tobacco. His voice dropped even lower. “How do you do it, then? Fingers? Toys? Pillow humping like a teenager?”
You shoved a coaster into his chest. “I’m not answering that.”
“Coward.”
“Voyeur.”
“Guilty.” He caught the coaster before it fell and spun it between his fingers. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll just have to hypothesize.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same intense focus he’d given the whiskey bottles earlier. “I’m guessing fingers. Two, maybe three. Slow at first, then faster when you get close. You go quiet. Bite your lip. That soft little sound you make when you’re frustrated with the register? Probably the same one.”
Your face went hot enough to fry an egg. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m observant.” He flicked the coaster onto the bar with a soft clack. “And currently constructing a very detailed theory about what it would take to fix this tragic situation.”
You turned away to grab a new bottle of well tequila, mostly so he wouldn’t see the way your mouth wanted to smile. “You’re plotting.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re thirty-six. Shouldn’t you be plotting, I don’t know, retirement or something?”
Eddie barked a laugh. “Baby, I’m in my prime. And right now my prime is extremely focused on the fact that you’ve never been properly ruined by another person and that is a personal offense to me as a man who takes pride in his work.”
You glanced over your shoulder. “Your work.”
“I’m a multi-talented individual.” He winked, slow and filthy. “Bartending is just the day job.”
Jess chose that exact moment to reappear from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at the two of you—Eddie’s smug expression, your flushed face—and grinned like Christmas had come early.
“Oh, this is gonna be a great closing shift,” she announced.
Eddie just hummed, turning back to the glasses with the air of a man who had all the time in the world and a very specific plan forming behind those dark eyes.
The night stretched on like it had a personal grudge.
By eight the place finally woke up—college kids with fake IDs, regulars who lived three stools down from alcoholism, a table of guys who kept trying to get Jess’s number and failing spectacularly. You and Eddie moved around each other like you’d been doing it for years, hips brushing when the space got tight, fingers grazing when you both reached for the same bottle. Every time it happened he shot you a look that said noted, and every time you pretended not to notice.
He waited until you were both stuck behind the bar during a rush to lean in close, voice low under the music.
“So when you’re alone,” he said, pouring three shots of Jameson without looking, “how long does it usually take?”
You nearly over-poured the vodka in your hand. “I’m not answering that while I’m making someone a vodka soda.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Eddie.”
He slid the shots down the bar with a practiced flick of his wrist and turned just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “I’m building a timeline. Important data. Is it a ten-minute situation or a ‘I’ve got the apartment to myself for an hour’ situation?”
You shouldered him back an inch. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you’re still answering.”
“I’m not.”
“You will.”
By eleven the crowd thinned enough that Jess could handle the floor alone. That left the two of you restocking the back bar, bodies close in the narrow space between the ice well and the speed rack. Eddie handed you bottles one by one, rings clicking against glass, and every time your fingers touched he held on a second longer than necessary.
“Okay, new category,” he said, passing you the triple sec. “Toys. Yes or no.”
You set the bottle down harder than you meant to. “I’m going to kill you.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s a none of your business.”
He grinned, slow and sharp. “So yes. What kind? The little bullet ones that die after six months or the fancy ones with remote controls that costs like two weeks pay?”
You stared at him. “How do you even know about those?”
“I have lived a full and varied life, sweetheart.” He leaned past you to grab a fresh stack of napkins, chest brushing your shoulder. “Also I have internet access. Shocking, I know.”
“You’re still this much of a menace. That’s actually impressive.”
“Thank you. I try.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You go quiet when you’re close, don’t you? Even by yourself. I’ve seen the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating on the register. Same energy.”
Your face went hot again. “Stop studying me like I’m a lab rat.”
“Can’t. You’re the most interesting thing in this entire shitty bar.”
Midnight came and went. The last wave of drunks stumbled out around one-thirty. Jess clocked out early with a pointed “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and a look that promised interrogation tomorrow. That left just the two of you closing—chairs up, floors mopped, registers counted in the weirdly intimate quiet of a bar after hours.
Eddie wiped down the last section of the counter while you counted the till. He waited until you were halfway through the twenties before he spoke again.
“Last question of the night. Promise.”
You didn’t look up. “You’re a liar.”
“Probably. But still.” He tossed the rag into the bin and came to lean against the register, arms crossed, watching you. “If someone actually knew what they were doing—knew exactly how to get you there and refused to stop until it happened—do you think you could?”
You paused with a stack of bills in your hand. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the back the ice machine kicked on with a loud clatter.
“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Maybe.”
Eddie’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous all at once. “Good answer.”
You finished the count in silence after that, the weight of his attention sitting warm against the side of your face. When the drawer finally balanced you locked it and straightened, rolling your shoulders. Your feet ached. Your lower back ached. It had been a long-ass day in every possible way.
Eddie was already shrugging into his leather jacket, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the cool 2 a.m. air.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like he hadn’t spent the last nine hours conducting a very public interrogation about your sex life.
You locked the door behind you and turned to face him under the streetlight. “You’re not done with the questions, are you?”
He smiled—slow, crooked, full of intent. “Not even close.”
The next day Eddie walked in looking like he’d made an actual effort, and it threw you off so hard you nearly dropped the stack of clean glasses you were carrying.
He’d clearly showered. The usual faint haze of cigarette smoke and bar soap that clung to him was gone, replaced by something warmer, cleaner—like cedar and maybe sage? underneath. His hair was still long and messy, but it looked deliberate this time, pushed back from his face like he’d actually run a comb through it. Black jeans, a soft worn black shirt that fit a little too well across the shoulders, and those same silver rings. He looked… intentional.
Jess noticed first. She mouthed what the fuck at you from across the bar the second his back was turned.
You just shook your head and tried not to stare.
He didn’t launch into the interrogation the second the shift started. That was the weirdest part. No pop quiz. No filthy little comments under his breath every time you bent down for a bottle. He just… worked. Smooth, quiet, efficient. When the bar got busy he moved around you like he’d memorized the shape of your body in the space, hand settling briefly at the small of your back when he needed to slip past, voice low and easy when he called out drink orders.
It should have been a relief.
It felt like standing too close to an open flame.
You floated through the night in a strange, charged quiet. Every time your eyes met across the bar something tight pulled low in your stomach. He caught you looking more than once and just smiled—small, private, like the two of you were sharing a secret no one else was in on.
Closing came faster than it should have.
Jess clocked out with a pointed look and a whispered “text me if you die” that made you want to throw a lime at her head. Then it was just the two of you again, stacking chairs in the low light, the jukebox finally silent.
Eddie wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over.
“You wanna come smoke?”
The question was casual. The way he said it wasn’t.
You usually said yes. Half the time after closing the two of you ended up on the back steps sharing a joint and talking shit about customers until the sky started getting light. Tonight the air between you felt thicker. Like the question meant something else entirely.
You still said, “Yeah. Okay.”
He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer, and grabbed his jacket.
You followed him out to the employee lot after locking up. His van was the same beat-up black thing it had always been, but even that felt different under the streetlights. He unlocked the passenger side for you without a word, then climbed in himself. The engine rumbled to life. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was loaded.
Eddie’s place was a small rented home ten minutes from the bar, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better decades. He parked in the cracked driveway and killed the engine. For a second he just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at the dark porch like he was deciding something.
Then he looked over at you.
“You good?”
You nodded. Your pulse was doing something stupid in your throat. “Yeah.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “Cool. C’mon.”
You followed him up the steps. The porch light was out. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could walk in first. The living room smelled like him—leather, weed, stale cigarettes. A couple of amps in the corner. Records stacked in uneven piles. A couch that had definitely seen better days.
Eddie tossed his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his jacket. The clean scent of whatever he’d put on earlier drifted toward you again.
He glanced over his shoulder, that same small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You wanna sit outside or in here?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been.
You met his eyes.
You nodded toward the dark backyard. “Outside.”
Eddie grinned like you’d given him the exact answer he wanted and jerked his head for you to follow. The backyard was small and overgrown, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs near the fence and a milk crate that clearly doubled as a table. He dropped into one of the chairs with a satisfied groan and pulled a little tin from his pocket.
“Got some really good shit tonight,” he said, already breaking up a dense little nug between his fingers. “Friend of a friend. Sticky. Smells like a forest fucked a skunk and they both loved it.”
You snorted and took the other chair. “Poetic.”
“I try.” He packed the bowl with practiced ease, silver rings flashing under the porch light that barely reached this far. When he lit it the first hit made him cough once, sharp, then he laughed and held it out to you. “Careful. This one sneaks up.”
You took it. The smoke was thick and sweet and immediately made your head feel softer around the edges. You passed it back and watched him take another hit, the way his throat moved when he held it in.
A few quiet exhales later you tipped your head, studying him.
“What’s up with the get-up today, by the way?”
Eddie blinked, all faux innocence. “What get-up?”
“Don’t play dumb. You smelled different. Looked different. Like you actually owned a bottle of real cologne instead of just rolling in whatever was on the floor of the van.”
He waved a hand, smoke curling around his fingers. “I showered. Revolutionary concept, I know. Sometimes the hair gets washed. Sometimes the shirt isn’t the same one I wore three days in a row. It’s called being a functional adult.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. Zero effort. Pure coincidence.”
You took another hit and exhaled slowly, watching him over the rim of the bowl. “Well… I liked it.”
The change was instant. His whole posture shifted—shoulders loosening, that slow, pleased grin spreading across his face like you’d just handed him a trophy. He sat up a little straighter, eyes bright even in the dark.
“Yeah?” he said, voice warmer. “You noticed.”
“Hard not to. You walked in smelling like you had somewhere better to be.”
Eddie laughed under his breath, low and a little giddy, and ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t help himself. “Shit. Okay. Noted. I’ll keep that in the rotation then.”
You passed the bowl back, lips curving. “I like normal you too, though. The regular version. The one who smells like your van and talks too much and leaves guitar picks in the tip jar.”
He went quiet for a second, turning the bowl between his fingers. When he looked at you again the playfulness was still there, but something heavier sat underneath it.
“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rougher now. “I just wanted you to notice the effort. Because if I ever get my hands on you…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to know there’s gonna be full effort there too. No half-assing it. No getting bored halfway through. I’m talking dedicated. Thorough. The kind of focus that makes you forget your own name for a little while.”
The air between you went tight.
You raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and let a small, challenging smile pull at your mouth.
“That a promise or just talk?”
Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving—and shook his head like you’d just dared him to jump off a roof.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice full of dark delight. “You’re gonna regret asking me that.”
Eddie set the bowl down on the milk crate with a soft clink, still grinning like you’d just handed him the best idea he’d ever heard. Before you could even process the shift in his expression he was out of the chair and in front of you, hands already sliding under your thighs.
“Wait—Eddie—”
Too late. He hauled you up in one smooth, practiced motion and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world tilted. Your hands flew to his back for balance as he started walking toward the house, one arm locked firm around the backs of your legs.
“Eddie, put me down—” you laughed, smacking the solid muscle of his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole, oh my god—”
“Mm. Keep talking. It’s cute.” His free hand settled on the back of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively as he carried you up the porch steps and through the open door. “Been thinking about doing this since you told me no one’s ever gotten you there properly. Figured I’d start with the logistics.”
You twisted, trying to push yourself up enough to see where you were going, still laughing. “Logistics? You’re manhandling me—”
The sharp, open-handed smack landed right across your ass.
The sound cracked through the quiet house.
You went completely still.
The laughter died in your throat. Heat flooded low and fast, a sudden, traitorous pulse between your legs that made your breath catch. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. You didn’t make a sound.
Eddie stopped walking.
You felt the way his whole body went alert underneath you—the slight pause, the way his hand stayed right where it had landed, palm warm against the sting he’d just left.
“…Oh,” he said, voice dropping into something darker and deeply pleased. “There it is.”
He adjusted his grip and kept walking, slower now, like he was savoring every step. You could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.
“You went quiet real fast, sweetheart. That little problem of yours just get a whole lot more interesting?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your face was burning and the ache between your legs had gone from nothing to urgent in the span of one single slap.
Eddie carried you down the short hallway and into a bedroom that smelled like the real him. He bent and deposited you onto the mattress with surprising care, letting you slide down his body until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him.
He stayed close. Close enough that you had to tip your head back. One of his hands was still resting on your waist like he hadn’t fully decided to let go yet.
His eyes were darker than they’d been outside. The playful edge was still there, but it was sharper now. Focused.
“Yeah,” he murmured, thumb stroking once over your hip. “I saw that. Felt it too. You clenched up the second my hand landed.” He tilted his head, studying your face with open, hungry curiosity. “Interesting reaction for someone who’s never come with another person. Almost like your body already knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.”
He leaned in just enough that his next words brushed warm against your mouth.
“We’re gonna fix that.”
Eddie stayed right there between your knees, looking down at you like he’d already decided how the rest of the night was going to go. His hand was still warm on your waist, thumb tracing idle little arcs against the fabric of your shirt.
“Alright,” he said, voice light but serious underneath. “Before I do anything irreversible—you got a safeword?”
You blinked up at him, then huffed a soft laugh. “Jesus. You’re old. I’ve never needed one.”
His mouth twitched. “Charming. Really making me feel great about the age gap right now.”
“I’m just saying. Never came up.”
“Well it’s coming up now.” He reached past you, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it further up the bed like he was already planning ahead. “Pineapple. That’s the word. You say pineapple, everything stops. No questions, no attitude, I back off immediately. Clear?”
You stared at him for a second, then broke into a genuine laugh. “Pineapple? That’s the best you could do?”
“It’s memorable. And you’re not gonna forget it when you’re—”
You didn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence.
His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he closed them in a firm, controlled fist. The pull wasn’t rough—just deliberate enough to tip your head back so you had no choice but to look straight at him. The sudden shift in control sent another low pulse of heat straight between your legs.
Eddie’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. His voice came out quieter. Rougher.
“How do you like it?”
The question sat heavy between you. You swallowed. Your scalp tingled where he held you.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. Honest. A little breathless. “No one’s ever… asked. Or stuck around long enough to figure it out.”
Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. He leaned in closer, the grip in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Then you’re getting the whole experience,” he murmured. “Every version. Hard. Slow. Filthy. Whatever makes that pretty little problem of yours finally give up.”
He closed the last inch and kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It was deep and immediate, mouth open, the kind of kiss that felt like a claim. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting you further into it while the one in your hair stayed locked, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. You made a small sound against his lips and he answered it with a low hum, pressing closer until your knees had to part wider around his hips.
When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice was wrecked already.
“Yeah,” he said against your mouth. “We’re gonna take our time with this.”
