All of my work is 18+ only. Minors, please do not interact with or request my writing.
My stories may include:
Explicit sexual content
Mature themes
Angst, violence, or dark subject matter (depending on the fic)
If something makes you uncomfortable, please curate your space accordingly 🤍
What I will not tolerate under any circumstances:
Racism
Homophobia
Transphobia
Sexism
Fatphobia
Ableism
If you bring that energy here, you will be blocked. Simple as that.
✨ Requests are OPEN ✨
✦ TAGLIST ✦
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If you’d like to be added to a taglist, please send me an ask or message letting me know:
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✦ What I Write ✦
All of my stories are written as x Black fem reader.
As a plus-size black woman, representation matters deeply to me. Sometimes I’ll explicitly write the reader as plus-size, but most of the time I keep descriptions broad so readers of all backgrounds can still enjoy the story. At the core, though, my work centers black fem! reader.
••• The issues are arranged in the order they happen in the story, not by publication date… which (maybe?) makes more sense??? Hopefully???
✿ = most recent issue!
Burgandy Swim Cap: You know those five-second encounters where nothing technically happens but you still walk away with a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. (Part chronic singleness. Part attention starvation. Mostly… the speedo.)
For a Friend: You just wanted a new vibrator. Instead, you bump into Aaron Hotchner at 2 a.m., holding six modes of clitoral suction technology and a G-spot stimulator in a paper bag.
Pinot Grigio: It’s a party. You’re the help. He’s the Hotchner. He shows up to the gala in jeans, insults a politician for you, then stands around long enough to overshare a bunch of gossip you didn’t ask for.
Stale Cigarettes: You get dragged to a bar by your coupled-up friends and end up chain-smoking on a bench with your FBI crush.
30 Seconds: You text the hot swim dad for legal help. He shows up. He's accidentally jealous of your date, you accidentally grind on his lap, he finishes in his pants... whoopsies.
Booty Call: The last time you saw Hotch, he came in his pants in 30 seconds. Now he’s inviting you to his office, pretending that didn’t happen - only to end up fingering you against a door.
Heart Stopper: Valentine’s Day is already hell when you’re stuck on shift avoiding your crush on Aaron Hotchner... then he shows up, fills out your café’s tacky matchmaking card, and basically confesses
✿ First_Date.xlsx: The last time Hotch went on a first date was sometime last century (30 years ago, to be precise.) Now he’s determined to plan the perfect (hahahah) one with you.
Backshots... Back Pain, Sorry: It starts with a back massage, ends with your face in a pillow and Hotch scolding you mid-thrust for arching your back incorrectly.
PR (Penne Rigate): Sometimes you spiral so hard you start hallucinating David Rossi - Dave, sorry - groping your boyfriend’s tit the first time you meet his coworkers.
Does This D**k Spark Joy?: How does a modern woman outwit her pathologically responsible boyfriend? By showering within splash range until he abandons his folding routine to fold you instead.
pairing | neighbor! aaron hotchner x camgirl!fem reader [no use of y/n]
warnings | EXPLICIT CONTENT! smuuuuuutttt, there is not much of a plot really. his pov, everything being a cam girl entails, exhibitionism?!, masturbation on both ends, PERVY HOTCH ALERT, he has sooo many unethical sexual thoughts,,, like breeding kink and whatnot, very much in denial and uses sociology to cope? (me), he's kind of a creep ngl... reader uses a dildo, mentions of outfits but no physical descriptions, no mentions of past relationship or family, but he hasn’t been in the game for a while iykwim, trad!vanilla!hotch makes an appearance but not for loooong<3 he... all over himself... EXTREMELY BAD USERNAMES !! it's actually very funny how bad they are
word count | 3.8k [not proofread]
authors note | my loviessss<333 been wanting to write camgirl x hotch for MONTHS, and yesterday i got the urge so here it is?? don't tell me if it's bad i am my own number one hater and you can't replace me.
It had started off innocently. At one point that was all it was—he had watched you out of innocent curiosity—but he could not help it when it grew into something bigger. Something more... dangerous, with teeth and claws.
Aaron Hotchner had turned into a monster. That was how he now saw himself.
He defined himself solely based on his unethical and utterly inappropriate thoughts and desires—those very thoughts that should have stayed in his head, and not lead to actions. He should look away, close his blinds and go to sleep. That was what he should do, should have done the first time, should do now.
Yet, he could not drag his gaze from the window, not for more than right down to the laptop in front of him. To the screen displaying every inch of you. Live.
The first time he had caught the sight of you... doing... things to yourself, when he had spotted the camera propped up on a tripod—he had simply assumed you were making videos for your boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner, or whatever. He was not one to judge the sexuality of a stranger, despite how much he had seen of said stranger.
However, as it continued, as the LED-lights turned to blue every other night, and he saw more of you than he had seen of a woman in a long time—he put two and two together.
Aaron actually spent the following evening after coming to that very conclusion, searching and scrolling through models on various websites. Although through half-closed eyes, like it would make it ethically acceptable as long as he did not fully see.
He knew it was stupid to think of it like that. He was aware that the majority of people on those websites chose to do so themselves, that there were people who even enjoyed displaying themselves in such manners. Though, he was a simple man with old fashioned ideals, and he struggled with it anyway.
Sex belonged in the privacy of your bedroom—he would have said 'shared home' and 'only between lovers', but he had dabbled in one night stands himself and had grown to understand the appeal. Aaron was one to believe that true love required nothing more than normal sex, simple penetrative actions—and yet, the more time he spent on those websites, the more he could entertain the ideas of not-normal sex.
Despite it, his evolving into something... closer to modern societal sex lives standards, he still had trouble with accepting the filming part.
That was, until he finally stumbled upon PrincessSkyBlue and spent the rest of his night off watching every video that was not behind a paywall.
Until his next night off, a week later, when he watched every video behind that very paywall.
Aaron had created an account some time during that week, at midnight, after work, and after a third glass of very expensive Scotch. It had stood beside his laptop on a coaster—because the wood stain on his desk was not to be scratched or ruined by condensation—as he joined your membership club.
The fee had not been much, and if he were to be completely honest, he thought you were underselling. It made the guilt worse.
His too-small-desk had been placed under the window for optimal lighting at the time of furnishing his apartment, and had for months debated on moving it to a different room entirely, but had not gotten to it. Now, as he glanced between his dimmed screen and the window across the small courtyard—to the apartment on the opposite side of his floor—he no longer had any intentions of following through with his plan.
There was no surprise you could afford the other penthouse, he made note to himself as he scrolled through your prices. It made sense though, and it was a smart business choice, to have your membership so cheap but the private shows and different prizes, expensive.
Not that he really knew what could be considered expensive fees in that line of work, he had not exactly collected data from other models and creators.
A flicker of light drew his attention to your bedroom window, and Aaron smiled to himself as your room turned blue.
He had been sitting at his desk for an hour already, half to watch you rummage around in his peripheral, half to distract himself from the anticipation of what was to come. Ever since he found your page, became a member and watched your livestreams every other day, he found himself thinking of you even outside his home. At work. In the car. He thought of you everywhere—which, due to the unfortunate arousing association he had of you—he was practically hard everywhere.
Aaron had started looking forward to coming home, to sit by his desk and watch you. He had not brought folders and case files with him for a week now, which meant he was actually spending his free time doing something other than work. It was unheard of for him. Freeing, though it simultaneously felt like another cage.
You had spent the past 20 minutes setting things up for what had quickly become his favorite part of the day. He wondered what music you were listening to as you danced in the not-so-private privacy of your bedroom, if you had a favorite artist he knew about. Did you have a favorite decade or just a genre? Vinyls or streaming? Were you the type of person to sing to yourself, hum along, or the type to enjoy in silence as he was?
Then, punctual as ever, the notification dinged in his inbox.
SKY [PrincessSkyBlue] IS LIVE! Click here to watch.
Aaron waited for an entire minute, even counting the seconds, before clicking the flashing button. It would seem desperate if he was the first one to join—and desperate was not something he would ever admit to being—at least that was what he consoled himself by thinking as he logged in to unlock the chat function.
He had never used it, though he had paid for a private message once. The adrenaline that rushed through him when you replied, had the tips of his ears burn red that entire week.
The automated message greeted him in the chat, and his pulse picked up as he wondered if you were starting to recognize his username.
Hello, my love [GraySuit42] <3 Enjoy my show!
Make it even more special by sending me gifts, tokens and private messages!! Thank you for being here <3
─── Automated message from SKY
The feed was loading and his shoulders tensed. The spinning circle was a taunting thing, every round it completed added to the growing guilt of the inappropriate act he was committing.
You did not know he was watching, not the live, and certainly not in real life. And despite the twitch in his pants, the surge of excitement he got from considering the very immorality in the composing argument—which he would not allow himself to admit to feeling—it was wrong. As stated, numerous times. Wrong. Bad. Unlawful, unethical, unlikable, un-everything.
Aaron Hotchner was a stickler for rules. He had been a prosecutor for fuck's sake. He knew the law, he passed the bar, he knew the system. He knew what kind of people put themselves in those social arenas, knew what formed them. Aaron could map out their lives, socio-economic status, habitus—he could even theorize using front-stage, back-stage and apply it in these kinds of situations—and yet, he could not help himself.
He could not stop. He did not want to stop.
Aaron could explain every single part of your childhood just by analyzing your life choices, form a treatment plan for traumas you had not even realized were traumas. All aspects of your life that lead to you choosing that career path—and he could spell out the arguments of why no one should indulge in...
"I was thinking," your soft and sweet melodic voice flowed from the speakers of his laptop, interrupting the making of his own downfall. His eyes focused on where your finger tapped on your lower lip as you thought, "maybe you guys could decide what fantasy I'll play out today."