Eddie kissed you down into the mattress like he’d been holding himself back and finally ran out of reasons to. The weight of him settled over you. His mouth never left yours for long, only breaking long enough for both of you to drag in air before he was back, deeper, hungrier.
Your hands found the hem of his shirt at the same time his found yours.
Fabric got shoved up between frantic kisses. You both laughed once against each other’s mouths when your arms got tangled, then the shirts were gone—his tossed somewhere toward the floor, yours pulled carefully over your head so he didn’t catch it on your hair. The second your bare skin met the cooler air of the room, Eddie went still.
His eyes dropped.
The tattoos you’d kept hidden under work shirts and bar aprons sat dark against your skin—delicate lines and soft shading that only showed when the fabric came off. He stared like he’d just been handed something private and important.
“Fuck,” he breathed. One hand hovered, then settled lightly over the ink on your ribs, thumb tracing the edge of a design. “You’ve been walking around with these under those little black tanks this whole time and never said a word?”
You felt heat climb your throat. “Didn’t come up.”
“It’s coming up now.” His voice had gone lower, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, then another a little higher. The metal of his rings was cool against your side as his hand slid up.
He paused there, mouth still brushing your skin, and looked up at you through his lashes.
“Can I take this off?” His fingers rested at the back clasp of your bra, waiting. Not moving until you answered.
You nodded.
Eddie kissed the same spot on your chest once more—soft, almost grateful—before he reached behind you. The clasp gave easily under his fingers, like he’d done it a hundred times and still treated it like it mattered. He drew the straps down your arms slowly, letting the fabric fall away, and sat back just enough to look.
The way his expression changed was quiet and thorough. No teasing. No smirk. Just open, focused appreciation as his gaze moved over you.
“Look at you,” he murmured. One hand came up to cup the side of your breast, thumb stroking once beneath it like he was learning the shape. “Hiding all this under work clothes every night. Perfect fucking girl. Trying so hard not to let anyone see.”
He leaned back down and pressed a slower kiss to the soft curve of one breast, then the other, voice still gentle against your skin.
“Gonna take my time looking at every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”
He stayed right there, mouth and hands devoted to your breasts like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Soft, open kisses trailed across the full curves, lingering under the weight of them where the skin was most sensitive. His tongue flicked once over a nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked—gentle at first, then deeper when your back arched. The whole time he talked, voice low and warm against your skin.
“So responsive,” he murmured, switching to the other side. “Look at the way you push up into my mouth. You’ve been starving for someone to just… stay here and worship these for a while.” Another slow suck, a quiet hum of approval when you made a soft sound. “Perfect tits. So fucking perfect.”
You were soaked.
You could feel it—heat and slickness gathering between your legs until your underwear clung uncomfortably. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten this wet before. Not from kissing. Not from anything. Every drag of his tongue, every quiet, filthy-sweet word made the ache worse.
Eddie kissed lower, across the soft skin just beneath your breasts, then lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed careful.
“Can I take these off?” His fingers rested at the button of your jeans, waiting.
You nodded.
He popped the button and drew the zipper down slowly. You lifted your hips so he could work the denim down your legs and toss it aside. The second the cool air hit you, his gaze dropped—and locked onto the dark, obvious wet patch soaking through the center of your underwear.
His whole body went still.
You watched the thick outline of his cock twitch hard against the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric like it was trying to get to you on its own.
Eddie exhaled a rough, almost pained sound. “Jesus Christ.”
You swallowed, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Fair is fair. Take yours off too.”
He didn’t argue. He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down and kick them away, leaving him in dark boxer briefs that did almost nothing to hide him. The outline was obscene—long, thick, heavy against his thigh, the head clearly defined where it pressed against the cotton. Even confined like that he looked massive.
Your mouth went a little dry.
“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.
Eddie glanced down at himself, then back at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth even as his voice stayed soft.
“Yeah,” he said, climbing back over you. “We’re gonna take this real slow, sweetheart. I’m gonna need you nice and open for me.” His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the edge of your soaked underwear. “But first I’m gonna make sure this pretty little problem of yours never stands a chance.”
Eddie kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to pour every filthy intention he had into your mouth. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled up against him, seeking friction, grinding the soaked center of your underwear against the hard line of his cock. The second you did it he groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hold you there for a second longer.
Then he pulled back.
“Greedy,” he murmured against your lips, almost fond. “Alright. I hear you.”
He started kissing down.
Your chest first—lingering again on the soft undersides of your breasts, tongue tracing the curves he’d already learned—then lower, across the plane of your stomach. Every open-mouthed press of his lips made your muscles jump. He nuzzled the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and exhaled like the scent of how wet you were was doing something to him.
You lifted your hips without being asked. Together you worked the soaked fabric down your legs until it was gone. The second you were bare, Eddie went quiet.
He sat back on his heels between your thighs and just looked.
His hands settled on the insides of your knees and slowly pushed them wider, eyes locked on the slick, flushed mess of your cunt. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing—glistening along your folds, dripping down toward the sheets. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“Fucking perfect,” he said, voice low and rough with sincerity. “Look at you. All pretty and shiny and soaked just from me playing with your tits. You’re beautiful like this.” His thumbs stroked higher along your inner thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Promise.”
Then he dove in.
No teasing. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through your center in one long, filthy stripe, collecting everything you’d made for him. The sound he made was almost pained—hungry and relieved all at once—before he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.
Your whole body arched.
Eddie hummed against you like the taste of you was exactly what he’d been after all night, and settled in like he planned to stay there for a very long time.
He started slow—long, flat strokes of his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way up to your clit, gathering every bit of slick that had already collected there. The sound was wet and filthy every time he dragged through you. He hummed low in his chest like the taste of you was something he wanted to memorize.
“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your folds, voice already rough. “So wet for me already. Been dripping since I smacked that pretty ass, haven’t you?”
His hands stayed firm on your inner thighs, holding you open exactly how he wanted. When he focused on your clit he did it with devastating patience—soft, circling licks that barely gave you pressure, then firmer ones that made your hips twitch. Every time your thighs tried to close he just pressed them wider and kept going.
You were already shaking.
Eddie noticed. Of course he did. He lifted his mouth just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark and focused.
“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re allowed to get loud, sweetheart. Nobody’s here but me.” He dipped back down and sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder when your back arched. “Good girl. So sensitive. I can feel you throbbing on my tongue.”
He worked you in waves. Soft and teasing until you were rolling your hips up against his mouth, then deeper—tongue pushing inside you in slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against your clit. The wet sounds filled the room. Your hands found his hair and twisted, not sure if you were trying to pull him closer or survive it.
Eddie groaned like he loved the sting.
“There you go,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Use me. Grind on my face if you need to. I’ve got you.” He sealed his mouth back over your clit and sucked in a steady, relentless rhythm while two fingers finally slid inside you—curving, searching, pressing up into that spot that made your vision blur. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me already. So tight. So needy. Gonna make this little cunt come so hard for me.”
He didn’t rush the build.
Every time you got close he eased off just enough to keep you hovering—switching to broad, messy licks, kissing the insides of your thighs, murmuring soft filthy things against your skin about how pretty you looked spread open and dripping for him. Then he’d return to your clit with single-minded focus, fingers working you open, tongue relentless.
Your stomach started tightening. The pleasure turned sharp and overwhelming. You could hear how wet you were—slick sounds every time his fingers moved, every time his mouth sealed over you again.
“Eddie—I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he said immediately, voice low and certain. He doubled down, sucking harder, fingers curling in steady, perfect strokes. “You’re right there. I can feel it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”
The orgasm hit like a wave you couldn’t stop.
Your whole body locked. A broken, high sound tore out of you as the pleasure crashed through—your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers, slick gushing out of you in warm, uncontrollable pulses that coated his mouth and chin and dripped down onto the sheets. Eddie moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept going through it, licking you through every spurt, every tremor, drinking you down like he was starving for it.
He only slowed when your thighs started shaking too hard to stay open.
Even then he didn’t pull away completely. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your oversensitive clit, your folds, the dripping mess he’d made of you, voice wrecked and reverent.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your cunt. “Look at that. Fucking beautiful. You came so hard you made a mess of me.” He licked a slow stripe through the wetness still dripping from you and groaned.
Eddie sat up just long enough to shove his boxer briefs down and kick them off the bed. His cock sprang free—a heavy thump against his stomach. After everything he’d just done to you, he looked almost painfully hard.
He crawled back over you and kissed you deep.
You tasted yourself on his mouth immediately—sharp and sweet and filthy. The knowledge that he’d just had his face buried between your legs made your stomach flip all over again. He licked into your mouth like he wanted you to taste how hard you’d come for him, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking slowly along your side.
When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Careful.
“Still sure you want this?” His eyes searched yours. “I already made you come. We can stop here if you need to. No pressure.”
You didn’t answer with words.
You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss—harder this time, open-mouthed and certain. Your other hand slid down between your bodies and wrapped around the thick length of him. He was so hot against your palm, so heavy, the skin soft over the rigid hardness underneath. Eddie groaned into your mouth like the simple touch of your hand almost undid him.
“Okay,” he rasped against your lips. “Okay. I’ve got you.”
He reached down and wrapped his own hand around his cock, guiding the broad head through the soaked mess of your cunt. The first drag of him against your oversensitive clit made your hips jerk. He did it again—slower—slicking himself up with everything you’d already given him, the fat head catching against your entrance every time he passed over it.
You were so wet the sound was obscene.
Eddie braced himself on one forearm and looked down between your bodies, watching the way the blunt head of his cock pressed against you. His breathing had gone uneven.
“Gonna go slow,” he promised, voice strained. “You’re tight as hell and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He pushed.
The stretch was immediate and intense—thick pressure that forced you open around him inch by careful inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way your body had to give to take him. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, a low, punched-out groan spilling out of him as the head finally slipped inside.
“Fuck—look at that,” he breathed, hips trembling with the effort of holding still. “Taking me so well already. You’re soaking my cock baby girl.”
He gave you another inch. Then another. The burn of the stretch mixed with the leftover sensitivity from your orgasm until your thighs were shaking around his hips. You could feel how deep he was already getting, the heavy weight of him filling you in a way nothing else ever had.
Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet even as his voice went filthy.
“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in, sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty cunt up until you forget anyone else ever tried.”
“Move,” you whispered.
Eddie exhaled like he’d been waiting for permission. He drew his hips back slowly—just an inch or two—then pushed back in just as carefully. The thick slide of him forced another soft sound out of your throat. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every subtle pulse of his cock as he sank deeper. The way your walls had to stretch and flutter around the heavy girth of him just to take it.
He kept the pace almost gentle.
Long, controlled strokes that let you feel the full drag of him pulling out and the slow, relentless push back in until he bottomed out against you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours. His voice never stopped.
“That’s it,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “Feel how full you are. Taking all of me like you were made for it. S' tight. S' perfect around my cock.” Another slow thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Letting me open you up.”
The sweetness of it almost undid you more than the stretch.
Every praise landed low in your stomach. Every careful roll of his hips sent sparks up your spine. You could feel how wet you still were—slick sounds filling the quiet room every time he sank back in. But the longer he stayed that measured and deep, the more something restless started building under your skin.
You needed more.
Deeper. Harder. Something that matched the ache he’d already put in you.
Eddie must have felt the way your hips started chasing him, because he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed soft.
“I know,” he said. “I can feel you getting greedy again sweetheart.”
He sat back on his knees, still buried inside you, and hooked his hands behind your knees. In one smooth motion he pushed your legs up and open, folding you nearly in half until your thighs pressed against your own chest. The new angle made him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust. You gasped—sharp and high—as the thick head of him pressed against something that made your vision spark.
Eddie groaned low in his throat and held the position, hips rolling in the same unhurried rhythm, only now every stroke dragged against that deeper, more intense place inside you.
“There we go,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what you needed, huh? Deeper?” He thrust in again—slow, deliberate, grinding against the end of you. “All folded up and still sucking me in. Perfect girl. Just keep breathing for me. I’ve got you.”
He never sped up.
He just kept fucking you deep and steady, sweet words spilling out of him the entire time, like he had no intention of stopping until he’d ruined you completely.
Your voice broke on a high, frustrated sound.
“Eddie—please—harder. I need it harder, I can’t—”
He didn’t make you beg twice.
The second the plea left your mouth his whole demeanor shifted. The careful restraint he’d been holding onto snapped. His grip on the backs of your thighs tightened and he started fucking you properly—long, powerful strokes that drove him deep enough to punch the air out of your lungs every time his hips met yours. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. Your body jolted up the mattress with every thrust until he dragged you back down by the hips and kept going.
“Anything,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Anything you want. You need it harder? It’s yours. Need me deeper? Take it.” He snapped his hips in harder, the thick length of him dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your eyes rolled. “Fuck—listen to you. Whining for my cock like you were made for it. I’ve got you. Gonna give you everything.”
The intensity crashed over you too fast to stop.
Your second orgasm hit with almost no warning—sharp and overwhelming, your cunt clamping down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, thighs shaking violently in his grip while you came on his cock alone. The wet rush of it made every thrust louder, messier. Eddie groaned like he could feel every flutter and kept fucking you through it, never slowing, praising you the whole time in a broken stream of words.
“That’s it—come on my cock, just like that. Fucking beautiful. You’re soaking me. Squeezing me so tight I can barely move. Good girl. Perfect fucking girl.”
He only eased up when the aftershocks left you trembling and oversensitive.
You could still feel how hard he was inside you—thick and throbbing, nowhere near finished. The realization made something determined spark low in your stomach. You reached up and pushed weakly at his chest.
“Want to ride you,” you managed, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me.”
Eddie went still. His eyes searched your face, dark and concerned even as his cock twitched deep inside you.
“You sure?” he asked, already breathing hard. “You just came twice. You’re shaking. We can slow down—”
“I’m sure.” You held his gaze, stubborn and flushed and still pulsing around him. “I want to. Let me.”
Something hungry and soft moved through his expression all at once. He carefully pulled out of you—both of you hissing at the sudden emptiness—then rolled onto his back in one smooth motion. His cock lay heavy and glistening against his stomach— pulsing.
He looked up at you, hands already settling on your waist as you straddled him.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with restraint. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”
You braced one hand on his chest and reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the thick base of him. He was still soaked from you—slick and hot against your palm. You lined him up and sank down slowly.
The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Even after everything, taking him from this angle felt deeper, heavier. You had to work yourself down inch by inch, thighs trembling, until you were finally seated flush against him with his cock buried to the hilt. Your head dropped forward. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles like he was grounding you.
You swallowed, voice already shaky.
“What do you like?”
His eyes were almost black looking up at you. A breathless little laugh left him.