You loved fantasies. It had become your thing, you had said during one of the first lives he watched. Usually, you would have a plan made before you went live. Sometimes even costumes or props to add to it. Your dedication, if he were to judge by comments and numbers alone, was unmatched. Though, again, he had not watched anyone else and did not have significant findings in the non-existent research to support his statement.
He had come to learn your favorite look was the cat. With the white ears and blue collar you had custom ordered and gotten engraved. The gold star tag had been etched with 'Sky', and that was your most worn accessory. It was not your real name—he knew your real name from your mailbox—but it seemed just as much you.
Aaron's favorite look on you was what you were currently wearing. Light blue and white patterned shorts, with ruffles—gingham, he remembered from the website. The tight tank top was in the same white, but with a blue star in the center, right between your pretty tits. It was a set. One of two sets, in fact, that he had gotten you anonymously.
He had not realized he had pulled down his pajama pants—navy and black, because light blue and white was not him—until he groaned with a hand around himself. You were so close to the camera, chewing on your lip as you read the chat. He could see every freckle and mole on your face, every shade and sparkle in your eyes.
It was almost like he could smell your sweet perfume—one he had scented as you passed him the other day, downstairs—after he had frantically pushed the parcel into your mailbox. And fuck, you smelled so good.
You were still reading the chat, searching for the answer to your question. Right, which fantasy you were playing out.
[VikingGod7] Be a good kitten for daddy
[ANONGUY1983] would love to see you do princess again
[ANONGUY1983] or angel
── LilPapaWithBigP33N sent 40 tokens for SHOW TITS
[LilPapaWithBigP33N] Your a student touching yourself in your professors office
[VikingGod7] Fuck baby u so hot
── VikingGod7 sent 15 tokens for SUCK FINGERS
"Guys," you licked your lips with a smile, both hands trailing up your sides, "give me something more exciting."
Aaron swallowed a groan as you pulled the top down, your tits spilling out. His grip on his cock tightened, forcing his movements to halt entirely. He would climax too fast if he continued, he had done so numerous times the past few weeks. Too quickly.
He wanted to enjoy your show for longer—and he wanted to get his release at the same time as you did.
Then, he got an idea. An idea so unlike him, he had to finish the glass of Scotch in front of him, pour another one, and finish that one as well.
[GraySuit42] Your neighbor watches you as you touch yourself in front of the window.
He sighed, shakily, regretting it the moment he hit Enter. He must have been drunk, he concluded as he reread the sentence over and over again. It was badly formulated, and the fact that he actually sent it...
"Give me a second," you had said, though he did not know if it had been after you read his message or not. Not until he saw you walk up to the window in his peripheral to scan your surroundings. His hands moved to the desk, both visible just in case—although, if you would have been able to see his hand around his cock, you would obviously be able to see that very cock against his lower stomach.
Aaron knew his desk went to the floor, he knew the window frame was the same height as the desktop, and still. It was like his mind stopped working. He kept his head down, in case you would think the absurd thought that he was watching you. It would not work in his favor if you did.
You had turned around again, leaving the window, but he could not figure out what you had decided upon. His screen lit up with the movement as you jumped back to your bed, smiling at the camera, "I mean, I would love to do it in front of the window, but there's this really hot guy working across from me, and—" you paused, chewing on your bottom lip as you read the chat again.
[ANONGUY1983] do it baby no neighbor would not like watching you
[LilPapaWithBigP33N] I wish you were my neighbor I would fuck you so good;)
[Badd1eWithTatts] maybe he would like it
[ANONGUY1983] we would def like it
"I, uh—" the smirk that grew on your face took his breath away, and he exhaled shakily as you cupped your tits, "what if he sees me?" Aaron had gotten so distracted by the way you pinched and played with your breasts that it had not even occurred to him—the only 'guy' across from you, was him.
He stiffened, sat entirely frozen in his chair as he stared at his screen. You were talking about him, you had called him hot, and now he did not know what to do with himself. Did that mean he had a real chance with you? If it did, he should probably turn off the stream. It would be awkward to have that conversation—though, he knew about it already, so it really should not be… His thoughts were going a million miles an hour.
Was it something you had said for engagement purposes? To play into the fantasy? Perhaps you had already decided on it, and that was just a part of it.
However, despite the countless questions and the wave of panic flooding his brain, what he did not expect was a private message from you.
Honestly, he did not even think it was possible for you to send messages like that—he assumed the paywall for the feature went both ways for some reason—it sounded stupid the more he thought about it.
[PrincessSkyBlue] what do you say?
[PrincessSkyBlue] should i go with your suggestion even if i might be watched?
He stared at the message, then glanced up to the window, to where you sat on your bed. His lips parting as he watched you spread your legs, a hand dipping into your shorts. You threw your head back with a moan—which he heard through the speakers of his laptop—and he was certain he would come undone if you kept going. Just knowing you were thinking of him, doing this for him, in more ways than you knew of.
[GraySuit42] I think your neighbor would enjoy the show if anything.
Aaron closed his eyes as he hit send, intent to reduce his cognitive association with the unethical act. To really make sure the alibi was solid, he only cracked half an eye to close the chat and go back to the livestream.
"I'm going to have to move the camera," your grin filled his screen as you got up from your bed, followed by the view of your tits still hanging out of your top—the top he got you. And the shorts he got you. It made him dizzy to think of, that just a week ago he had held those very garments. He would have to get you more, and maybe even some of those props you adored so much.
Aaron did not move as you fixed your new setup, as you put the camera up to the window and turned it to the side, so you could lean against the window frame. It was smart, he thought to himself, although a bit begrudgingly, to not press yourself against the glass for the entire world to see. Still, you livestreamed it, so he supposed it was for the world to see anyway.
Your moan got his attention, and he looked down to the screen to find you moving the shorts to the side—not taking them off, which only added to the painful erection Aaron now gripped—your fingers slipping inside. You had moved a chair to sit on, lowered the camera to an angle allowing the viewers to see your fingers plunging into your dripping cunt. "Fuck," you threw your head back, the free hand on your chest, pinching your nipple as you fingered yourself in a pace Aaron tried to match, "it feels so good. Fuck, I hope he's watching me."
Another curse spilled from your lips as you circled your clit, "m–hope he knows I'm wishing it was him instead."
He wished that too. Your fingers were nothing like his cock, did not hit as deep as he could, fuck you as hard as he could. Aaron wanted to do that—a part of him even thought about walking down the hall to knock on your door—to give you exactly what you both were wishing for.
He remained in his chair, in his bedroom, in his apartment. It was for the best, he thought to himself. The desires he had for you were not to be acted upon, that would certainly be unacceptable, predatory, behavior. You would be horrified, utterly terrified, if you found out he was watching you—even secretly getting you things and putting them in your mailbox—you would probably move out because of it. As you should, when in the presence of someone like that.
The world was full of monsters, and he had sworn to not become one. Yet, spending most of his time with those monsters, learning to think the way they do, even if only to catch them… it was natural to adopt the patterns of surrounding minds, to internalize it subconsciously.
That was his greatest fear, and even still, he could not find it in him to care when you were moaning for him. Aaron would do anything for those moans, to hear you whining in his ear, to feel you clench around him as you came. He would do anything to fill you up and hold you close, until you fell asleep in his arms with his cum leaking out.
You would be so good for him, take him so well, he was sure of it.
Aaron cursed himself for thinking of you like that. Hated himself for it.
"Oh my—" you whimpered, lowering yourself down on the light blue dildo suctioned to the chair, "fuck, yes—oh." His worries disappeared as you bounced on the chair, the shorts moving with you at a pace he would exceed if he had been the one inside you. Aaron did not think he would be able to fuck you slowly, not in those shorts. He was not one for clothed sex, nor patterns, colors, ruffles—but those shorts… Fuck, he loved those shorts.
"Feels so good, s-sir," you mumbled, almost more to yourself than anyone else, your eyes squeezed shut. Aaron moaned, muttering a curse as he eased his grip on himself. He had to wait for you, but hearing you say 'sir' had his hips stutter with the too-fast approaching orgasm. No one would be able to refer to him that way anymore, without the image of you replaying in his mind.
You were rambling as you circled your clit with one hand, the other on your tits. Murmuring about how good it felt, how much you wished it was him pounding into you—how you would be such a good girl for him if he let you. You were chasing your own orgasm, resting your head against the window, and he knew you were looking over but he did not dare raise his gaze. Not when he saw your reaction on his screen, the way you moaned even louder, your thighs clenched together, your pace faltering before picking up again.
Aaron leaned back in his chair, eyes unmoving from his screen, and matched your pace. He knew you had noticed his movement, just as he knew you could not see him stroking himself—you had whimpered but showed no other reaction.
"Think he'd let me cum?" you whispered, breathing heavily as you slowed the moves of your hips. He debated on answering, and he debated on not doing it, but your eyes had glazed over and your cheeks were pink—and he wanted to give you the answer. Aaron wanted to encourage you enough to orgasm, if only so he could do it as well. God, he wanted to hear you.
[GraySuit42] If you ask nicely, yes. You have been a good girl.
"Please, please Aa—" you whimpered, eyes going wide as you realized his name almost slipped from your lips. He noticed, yet he still managed to convince himself it was not the case. It was not his name you almost moaned, it was not actually him you were begging to let you cum, it was a fantasy.
"Can I please cum, sir?" the second attempt won, the chat blew up with replies—though you made no move to pick up the pace again. Aaron allowed himself one more chat, one more message, knowing how insane it was to think you were looking for his reply.
[GraySuit42] Yes, sweetheart. Come on, let me hear you.