“Anything that makes this pretty cunt of yours cream all over me,” he said, rough and honest. “You want to grind slow and deep until you’re shaking? I’ll lie here and take every second of it. You want to bounce on my cock like a desperate little slut until your legs give out? I’ll hold you up and thank you for the privilege. Use me. Ruin yourself on me. I’m yours.”
So you did.
You started rolling your hips—slow at first, grinding him deep so every movement dragged against that spot inside you that made your stomach tighten. The wet sound of it was filthy. Eddie groaned under you, head tipping back against the pillow, hands sliding up to cup your breasts as you moved. You found a rhythm and stuck to it, lifting up until only the thick head remained inside you before sinking back down and taking every inch again.
“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice strained and filthy. “Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. I can feel you fluttering every time you bottom out. So wet you’re dripping down my balls. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how badly you needed to get filled.”
Your thighs started burning sooner than you wanted. The deeper angle made every bounce more intense, the stretch relentless, pleasure building sharp and overwhelming all over again. You kept going anyway—determined—until your legs began to shake so hard you could barely lift yourself. A frustrated little sound slipped out of you.
Eddie felt it immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he rasped.
His hands locked hard around your waist. In the next breath he planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that drove his cock deep enough to punch broken moans out of your mouth every time. The new rhythm was relentless. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he slammed up into your soaked cunt, using his grip on your hips to pull you down to meet every stroke.
“That’s it—take every fucking inch,” he snarled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Sit on my cock and let me ruin you. This greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep I can feel it in my spine. Dripping down my stomach like a slut who finally got what she needed.” He thrust up harder, the force of it making your tits bounce. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. This is what was missing every time some useless asshole couldn’t make you come. A real cock. A man who knows how to use it.”
Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried against his neck, while he kept pounding up into you without mercy—praise and filthy encouragement spilling out of him in a continuous, wrecked stream.
“Come on. Squeeze me. Cream all over this cock while I fuck you stupid. You’re taking me so well I can barely think. Perfect fucking girl. My perfect fucking girl. Gonna keep this up until you forget how to walk straight.”
Eddie kept fucking up into you in hard, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your body jolted with every thrust. He was so deep it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside.
His voice came out rough against your ear.
“Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit while I fuck you. I want to feel you gush on my cock again.”
Your hand slid down between your bodies without hesitation. The second your fingers found your clit—swollen and oversensitive—you cried out. The dual sensation was almost too much: the thick, brutal drag of his cock splitting you open on every upward thrust and the tight circles you rubbed over your clit. Slick coated your fingers immediately. You were so wet it was obscene.
Eddie groaned like he could feel the way your cunt fluttered harder around him the second you started touching yourself.
“That’s it. Good girl. Rub that clit for me. Make a mess. I want to feel you soak my cock.” He snapped his hips up harder, the force of it punching broken, high sounds out of your throat. “Fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. This greedy little cunt doesn’t want to let me go. Come on. Give it to me. Third time’s the charm, sweetheart. Ruin yourself.”
The orgasm tore through you violently.
Your whole body locked up. A broken sob left your mouth as you came hard—cunt clamping down in strong, rhythmic pulses while a fresh gush of wetness flooded out of you around his cock. It was messy, uncontrollable, soaking his stomach, his hips, the sheets beneath you in a warm rush that just kept coming with every thrust he forced through it. The wet sounds turned filthy and loud. You shook apart on top of him, fingers still moving weakly over your clit as the pleasure dragged on and on.
Eddie cursed low and filthy, fucking you through every spurt until your thighs were trembling too hard to stay upright.
He didn’t stop moving, but his rhythm turned slightly more erratic—hips stuttering as he chased his own edge. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.
“Where do you want it?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me. Mouth, tits, stomach—where?”
You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, still pulsing around him, still dripping.
“Inside me.”
Something raw and hungry flashed across his face.
“Fuck—okay. Anything you want.”
He pulled you down flush against him and buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he finally let go. A long, guttural groan tore out of his chest as he came—hot, thick pulses flooding your cunt in heavy spurts. You could feel every throb, every rope of it painting you deep inside. He kept you locked there, hips pressed tight, cock twitching as he emptied everything he had into you with broken, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.
“Take it—take every drop. Filling this perfect cunt up. Made for this. Made to take my cum.” His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “Fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”
He stayed buried deep as the last aftershocks faded, still pulsing weakly inside you, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
You collapsed onto his chest like every bone in your body had given up at once.
Eddie stayed inside you for a few more long seconds, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head. His heartbeat hammered under your ear. When he finally moved, he did it carefully—rolling you both onto your sides, then easing out of you with a soft, wet sound that made you flinch. You felt the immediate rush of his cum starting to leak out of you and made a small, incoherent noise against the pillow.
“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and slipped out of bed. You heard the soft sounds of him moving around the dark room—drawer opening, water running in the bathroom—before he came back with a warm washcloth. The mattress dipped as he climbed back in.
Eddie was gentle about it. He wiped between your legs with slow, careful strokes, cleaning up the mess the two of you had made without any teasing. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and stretched out beside you, pulling you in until your head was on his chest and one of his arms was locked securely around your waist.
You were barely able to form words. Your body felt heavy and loose and thoroughly used. Every muscle hummed with leftover sparks. You managed a soft, exhausted sound against his skin and that was about it.
Eddie let the quiet sit for a while, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. Then, eventually, the familiar edge of amusement crept back into his voice.
“…So.”
You made a questioning noise that didn’t quite become a word.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly trying and failing to sound casual, “for someone who claimed she’d never come from a dude before, you just came two times on my cock and gushed all over my face like it was your job. I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself right now.”
You managed a weak, breathless little laugh against his chest.
“There she is,” he said, sounding deeply satisfied. “Thought I broke you for a second.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You good? Need water? A trophy? I’m open to suggestions.”
You pinched his side weakly. Your voice came out rough and quiet.
“Shut up.”
“Can’t. I’m having a moment. Do you understand the historical significance of what just happened in this bed? I should call Jess. Let her know the little problem has been thoroughly, scientifically solved.”
You groaned into his chest. “If you call Jess I will actually kill you.”
Eddie laughed—low and warm and completely unrepentant—and pulled you closer, tucking the blankets up around both of you.
“Fine. No phone calls. But I reserve the right to be unbearably smug about this for at least a week.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping softer even as the teasing stayed. “You did so good for me. Seriously.”
You didn’t have the energy to argue.
You just let him hold you, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, while the last of the aftershocks faded and the witty, insufferable version of him settled back in like he’d never left.
Two days later the bar was dead again—same sticky counters, same half-hearted jukebox, same mid-afternoon quiet that made the whole place feel like it was holding its breath.
Eddie had been insufferable since the second he walked in.
He didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t have to. It was in the way he moved around you—closer than usual, hand lingering at the small of your back every time he slipped past, that permanent little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was replaying the entire night on a loop. Every time you caught his eye across the bar he just raised an eyebrow, slow and filthy, and went back to polishing a glass like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire understanding of sex in his shitty little bungalow.
Jess lasted maybe forty minutes before she cracked.
She leaned across the bar while Eddie was restocking the back, voice low and delighted. “Okay. What the fuck happened.”
You kept wiping the same clean section of counter. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. He’s been floating around like he invented the orgasm and you keep turning the color of a stop sign every time he looks at you. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
Eddie chose that exact moment to reappear, carrying a case of beer like it weighed nothing. He set it down, glanced between the two of you, and the smirk widened.
“Talking about me?” he asked, all faux innocence.
Jess pointed at him. “You. Explain why you’re walking around like— like that."
Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar right next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like the same cologne from the other night. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just in a good mood. Weather’s nice. Tips were decent yesterday. Life is beautiful.”
You shot him a warning look. He ignored it completely.
Jess’s eyes narrowed, bouncing between the two of you. Then something clicked. Her mouth fell open.
“Oh my god.”
“Jess—” you started.
“You didn’t.”
Eddie examined his rings like they were suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t what?”
“You fixed the little problem,” she said, voice climbing with glee. “You actually fixed it. Look at her face. Look at your face. Holy shit.”
You dropped the rag and pointed at both of them. “We are not talking about this.”
Jess clasped her hands under her chin. “I need every detail. Immediately. Was it good? Was it life-changing? How many times did you—”
“I will quit,” you said flatly.
Eddie made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. “Y’know, I’m happy to provide a full report if she’s too shy. In the interest of science. And friendship. And the betterment of women everywhere who’ve been suffering under subpar—”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough that he laughed and had to catch himself on the bar.
“Do not.”
He held up both hands, still grinning like the cat that got everything it ever wanted. “Offer stands. Jess, you just say the word and I’ll give you the entire play by play. ”
Jess looked like Christmas had come early. “I’m listening.”
You grabbed the rag again and turned away, face burning, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile pulling at your mouth.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, loud enough for only you to catch the undertone, “I’m available for follow-up research whenever you want.”
Human beings b like. *sits and stares peacefully at a fire* *sits and stares peacefully at the ocean* *sits and stares peacefully at a sleeping animal*
˚꩜｡pairing: 40s!eddie munson x 20y!fem!reader
˚꩜｡summary: Coming home from the summer was supposed to mean backyard barbecues, Fourth of July fireworks, and spending time with your parents before your final year of college. Falling into bed with your dad's forty-something tattoo artist had definitely not been part of the plan.
˚꩜｡tags/tw: 18+ explicit sexual content, minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!f!reader, big age gap, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, squirting, fourth of july jumpscare (this is a joke pls dont shoot me), 1 comment about reader losing weight but no descriptions of how much and/or body type, im sharing my parents w u guys in this one bc they’re cool and i miss them, underage drinking, smoking marijuana/tobacco, reader has tattoos, mentions of getting a tattoo as a minor, kinda self indulgent sorry, the faintest of angst at the end, lemme know me if i forgot anything :)
˚꩜｡word count: 17.1k+
˚꩜｡a/n: so i know it has been six days since the fourth, but i saw this tiktok and i immediately started to write this so all credits to @/arthursfemalehorse on tiktok for the edit that inspired this<3 (this was supposed to have been posted two days ago but i got too horny to continue writing)
At eighteen, freshly graduated from high school, you couldn’t wait to forget your old life, sever all contact with your old classmates, and never return to the godforsaken town of Hawkins, Indiana, where you had been born and raised.
Now, at twenty-one years old, and just one year shy of graduating NYU and snatching your master’s degree in Art Therapy, you couldn’t wait to return to the sleepy little town.
It had nothing to do with missing your old mates or the achingly slow routine you’d left behind two years earlier. Hell, it wasn’t even because you missed your parents — which you did, obviously — but that wasn’t the reason you were planning to move back.
New York was, for lack for a better, great. Truly. It was everything you’d dreamt about throughout your teenage years — multicultural, freeing, authentic in a way that demanded respect, with a shit ton of opportunities Hawkins couldn’t even dream of offering.
But it was also… just too much.
Too loud. Too smelly. Too busy. Too anxiety-inducing.
Hawkins, on the other hand, wasn’t amazing. Most of the time, it wasn’t even fun.
But it offered a quiet that you never realized you needed until you moved to the East Coast, without ever asking anything in return.
It wasn’t a place that expected — nonetheless demanded — you to keep up, nor did it punish you for slowing down and taking a breather. You could leave the house without planning every minute of your day around subways delays, packed sidewalks, and whether or not you could afford another ridiculously overprices coffee just to justify sitting somewhere for an hour.
In Hawkins, you knew the cashiers at the grocery store and which roads flooded first after heavy rain. You knew which diner stayed open the latest, where to get your tires replaced without getting ripped off by some surprise inspection tacked onto the bill, and exactly which back roads to take if you simply wanted to drive with the windows down for a while.
It was the kind of comfort you missed in the big city.
So the moment your final summer break before your last year of graduate school rolled around in the middle of May, you’d already made up your mind — you were going home for the first time in two years.
Unfortunately, your bank account had other ideas.
Rent in New York — even while sharing a shoebox apartment with two other girls — had a funny way of reminding you that dreams didn’t pay themselves, and neither did tuition. So instead of immediately packing your bags and hopping on the first plane to Indiana, you picked up every extra shift your manager was willing to throw your way.
Mornings behind the espresso machine turned into afternoons. Afternoons bled into closing shifts. Before you knew it, six weeks had disappeared somewhere between burnt coffee, impatient tourists, and people who genuinely believed ordering six different modifications somehow made them easier to deal with.
It wasn’t until the first week of July, when your savings account finally looked healthy enough, that you were able to point yourself towards Indiana.
Not forever. Come mid August, you’d be squeezing back into your apartment, picking up where you’d left off, and tackling one final year before graduation. But for the next month and a half, Hawkins was home again.
Funnily enough, the cheapest flight back from New York to Indianapolis landed in the middle of the night on the Fourth of July — only forty bucks cheaper than the alternatives, but still. An extra forty bucks for a college student meant not eating ramen for four consecutive days.
And, considering, you hadn’t given your parents an exact date for your return, arriving early on the holiday made for a nice surprise.
What wasn’t a nice surprise, however, was the half-hour delay it took to get off the plane. The two-hour drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins in a cramped rental car wasn’t exactly enjoyable either, although the endless stretches of cornfields and the occasional herd of cows were enough to pull a small smile onto your face again.
The weather had already been bordering on suffocating at almost ten in the morning when you passed the Welcome to Hawkins sign, and the cracked windows of the car did little to help in that regard.
But it was the Fourth, and that meant your parents were probably putting up the pool — if they hadn’t already done it the day before — and that an endless supply of ice-cold drinks was already waiting for your surprise return.
You instinctively turned the volume of the radio down as you made the familiar right turn into your old neighbourhood.
The early morning sunshine stretched across the quiet streets, warming the asphalt as it spilled between neat rows of modest houses and leafy trees. Tall utility poles and tangled power lines framed both sides of the road, looking exactly as they had the day you’d left.
Your foot eased off the accelerator almost automatically when the familiar house came into view. The wraparound porch looked exactly as you remembered it, supported by simple wooden posts and bordered by a railing that had hosted more lazy summer afternoons than you’d probably ever admit missing.
And then you noticed the ridiculous red, white and blue decorations your dad insisted on dragging out of the attic every year.
A massive American flag covered nearly the entire front window. Patriotic garlands hung from the porch ceiling. And, judging by the perfectly coordinated flower beds, your dad had somehow convinced your mom to plant red, white and blue flowers just in time for the holiday.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That… was definitely something you hadn’t missed.
You’d save the annual debate about nationalism, capitalism, and the political and economical state of the country and why you didn’t believe the Fourth of July and its founding fathers were something worth celebrating for another day. Preferably one that didn’t involve your father.
The engine died with a quick twist of your wrist, followed by the familiar click of your seatbelt, but you didn’t get out just yet. Instead, you sat there for another moment, your shoulders relaxing almost instantly as you looked at the house you’d once spent every waking moment trying to escape.