And then you did. You smiled to the camera and rolled your hips, rubbing yourself as you chased the pleasure. His strokes matched yours, when you lowered yourself, his hand gripped the base. When you almost pulled out, his thumb rubbed the tip. Your moans flowed from the speaker and mixed with his groans.
Together, you came.
"Maybe I'll ask him out next time I see him," you huffed a laugh, looking up to the camera. Still panting, you waved your goodbyes and turned off the stream.
Aaron stared at the screen as it went from light to dark—and into resting mode. His cock in his grip, lips parted, cum on his pants. He did not move, did not dare to acknowledge the meaning behind your words.
He was not even sure you had actually said them, that it was not something of his own imagination. However, as his gaze flickered to your window, you had lingered. A dazed smile on your face as you pulled the tank top over your tits again—then your eyes had met his, and you blushed the deepest shade of red, closing your blinds completely in panic.
Aaron would do anything to cause that blush again.
summary: you finally left your house to have a girls day. shopping, food, friendship- the works. robin and nancy always had your back but eddie- he was your best friend. hes the one who knew you inside and out. but is that all you wanted him to be? maybe a fashion show will change things.
warnings/tags: best friends to lovers, shy reader, typical eddie bullshit, fluff, comfort, alternating POV, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, eddie trying not to nut in 30 seconds, squirting)
masterlist // join the taglist
You were three stores deep into the kind of afternoon that only happened when Robin got bored and Nancy decided retail therapy was a legitimate coping mechanism.
Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of your jeans just as Nancy was holding up a soft gray sweater against you, head tilted in that critical way of hers. It's not your style but you like to appease her.
Eddie:
bored.
come over.
i have leftover chinese and a new playlist that will either heal your soul or destroy it. your pick.
You smiled at the screen before you could stop yourself. Robin noticed immediately.
“That’s the Eddie face,” she said, already leaning in. “What’s he want?”
“He wants me to come over.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to say no because…?”
You typed back while Robin peered over your shoulder.
You:
can’t. already at the mall with robin and nancy. not being a hermit for once.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Eddie:
the mall.
you’re at the mall???
and no one thought to invite me?
i’m hurt. actually offended.
also tbh you’re gonna get overwhelmed and start doing that weird thing you always do
i’m coming.
You stared at the message.
You:
eddie you don’t have to come
Eddie:
already in the van.
tell robin to stop making that face. i can feel it through the phone.
Robin was, in fact, making that face.
Twenty-seven minutes later you were standing near the big fountain on the lower level, arms full of bags. You'd dragged the two of them into Hot Topic and Spencers. Nancy had somehow convinced you that you needed new jeans— so you bought some black ones. Robin had dragged you into a candle store “just to smell things.” And then, because the universe had a sense of humor, the three of you had ended up in Victoria’s Secret.
You were still a little pink about that one.
The pink-and-black bag swung from your wrist every time you shifted your grip. It felt louder than the rest of them somehow. Like it was announcing itself.
Robin was mid-rant about this hot girl who keeps coming into her job when a familiar voice cut through the mall noise.
“Well, well, well. Look at this delinquent little shopping squad.”
You turned.
Eddie Munson was walking toward you like he owned the entire second floor, black jeans with the knees blown out, a faded Dio shirt under an open sleeveless flannel, rings catching the harsh mall lights. His hair was a little messier than usual, like he’d driven with the windows down the whole way. He had that grin on—the one that said he’d already decided this was going to be fun for him and mildly embarrassing for you.
Robin lit up. “Munson! You actually showed.”
“Had to make sure no one was bullying my favorite introvert into buying things she’ll never wear.” His eyes flicked to you, soft for half a second before the performance kicked back in. “Speaking of which… Jesus Christ, look at you.”
He stopped a couple feet away, taking in the armful of bags. His gaze snagged on the Victoria’s Secret one and stayed there just long enough for heat to crawl up the back of your neck.
“Wow,” he said, voice dropping into something almost reverent. “You actually went shopping. I’m proud. Also mildly concerned.”
Nancy smirked. “She needed jeans. And then Robin got involved. And she dragged us into her own stores. And then the lingerie section happened.”
Eddie made a wounded little sound, hand over his heart. “You took her into the den of sin without me?”
You shifted the bags, trying to hide the pink one behind the others. “It’s not that dramatic.”
“It’s a little dramatic,” he said, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cigarettes and that cheap cologne he always wore even though he claimed he didn’t. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”
You opened your mouth to say you were fine.
He just raised an eyebrow.
“…I’m a little overstimulated,” you admitted, quieter.
Eddie’s whole posture softened. He reached out without asking and carefully took two of the heavier bags from your arms, including the Victoria’s Secret one. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just hooked the handles over his wrist like it was nothing.
“C’mon,” he said. “We’re doing one more lap so Nancy can finish buying a new pantsuit or whatever, then I’m extracting you. Chinese food’s getting cold and my couch misses your weight on it.”
Robin grinned. “He’s so soft for you it’s disgusting.”
Eddie didn’t deny it. He just looked at you over the top of the bags, eyes warm and knowing in that way that always made the rest of the mall feel a little farther away.
“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low enough that only you caught the full weight of it. “Somebody’s gotta make sure she doesn’t disappear into the void.”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours.
“Lead the way, shopping gremlin. I’m your official bag mule for the next twenty minutes. Use me wisely.”
By the time you’d made it halfway through the next stretch of stores, the worst of the overstimulation had started to loosen its grip.
It was Eddie. It was always Eddie.
He walked half a step behind you, still carrying the bulk of the bags like it was the most natural thing in the world, occasionally bumping his shoulder into yours just hard enough to make you stumble and then catch yourself with a laugh. Nancy and Robin had drifted a few feet ahead, deep in a debate about whether a particular pair of boots were too much for the upcoming summer and who wears boots in summer anyway? That left the two of you in your own little orbit, the mall noise fading into background static.
“You’re quieter when you're with them,” Eddie said, voice low enough that it stayed between you. “Not in a bad way. Just… smaller. Like you’re trying to take up less space.”
You glanced at him. “And with you I’m suddenly loud?”
“With me you’re you.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. “The version that likes to talk shit and snorts when she laughs. I like that version. Miss her when she’s gone.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat in it. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m correct.” He shifted the bags so he could free one hand and reach over, gently tugging the sleeve of your hoodie. “Look at you. Five minutes ago you were about to jump into the void. Now you’re about to roast me. Progress.”
“I wasn’t going to roast you.”
“Liar.” His grin was slow and crooked. “You were definitely going to say something about the way I’m carrying these bags like a peasant. Go on. I can take it.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “You look like a Victorian servant who got lost on the way to a metal show.”
Eddie gasped, hand flying to his chest hard enough that the Victoria’s Secret bag swung wildly. “How dare you. I’ll have you know this is high fashion. Wore my favorite rings just for you.”
“Your rings make you look like you stuck your hand in an antique store display and just bought whatever stuck.”
“Rude.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping into that teasing register he only ever used with you. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mean. Otherwise I’d leave you here with all these bags and go find people who appreciate my good looks.”
You bumped him with your hip. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might.”
“You wouldn’t.”
"Try me."
"There's some mall rats over by Hot Topic. Bet they'd love you."
Eddie looked at you for a second too long, something softer flickering behind the performance. The kind of look that made your stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. He always looked at you like that when he thought you weren’t paying attention—like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your smile, or the way your eyes crinkled when you were actually relaxed. Like you were the only thing in the entire building worth staring at.
You felt it. You always felt it. And you looked back at him the same way, even if neither of you ever said it out loud.
Robin’s voice cut through from up ahead. “Are you two flirting or fighting? Because from back here it sounds like both and I hope she wins.”
Eddie didn’t break eye contact with you as he called back, “We’re engaged in battle, Buckley. Mind your business.”
“Sure,” Robin said, entirely unconvinced. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Munson.”
He finally looked away, but the corner of his mouth stayed curved. He shifted the bags again and, without asking, reached over to take the last one from your hand so you were completely free.
“There,” he said, quieter. “Now you can actually exist without any extra weight in your hands. You’re welcome.”
You flexed your fingers, still warm from where the plastic handles had dug in. “You’re being weirdly nice today.”
“I’m always nice to you.” He said it like a fact, not a defense. Then, softer, almost under his breath: “Especially when you look like you’re about two seconds from disappearing into your own head again.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just walked beside him, the space between your arms brushing every few steps. Nancy and Robin had stopped in front of another window display, giving the two of you another pocket of privacy.
Eddie glanced sideways at you, rings catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bags.
“For the record,” he said, voice low and almost careful, “I like when you let yourself be loud with me. Even when you're being a butt head. Cause I know you're only like that with me. Makes me feel special."
You looked at him. Really looked.
And for a second the rest of the mall—Robin’s laughter, the distant music, the fluorescent lights—dropped away.
“Yeah,” you said, just as quiet. “I like it too.”
Eddie’s smile this time was smaller. Softer. The kind he only ever gave you when the banter peeled back and something truer sat underneath.
He didn’t say anything else.
The drive back was easy in the way things always were with him.
Eddie had the windows cracked just enough to let the warm spring air in, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he was half-tempted to reach over and take yours. He didn’t. He just talked the whole way—about how Robin’s taste in shoes was a crime against humanity, about how Nancy had looked at a seventy-dollar candle like she could actually afford it. You laughed more than you had all day.
His apartment was on the second floor of a tired brick building two towns over from Hawkins. The kind of place with a sticky front door and a hallway that always smelled faintly of someone else’s cooking. He’d worked doubles and sold half his vinyl collection to make the deposit after graduation. It showed in the way he talked about it sometimes—quiet pride mixed with the usual self-deprecation.
“Home sweet dump,” he announced as he kicked the door open with his boot, still carrying most of your bags. “Couch has been waiting for you milady.”
It was exactly as lived-in as always. Band posters peeling at the corners. A thrifted couch that had seen better decades. A kitchen table covered in sheet music and empty coffee mugs. The faint smell of the dragons blood incense he always used because you once said you liked it.
He dropped the bags by the couch with a dramatic groan and flopped down, immediately stretching his legs out and patting the cushion beside him.
“Sit. Argue with me. I’ve been waiting all day to be wrong about something.”
You sat. The couch dipped under your combined weight the way it always did.
It started with Iron Man versus Batman, because of course it did.
“I’m just saying,” you said, turning to face him fully, “Tony Stark would fold Bruce Wayne like a lawn chair. The man has an entire AI, flight, repulsors—”
Eddie held up a finger, rings glinting. “Batman has prep time. Prep. Time. That’s his whole thing. He would study every single one of Stark’s weaknesses, build a suit specifically designed to counter the arc reactor, and then—”
“And then Iron Man would still vaporize him from the air before Batman even finished monologuing.”
“You’re underestimating the power of pure spite and a utility belt.”
“You’re underestimating the power of literally being able to fly and shoot lasers.”
Eddie threw his head back against the couch with a wounded sound. “I can’t believe I’m friends with someone this wrong.”
You poked his knee with your socked foot. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right.”
“I’m mad because you’re smug about it.” But he was smiling, soft around the edges, the argument already losing steam in favor of watching the way your face lit up when you got competitive. He loved that version of you. The one that forgot to be quiet.
After another minute of half-hearted defense of Batman’s honor, Eddie finally held up both hands in surrender.
“Fine. Iron Man wins. Happy? You destroyed my entire worldview. I hope you’re proud.”
You grinned. “Extremely.”
He huffed a laugh, then his eyes drifted toward the pile of bags near the arm of the couch.
“Alright,” he said, voice shifting into something lighter, curious. “Show and tell. What’d you actually buy, shopping gremlin? Besides the jeans Nancy forced on you and whatever candles Robin convinced you to buy.”
You felt the heat climb up your neck almost immediately.
Eddie noticed. Of course he did. His expression gentled, the teasing dialing back just enough.
“Hey. No pressure. You don’t have to—”
“Can I…” You hesitated, fingers twisting in the hem of your hoodie. The shyness was back, but different this time. Softer. Safe, because it was him. “Can I give you a fashion show?”
Eddie went still for half a second.
Then the slowest, softest smile spread across his face. The kind that made his eyes crinkle and his voice drop into something almost reverent.
“Yeah?” he said, quiet. “You wanna model for me?”
You nodded, small.
He sat up a little straighter, like he was preparing for something important. “Hell yeah you can. Go on. I’ll be the most supportive, least judgmental audience you’ve ever had.”
He gestured toward the short hallway that led to his bedroom. “Use my room. Mirror’s clean for once. Take your time.”
You stood, gathering the bags with slightly shaky hands. Eddie watched you the whole way, that same look from the mall settled deep in his eyes—like he was trying not to hope too hard, and failing.
Just before you disappeared around the corner, he called after you, voice warm and a little rough around the edges.
“And for the record… whatever you got in that pink bag? I’m already a fan.”
You didn’t answer.
But the door to his bedroom clicked shut behind you with a soft, anticipatory sound, and he leaned back against the couch, his heart doing something stupid and hopeful in his chest while he waited.
Eddie barely had time to scrub a hand over his face and pretend he wasn’t already halfway gone before the bedroom door creaked open.
You stepped out in the black jeans first—ones that actually fit like they were made for you instead of the baggy shit you usually hid in—and a soft, flowy crop top that kept flashing a strip of skin every time you moved. You did a little half-turn, arms sort of awkwardly out like you weren’t sure what to do with them yet.
“Okay,” you said, voice still quiet. “First one. Jeans and… this. It’s kind of floaty. I don’t know.”
Eddie swallowed. His brain helpfully supplied approximately forty different compliments and zero of them felt safe enough to say out loud.
“Floaty’s good,” he managed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees so he had something to do with his hands. “Floaty’s very good. You look… hippie. Very Stevie Nicks. Ten out of ten. No notes. Except maybe do the turn again so I can fully appreciate the jeans.”
You huffed a tiny laugh and spun slower this time. The confidence was still shy around the edges, but it was there. He could see it.
God, he wanted to bottle that sound.
You disappeared again. He let his head drop back against the couch and stared at the ceiling like it might offer him strength. It did not. All it offered was a water stain shaped vaguely like a middle finger.
The door opened a second time.
Black mini skirt. Tight black velvet crop top, cut to look like a bat. The kind of top that looked like it had been designed specifically to ruin his entire life.
Eddie forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.
“Shopping for summer, you know?” you said, a little stronger this time, doing a small sway that made the skirt flip against your thighs. “Figured I should own at least one thing that isn’t a hoodie.”
“Summer,” he repeated, voice coming out rougher than he meant it to. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Summer. Very… seasonal. The bat is a nice touch. Extremely on-brand for hanging out with me. I’m choosing to take that as a personal compliment.”
You smiled—actually smiled—and did a full turn this time. The skirt flared just enough. The velvet caught the low light of his shitty lamp. Something in his chest went tight and warm and stupid.
Look at you. Look at you getting braver every single time you walk out here. Like you’re remembering you’re allowed to take up space. Like maybe you trust me enough to let me see it.
“You’re staring,” you said, but there was no real accusation in it. Just a little spark of something playful.
“I’m observing,” Eddie corrected immediately. “Very different. Scientific, even. For example… observation one— the skirt makes your legs look criminal. Observation two— I’m going to have dreams about that velvet bat. Observation three— you’re getting less shy about the spins and I am thriving.”
You laughed, bright and real, and the sound did something catastrophic to his heart rate.
Third time.
You kept the mini skirt. Swapped the velvet for a ridiculous shirt from Spencer’s—a bunch of dachshunds with the phrase "Everyone loves wieners" and it's so perfectly you that Eddie felt his face do that soft, helpless thing he could never quite hide around you. You struck a little pose in the doorway this time, one hand on your hip, the other up in the air like you had no idea what to do with it. You probably didn't.
“Behold,” you declared, voice full of mock grandeur. “The intellectual peak of my shopping trip.”
Eddie clapped. Actually clapped, slow and dramatic.
“Masterpiece,” he said solemnly. “I feel smarter just looking at it. The skirt and the wiener dog shirt combination is inspired. You’re a visionary. I’m obsessed. I hope you wear this exact combination to your next outing.”
You were grinning now. Fully. The shy little glances had turned into actual eye contact, like each outfit had peeled another layer of hesitation off you and left something brighter underneath. He watched it happen in real time and felt like the luckiest bastard alive for getting front-row seats.
You walked closer this time, stopping a few feet in front of the couch, doing a slow turn without him even asking. The skirt flared up, giving him the slightest glimpse of the supple curve of your ass underneath. Eddie’s hands flexed against his knees.
You’re going to kill me. You’re going to stand there getting more confident by the second and I’m going to sit here and fall harder every time you laugh at your own joke. And you’re never going to know, because I’m a coward who would rather keep you forever as my best friend than risk saying the quiet part out loud.
You stopped spinning and looked at him, cheeks a little pink but eyes bright.
“Okay,” you said, softer again, but steady. “Are you ready for the finale?”
Eddie felt his entire soul short-circuit.
He sat up straighter, tried to play it cool, failed miserably, and ended up just staring at you with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low and a little wrecked. “I’m ready. Show me.”
The bedroom door opened again and Eddie’s brain helpfully decided it was obsolete.
You stepped out wrapped in the fluffiest pink bathrobe he’d ever seen in his life. It looked like someone had murdered a cloud and dyed it the color of cotton candy. Your hands were buried in the pockets, shoulders a little hunched, that familiar shy tilt to your head that always made him want to gather you up and hide you from the entire world.
“Okay,” you said, voice small. “Finale. Don’t laugh.”
“I would never,” Eddie answered immediately, and he meant it. His voice came out softer than he intended. “C’mon. Show me.”
You hesitated for half a second longer, then slowly tugged the belt loose.
The robe slipped open.
Eddie’s entire nervous system short-circuited so hard he was pretty sure he blacked out for a full second.
Hot pink. Barely-there hot pink lingerie that looked like it had been designed specifically to end him. A tiny bralette that clung to the soft curve of your chest, delicate straps, and matching bottoms that sat high on your hips and left almost nothing to the imagination. The kind of set that made every inch of bare skin look deliberate. Completely fucking lethal.
You didn’t even seem to notice the way his soul left his body. You just stood there in the middle of his living room like this was normal. Like best friends did this shit all the time. Like you weren’t currently rewriting every single one of his brain cells.
Jesus Christ.
He grabbed the nearest throw pillow and shoved it into his lap so hard. His jeans were already getting tight in a way that was going to be extremely obvious if he didn’t hide it. He tried to look casual. He failed.
“Holy shit,” he managed, voice cracking just enough that he had to clear his throat. “Okay. Wow. That’s… yeah. That’s the finale alright.”
You gave a tiny, embarrassed little smile and did a slow twirl.
The bathrobe slipped further down your arms, hanging loose around your elbows like a soft pink frame. The movement made the tiny scraps of hot pink shift against your skin. And then the smell hit him—your perfume, the same floral kind you've worn since the day you met him, the one that always lingered on his hoodie for days whenever you borrowed it. It wrapped around him like a second heartbeat.
Eddie dug his fingers into the pillow hard enough that his nails pressed little crescent shapes into the fabric.