Your street had barely changed. Down the road, Mr. Flynn was moving his front lawn like he did almost every morning, while the kids of number 61A were already testing fireworks far too early.
Your lips curled into a small smile as you finally pushed the car door open and made your way to the trunk to grab your bags.
The fence around the house had recently been given a fresh coat of lacquer, and the brick path leading to the backyard had clearly been scrubbed clean days earlier.
Pushing open the familiar creaking gate and stepping into the backyard pulled a content sigh from your chest as you finally set the heavy bags on the ground.
“You here already, Ed?”
Your dad pushed the screen door open with one hand while carrying a heavy-looking cooler in the other.
“Who is Ed?” you asked when your eyes landed on your greying father.
A heavy thud echoed through the otherwise quiet backyard as he let the cooler slip from his hands, standing frozen between the back door and the patio.
“What the fuck?”
“Please don’t curse this early in the morning!” your mom called from somewhere inside the house.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be cursing too if you saw what the fuck I’m seeing.”
While your dad remained rooted to the spot, eyes still wide with disbelief, your mom mumbled something unintelligible as he made her way towards the backyard.
The towel she’d been drying her hands with joined the cooler on the ground.
“What the fuck?”
“Told you.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped you as the two of them simply stared.
“I told you guys I was coming home from the summer.”
“But not that you were coming today!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around you, only pulling back enough to cup your face between her hands. Her eyes searched every inch of it like she hadn’t seen you in decades. “Why didn’t you call? We could’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“I wanted to surprise you guys.”
Your dad finally seemed to reboot.
“Did you rent a car?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Hi to you too, Dad.”
“How much was it?”
“That’s your first question?” You tilted your head in disbelief.
“Oh, Pigeon,” your mom whispered, still holding your face. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been eating properly?”
“Mom, I’m fine—”
“Rentin’ a car is expensive,” your dad muttered, already fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “On top of paying New York rent? Jesus, Pigeon. You should’ve called.”
“Dad, I rented the car for three days—”
“I’m sending you money.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Almost twenty-one years old, and you were still their baby girl — apparently incapable of looking after your own health or your own finances.
Not that there was any point to trying to convince them otherwise, their minds had already been made up.
The cooler had been completely forgotten beside the screen door as your dad wrapped his hands around the handles of your bags — despite your repeated insistence that you were more than capable of carrying them yourself — and made a beeline for your childhood bedroom.
He was still going on about the rental car as you followed him up the creaky staircase, only abandoning the subject once he’d nudged open the familiar white bedroom door with his foot.
The door was still decorated with stickers. The walls were still painted your favourite shade of pale green, and the embarrassingly emo and scene band posters you’d sworn you’d take down before leaving college were still scattered across them.
Aside from the new rug in the middle of the room, nothing had changed.
“You should call your friends,” he said as he set your bags down on the bed. “See if anyone’s around to hang out.”
“I kinda lost touch with everyone, Dad,” you replied with a small shrug. “I’m perfectly happy hanging out with you two.”
“Well, us two and Eddie.” He scratched at his beard. “And a handful of our other friends too.”
“Who’s Eddie?” You frowned.
“Eddie Munson.” He pushed the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt farther up his arm, revealing the tattoo he’d gotten the year before. “He moved back last year when his dad got sick. Opened a tattoo studio downtown not long after.”
Your hand reached out almost on instinct, fingertips brushing over the healed ink.
The words of an embarrassingly sentimental poem you’d written in elementary school curved neatly around his upper arm, permanently preserved in your own unmistakable chicken-scratch handwriting.
And just above it sat a black-and-grey coloured realistic pigeon.
You still weren’t entirely sure which tattoo was more ridiculous.
“I still can’t believe you actually got this tattooed,” you snorted, looking back up at him.
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, tugging his sleeve back down. “Can you blame me for being obsessed with my only child?”
“If your obsession makes you do stupid things?” You folded your arms. “Then yes. Absolutely.”
He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on his hips in that particular way that always told you your dad was about to call you out.
“Says the girl who got 1D tattooed on her ankle when she was fourteen.” He pursed his lips for a moment before they curled into a disbelieving grin. “Still have no idea how you managed to get a tattoo back then.”
“Black ink from a pen and a sewing needle.” You shrugged as you unzipped one of your bags. “Saw a tutorial on YouTube.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Your giggles echoed through the bedroom as your dad simply shook his head, muttering something about teenagers while backing into the hallway.
“Put your bikini on. It’s gonna be hot today,” he said, pausing in the doorway to rap his knuckles against the frame, and then pointed a finger at you. “And then get downstairs and help me with the grill.”
“Aye, captain,” you laughed. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Good.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over the bedroom once again.
You let yourself sink onto the edge of the mattress before eventually falling backwards with a soft whump, the old springs protesting underneath your weight just as they always had, and you let your eyes wander across the familiar room.
The glow-in-the-dark constellations were still stuck to the ceiling. The bookshelf tucked beside your desk still leaned ever so slightly to the left after you’d tried to climb it when you were ten. The faded Polaroids hanging from the mirror still showed smiling faces you’d long since lost touch with.
Nothing had changed — not really.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were kind of grateful for it.
It took you a few more seconds of studying an older, more innocent version of yourself before you finally pushed yourself off the bed to change into a bikini like your dad had suggested.
For a second, while pulling open one of the drawers, you considered putting on the ridiculous American flag bikini as a joke, but the thought of your dad embarrassing you by saying something along the lines of, “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Celebrating the American spirit!” was enough to make you think better of it.
So you opted for another one instead — the one with the gold sequins and pink beads you’d bought during your junior year in a desperate attempt to impress Andrew Harrington.
Despite what your mom had claimed downstairs, you hadn’t actually lost weight. If anything, somehow surviving almost exclusively on ramen and bread had convinced your body that your chest needed to grow another cup size. The bikini still fit, but the straps leaned a little more to the digging into your shoulders side.
A pair of light-washed denim shorts covered the bottom half of your bikini, and your sneakers were swapped for sandals.
The familiar creaks of the staircase were drowned out by the unmistakable roar for a pickup truck pulling into the driveway as you made your way downstairs.
“Dad,” you called as you stepped into the kitchen. “Need anything from inside?”
“Uh…” he thought aloud for a second. “No, Pigeon. I think we got everything already.”
You hummed in acknowledgement and wandered over the fridge instead.
Having a beer at ten-something in the morning wasn’t exactly frowned upon if it was the Fourth of July, right?
You grabbed one from the bottom shelf before popping the cap off against the edge of the countertop, taking a long sip as the icy bitterness settled pleasantly against the summer heat that had already begun creeping into the house through the open windows.
Outside, a car door slammed shut, and your dad’s voice carried through the open window almost immediately.
“About time you got here!”
A man’s laugh answered him.
“Had some things to sort out.”
You were halfway through another sip when your dad called again.
“Pigeon! Come out here for a sec!”
Beer still in hand, you made your way towards the backyard, already half-expecting him to need help moving the grill or finally dragging the pool out of the garage.
Your dad stood barefoot on the grass, tongs in one hand and a bag of charcoal in the other, a broad grin already spreading across his face.
Beside him stood a man in a faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark three-quarter shorts, two six packs tucked beneath one arm.
Greying curls brushed his shoulders, a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head. Tattoos disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, and you were fairly certain you caught the glint of a small silver hoop through one of his nostrils.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open.
“Well,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing this is the famous poet who wrote Lovely Purple Pigeons.”
A warm laugh escaped you as you finally snapped out of your thoughts. Shaking your head, you walked down the few steps towards the two men before offering him your hand.
“Well, I’m no Emily Dickinson,” you joked, “but I’m glad you enjoyed my greatest work.”
You ignored the feeling of your tongue sliding over your bottom lip when a large, calloused hand wrapped around yours, his handshake firm without being overbearing.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said with a smile. “Kinda impossible not to become a fan of your work.”
“I’d say the same,” you replied, “but I still think letting my dad get that tattoo counts as a felony.”
That pulled another laugh from him.
Meeting new people had never exactly been your favourite thing. While you weren’t the most sociable person in the word, you weren’t exactly an introvert either. More often than not, though, first conversations felt painfully awkward.
Meeting Eddie was nothing like that, and conversations came surprisingly easily.
He laughed at your jokes — whether because they were actually funny or simply because he was being polite, you had no idea — and every question he asked felt genuine instead of obligatory.
More importantly, he never once spoke to you like you were still fifteen. Considering most of your parents’ friends still seemed convinced you were, that alone was enough to make you like him.
Your dad, who had wandered over to the grill while you and Eddie were talking, pulled you out of your thoughts when he spoke again.
“Emily Dickinson has nothing on you, Pigeon,” he called over his shoulder before doing a double take. “…Is that a new one?”
Your eyes followed his line of sight to the palm-sized, fine line design of a little fishing boat resting against your ribcage.
“Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Got it during spring break with a friend.”
“You don’t even like boats.” He frowned.
“It’s an inside joke from when we were, uh,” You hesitated for a second before taking another sip of your beer, “…stoned.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“There was something about boats and Led Zeppelin.”
“I don’t even wanna know.”
“Tattoos and Led Zeppelin?” Eddie laughed beside you. “Oh, I definitely wanna know.”
You looked over at him, only to find warm brown eyes already fixed on yours, and your mouth opened and then immediately closed again.
A stupid little laugh escaped you as warmth crept across your cheeks.
“It’s really not that interesting,” you warned.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jokingly rolling your eyes at him, you gave in anyway.
You told him about spending spring break in Florida with one of your roommates, getting far too high one evening, and somehow ending up in a twenty-minute conversation about whether Led Zeppelin sounded more like the name of a rock band or a fisherman boat.
Somewhere along the way, your roommate started pronouncing Zeppelin in an exaggerated Southern accent that had reduced the two of you to tears.
Looking back, it wasn’t even that funny — not unless you’d been there, at least.
“See?” you finished with an awkward shrug. “It’s one of those stories.”
The crowfeet beside his eyes deepened as he laughed.
“No, I get it.” Eddie smiled. “I’ve got a shit tone of those too.”
Adjusting the two six-packs, he nodded towards your side.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You returned the nod before turning slightly, lifting your arm just enough for the tattoo to come into view.
Eddie stopped closer — not enough to crowd you, but just enough to see the details.
“Can I?”
You nodded again, and his fingertips brushed lightly against your skin as he gently stretched it, the touch careful and practiced in a way that immediately gave away years of experience. Professional. Matter-of-fact, even.
Which definitely didn’t explain the fresh wave of heat climbing into your cheeks.
“It healed really well,” he said quietly, studying the delicate shading. “Nice line work.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “I’ll pass the compliment along.”
“Ribs are a bitch to get tattooed.”
“It honestly wasn’t that bad,” you admitted. “It tickled more than it hurt.”
“Huh.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “That’s a first.”
He let his hand fall away before straightening to his full height, and only then you realised just how much taller he actually was.
Well over a foot, if you had to guess. Which definitely wasn’t something you were thinking about either.
His eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer before he looked over towards your dad.
“So,” he said, lifting the six-packs. “Where do you want these?”
Your dad muttered something unintelligible while gesturing vaguely towards the house.
Eddie looked back at you.
“You wanna show me where the kitchen is?”
You raised an eyebrow at that.
If Eddie was more than just your dad’s tattoo artist — which, judging by how comfortably the two of them interacted, he clearly was — then he absolutely knew where the goddamn kitchen was.
But still.
“Sure.”
Turning on your heel, you led the way inside.
Entering the kitchen, your mom had just put the lid on the bowl of potato salad before turning around and making a beeline for the backyard.
Balancing the bowl on her hip, she pulled Eddie into a quick side hug, asking how his dad had been while you set your bottle down on the counter and opened the fridge.
“I’m gonna see if your dad needs any help,” she said over her shoulder. “Be right back.”
You hopped up onto the counter beside your beer as Eddie stepped over the fridge.
“How long are you staying?” he asked absentmindedly while tearing the plastic wrapping off one of the six-packs.
“I fly back on the twentieth of August,” you answered lightly.
A low whistle escaped him before he spared you a quick glance as he returned to stocking the already overcrowded fridge.
“That’s a long time to spend in a town like Hawkins.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Especially when you’ve got New York to go back to.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for your bottle again. Your fingers absentmindedly started peeling away the label. “It’s just…”
The sigh that followed was almost drowned out by the refrigerator humming as it struggled to keep up with the summer heat and the open door.
“It’s not what you expected?” Eddie offered.
“No, it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “More than I expected, actually.”
You looked down at the bottle slowly turning between your fingers.
“But I guess I found out there’s beauty in simplicity, too.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you after that.
Eddie finished squeezing the last few cans into the fridge before his eyes drifted towards the nearly empty bottle in your hands.
Without asking if you wanted another one, he reached in one last time and grabbed two cold beers.
“I spent twenty years trying to escape this place.” He popped the caps off both bottles with a battered old lighter before holding one out towards you. “Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Yeah.” You bit your lip as your fingers curled around the cold bottle. “I’m thinking about moving back next year.”
His eyebrows lifted at the confession.
Taking a long sip of his beer, he stepped closer to the counter and leaned against it, turning his face towards you.
“It’s the rent, isn’t it?” He teased.
“Definitely.” A laugh escaped you before you took another sip.
The sound of clattering dishes and your parents’ laughter drifted through the cracked kitchen window, filling the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you.
“So…” you spoke up after a few moments. “Your own studio, huh?”
Eddie’s eyes, which hadn’t really left your face since he’d walked over, softened into a smile before he glanced down at his boots.
“It’s busier than I expected,” he admitted, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. “Guess Hawkins isn’t the conversative little town it used to be.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Oh, yeah.” A disbelieving chuckle slipped from him. “The principal called my old man the first time he saw this.”
He swapped the beer into his other hand before extending his right arm towards you, and your eyes immediately fixed on the faded marionette inked across his forearm.
“Master of Puppets by any chance?” you asked quietly.
His gaze lifted from the tattoo to your face. “You’re a Metallica fan?”
You tipped back the last of your first beer before answering.
“I went through a metal phase,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Always skipped that song, though.”
Eddie tilted his head back dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as though you’d personally offended him.
“Oh, fuck off.”
A laugh burst out of you at his antics.
“Welcome Home was my favourite.”
“Jesus,” he sighed. “That’s somehow even more depressing to hear, sweetheart.”
The word settled somewhere low in your stomach.
Not because it was particularly intimate — if anything, it rolled off his tongue with the effortless ease of someone who’d probably called half the town sweetheart at one point or another.
But it somehow felt different directed at you.