You’re actually going to kill me. You’re standing there in the middle of my shitty apartment in the tiniest fucking lingerie set I’ve ever seen and you think this is just friend stuff. You have no idea. You have no idea that I’m two seconds from dropping to my knees and begging. That I’ve wanted to put my mouth on every single inch of you for months. That the only reason I’m still sitting here like a functional human is because I refuse to ruin the best thing in my life by being a horny idiot.
You finished the turn and looked at him, cheeks pink, completely unaware that he was actively dying.
“Is it too much?” you asked, tugging self-consciously at one of the straps. “I almost didn’t get it. Robin said the color was cute though.”
Eddie let out a sound that was half laugh, half wounded animal.
“Too much?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d just asked if the sun was a little bright today. “Baby— I mean. No. It’s not too much. It’s… fuck. You look unreal. Like someone drew you. The pink is doing something illegal to my brain chemistry. I’m serious. I might need medical attention.”
You laughed, soft and shy, and the sound went straight through him.
He adjusted the pillow again, very carefully, and tried to remember how to breathe like a person who wasn’t currently imagining peeling those tiny pink scraps off you with his teeth.
“C’mere,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. He patted the cushion beside him even though he was pretty sure sitting next to you right now was going to finish him off. “Let me look at you properly. Without you doing the nervous shuffle from six feet away.”
You stepped closer.
The perfume got stronger.
Eddie was so completely, utterly fucked.
The shyness came flooding back like a switch had flipped the moment you stood in front of him.
Eddie watched it happen in real time—the way your shoulders curled inward just a little, the way your fingers twisted in the loose sleeves of the bathrobe still hanging off your arms, the way you suddenly couldn’t quite meet his eyes even though you were standing close enough that he could see each mark on your body. Close enough that the heat of your skin felt like it was already touching him.
He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady.
“Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “None of that. You’re allowed to stand here looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had and still get a little shy. I can handle both.” He let his eyes flick down for half a second before forcing them back up. “You look… soft. And dangerous. And like I should probably be on my knees right now saying thank you, but I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman instead of a complete disaster.”
You let out a tiny, nervous huff of laughter. The sound went straight to his dick.
Eddie kept talking, walking that razor-thin line between honest and too much. “The pink is killing me, by the way. Like actually ending my life. And the way it sits on you—fuck—it’s not fair. You’re standing in my living room looking like that and I’m supposed to just… what? Act normal? Impossible. You’re making it impossible.”
You shifted your weight. The movement was small.
The left strap of the bralette slipped.
It slid down the curve of your shoulder in slow motion, delicate and pink and devastating, and Eddie’s brain broke in half so hard a low, wrecked moan tore out of his throat before he could stop it.
The sound hung in the air between you.
You both froze.
Eddie’s eyes went wide. The pillow was still crushed in his lap. His pulse was hammering so loud he was pretty sure you could hear it. Heat flooded his face so fast it felt like a fever.
You stared at him, lips parted, the slipped strap still resting halfway down your arm.
“…Did you really just do that?” you asked, voice quiet and a little disbelieving. A tiny, dangerous spark of something flirty flickered underneath the shock.
Eddie let out a strangled laugh that was half embarrassment, half pure desperation. “Yeah. Yeah, I really just did that. In my defense, the strap moved and— Completely involuntary. I’m a victim here.”
Your mouth twitched. “A victim.”
“Exactly.” He gestured helplessly at the strap still hanging off your shoulder. “Look at it. It’s torturing me. It’s doing it on purpose. You’re doing it on purpose.”
“I’m not doing anything,” you said, but your voice had gone softer, warmer. You didn’t fix the strap. You just stood there looking at him like you were suddenly seeing something new.
Eddie couldn’t take it anymore.
The careful distance he’d been clinging to for years—the jokes, the looks he thought you never noticed, the way he always stopped himself right at the edge—snapped clean in half.
He surged up off the couch, pillow tumbling to the floor, and closed the space between you. One hand came up to cradle the side of your face, rings cool against your cheek, the other settling at your waist like he’d been dying to put it there for years.
“Fuck it,” he whispered, and then he kissed you.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was years of wanting poured into one desperate, open-mouthed press of lips. He kissed you like he’d been starving. Like the taste of you might actually save him. His fingers slid back into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it, and a low, broken sound rumbled in his chest when you made a tiny noise against his mouth.
The slipped strap was still hanging off your shoulder.
Eddie didn’t fix it.
You broke the kiss with a soft, shaky inhale, lips still brushing his as you pulled back just far enough to see his face.
Eddie’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-bitten and a little shiny. His hand was still cradling your cheek like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.
“How long?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “How long have you been thinking about doing that?”
His thumb stroked once along your cheekbone. He didn’t look away.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Eddie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, low and rough. “Jesus. Okay. No lying.” He swallowed. “Months. Longer than months. Since before I even had this apartment. Since you started doing that thing where you’d steal my hoodies and really all my clothes. I’ve wanted to kiss you every single fucking time you walked into a room since the moment I met you.”
Your heart did something violent behind your ribs.
You didn’t think. You just lifted your hand and gave his chest a playful little smack, right over the faded print of his shirt.
Eddie jerked back half an inch, eyes wide with pure betrayal. “What— why? What was that for?”
“Because I’ve liked you too, you absolute idiot,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. Heat flooded your face but you didn’t look away. “I’ve been sitting here in this dumb pink robe thinking this was just normal best-friend fashion-show territory while you’ve been dying over there with a pillow on your lap. We’ve both been ridiculous.”
For a second Eddie just stared at you.
Then a helpless, disbelieving grin broke across his face, soft and a little wrecked.
“We’re both idiots,” he said, voice thick with something that sounded a lot like relief. “Complete, hopeless idiots.”
And then he was kissing you again.
This time there was no hesitation. One of his hands slid down to your waist, the other still tangled in your hair, and he pulled you with him as he dropped back onto the couch. You went willingly, knees bracketing his hips, the fluffy robe slipping further down your arms as he settled you fully into his lap. The tiny scraps of hot pink lace were the only things between you now, and Eddie made a low, punched-out sound against your mouth the second your weight settled over him.
His hands found your bare thighs, rings cool against overheated skin, and he kissed you like he’d never get the chance again—deep and open and a little desperate, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real and in his lap and kissing him back just as hard.
You sank down harder into his lap and the kiss turned messy, open, wet. Eddie’s hands slid higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath the edge of the hot-pink lace. Every time you shifted, the thin material of the bottoms dragged against him, and the second it slipped to the side you both felt it—heat against denim, almost nothing left between you.
Eddie broke the kiss with a ragged sound, forehead dropping against yours.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you. So pretty. Always so god damn pretty.” His voice was low, reverent, already half-ruined. “I’ve wanted to worship you for so long it makes me feel stupid. Wanted to get my mouth on every soft inch of you and take my time. Make you feel how gone I am. Hope you're okay with that or I'm about to look like the biggest jackass in the world.”
You rolled your hips once, slow, and watched his eyes flutter.
The unspoken rule sat between you both like a ghost. You never talked about anyone else. Neither did he. No stories, no casual mentions, nothing. You’d always told yourself it was just boundaries. Now, with his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear, you understood. It had never been about boundaries. It had been about not having to picture each other with anyone else. About protecting something neither of you had been brave enough to name.
Eddie seemed to realize it at the same time. His expression went soft and a little pained.
“We never talked about it,” he murmured, thumb stroking along the waistband of the lace. “Not once. I used to think it was because you didn’t… you know. Because you never brought it up. I thought maybe you hadn’t… done much. And I didn’t want to push.” His laugh was quiet, self-deprecating. “Turns out we were both just trying not to break our own hearts.”
"Think you're right about that."
"I'm always right sweetheart."
You ground down again, deliberately this time— partially to shut him up and also because it felt so damn good. The lace shifted fully out of the way. The friction dragged a broken noise out of both of you. Eddie’s head tipped back against the couch, throat working.
“Jesus Christ—”
His hands slid up your back, fingers finding the clasp of the bralette with surprising care. He unhooked it slowly, like he was unwrapping something sacred, and the hot-pink scrap loosened. You shrugged it off the rest of the way. The second it hit the floor Eddie went completely still.
He stared.
No jokes. No dramatic commentary. Just pure, speechless hunger as his eyes dragged over you—bare chest, flushed skin, the way the remaining lace sat low on your hips and did nothing to hide how wet you already were.
“Holy shit,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “You’re… fuck. You’re perfect. Look at these.” One hand came up to cup the soft weight of your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple like he was testing whether you were real. “Soft and pretty and already so fucking responsive for me. I’ve been dying to see you like this. Dying to get my hands and mouth all over you and make you fall apart.”
He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, then lower, dragging his lips over the curve of one breast while his other hand squeezed gently at your hip, encouraging you to keep moving against him.
“Keep grinding on me like that,” he murmured against your skin, filthy and soft at the same time. “Use me. Wanna feel how wet you are through these tiny little things. Wanna make a mess of both of us before I even get my mouth between your legs.”
"What if I want you now Munson? What then?"
Your voice was wrecked. And the way he looked up at you—like you were something holy and filthy all at once—made it very clear that Eddie Munson planned to take his time worshipping every single inch of you.
Eddie moved like a man possessed.
He broke away from your chest just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it somewhere behind the couch. His jeans were next—belt undone with clumsy, impatient fingers, zipper dragged down, fabric shoved past his hips until he could kick them off. He left the black boxers on— the hard line of his cock already tenting the front obscenely.
You reached between you without thinking, palm sliding down the plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around him. The second you pulled him free of the last bit of fabric, your breath caught.
He was thick. Heavy in your hand. Bigger than you’d let yourself imagine in all those late-night thoughts you never admitted to.