Heat crept into your cheeks as you looked away, your tongue absentmindedly sweeping across your bottom lip before your attention dropped to the empty bottle in your hand. You rested it against the windowsill, intending to throw it away later.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, searching for the right words. “Guess I–”
“Pigeon!” Your dad’s voice boomed from the backyard. “Help me light the goddamn grill, for the love of God.”
You squeezed your eyes shut before answering.
“Coming!”
Eddie’s snort of laughter followed you as you hopped off the counter.
“I should probably go save him from himself.”
“Probably for the best,” he grinned. “I’d hate for your old man to burn his eyebrows off before lunch.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the back door.
Being your parents’ only child, your dad had spent the better part of twenty years making sure you knew how to do just about everything he could think of — from managing your finances, although he sometimes questioned your abilities, to cooking what he insisted was the perfect steak.
Which was why, apparently, you were the only person capable of getting the grill started.
The very same grill he’d begged for two Father’s Days ago after doing, in his words, extensive research on the best one money could buy.
Your beer instantly found a home on the folding table beside it as you crouched down to inspect the brand-new gas cylinder.
A sigh escaped through your nose as you shot your dad a quick glance before you reached down and connected it to the grill.
“Just tell me your knees are hurting next time.”
“That’s slander.”
“No,” you replied, straightening back up. “That’s old age, Dad.”
Somewhere behind you, Eddie laughed.
You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch him leaning back in one of the lawn chairs, beer balanced against his tattooed knee and a grin still lingering across his face.
Your dad, meanwhile, looked thoroughly offended.
“I’ll have you know these knees still work perfectly fine for my age.”
“Clearly.”
You turned the gas valve before pressing the igniter, and the grill roared to life on the first try.
“There.” You dusted your hands together. “Happy?”
“I would’ve gotten there eventually.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten back up.”
The familiar creak of the backyard gate interrupted whatever comeback your dad had been preparing.
A chorus of cheerful greetings immediately followed as a handful of familiar faces filtered into the yard, coolers swinging from their hands and bowls of homemade food balanced carefully against their hips.
Your mom was already making the rounds, hugging nearly everyone before they had both feet inside the gate.
It didn’t take long for the backyard to settle into the kind of comfortable chaos that only existed at neighbourhood barbecues. Someone had already claimed the lawn chairs beneath the shade, while another group gathered around one of the many coolers in search of cold drinks.
Laughter drifted across the yard, blending with the occasional pop of early fireworks somewhere in the distance as the late-morning sun climbed steadily higher.
“You wanna help me with the pool?” Your mom asked as she approached, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “God knows your father will take too long getting it out of the garage.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Keeping her arm around you, the two of you made your way towards the garage.
During one of your many phone calls, your mom had mentioned she was planning on spring-cleaning it, but you hadn’t actually believed her until you stepped inside.
Gone were most of the shelving units that had once covered the entire back wall, along with the countless heavy boxes that had sat on top of them. The concrete floor looked freshly swept, and judging by the faint smell that still lingered in the air, the walls had recently been given a fresh coat of paint, too.
“So,” your mom started casually as she searched between the remaining boxes, “what do you think of Eddie?”
You turned towards her just in time to stop yourself from looking quite as startled as you felt.
“Uh…” You cleared your throat. “Yeah. He’s… cool.”
If she’d noticed the slight hesitation or the awkwardness creeping into your voice, she didn’t let on.
“He’s handsome too, isn’t he?”
“Mom.”
She dismissed your protest with a wave of her hand, a grin already spreading across her face.
“Oh, come on. I’m not blind, Pigeon.” She crouched down to tug at a large carboard box before looking back up at you. “And I’m closer in age to him than I am to your father.”
Right.
The age gap between your parents was practically the size of the Atlantic Ocean.
But still somewhat smaller than the Pacific Ocean-sized gap between you and Eddie.
Guess having a thing for older men ran into the family.
“He kind of looks like one of those boys you have all over your bedroom walls.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Just… older. And without make-up.”
“I guess.” You shrugged, hoping the conversation would die there.
The sound of cardboard scraping against metal shelves echoed through the garage as your mom finally managed to wrestle the pool box free.
She let it drop onto the floor with a heavy thud before turning back to you, the faint smile she’d been wearing slowly softening.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” You nodded a little too quickly before reaching down for one side of the box. “Of course, Mom.
She studied you for another second or two before deciding not to push any further, and offered you a warm smile.
“Come ne.” She grabbed the other end of the box and nodded towards the backyard. “The longer we wait the longer it’ll take to fill the pool.”
The box was just as awkward to carry as you remembered, and your mom laughing at the disastrous way the two of you shuffled back towards the party definitely earned her a look.
Somehow, the two of you managed to carry it across the backyard before dropping it onto the grass with a heavy thud.
You immediately crouched down to pry open the cardboard flaps, fishing the instruction booklet from the top for a quick refresher. A few pages flicked by beneath your thumb as your eyes skimmed over the familiar diagrams.
“We’ve been putting this thing up for almost a decade, Pigeon.” Your mom looked down at you as though consulting the instructions was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever witnessed. “We don’t need the instructions.”
“Last time I was here, this thing nearly collapsed,” you muttered dryly, still scanning the pages.
A teasing smile spread across her face. “What happened to all that loud Girl Power thing of yours?”
“I turned the volume down,” you deadpanned, setting the booklet aside before reaching for the folded blue liner.
The plastic unfolded with a dramatic whoosh, nearly knocking your backwards. Your mom burst into laughter, gripping the edge of one of the folding tables to steady herself.
“Oh, shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You carried me for nearly ten months. I’m literally capable of reading your thoughts, Mom.”
Still chuckling, she helped you spread the liner across the grass while the metal poles clicked together with familiar little snaps.
As always, the liner refused to cooperate, folding in on itself every other minute before one of you inevitably sighed, untangled it, and started again.
From the other side of the backyard, Eddie tipped his bottle back before glancing over at the two of you with quiet curiosity.
“Should we help them?”
Your dad looking over his shoulder, and a chuckle escaped him before he turned his attention back to the burgers sizzling on the grill.
“Not if you wanna keep your head.”
By the time the pool was finally standing upright instead of threatening to collapse every five minutes, the sun had climbed high enough for the backyard to shimmer beneath the relentless July heat.
Burgers and hotdogs had long since disappeared from paper plates, coolers had been emptied and restocked more than once, and you’d already claimed the half-filled pool despite the water still being cold enough to make you swear.
The other guests drifted in and out of the house as though it were their own, someone had put on a questionable summer playlist that crackled through the garden speakers, and every now and then another firework echoed somewhere across town despite it only being four in the afternoon.
Somewhere between rescuing your dad from overcooking another batch of burgers, helping your mom carry dishes back and forth, and watching Eddie seamlessly weave himself into every little task the afternoon seemed to produce, he had quietly made it a habit to bring you a fresh beer whenever he got one for himself.
You never asked. He simply remembered.
You’d spent the last ten minutes talking to one of your mom’s friends about New York, college, and the seemingly endless questions of the existence of someone in your life.
“So you’re still studying psychology?”
“Art therapy,” you corrected with an easy smile, grateful for the change of subject.
“Oh, right!” she laughed. “I keep forgetting.”
She excused herself to the bathroom not longer after that, and before the chair she’d left beside the pool had even stopped rocking, a smudge of black dropped into it.
Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, one arm draped over the backrest of the pool.
“First Zeppelin, then Metallica, and now art therapy.” He took a slow sip of his beer as his eyes drifted towards you. “You’ve got a surprisingly eclectic résumé.”
A laugh escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
Silence settled between the two of you for a few seconds before he broke it again.
“I gotta admit,” he started, unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” Your eyebrow lifted.
“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully and took another sip of beer. “I’ve heard so much about you over the last year that I think I accidentally invented an entirely different person.”
He looked you up and down — but not once did he linger anywhere below your clavicles.
“You’re considerably more interesting that I had imagined.”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you tilted your head to the side.
“I would’ve thought you’d have learned how to flirt better at your old age.”
Eddie barked out a surprise laugh.
“Old age?”
“You heard me.”
He was still too busy laughing to notice your fingers curling around his beer bottle. You stole it from his hand with surprising ease before taking a slow sip without ever breaking eye contact.
His laughter faded as you tipped the bottle back.
“Careful. Keeping doing things like that,” he smiled, “and people are gonna think you like me.”
“What if they are right?”
Your fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary against his when you handed the bottle back.
“I don’t know.” He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle again. “You tell me.”
Neither of you looked away, and after a moment, Eddie scratched thoughtfully at his beard.
“You wanna know something,” he began slowly, his eyes dropping briefly to the bottle in his hand before finding yours again. “I’ve been trying very hard not to flirt with you all day.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded once.
“Thought it’d be inappropriate.” His gaze flickered towards your parents for the briefest of moments before returning to you, shrugging lightly. “You know… Me being friend with them and all.”
The pool creaked softly as you leaned back against the wall, cool water lapping gently around you. Tilting your head back just enough to let the afternoon sun warm your face, you closed your eyes with a quiet sigh.
“You’re forgetting there’s a big age gap between them too,” you murmured.
Silence settled for another moment — long enough for you to become acutely aware that he still hadn’t looked away.
In fact, you were fairly sure his eyes had trailed somewhere past the tight straps digging into your shoulders.
“Thirteen isn’t quite the same as twenty-three, sweetheart,” he replied distractedly.
“No,” you admitted as a quiet laugh escaped you, opening your eyes again. “I suppose not.”
“It’d be different if I didn’t know them.”
You studied him for a moment, catching the way his gaze indeed lingered on your bikini before trailing up to meet yours.
“You know,” you stared slowly. “You’ve been doing a terrible job with the whole not flirting thing.”
“Yeah?” Eddie barked out a laugh. “Thought I was being subtle.”
“There wasn’t anything subtle about the way you just stared at my breasts, Eddie.”
You bit your bottom lip to stop the smile threatening to spread across your face as you watched his mouth fall open.
That was clearly not something he’d been expecting, and for what was probably the first time all afternoon, he looked completely speechless.
His mouth opened once, only for him to close it again. then he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, clearly searching for something — anything — to say.
Somewhere behind him, your dad’s booming laugh cut through the silence that had settled between the two of you.
“Ed!” he called from the grill, and pointed towards the man standing next to him. “Get over here. You gotta hear this.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered back to you for one last glance before he pushed himself up from the chair.
“Try to pay attention,” you called after him before he’d fully turned around, and then lowered your voice just enough as you continued. “And try not to imagine them without the bikini.”
If he hadn’t been flustered before, he certainly was now — the flush spreading across his milky cheeks deepened as he paused mid-step, his mouth opening before immediately closing again.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Then, as he started walking backwards towards your dad, he pointed the neck of his beer bottle in your direction.
“We’re not done with this.”
A grin tugged at your lips.
“Promise?”
For a split second, he looked like he’d forgotten how words worked.
Then he simply shook his head, mumbled something and laughed under his breath as he finally turned away.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away much the same way the earlier hours had.
Somewhere along the way, your dad had insisted on putting on his classic rock playlist after declaring the previous one too depressing, despite nobody remembering who’d put it on in the first place. A few more neighbours filtered through the creaking backyard gate with desserts balanced on plates, while the coolers slowly emptied for what had to be the fifth time that day.
Every now and then, you’d catch Eddie looking your way.
Sometimes he’d smile. Other times, he’d simply lift his bottle ever so slightly in your direction before absentmindedly dragging his tongue across his bottom lip and returning to whatever conversation he’d been pulled into.
And every single time, your stomach betrayed you over the smallest breadcrumb of attention he offered.
The relentless July sun eventually began to lose some of its bite, giving way to a softer warmth that settled over the neighbourhood, while the sky above slowly traded its bright afternoon blue for streaks of peach and pale gold stretching lazily between the telephone poles.
The water that had felt heavenly just an hour earlier had cooled enough for goosebumps to creep across your arms. With a quiet sigh, you climbed out of the pool and reached for the towel draped over one of the lawn chairs.
As you dragged it over your arms, your gaze wandered across the backyard.
People were sitting instead of standing now. The grill had long since been turned off, paper plates were stacked in uneven piles on the folding tables, and the softer evening light settled gently across everyone’s faces.
This was exactly what you’d missed; not the fireworks, or even the stupid holiday, just this. People lingering without watching the clock. Conversations drifting from one topic to the next. Nobody in a hurry to leave.
After drying your feet just enough to slip your sandals back on without worrying about eating shit in front of half the neighbourhood, you made a beeline for the house.
You had barely let go of the screen door behind you when it was pulled open again from the other side. The damp strands clinging to the back of your neck barely shifted as you glanced over your shoulder.
Eddie.
“…Toilet,” he mumbled, though the word lost some of its conviction when his eyes betrayed him and briefly flickered to your hard nipples peeking from underneath the bikini before snapping back to your face.
“Right.” The corners of your mouth twitched as you turned around and continued walking. “You know where that is or do you want me to show you that too?”
The screen door slammed shut behind him.
“Funny,” he muttered, falling into step a few paces behind you.
Resting you hand against the banister, you paused just long enough to watch Eddie reach for the downstairs bathroom door, only to find it occupied.
“Be out in a minute,” your dad’s muffled voice called from the other side.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you watched Eddie pull a face.
“There’s one upstairs you can use,” you offered softly before turning towards the staircase without waiting for an answer.
The heavy footsteps against the old wooden steps were enough, anyway.
Once upstairs, you silently pointed towards the door next to yours before disappearing inside your own room.
Pretending to have forgotten to close the door behind you wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?
Biting your thumb, you waited for a moment until the loud flush from the bathroom next door slipped through the cracked bedroom door, followed shortly by the brief hiss of the sink before throwing the bikini on the wooden floor with a wet slap!
A content sigh escaped you at the freeing feeling of finally peeling it off, the towel quickly finding its way across your chest before you leaned over your bed in search of the first oversized shirt you could find in your bags.
While pulling the shirt out of your bag, the familiar stick-covered door creaked further open again.
“Interesting interior design.”
You glanced over your shoulder just enough to Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes slowly wandering across the pale green walls before landing on you.
“One Direction and Black Veil Brides posters weren’t exactly what I was expecting.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme today, huh?” you replied with a small smile before turning back and throwing the towel onto the bed before pulling the shirt over your head.
It took him longer than expected to find a reply.
“You keep surprising me.”
Behind you, Eddie wandered farther into the room with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, taking his time looking over the bookshelves and framed photographs scattered between rows of well-loved fantasy books.
You’d long since stopped feeling embarrassed every time someone looked at your old pictures. If anything, they only made you feel strangely nostalgic now.
“How old were you here?” he asked quietly, his attention fixed on a framed picture of you and your dad and a sea of strangers behind you.
You followed his gaze, landing on the picture your mom had taken at your very first concert.
Mark Knopfler — not exactly your first choice, but after your parents had failed to find someone willing to babysit, you’d ended up having to tag along anyway. Looking back, it had eventually become one of your favourite childhood memories.
“Twelve, I think.”
Taking advantage of Eddie’s attention remaining glued to the picture, you stepped out of your damp bikini bottoms before pulling on a pair cotton shorts you’d fished from your bag.
The quiet rustle of fabric followed by the metallic clink of a small tin opening finally pulled his attention away from the picture. His eyes settled on the weathered little metal box resting in your hands, the dents and scratches along its surface giving away years of previous owners.
“You smoke?” you asked, holding up the small resealable bag tucked.
A crooked smile slowly spread across his face.
“I used to deal when I was your age,” he admitted with an almost sheepish shrug. “Obviously I don’t anymore but…” His eyes flickered briefly towards the bag before finding yours again. “Yeah. I still smoke on occasion.”
Your eyes wandered over him almost absentmindedly, taking in the faded band shirt, the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric, the rings decorating his fingers and the curls brushing his shoulders before one corner of your mouth tugged upwards.
“Yeah, I can see that.” One teasing eyebrow lifted. “I bet you had the whole bad-boy thing going on.”
A warm laugh rumbled from his chest.
The silence that followed settled comfortably between the two of you as you returned to the task at hand — grinding the buds, laying a thin layer of tobacco onto the rolling paper, and tucking a paper filter into one end.
Heavy footsteps echoed softly against the walls as Eddie wandered farther into your room before eventually settling onto the edge of your bed beside your begs.
“Not bad,” he murmured, watching your fingers roll the paper back and forth before your tongue swept across the adhesive strip to seal it shut.
The brief glance at your mouth hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Many years of experience,” you chuckled.
“You say that like you’ve been smoking for a decade.”
“Eh.” You shrugged. “Half of one.”
You tapped the finished joint against the little metal tin a few times to pack the contents before pushing yourself off the bed and making your way over to the window seat.
Eddie’s eyes drifted towards the open bedroom door.
“Your parents don’t mind?”
A laugh escaped you as you accepted the lighter he held out before patting the empty cushion beside you.
“My dad doesn’t care as long as I’m not doing coke,” you replied with a shrug. “And my mom will probably ask for a hit later.”
The old wooden window seat creaked beneath the added weight as Eddie settled beside you. It was just wide enough for the two of you, provided you both kept your legs on the ground or close to your chests.
The excess paper burned away beneath the warm flame of his lighter, and before long the room filled with the familiar earthy scent you only let yourself indulge in every now and then.
The first drag hit the back of your throat in a sharpness that almost made you cough — though, thankfully, not quite to embarrass yourself — and left behind the grassy, slightly citrusy taste you’d always associated with summer evenings.
Just like that, the joint began making its way back and forth between the two of you while the muffled sounds of laughter, music and clinking bottled drifted up from the party downstairs.
“So…” Eddie finally spoke after another drag, exhaling the smoke slowly through his nose. “Art therapy.”
You looked over at him.
“What do you actually do?”
“It’s pretty much in the name,” you smiled, handing him the lighter when you noticed one side of the joint had started burning unevenly. “Traditional therapy doesn’t work for anyone.”
Eddie took another drag while he waited you to continue. When you didn’t, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“Tell me more.”
“You sure?” A small smile tugged at your lips as you accepted the joint back from him. “Because once I get started, I tend not to shut up.”
“I enjoy flirting with you,” he admitted with a quiet smile, “but I’d like to get to know you better, too.”
The warmth that spread across your cheeks had absolutely nothing to do with the weed of the last few remaining streaks of golden sunlight.
Your eyes dropped briefly to the lighter turning absentmindedly between his fingers before you took another drag and handed the joint back.
“We guide clients through different themes and encourage them to express themselves through art,” you began, speaking a little slower than before as the familiar fogginess settled comfortably over your thoughts. “Afterwards, we reflect on what the creative process might be communicating rather than focusing on whether the artwork is actually… good.”
Eddie nodded quietly, never once interrupting or taking his eyes off of you.
Encouraged by the genuine interest in his expression, you found yourself explaining how different materials could encourage different forms of expression, why the finished piece almost never mattered, and how every client inevitably communicated something unique through whatever they created.
Only when you heard yourself wandering into the four levels of expression did you finally stop.
“Sorry,” you mumbled with a sheepish smile, scrunching your nose.
“What are you apologising for?” Eddie asked gently, tilting his head before offering the joint back to you.
“I tend to…” you shrugged, lighting the uneven edge again before taking another drag. “Ramble.”
“You shouldn’t apologise for being passionate about something.”
His words settled over the room almost as softly as the evening sunlight pouring through the open window.
“You’ve got this look on your face when you talk about it, you know.”
“What look?” You frowned.
“The same one people get when they’ve found the thing they’re supposed to do.”
It took a few long seconds for his words to truly settle while all you could do was look at him.
No teacher, no classmate, not even your parents had ever described it that way.
And somehow, hearing it from a man you’d only met that morning made something warm settle quietly in your chest.
The grip you had on the joint faltered ever so slightly as your lips slowly parted.
Before you could think twice about it, you pushed yourself away form the wall and reached up to cradle his face between both hands, gently pulling him into a kiss.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Eddie’s lips were every bit as soft as they looked.
It took him the briefest moment to realise what was happening before his eyes fluttered shut and his head instinctively tilted, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.
One of his ringed hands, warm and calloused, settled naturally against your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the fabric of your shirt before you slowly pulled away again.
“…Sorry,” you breathed, slightly out of breath.
Hazy brown eyes searched yours for a quiet moment while his free hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You really gotta stop apologising, sweetheart,” he murmured with a chuckle, his gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“Sor–”
The word died somewhere behind a bashful laugh as your eyes darted anywhere but his face. When you finally looked back at him, he still hadn’t moved.
This close, you could make out the crow’s feet fanning gently from the corners of his eyes and the faint smile lines that years of laughter, cigarettes and sunshine had carved into his face. Even the way he smelled was somewhat different now that there was hardly any space left between you — a clean, woodsy scent with something faintly minty lingering beneath the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
Almost distractedly, your tongue swept across your bottom lip before you leaned forwards once more, pressing a lingering peck against his lips.
“Why tattooing?” you asked quietly as you settled back against your side of the window seat.
Eddie’s hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before reluctantly slipping away.
“That’s one hell of a subject change.” He replied with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you realised you were about to apologise again before stopping yourself.
“I know.”
He reached for the joint absentmindedly, brushing his fingers against yours for a moment longer than necessary,
“Because it isn’t only about tattooing.” His eyes found yours again after he lit the joint. “It’s about making people feel heard for a couple of hours.”
He shrugged lightly and took a drag before continuing.
“The ink’s just the excuse they give themselves for walking through the door.”
“That sounds familiar,” you murmured, gently taking the joint from his fingers.
Eddie’s eyes drifted briefly toward your bent legs before he wrapped a hand around your shins and effortlessly pulled them across his lap.
“I guess that’s another thing we have in common, huh?” you added with a small smile.
Somewhere across town, the first proper fireworks of the evening split the sky open, their heavy booms rolling across Hawkins until they drifted through the open bedroom window.
You’d been too distracted by the bursts of colour blooming against the deepening purple sky to notice that Eddie hadn’t looked away once.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the evening?”
An easy laugh escaped you.
“It would, yes,” you admitted, slowly catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you turned back toward him. “But you’d also be right.”
“Good.”
The smile that spread across his face was slow and unhurried.
He looked at you through his lashes for a quiet moment before his lips pulled into a smile.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to invite myself over to your place?”
Your attention barely lingered on the dying joint as you stubbed what remained of it against the brick windowsill outside before looking back at him.
“I was actually hoping you’d say that.”
His thumb, heavy silver ring catching the last of the evening light, traced slow, absentminded circles just above your ankle while the fireworks continued blooming somewhere beyond the open window.
Your eyes drifted past him and landed on the open bedroom door, where the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking bottles still floated up from the backyard.
“We should probably head back down,” you suggested quietly.
Eddie let out a thoughtful hum.
“Probably.”
Neither of you made any move to leave just yet. His thumb continued tracing slow circles against your ankle while your eyes slowly found his again.
“…Definitely.”
Another few seconds passed before the two of you finally laughed and pushed yourselves off the window seat.
You slipped your sandals back on before turning around to find Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What?”
“Just admiring the view,” he answered lowly.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you shook your head.
“You definitely don’t know how to flirt.”
“And somehow I still got you to kiss me, hm?”
Uncrossing his arms, he reached out and gently pulled you toward him by your waist.
Under the warm glow spilling in from the hallway, his eyes looked closer to amber than the deep brown you’d grown used to over the course of the afternoon.
His gaze wandered painfully slowly down your face before settling on your lips, his tongue absentmindedly sweeping across his own.
Then he leaned down until his lips found yours again.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly against your waist as a quiet, involuntary sound escaped you when his tongue brushed softly against your bottom lip, and for one brief moment the rest of the house disappeared entirely.
“Now we can go downstairs,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
Eddie stepped back as though he hadn’t just turned your already hazy mind into complete mush, only sparing you a grin over his shoulder before making his way toward the staircase.
“You comin’, sweetheart?”
The conversations in the backyard hadn’t even faltered when the two of you stepped outside again.
Well… Almost.
Your mom looked up from her folding chair, her slightly bloodshot eyes moving from you to Eddie and back again while one eyebrow slowly lifted.
The smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth was barely contained before she decided to let whatever she’d noticed slide.
“Did you seriously smoke without offering your own mother a hit?” she asked instead, narrowing her eyes at you before finally giving in to the grin.
“You were busy,” you shrugged, reaching for her beer and stealing a quick sip.
“Was I now?”
“There’s more than enough upstairs if you want to roll yourself one.”
By the time your mother had finally worked up the motivation to leave her chair and roll herself a joint, and the first few proper firework bloomed overhead, most of the neighbours had settled into folding chairs scattered across the backyard.
The conversations had quieted, drifting lazily beneath the warm July night while bursts of colour painted the sky overhead every few minutes. Somewhere between the booming fireworks and the shrieks of the neighbourhood children slowly fading as midnight approached, the backyard gradually began to thin out as people responsibly decided they’d had enough to drink and wandered back home.
It hadn’t taken long for your mom to return with a slightly wonky-looking joint between her fingers before settling back into the chair beside your dad, while he and Eddie effortlessly fell back into conversation.
You had quietly started making your way around the backyard, gathering abandoned paper plates in one hand and empty beer bottles in the other.
“Leave it, Pigeon,” your mom called softly from her chair. “We can do it tomorrow.”
“It’ll rain tomorrow,” you replied absentmindedly as you dropped another stack of paper plates into a garbage bag. “Besides, I don’t mind.”
Somewhere between politely turning down the joint your mom offered him and your dad deciding to get up and help you, Eddie quietly slipped inside to use the bathroom.
While you held the garbage bag open, your dad tossed in whatever disposable cups, napkins and paper plates he’d come across, the two of you working together in an easy silence that only came from having done this after every barbecue for as long as you could remember.
“You know, Pigeon,” he started quietly after a while, glancing up at you before pointing toward his nearly white hair, “as you can probably tell… I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You merely blinked at him before reaching for another abandoned plate.
“And I’m not blind either.”
“Dad—”
“I’d be a hypocrite to, I don’t know…” He vaguely gestured over his shoulder. “…tell you not to see him.”
“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief moment as warmth crept steadily up your neck. “I really don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Me neither,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “Glad we got that sorted.”
His attention drifted toward the screen door just as the faint sound of the downstairs bathroom door opening echoed through the house, followed by the familiar weight of heavy footsteps making their way back outside.
“Listen, I’m just saying…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you wanna go with—”
“Dad.”
“Yep. I’m done talking.”
He clapped his hands together once before plucking the garbage bag from your grip. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the large bin just outside the fence gate, leaving you standing in the middle of the backyard with burning cheeks and absolutely no desire to think about the conversation you’d just had.
The backyard had grown quiet by the time the very last neighbours wandered — more like stumbled — home, offering lazy waves and promises to see one another before the next barbecue.
Your mom stretched with a content groan as she pushed herself out of her folding chair, gathering the last few empty bottles with her joint carefully balanced between two fingers, while your dad carried the final cooler back towards the garage.
Eddie stepped back into the backyard and held the screen door open for your mom before making his way over to where you stood.
“So…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You still serious about inviting yourself over?”
The way he stood awkwardly in front of you — absentmindedly rubbing at his neck while looking at you with an expression that betrayed far more nerves than he’d probably care to admit — pulled a small smile onto your lips.
It was surprisingly easy to forget the age difference when he looked at you like that.
“If I’m still allowed to be presumptuous.”
“Always.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you while your eyes drifted somewhere over his shoulder.
Your dad had apparently taken the long route back inside through the front door and now stood in the kitchen beside your mom, and had his back turned towards the backyard.
Mostly.
Every now ant then, he’d steal a quick glance over his shoulder while pretending to be far more invested in the conversation he was supposedly having with your mom.
A quiet sigh escaped you.
“Can we get out of here before my dad tries to talk to me again?”
Eddie followed your gaze towards the open kitchen windows.
“Did he say something?”
The question came so casually that you almost answered it. But instead, your eyes squeezed shut for the briefest moment.
“Please don’t ask.”
“That bad?” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, but now I’m invested.”
Before you had the chance to explain that no, he really didn’t, your mom reappeared in the screen doorway and leaned casually against the frame behind it. Her eyes wandered from you to Eddie and back again while she absentmindedly patted her pockets in search of her lighter.
“Take your keys,” she mumbled around the joint tucked between her lips before finally lighting it and taking a slow drag. “You’re too old to be sneaking in.”
A horrified groan escaped you.
“Mom.”
“You’re complaining like I’m not a cool mom or something,” she laughed, completely unfazed by the look you shot her as you brushed past.
“Right now?” you muttered while disappearing into the kitchen. “You damn straight you aren’t.”
Your keys were still sitting exactly where you had dropped them that morning.
By the time you stepped back outside, Eddie had pressed his lips together so tightly they had almost disappeared, and the warning finger you pointed at him did absolutely nothing to help.
“Don’t.”
His shoulder bounced ever so slightly, while a reluctant laugh escaped you despite your best efforts as you guided him towards the fence gate. By the time the two of you stepped out into the quiet street, your parents had already disappeared upstairs for the night, leaving only the warm porch light glowing beside the screen door.
The walk to Eddie’s truck passed in an easy silence — the kind that settled naturally after spending an entire day talking.