Eddie watched your face and let out a low, breathless laugh that was pure nerves and ego all at once.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I get that look a lot. Don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll go slow. I’m not trying to ruin my favorite person on the first night I finally get to touch her.”
You stroked him once, just to feel the weight of him, and his hips jerked up into your fist with a punched-out little sound.
But he didn’t let you keep control for long.
Eddie gently caught your wrist and guided your hand away, eyes dark and focused. “My turn first. Been dying to get my mouth on you. Need to get you nice and open for me before I even think about putting that in you.”
He moved with surprising care for how wrecked he looked—hands on your waist, guiding you down until your back hit the couch cushions. One of your legs was carefully lifted and draped over the back of the couch; the other he guided down so your foot rested on the floor. The position left you completely spread for him, the tiny scrap of hot-pink lace still clinging to the side of your cunt.
Eddie knelt between your thighs on the floor and just stared for a long second, hands resting on the insides of your knees like he needed the anchor.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re really here. In my apartment. In that tiny pink shit. Legs open for me like this. I can’t— Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.”
Then he leaned in.
The first drag of his tongue over your clit was slow and filthy, broad and wet. He moaned against you like the taste alone was enough to ruin him. One hand stayed splayed on your lower stomach to keep you still while the other stroked up the inside of your thigh, fingers teasing along the soaked edge of the lace.
“So wet already,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick. “All for me. Gonna take my time opening you up, okay? Want you dripping before I even try to fit.”
He licked another slow stripe through your folds, then sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked gently while one long finger pressed inside. The stretch was easy—you were already so ready—but he still worked it carefully, curling and stroking until your hips twitched. A second finger joined the first sooner than you expected, scissoring gently, stretching you while his tongue kept up that steady, filthy rhythm on your clit.
“That’s it,” he breathed, glancing up the length of your body. “Look at you taking two already. So fucking pretty like this. Can you give me one more? Want you nice and ready for me.”
The third finger pressed in slow, the burn sweet and deep. Eddie groaned like he was the one being stretched, forehead dropping against your hip for a second as he felt you clench around him.
“Fuck— there you go. Three. God, you’re perfect. So tight and hot around my fingers. Keep breathing for me, baby. Gonna keep working you open just like this 'til you’re shaking.”
He curled all three fingers and rubbed firmly against that spot inside you while his tongue flicked faster over your clit, wet sounds filling the quiet apartment. His free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise, holding you spread wide open while he worshipped you with his mouth and hand like he’d been starving for it.
You were already shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his head, when the need finally spilled out of you in broken little pieces.
“Eddie— please— I need— fuck, I need you, I can’t— please just—”
He lifted his head immediately, mouth shiny, three fingers still buried deep inside you. His eyes were almost black.
“Yeah?” His voice was wrecked. “You need me right now, baby? Need my cock instead of my fingers?”
You nodded frantically, hips twitching down against his hand. “Please. Now. I need you inside me—”
Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.
He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then surged up over you. One hand shoved his boxers the rest of the way down while the other stayed braced on the inside of your thigh, keeping you spread exactly the way he wanted.
He knew you had an IUD—he’d driven you to the appointment months ago, sat in the waiting room with his knee bouncing, bought you a milkshake afterward like it was the most normal thing in the world. So no condom. Nothing between you.
He wrapped a hand around himself and dragged the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds once, twice, coating himself in how wet you’d gotten for him. Then he lined up, the blunt pressure of him settling right against your entrance while your legs stayed open—one hooked over the back of the couch, the other dangling toward the floor.
“Breathe for me,” he whispered, voice low and shaking with restraint. “Gonna go slow. You’re so fucking tight and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was immediate, deep, almost overwhelming. Eddie’s mouth fell open on a broken sound as the head of him sank inside you, and he kept going—inch by thick inch—while a steady stream of praise spilled out of him like he couldn’t stop it.
“Holy shit— look at that. Look at you taking me. So fucking pretty stretched around my cock already. That’s it, baby, just like that. You’re doing so good. S' good for me.”
His hands gripped your thighs harder, rings pressing into soft skin as he sank deeper. Another inch. Another. His stomach was trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Fuck, you’re s' warm inside. Sucking me in so perfect. Knew you’d feel like this. Dreamed about it. God, you’re taking every inch like you were made for me— almost there, almost— there. That’s all of me. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
He bottomed out with a punched-out groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed completely still so you could adjust. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your neck.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice cracking with pure awe. “You’re perfect. So tight and wet and mine. Just stay right here and let me feel you for a second. Let me feel how you grip me when you’re full.”
He kissed the side of your throat, soft and reverent even while his cock throbbed deep inside you, and kept murmuring filthy, worshipful praise against your skin like he never planned to stop.
Your cunt clenched around him—tight, wet, perfect—and Eddie’s brain short-circuited all over again.
“Move,” you whispered, voice wrecked and needy. “Please, Eddie, move.”
He lifted his head, eyes searching your face even as his hips twitched with the desperate urge to thrust. “How do you want it?” he asked, voice low and rough. One hand stroked up your side, grounding both of you. “Tell me. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
“Soft,” you breathed. “Start soft. Then… rough when I’m close. When I’m about to come.”
Eddie nodded like you’d just handed him sacred instructions.
“Soft first. Got it. I can do soft.”
He pulled out slow—dragged every thick inch of himself almost all the way free until just the head stayed tucked inside you—then pushed back in just as carefully. The wet heat of you swallowed him again and a broken sound punched out of his chest. He did it again. And again. Deep, rolling strokes that kept him buried to the hilt for a long second each time, letting you feel every ridge and pulse of him.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth, kissing you between words. “I could die happy here. So fucking soft and warm inside. Look at you. Perfect. You’re fuckin' perfect.”
He kissed you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in the same lazy rhythm as his hips. One hand stayed braced on the back of the couch near your knee, keeping that leg hooked high; the other cupped your breast, thumb stroking over your nipple in time with every slow thrust.
Internally, Eddie was losing his entire mind.
Holy shit. Holy shit, this is real. You’re under me on my shitty couch in that tiny pink lingerie, stretched around my cock, telling me exactly how you want it. I’ve jerked off to this exact fantasy so many times it’s embarrassing and now you’re actually here, actually clenching around me, actually letting me have this. Don’t you dare fuck this up, Munson. Go slow. Make it good. Make it so good she never wants anyone else. God, the way she feels— dripping down my balls already. I’m not gonna survive this. I’m going to come embarrassingly fast if I keep thinking about how long I’ve wanted to be right here.
He kept the pace steady and deep, every thrust deliberate, every kiss lingering.
“You feel unreal,” he whispered against your lips, voice shaking with restraint. “So tight every time I push back in. Think your body’s trying to keep me. Fuck— I love that. Love how wet you are for me. I'll give you anything you ever need baby.”
He rolled his hips again, grinding against you at the end of the stroke so the base of his cock rubbed your clit, and another filthy, worshipful groan spilled out of him.
Don’t rush. Don’t you dare rush. She’s trusting you. She’s asking for soft first. Give it to her. Worship her. Make her come so hard she forgets anyone else ever touched her. God, I still can’t believe she’s mine right now. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if—
He kissed you harder to shut his own spiraling thoughts up, and kept moving—slow, deep, devoted—exactly the way you’d asked.
Eddie's hand under the thigh that was still draped over the back of the couch lifted you up and pushed it higher, folding you open even more. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust, and he groaned into the side of your neck.
He leaned in fully, chest pressed to yours, and put his mouth on your throat.
Soft kisses first—open and wet along the column of your neck—then the careful scrape of teeth. He found a spot just under your jaw and sucked hard enough to leave a mark, then another lower, closer to your pulse, worrying the skin between his lips until he knew it would bloom purple later. Every time he bottomed out he did it again, marking you like he needed proof this was real.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “Gonna leave these all over you. Want everyone to know I had you like this. Want you to look in the mirror tomorrow and remember how deep I was.”
Your hand slipped between your bodies.
Eddie felt the moment your fingers found your clit—felt the way your cunt fluttered hard around him in response—and his hips stuttered.
“That’s it,” he breathed, lifting his head just enough to watch. “Take what you need angel. Let me feel it. Wanna feel every bit of you.”
She’s getting close. Fuck, she’s getting close and I’m still inside her and she’s touching herself and I can feel every single clench. Don’t come. Do not come yet, you absolute fucking idiot. She asked for soft until she’s about to finish. Give her that. Hold it together. Think about literally anything else— guitar tabs, the broken latch on the van, the way Robin would mock you forever if you finished in thirty seconds flat— anything except how perfect and hot and wet she is around you.
Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, still rocking into you in those same controlled, deep thrusts even as his thighs started to shake.
“You’re tightening up on me,” he whispered, almost in awe. “I can feel it. You’re getting close, aren’t you? Keep rubbing that pretty clit. Wanna feel you come on my cock. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. Just let it build.”
He kissed you again, messy and open, and kept moving exactly the way you’d asked—holding that leg high, marking your neck, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to snap his hips and chase his own release—while your cunt kept clenching tighter and tighter around him.
“Harder,” you breathed against his mouth, fingers still working between your bodies. “Eddie— harder, please—”
The magic words.
Eddie pulled almost all the way out and then snapped his hips forward, the slow, worshipful pace shattering as he gave you exactly what you wanted. He kept the build gradual at first—each thrust a little faster, a little deeper—until he was driving into you with real force, the hard wet slap of skin on skin filling the apartment. The new rhythm forced him against your cervix on every stroke; he felt the firm resistance and the faint, unmistakable nudge of your IUD against the head of his cock and he did not give a single shit.
Not when you were taking him like this.
“Fuck— there it is,” he groaned, voice wrecked as he held your leg higher and leaned into every thrust. “Feel that? That’s as deep as I can get. Taking every fucking inch like you were built for it. God, you’re perfect— so perfect—”
Your cunt clenched down around him so hard it punched the air from his lungs.
Then you gushed.
Hot, sudden wetness flooded around his cock, squirting in pulsing waves that soaked his stomach, his thighs, the couch cushion beneath you. The sound was filthy and unmistakable. Eddie’s eyes went wide, a broken, awed noise tearing out of his throat as he watched and felt you come apart under him.
“Oh my god— you’re— fuck, you’re squirting on me—”
That was all it took.
The tight, rhythmic pulse of your cunt milking him while you kept spurting around his cock ripped his orgasm out of him with zero warning. Eddie buried himself to the hilt and came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. He kept thrusting through it—short, messy strokes that forced his cum deeper while you were still gushing around him—mouth open against your neck, one hand locked under your thigh, the other braced on the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
“Shit— shit, baby, I- fuck— feel that? Feel me filling you up while you’re still making a mess of me? Fuck, you’re incredible— so wet and tight and perfect—”
He stayed inside you through the aftershocks, cock twitching as the last of your squirting eased into trembling little pulses. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath coming in ragged, disbelieving gasps, every muscle in his body still shaking from how hard he’d finished.
The couch was ruined.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Eddie stayed exactly where he was—chest to chest, cock softening in the wet heat he’d just filled. His breath was still coming a little uneven against the side of your neck. One hand stayed hooked under your thigh like he wasn’t ready to let you close your legs yet.
He lifted his head after a long moment, eyes dark and a little dazed, and looked down at you.
“…Did you know you could do that?”
His voice was rough, still wrecked around the edges, but there was pure curiosity underneath it. And a little bit of awe he wasn’t even trying to hide.
You blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Eddie stared.
“Yeah?” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that made his softening cock twitch inside you. “You’ve been walking around knowing you can do that and you just… never mentioned it? Not once? We’ve talked about every stupid thing under the sun and you never thought to bring up the fact that you can soak a couch?”
You shrugged as much as you could with him still on top of you. “I didn’t know it was gonna happen with you.”
Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Then dropped his forehead back to your shoulder with a dramatic groan.
“Oh my god. You’re serious. You actually didn’t know.” He sounded personally offended and deeply smug at the same time. “So what you’re telling me is that I did that. Me. Eddie Munson. Made you squirt. On my couch. And how often does that happen?”
"By myself? A lot. With other people? Not as much."
"So you're saying I'm a sex god?"
"I'm not not saying that."
He lifted his head again, grinning now—soft and a little filthy, hair a mess, lips still kiss-bitten.
“I’m never recovering from this. You’re never living this down. I’m going to be so insufferable about it. Just warning you now.”
He shifted his hips the tiniest bit, still half-hard and sliding through the mess of both of you, and made a low, content sound at the feeling.
“Also,” he added, voice dropping into something warmer, “for the record? That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You just— just… gushing all over me while I was coming? Jesus Christ. I thought I was going to black out. You ruined me. Completely.”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, lazy and fond, and didn’t pull out.
“We’re gonna need to burn this cushion,” he murmured against your lips, clearly not sorry at all. “And probably the whole couch. Worth it. So fucking worth it.”
Eddie cleaned you up with a care that made your chest ache.
He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a warm washcloth, still bare and soft-eyed, and wiped between your legs with slow, gentle strokes like you were something precious. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee when he was done, then another to your hip, and helped you stand on slightly unsteady legs.
“C’mon,” he murmured, voice still rough. “Bed. Couch is a crime scene and I’m not making you sit in it.”
His bedroom was dim and lived-in—unmade sheets, a pile of band tees on the chair, the faint smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. He dug through a drawer and tossed you a soft black shirt that was definitely his and a pair of boxers that hung low on your hips. You pulled both on while he watched, something warm and possessive flickering across his face when the shirt settled over you and the boxers disappeared under the hem.
Then he tugged you down into the bed with him.
You ended up half on top of him, head on his chest, one of his arms wrapped solidly around your back while the other worked the remote. Some random late-night show played at low volume, the light from the screen flickering across the ceiling. His fingers traced idle patterns along your spine under the shirt. Every so often he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head like he couldn’t help it.
The quiet stretched long enough to feel safe.
You traced a fingertip over one of the tattoos on his chest and finally asked, voice soft, “What are we now?”
Eddie let out a short, incredulous laugh that rumbled under your ear.
“Are you serious?” He shifted just enough to look down at you, dark eyes soft and completely certain. “You’re asking me that while you’re in my clothes, in my bed, still smelling like me and sex? Baby. I’m not letting go of you now. Not after that. Not after years of wanting you and finally getting to have you.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You’re my girl. That’s what we are. Official. Permanent. Whatever word makes it sink in. You’re mine.”
He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then your mouth—slow and sweet.
When he pulled back there was a familiar crooked grin tugging at his lips.
“Also,” he added, “I’m keeping those ruined little pink panties. They’re mine now. Evidence. Trophy. Whatever. I’ll buy you a new set. Hell, I’ll buy you ten new sets if it means I get to ruin them the same way. Fair trade.”
He settled back against the pillows, tugging you more firmly against his chest, and turned the volume on the TV up just a little.
“Now quit overthinking and watch the show with me,” he murmured into your hair, already sounding half-asleep and completely content. “My girl needs rest. I’ve got you.”
nightmare on elm street ⌇ halloween ⌇ friday the 13th ⌇ carrie ⌇ child's play ⌇ dawn of the dead ⌇ saw ⌇ it ⌇ texas chainsaw massacre ⌇ it follows ⌇ X ⌇ silent hill ⌇ my bloody valentine ⌇ i know what you did last summer ⌇ final destination ⌇ the loved ones ⌇ the shining ⌇ the exorcist ⌇ jennifer's body ⌇ obsession ⌇ companion ⌇ psycho ⌇ midsommar ⌇ interview with a vampire ⌇ evil dead ⌇ silence of the lambs ⌇ rosemarys baby ⌇ misery ⌇ cabin in the woods ⌇ ready or not ⌇ the conjuring
big thank you to @moonstoneandmoonlight & @graywrenhart for letting me use this idea for our favorite metalhead <3
Eddie Munson loved you with a devotion he declared hotter and fiercer than the flames of hell, and he doesn't mind reminding you of that.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (male receiving), tender moments, praise, marijuana smoking, minors dni.
In my mind, Eddie sure as shit did not die, so let's not go there. Decided to expand into something different than House of the Dragon and AKOTSK. Hope you all enjoy reading it.
The trailer smelled like old vinyl, lingering cigarette smoke in the curtains, and the sweet earth of the joint Eddie had just rolled on the scarred coffee table. Hawkins sat quiet under the heavy summer weight of cicadas. Inside it was only the two of you, the soft glow of a single lamp, and a Black Sabbath record turning low on the turntable.
Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like you were the only solid thing left. His dark hair hung in a wild curtain around his face. Rings caught the light as he passed the joint up to you.
Those big brown eyes, usually full of chaos and laughter, had gone soft and almost reverent.
“My girl,” he murmured, voice already rough from the smoke. “My weird, brilliant, perfect girl.” He said it the way other people said prayers.
You took a slow hit, the burn bloomed warm in your chest. He watched the whole time, lips curling into that crooked, devoted smile, and when you passed it back he caught your wrist gently, thumb brushing the soft inside of it.
“You know I’d burn this whole shitty town down before I let anything touch you, right?” His voice stayed quiet and absolute. “You’re the only one who ever looked at me and didn’t flinch. Not once. You’re it. You’re the whole campaign.”
The high settled in slow and syrupy. Everything went soft around the edges: the cheap wood-paneled walls, the Dio and Iron Maiden posters, the cool press of his rings when he finally climbed onto the couch and settled between your knees.
He looked at you like you were something holy and slightly dangerous, then leaned in.
The first kiss was lazy, smoke still on both your tongues. He made a low sound in his throat when your fingers slid into his hair and tugged.
The second kiss went deeper, as he tasted like weed and peppermint gum and pure Eddie, feral and sweet at the same time.
His hands framed your face as if he was afraid you might disappear. “You drive me insane in the best way,” he breathed against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “My geeky little metalhead. Mine.”
The make-out turned messier after that, slow, open-mouthed kisses that grew hungrier. His rings dragged lightly down your sides as he pushed your shirt up just enough to feel skin.
He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft place under your ear, murmuring the whole time. “I’d go to the Upside Down for you, again. I’d fight Vecna bare-handed. I’d sit through a thousand hours of whatever nerd shit you want if it means I get to keep this. Keep you.”
You pulled him closer.
He went willingly, long limbs folding around you like armor. The high made everything feel liquid and golden, the press of his body, the soft drag of his tongue, the way his heartbeat hammered against your chest.
Every so often he broke the kiss just to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely gone, and whispered something filthy and tender at the same time. “Christ, you drive me insane, my little moose. Fuck, want you so bad.”
He stayed there for a long moment, face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, breathing you in. One hand drifted under the hem of your shirt, thumb stroking absent circles over bare skin at your hip.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and wrecked. He lifted his head enough to catch your mouth again in a lazy, open kiss, all soft tongue and quiet hunger.
The same hand slid higher, palm spanning your ribs, then lower until his fingers found the waistband of your shorts.
He eased the button open, then the zipper. The metal teeth parted with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet trailer. His eyes stayed on your face while he pushed past the cotton of your underwear. He groaned quietly when he found you already slick.
“Look at you. So wet for me already.” His middle finger dragged through your folds in a single, unhurried stroke, gathering the wetness, then circled your clit with light, patient pressure. “That’s it. Just feel it. I’ve got you.”