He unlocked the passenger door for you before making his way around to the driver’s side, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled away from the curb that the two of you finally looked at each other.
Neither of you said a word for a moment. Then, almost simultaneously, the memory of your mother’s comment caught up with you. The first laugh escaped Eddie, while yours followed a heartbeat later.
Within seconds, the cab of the old Ford filled with the kind of helpless giggles that only came after an exhausting — but undeniably wonderful — day.
“She’s unbelievable sometimes.”
“Your mom really doesn’t have a filter, huh?”
He glanced over at you, his grin softening as he brought the truck to an easy stop at a red light.
Your own smile lingered with the familiar streets of Hawkins rolled quietly past outside, the last few fireworks still blooming overhead as Eddie shifted the gears once the light turned green and turned onto the road leading towards downtown.
There was little movement left at that hour and even less sound, save for the occasional firework rumbling somewhere in the distance.
The warm glow spilling from inside one of the storefronts caught your attention long before Eddie slowed the truck to a stop. The neon sign above the tattoo studio had been switched off for the day, but a lamp somewhere inside still cast a welcoming light through the front windows. Through the glass, you could make out framed flash sheets and posters covering the walls, the familiar outlines of tattoo chairs sitting further back in the room.
Eddie switched off the ignition before turning towards you.
“This is me,” he said quietly, gesturing towards the apartment above the studio.
“Must be nice,” a small smile tugged at your lips as you followed his finger, “never being late to work.”
A laugh rumbled from his chest as the click of your seatbelt echoed through the cab. “You’d be surprised how often I’m late.”
“Eddie.” Your eyebrows lifted as you turned towards him.
“How would they know I wasn’t upstairs finishing someone’s design?” he replied with a grin as he pushed open his door.
The heavy door of the old Ford creaked far louder than either of you would’ve liked as he walked around to open yours, though neither of you paid it much mind — compared to the occasional boom of fireworks still echoing somewhere over Hawkins, it barely made any sound at all.
Eddie pushed the passenger door shut behind you with one hand while digging through the front pocket of his short for his keys.
The warmth of his palm settled against the small of your back as he guided you towards the unassuming door tucked beside the storefront window, its surface covered in layers of old stickers and faded spray painted tags.
The lock gave way with a quiet click before he nudged the door open with his foot and gently tugged you inside by your wrist. After pushing it shut behind the two of you, he shot you a quick glance over his shoulder as he led you up the steep staircase.
Neither of you made any attempt to fill the comfortable silence by the time you reached the top. The moment Eddie stepped into the narrow hallway leading towards the living room, he crouched down to loosen up the laces of his boots before straightening again and flicking on the lights.
And suddenly, the apartment was there — like it had been ripped straight out metalhead magazine.
The polished wooden floors carried a dark lacquer that caught the warm light overhead, while the walls had been painted a deep shade of grey that border on charcoal and decorated with framed vintage band posters. It wasn’t overly tidy, but it wasn’t messy either.
Just… extremely Eddie.
Your eyes wandered curiously around the living room as you stepped farther inside.
Eddie lingered in the doorway leading to what looked like the kitchen, his lips pursed slightly as his gaze quietly followed you taking everything in.
“You, uh…” He scratched at his beard. “You want something to drink?”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you slowly approached the leather couch, your fingertips trailing absentmindedly along the backrest.
“Are you nervous?” you asked gently instead of answering.
A quiet, awkward chuckle escaped him.
“Kinda, yeah,” he admitted with a bashful smile. “It’s, uh… been a while.”
Your gaze lingered on his face for another moment.
The thin silver hoop through his nostril caught the warm light overhead, and his salt-and-pepper curls had become just frizzy enough throughout the day that they felt impossibly soft beneath your fingers as your hand found the back of his neck.
Had it not been for the genuine uncertainty and awkwardness swimming in his brown eyes, it would’ve been impossible to believe what he’d just said.
Not when he looked like that. Like he had just stepped out of a fucking Lana Del Rey music video.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, your nails lightly scratching at the curls near the nape of his neck. “It’s been a while for me too.”
The nervous glimmer in his eyes slowly melted into something closer to disbelief as his hands settled more firmly against your hips, gently drawing you closer.
“Bullshit,” he snorted, fingertips pressing playfully into your sides. “You’re way too smart and ridiculously beautiful.” His eyes wandered across your face. “No way you don’t have an entire fucking queue of men begging for your attention.”
A bashful laugh escaped you.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged lightly. “New York’s full of douchebags who think playing Hey There Delilah on an acoustic guitar is the secret to get girls to hop on their dicks.”
“Hey There Delilah?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Seriously?”
“Either that or Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.” You rolled your eyes. “And believe me, neither of them sound particularly romantic in that annoying Dave Mustaine kind of twang.”
“Hey, now,” he said, lowering his voice. “No Dave Mustaine slander in my home.”
A grin slowly tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Or what?”
The faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the apartment settled between the two of you while Eddie simply looked at you.
Long enough for three cars to pass somewhere out on the street below.
Of all the shit you’d thrown his way throughout the day, surely this wasn’t going to be the thing that finally made him reconsider inviting you over.
A startled shriek escaped you when he suddenly swept you off your feet and effortlessly threw you over one shoulder.
“I’m getting real tired of that fucking mouth of yours,” he muttered, unable to hide the laugh threatening to break through his voice as he carried you out of the living room and back towards the hallway.
While the view of his ass was admittedly nice, it also meant you had absolutely no idea where he was taking you.
The dull thud of his foot against a door echoed through the apartment before old hinges creaked in protest, followed by the faint rustling of fabric somewhere in the darkness as Eddie stepped inside the pitch-black room.
Finally pulling you off his shoulder, another wave of shriek-induced giggles escaped you when your back met a surprisingly soft mattress, the old springs dipping beneath your weight.
For a brief moment, all you could make out was Eddie’s silhouette standing over you, tall frame and broad shoulders, barely outlined by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtain.
Your heart stumbled over itself when the faint outline of his body disappeared around the other side of the bed before he reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
There was something inherently unfair about the way the warm amber light settled across his face when he looked back at you, turning his eyes into something closer to honey than brown.
You couldn’t remember who moved first. One second you were still leaning back on your elbows, and the next Eddie was straddling your lap, both hands buried in your hair while your mouth instinctively parted for his.
He kissed you slowly at first, like he wasn’t feeling the same desperate drop in his stomach that had just swept through yours. Then, the moment your barely contained sigh reached his ears, the kiss deepened.
He tasted faintly of the last beer he’d had hours earlier, and it only made your head spin faster when his familiar, comforting scent settled around you. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the heavy silver rings scratching lightly against your scalp while the other cradled your cheek as though you were something impossibly delicate.
This wasn’t anything like the kiss you’d shared back in your childhood bedroom — not even close.
He kissed you like a starving man. Teeth brushed against teeth, his tongue met yours with an urgency that stole the air from your lungs, and his fingers tightened gently around the strands of your hair before giving them an experimental hard tug.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice rough as he slowly pulled back just enough to look at you.
A dry lump settled in your throat beneath the weight of his gaze, and swallowing around it became nearly impossible when his hands drifted from the back of your neck to the curve of your waist.
“I mean… That fucking bikini?” A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he pushed a few loose curls away from his face, holding them back for a moment while he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Teasing me like that all day was fucking unfair.”
The slightly nervous, awkward man from just minutes ago had disappeared, his voice lowering into something quieter, more confident — and just a little condescending.
Eddie was the first to lose his shirt, tugging the dark fabric over his head and making his curls bounce free in the process.
“Fuck.”
The word slipped from your mouth before you had the chance to stop it.
The loose-fitting shirt he’d worn all day hadn’t done his body any justice. He was built in that particular way that wasn’t overly muscular, but just enough for the ink stretched across his skin to move with every shift of his shoulders and every steady breath he took.
Your eyes couldn’t decide where to settle — on the large neo-traditional Saint George slaying the dragon spread across his stomach, on the mirrored goats framing the saint, or on the blacked-out star that had replaced his left nipple.
Warm fingertips gently harshly into your cheeks finally pulled your gaze away from the artwork scattered across his chest and back, forcing your eyes to meet Eddie’s once again.
A knowing smile had already settled across his lips by the time you looked up.
“If you could only see yourself right now, sweetheart,” he chuckled, giving your cheek a couple of light, teasing taps. “Looking all dumb and drunk…” His grin widened ever so slightly. “…And I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Eddie’s expression softened just enough as he lowered his voice.
“You tell me if I start doing something you don’t like, yeah?”
You merely blinked up at him for a few long seconds, your mind too busy trying to catch up with everything he was making you feel to form a coherent thought. Eventually, you gave him a small, stiff nod, his fingers still gently pressing into your cheeks.
“Words, sweetheart.”
A quiet groan escaped you.
“Yes, Eddie.”
His eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly searching for any signs of hesitation or discomfort before he finally let go of your cheeks when he found none. The bed creaked beneath the two of you as Eddie pushed himself off your lap and stepped to the foot of the bed instead.
The loss of his weight and the overwhelming warmth of his presence was immediate. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed the way your eyebrows had drawn together ever so slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he slowly peeled off his shorts, his eyes never once leaving your face.
You couldn’t help the way your gaze wandered lower with every new inch he revealed.
He really was a walking piece of art. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, different tattoo styles stretched across his legs, and scattered freckles and little moles interrupted the ink here and there, making him feel all the more real beneath the artwork.
And then your eyes trailed back up, stopping right at the ridiculous volume he’d been packing underneath his clothes.
The heavy denim hit the floor with a dull thud before Eddie made his way around the bed once more. He gave your cheek another three gentle taps before helping you to sit up, only to step in behind you a moment later. The mattress dipped softly beneath his weight as he settled against the headboard, drawing you back with him until his bare chest rested flush against your back.
“The first thing I’m gonna do,” he murmured absentmindedly, his hands settling around your thighs as his thumbs alternated between slow strokes and gentle squeezes, “is take a good, long look at whatever you’ve been hiding from me underneath that shirt.”
His fingertips gradually wandered higher until they found the hem of the oversized fabric.
“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping another notch as he slowly began gathering the fabric in his hand, “when I’m done teasing you…” The shirt slid painfully slowly up your frame. “I’m gonna do what I’ve been wanting to do all fucking day.”
One hand left your waist and slowly travelled upwards until it settled against your cheek, gently turning your face towards the full-length mirror standing against the opposite wall.
It had been hidden behind his frame when he’d stood at the foot of the bed, but now there was nothing shielding your reflection from view.
Eddie rested his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing featherlight kisses along your skin while the hand curled around the hem of your shirt continued slowly pulling the fabric higher. Only when the fabric reached your shoulders did he finally have to lean back from you, lifting it the rest of the way over your head. The oversized shirt fell to the ground without either of you paying much attention to it.
His warm hands trailed your arms as the two of you looked at your reflections in the mirror.
Your breath, already quick and shallow, hitched as Eddie leaned to kiss the crook of your neck. His lips left intense and tingling kisses in their trail, and it felt like his dark eyes, transfixed on the way your ribs expanded as you fought for air, bore holes in you.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your neck. He propped his chin on your shoulder, leaning forwards and flickered his gaze down to your breasts, warm fingers trailing to meet the spot where his gaze had been fixed. “They’re even better than I’d imagined.”
Your fingers were tearing all the loose skin around your nails and your throat went dry when Eddie’s hands cupped your breasts. Four of his ringed fingers found the underside of your boobs, while his thumb traced soft circles right above your nipples.
When Eddie felt your face angling to meet his eyes, he immediately curled his thumb and forefinger around your nipples, tugging hard to get your attention.
“Eyes on the mirror.”
The hard squeezes he gave you only made your back arch away from his chest, which was apparently something else he wasn’t satisfied with; he put more pressure on your breasts, not only on the fingers around your nipples, but to pull you back flush against his chest.
“F-fuck.”
You blinked, taken aback by the way Eddie was playing with your chest. The warmth of his fingers and the harsh tugs sent a thrill down your spine. The world narrowed to the press of his chest against your back, the way he touched you, the slide of his lips against your neck.
Eddie’s fingers rolled your nipples, relishing the way you kept arching away from him only for him to pull you back twice as hard. His dark eyes found the mirror again, and the reflection showed him everything – the parted sheen of your lips, the feverish glaze of arousal in your eyes. It was dizzying, intoxicating even, and he’d decided then and there that he could watch you come undone like this forever.
“M-more,” you whimpered. “Please.”
A condescending chuckle escaped Eddie at your request. He increased the pressure, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples until you’re choking on your own breath and writhing against him.
He kept drinking in the sight of you, desperate for more. Reverently, he covered you with his hands once more, thumbs circling your nipples before he ducked to suck the spot right beneath your ear. The hot suction made you cry out, fingers reaching out to tangle in his greying curls to hold him closer. Teeth grazed lightly before soothing with flicks of his tongue.
The way you’d started to rock your hips against the bed hadn’t gone unnoticed by him — not when the small of your back hit his erection every time you ground back and forth.
“You’re so responsive,” he praised huskily, trailing biting kisses across your neck and shoulder. “Gonna make you fall apart.”
The wicked promise sent a fresh wave of heat flooding your veins. You could only nod frantically, surrendering yourself to whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you.
When a broken whimper escaped you, Eddie gentled his touch, caressing your trembling form with soothing strokes. He let go of one of your breasts and cradled your face in his hand. He pressed tender kisses to your temple, to your cheekbone, to the corner of your mouth. He traced the delicate line of your jaw, the graceful column of your throat, marvelling at the power he wielded over you.
He let go of your face, not without turning you back towards the mirror, and trailed his hand down your abdomen, dipping just below the waistband of your shorts—
Only to immediately retreat with a teasing nip at your belly.
You feel his lips, still resting against the side of your cheek, pull into a smirk when another broken whimper escaped you.
Eddie flickered his eyes up to meet your through the mirror. He drank in the sight of you drunk and desperate in his hold. With deliberate slowness, he hooked his free hand in your waistband, dragging the elastic just low enough for him to find a thin lined tattoo that had been hidden under your bikini all day — he couldn’t read what it said from where he sat, but he’d find out soon enough.
“P-please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” he purred, trailing his hand lower until his fingers were met your drenched folds. He slowly circled your aching clit, watching your body bow off the mattress with dark eyes. “This?”
“E-Eddie—”
“Or maybe this?”
Without warning, he plunged two thick digits inside you, pumping steadily as his palm ground against your swollen clit. Your shattered moan was music to his ears, spurring him on. He worked you mercilessly, curling and stroking your inner walls until you’re writhing mindlessly, chasing the feeling.
Eddie abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you bereft and whimpering. He caught your pleading gaze through the mirror, a wicked glimmer dancing in his dark eyes.
“I’m not done teasing you, sweetheart.” He sucked harshly at your throat, sinking his teeth in the skin before smoothing it out with his tongue.
His calloused hand mapped the contours of your body, cupping and teasing until you were all but a puddle on his bed. Deft fingers plucked at your nipples, rolling and tugging until the sting blended into electric pleasure.
And then his touch is nowhere to be felt — not his hands on your breasts, his plush lips against your neck, or even his warm chest against your back.
Standing up from behind you, he guided you until you were perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the mattress. He knelt before you, the heat of his gaze searing as he slowly pulled your shorts down your thighs, inch by torturous inch until you were bare in front of his eyes. Your breath came even shallower and faster, skin prickling with anticipation.
Eddie froze at the sight of your tattoo, his eyes darkening and his lips pulling slowly into a smirk.
“Valentine, huh?”
He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his tousled hair. His gaze darted between your face and the ink marring your skin. Slowly, he reached out to trace the still-healing letters with the tip of his finger, watching your skin jump and quiver under his touch.
When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, the look in them is dizzying. His ringed fingers danced higher, teasing the creases of your thighs. He parted your legs with a practiced touch, exposing you fully to him.
The first swipe of his tongue is electric, drawing a broken moan from your lips. He growled low in approval, doubling his effort until you were trembling and whimpering helplessly.
It was one thing when boys eat you out, but this?
Eddie acting like he was hungry, making out with your pussy?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Dark grey curls tickled the insides of your thighs as pressed his face harder against your slick folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit and tongue circling your leaking slit.
With one final, devastating lick, Eddie pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate. His dark eyes bores into yours through his lashes as he issues a husky directive.
“Keep those pretty eyes on yourself.”
He hooked one trembling leg over his broad shoulder, spreading you wider. Cool air met your dripping core, followed by the hot rasp of Eddie’s tongue painting your slit. Your reflection was debauched perfection – hair mussed, the thinnest layer of sweat covering your forehead, lips parted on breathy cries.
Just as you crested the peak, teetering on the knife’s edge, Eddie retreated once again. Denial clawed viciously at your insides. He grinned at your anguished whimper, clearly relishing in the control he held over your pleasure. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with need. Eddie drank in the sight, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he prepared to drive you wild once more.
Then, without taking his rings off, he pushed two fingers in your dripping pussy, pumping steadily as he leaned back down to suck at your clit. He maintained his punishing pace, alternating between deep, probing thrusts and fluttering licks that made you see stars.
“F-fuck. Ed-Eddie!”
The coil wound tighter with each pass of his tongue, with each hard, curling thrust of his fingers, until you writhed shamelessly, reduced to garbled curses and pleading whimpers of something that vaguely resembled his name.
Ecstasy crashed over you in dizzying waves, every nerve ending alight with bliss. Eddie worked you through it, wringing out every last shudder and aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.
You watched through hooded eyes as he rose, stalking towards you with a shiny lips pulled into a knowing, cocky smirk and a glint in his eyes.
His knees made a faint cracking sound as he climbed up the bed. With tender care, Eddie gently pulled you upright, gathering your limp form into his arms. He claimed your mouth in a deep, searing kiss, swallowing your dazed whimpers at the taste of your own release.
You clung to him, moulding your arms around his neck as his tongue brushed against yours. He guided you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. The solid heat of him grounded you even as residual tremors wracked your frame. Calloused fingers trailed reverently over your sweat-slick skin, mapping every dip and swell.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered when he pulled away from your lips, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Just breathe.”
Eddie continued cradling you close, murmuring soft reassurances. His wandering hand slipped lower, deft fingers pushing his boxers down just enough to free his straining length. You felt the swollen tip notch against your slit, poised to claim you fully.
“Gonna fill you up now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravelly with need.
His other hand still held the back of your head, pushing you down to keep you in the crook of his neck while he pushed himself deeper and deeper, until he sheathed himself to the hilt.
“Ed– Mhmm!” Your cry is muffled against his sweat-dampened skin as he started to move, rolling and grinding until you were a boneless, pliant thing in his arms. His hand roamed restlessly, mapping every hidden place that made you gasp and writhe until reaching your ass, pulling you harder against him.
“Keep looking in the mirror f’me, weetheart.”
The filthy visual drove you wild — tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and tattooed back, the depraved picture the two of you painted together. Eddie’s murmured command urged you on, hips moving in filthy counterpoint to his steady thrusts.
“F-fuck. Just like that,” he groaned approvingly, fingers digging bruises into the globe of your ass.
He moved faster, harder, grinding deep until you were sobbing wordlessly. Distantly, you registered the crude slap of skin on skin, the lewd squelch of his cock working in your sopping cunt. Tension coiled tight and taut, winding higher with each precise hit against that delicious, hidden spot. You were so close again, watered eyes staring back at the ridiculous way Eddie had your eyebrows pulled together and your teeth sunk in his shoulder.
You convulsed in his arms, wailing your release to the ceiling. He worked you through it ruthlessly, wringing every last drop until you collapsed limply against his tattooed chest, utterly spent.
Eddie, not being a complete monster, gave you a brief moment to catch your breath before gently pushing you onto your back. He positioned himself between your spread thighs, looping one leg high up over his hip. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, stretching you deliciously.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned out as he gave you a hard thrust. “Crying as I fuck you stupid.”
His intense gaze locked with yours, dark with hunger and devotion. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew until just his tip remained nestled inside your slick walls. Gripping your thigh, he rolled his hips in a slow, sensual grind, until he had you arching into his touch.
“P-please, Eddie,” you whimpered.
Eddie’s eyes gleamed with delight at your breathy plea. He maintained his torturously slow rhythm, leaning down to capture your nipple in his teeth, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. He soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue before switching to the neglected nipple, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.
“Hm? You want more?” Eddie rumbled, voice dripping in sin. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”
He straightened up, hands gripping your raised thigh as he powered into you with deep, jarring strokes. The change in pace had you seeing stars, inner walls clamping down desperately. Eddie set a brutal pace, grunting with effort, determined to unravel you one more time before he even considered letting himself come.
Eddie’s calloused finger found your swollen clit, circling maddeningly as he pounded into you. Electric shocks of pleasure radiated outward as he varied his technique — brushing feather-light, flicking firmly, rubbing in maddening figure-eights until you’re writhing beneath him, incoherent with need.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned out, eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the salty tears rolling down the sides of your face. “Just one more, that’s it.”
Another finger joined the fray, plunging deep in tandem with his thrusts. The dual stimulation proved too much, and your orgasm barrelled through you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Eddie’s eyes widened as your release gushed forth, wetting the base of his cock and the lowest part of his stomach.
“F-fuck,” he groaned, momentarily stunned by the sight of you squirting over him. “So beautiful when you let go f’me.”
He didn’t relent, continuing to pump into your spasming heat. Overstimulation warred with reluctant pleasure, keeping you suspended on a razor’s edge. Eddie’s grip tightened, anchoring you as he ground deeper, working you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm.
“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the side of your neck as he quickened his pace, desperate for his own release. “I– Fuckfuckfuck.”
Your spasming walls milked his cock mercilessly. With a guttural groan, he hilted deep, painting the insides of your pussy in thick, milky ropes of cum.
Wave after wave crashed over the both of you, seemingly endless. Through it all, he kept your trembling form anchored, murmuring praises into the sweaty crook of your neck.
“Good girl, took me so well.” Eddie placed a lingering kiss against your throat.
Eddie held himself up, gazing down at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with satisfaction, damp grey curls clinging to his eyebrow. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his sculpted torso, highlighting every ridge, valley and detail of his tattoos.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered.
“I’ve never–” You gulped down, licking your lips as your eyes trailed down to the base of his cock. “Not with somebody else, I mean.”
Eddie followed your gaze to the few translucent beads decorating his happy trail, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached down, swiping a finger through the slick trail, bringing it to your lips for a taste.
The gesture made a whole new wave of heat spread across your face. Hazy with the aftermath, your lips instinctively parted further, while Eddie hummed at the sight of you sucking his finger.
A broken moan spilled from your lips as Eddie slowly pulled out. The loss of the fullness left you aching, empty in a way that bordered on painful with your muscles fluttering weakly in protest, seeking to draw him back in.
Eddie pressed soothing kisses to your dampened temple. Carefully, he arranged you atop the tangled sheets, cradling your spent body flush against his larger frame. One hand drifted low to gently clean his leaking cum while your fingertips traced the bold lines on his stomach.
“Didn’t take you–” You cut yourself off with a broken hiss when Eddie’s fingers thrusted back into your pussy. “F-for the rel-religious type.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled — whether it was at your comment or on the way you’d reacted at the intrusion, you didn’t know. “Just have a thing for dragons.”
His deft fingers continued their shallow thrusts, coaxing forth fresh waves of sensations.
“What about that Valentine tattoo of yours?” he urged, voice low and enticing as he ignored the strangled whimpers spilling from your lips. The pad of his thumb found your swollen clit, circling with maddening slowness. “Tell me about it.”
“J-just thought it’d be hot.” You gulped down at the sight of Eddie’s lips stretching into a grin. “Someone reading it if they went—”
Eddie’s grin widened at the confession. His free hand traced idle patterns across your skin, while the other continued abusing your overly sensitive pussy.
“P-please, Eddie,” you begged. “I c-can’t.”
“Just one more?” he whispered back, biting his bottom lip. “Please, sweetheart.”
His eyes had softened at the broken sounds spilling from your lips, but there was no mercy in them. The answer you gave him, another broken whimper, was punctuated with a curl of calloused fingers, grazing that deep spot.
Your spine arched helplessly, mouth falling open on a silent scream as new tears rolled down the sides of your face. Through the haze of overstimulation, Eddie’s face came into focus above you, awash with smug satisfaction.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just one more, that’s it.”
“Eddie!”
He gathered you tenderly into his arms as you shuddered through the aftershocks, ragged breaths mingling with your whispered name.
“Atta girl,” he murmured approvingly, stroking damp strands of hair from your eyebrow. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”
You felt absolutely boneless in his embrace, barely incapable of pushing his hand away when he gave your clit one last, teasing, flick. Eddie’s fingers mapped soothing circles across your back, gentling you from the high.
“I could really use that drink now,” you mumbled tiredly against his chest.
A quiet chuckle rumbled beneath your cheek. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Eddie shifted carefully beneath you before easing you back onto the mattress. The bed dipped as he climbed off, pausing only long enough to brush a few strands away from your face before disappearing through the bedroom door.
The room fell strangely quiet without his presence. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the old floorboards creak beneath his footsteps somewhere down the hall while the occasional boom of another firework echoed faintly through the open bedroom window.
The corner of your mouth tugged upwards before you could stop it.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You’d left New York that morning convinced you were coming home for nothing more than a quiet summer with your parents. Instead, you’d somehow ended up in the apartment of the ridiculously handsome tattoo artist you’d met at ten-something in the morning.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway carrying two empty glasses in one hand, a bottle of water tucked underneath his arm and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
“There she is,” he smiled when he found you exactly where he’d left you. “Didn’t know which one you’d want.”
“Water, please.”
He crossed the room and handed you the bottle before settling back onto the mattress beside you, balancing a on one thigh while he poured himself a generous splash.
The water was almost painfully cold against your dry throat. You hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until nearly half the bottle disappeared in one go.
“Damn,” Eddie chuckled, watching you lower the bottle. “You weren’t kidding.”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.
The room settled into another comfortable silence. Outside, another firework bloomed over Hawkins, briefly washing the bedroom in flashes of red and gold before fading back into the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Eddie rested against the headboard, his shoulders brushing yours as he lazily turned the whiskey around in his glass.
“So…” he said after a while.
“So...”
A teasing smile spread across his face. “I think your mom likes me.”
That pulled a laugh from you loud enough to echo around the bedroom.
“Obviously. You’re her friend.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tilted his head.
“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, taking another sip of water. “She’s probably thinking you’ll tattoo her for free now, since you fucked her daughters brains out and all that.”
Eddie barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his whiskey.
“I knew there was a catch.”
“There always is.”
He looked at you for a moment, the grin lingering on his face. He swirled the amber liquid around his glass for another second before speaking again.
“What’s yours?”
“My what?” You frowned. “My catch?”
“There’s gotta be one, right?” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the nightstand. “Because a girl your age, pretty and smart and funny, doesn’t just sleep with someone my age after meeting, what? Fifteen, sixteen hours ago?”
You looked at him for a long moment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening the longer you held his gaze.
“That’s not fair.” You ignored the confusion that flickered across his face, and turned to set your water bottle on the nightstand before reaching for your discarded shirt. “Not to me, and not to you either.”
“Sweetheart, wait.” His voice lost every trace of teasing. Before you could pull the shirt over your head, his hand found your wrist, not enough to stop you by force, only to make you pause. “I didn’t mean…”
He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I wasn’t trying to put words in your mouth.” His eyes searched for yours as he let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “I guess I still have a hard time believing someone like you would look at someone like me and think, Yeah that’ll do.”
“I didn’t come home with you because you’re some hot, older tattoo artist.”
He stayed quiet, and you could almost see him trying to work out what you were going to say next.
Your eyes drifted away for a moment, replaying the day in your head. The beers he’d quietly kept replacing before you’d even realised yours was empty. The way he’d helped your dad with the grill without being asked. The way he’d sat beside you in your childhood bedroom, genuinely listening while you rambled his ear off about art therapy.
“You looked at me all day like I was someone worth getting to know.” A small smile found your lips, and you slipped your fingers around his. “You actually listened when I started rambling.”
A soft scoff escaped you, followed by easy chuckles as your eyes trailed him up and down.
“The tattoos are nice, and the curls definitely helped too.” Your expression softened. “But I came home with the man who made me feel like the most interesting person in every room we walked into today.”
Your eyes drifted down to the floor, finding his black shirt lying forgotten close to where yours had been. Without saying a word, you tossed yours back down next to it and reached for his instead.
Neither of you felt any need to fill the silence while you slipped your arms through the sleeves, the fabric hanging far too large on your frame and carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and mint, cigarettes and whatever laundry detergent he used.
When you turned back around, you found Eddie staring at nothing in particular, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Hey.”
His dark brown eyes lifted immediately.
“C’mere,” you whispered.
You eased yourself back onto the mattress before shuffling closer and gently tugging at his arm until he followed, settling onto his side to face you.
His hand found your waist almost instinctively while yours came to cradle his jaw, your thumb lazily tracing circles along the stubble covering his cheek.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Studio’s closed on Sundays.”
“Good.” A small smile found your lips. “I want a private tour. After you make me breakfast.”
“Oh, wow.” The grin that spread across his face was slow enough to make your own grow wider. “Demanding, are we?”
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