He settled more fully between your legs, one knee braced on the couch, the other foot still on the floor, body curved over yours like a shield. His free hand stayed in your hair, stroking, while the one between your thighs worked you open.
Two fingers slid inside, slow and deep, curling just right on the way in. He watched every flicker of your expression.
“There she is, taking my fingers so sweet.” He pumped them in a lazy rhythm, knuckles dragging, rings cool against your inner thigh with every movement, the wet sound of it filled the trailer. “You feel that? How deep I am? How I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this?”
His thumb found your clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. No urgency, just relentless, loving pressure.
He leaned down and kissed you through it, messy and open-mouthed, swallowing every soft sound you made.
When your breath hitched he slowed even more, fingers curling harder against that perfect spot inside you, thumb never stopping.
“Let go for me. I’ve got you. Always got you.” His voice was a rough, adoring rasp right against your ear. “Come on my fingers, sweetheart. Wanna feel you fall apart. Wanna watch you.”
The high stretched every stroke, every spark of pleasure blooming thicker and hotter. Eddie kept the same unhurried pace even as your thighs started to shake, even as your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers.
He murmured more praise, more quiet vows, thumb circling, fingers pumping deep and steady until the pleasure finally crested.
You came undone around him with a broken whimper, hips rolling up into his hand, body locking tight.
He held you through every pulse, fingers still moving, slower now, gentler, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Only then did he ease them free, glistening in the low light. He brought them to his mouth without looking away from you and licked them clean, eyes half-lidded and completely gone.
“Perfect,” he whispered, leaning back in to kiss the corner of your mouth, soft and proud. “My perfect girl. Still mine.”
You shifted beneath him while he was still half-draped over you, lazy and satisfied. The high made every movement feel deliberate, like the air itself was thick. You pushed gently at his chest until he rolled onto his back on the worn couch, dark hair spilling across the cushion, rings glinting as he reached for you.
“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was already rough, eyes half-lidded and curious.
You answered by sliding down his body, hands trailing over the soft black fabric of his Hellfire shirt, then lower, popping the button of his jeans. The zipper followed as you tugged them down just far enough.
Eddie’s breath caught hard when you freed him, already half-hard from touching you, thickening further the second your fingers wrapped around him.
“Yeah,” he groaned, head tipping back. “That’s it. Use that pretty mouth on me.”
You leaned in and took him slow. The first drag of your tongue along the underside made his hips twitch. The moment you sealed your lips around the head and sank down, a broken sound tore out of him.
His hand found your hair, not pushing, just holding, rings cool against your scalp as he watched every inch disappear.
“Jesus Christ. Look at you. Taking me so good.” His voice was pure wrecked devotion. “That’s it. Just like that. Slow. Wanna feel every second of it.”
You kept the pace lazy, matching the high: long, wet slides of your mouth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his thighs tense.
Spit slicked him, made every downward stroke easier, deeper. Eddie’s free hand gripped the back of the couch like he needed something solid to hold onto. Every time you hummed around him he cursed softly, hips rolling up in tiny, desperate thrusts he couldn’t quite control.
“Gonna make me lose it,” he warned, voice shaking. “Your mouth is perfect. Gonna come down that pretty throat if you keep—”
You didn’t stop.
You took him deeper, one hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, the other resting on his hip, grounding him the same way he always grounded you, and when he finally broke it was with a long, low groan, fingers tightening in your hair as he spilled across your tongue in hot pulses.
You swallowed every drop, slow and thorough, until he was trembling and oversensitive, murmuring your name like a prayer.
You crawled back up his body while he was still catching his breath. His hands immediately found your hips, helping you straddle him.
The head of his cock, still wet from your mouth, still half-hard, nudged against your soaked entrance. You sank down in one long, lazy glide, both of you exhaling hard at the stretch and the heat.
“Fuck me,” Eddie whispered, eyes locked on yours. His hands slid up under your shirt, palms spanning your waist, thumbs stroking. “Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Wanna feel you for hours.”
You set the pace the high demanded: rolling hips, rising and falling in deep, unhurried strokes that dragged every inch of him against the places that still pulsed from his fingers.
The couch creaked softly beneath you, Eddie’s rings pressed into your skin as he held on, guiding but never forcing, letting you take exactly what you needed.
Every time you sank down he met you with a shallow thrust upward, the wet sound of it filling the trailer.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Using me just like that. Feel how deep I am? How I’m all yours?” One hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing lazy circles in time with your movements. “Come on. Take another one. Wanna watch you come on my cock this time.”
You rode him through the thick, golden haze: slow rolls of your hips, the slide of skin, the soft slap of your bodies, his praise never stopping.
His other hand stayed on your thigh, squeezing, grounding, fiercely possessive.
When the second orgasm finally rolled through you it was deeper, longer, your walls fluttering and clenching around him until he followed with a broken groan, spilling inside you in hot, pulsing waves while you kept moving through it, milking every last tremor from both of you.
Only when you finally stilled, still seated deep, chests rising and falling together, did Eddie pull you down against him. His arms wrapped around you tight, face buried in your hair, voice a sleepy, devoted rumble against your ear.
The record needle kept scratching softly in the quiet. Outside, Hawkins slept on, none the wiser.
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.”
you get shot (in your vest) and your boss falls a part for a second
Home Front by @/crowdedimagines
You have been Aaron Hotchner's nanny, taking care of Jack, for over a year when someone looking for revenge breaks into the house while Aaron is away on a case.
Showtime by @/crowdedimagines
The BAU team is being sent to catch an unsub going after couples with age-gap relationships. How are things going to go when you have to go undercover with your boss in order to catch him?
Too pretty to be stressed by @alinathinkstoomuch
aaron swears he's not the clingy type...until you show up, and suddenly it's a full blown PDA parade in the bullpen
Nighttime Vlogs by @yasministration
finally on the jet ride back home, aaron watches the little nighttime vlog you and jack have filmed for him, allowing him to witness a special moment between the two of you despite being thousands of miles away
Glasses by @catssluvr
aaron sees you with glasses for the first time and his brain can't handle it
Girl Crush by @goorgeousz
beth is coming back from hong kong and you feel like hotch’s feelings are slipping away, so you decide to do it first.
Secret Admirer by @ssahotchnerr
Jealousy by @hotchreiid
There’s Two? by @lavendercoldfoam
you and your husband tell the team you’re having not one- but two babies.
Baby Deer by @hoe4hotchner
Hotch comes home injured from a case and you're both too needy to let him rest, leading to you ending up on top for the first time in your life. 🔥
Tap Tap Tap by @hannibals-favourite-meal
An unsub has taken you. You can’t see anything, feel anything, taste anything but you can hear that tap tap tapping.
summary: You and Eddie take on the Hawkins Fourth of July fair: carnival games, bad decisions, and way too much sugar included. Somewhere between the chaos and the charm, he might just win more than a stuffed prize.
tags: eddie x reader, no y/n, carnival date, tooth-rotting fluff, established feelings but they won't say it, mutual pining but they're also idiots, match made in hell, he constantly checks in, hill rolling, this is so sickly sweet, i fear they're in love, reader matches his energy perfectly
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not inquire, i mean it. unprotected sex.
A/N: gah i loved writing this one! i found this request and immediately fell in love with it. i hope i brought your vision to life<3 reblogs are always appreciated, ofc. happy reading!
WC: 7.7k
The idea comes to him as most of his best ones do, half-formed and a little reckless, while he’s lying on his back with his head in your lap, lazily tracing the frayed hem of your shorts like it’s something sacred. The window’s cracked open, letting in the thick July air and the distant hum of town already starting to buzz for the Fourth, and Eddie tilts his head just enough to look up at you, eyes bright in that way that usually means trouble in the best sense.
“You busy tonight, sweetheart?” he asks, already smiling like he knows the answer, thumb catching one of the chipped rings on your finger and spinning it slowly. “Or are you gonna let me take you on a highly questionable date to the most American thing this town’s got to offer?”
You raise a brow, dragging your fingers through his hair just to feel the way he melts a little under it, and he exhales like he’s been waiting for that exact touch all day.
“Carnival,” he adds, softer now, like he’s letting you in on something instead of pitching it. “Ferris wheel, shitty prizes, probably illegal amounts of fried food. Real romantic, I know. I’m pulling out all the stops.”
You pretend to think about it, tilting your head like you’re weighing the options, even though you’re already smiling, already leaning down just enough that your hair brushes his cheek.
“Only if you win me something,” you say, voice light but challenging, and his grin goes sharp, delighted, like you just handed him a mission.
“Oh,” Eddie murmurs, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he’s closer, so he can look at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room, “You bet your ass I’ll win you everything.”
The carnival lights up Hawkins like it’s trying to be bigger than it is, strings of red, white, and blue tangled with blinking bulbs that make everything feel softer, almost unreal, and Eddie keeps close to you from the second you step in, fingers hooked through yours like he’s not planning on letting go for anything.
There’s music somewhere, something loud and a little offbeat, kids running past with sticky hands and too much sugar in their systems, and Eddie leans in toward you, shoulder bumping yours as he scans the booths like he’s already strategizing.
“Alright,” he says, low enough that it feels like it’s just for you, “we assess the competition first. No point in me wasting my obvious natural talent on a rigged game.”
You laugh, squeezing his hand, and he glances at you as he did back in the trailer, like the sound alone is worth everything, like he’s memorizing it.
“You’re so full of it,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, just warmth, just that easy rhythm you fall into with him without trying.
“Yeah,” he agrees immediately, nudging your shoulder with his. “But you like it.” You don’t even bother denying it.
He drags you from booth to booth, narrating like he’s some kind of expert, pointing out which ones are scams and which ones he could “absolutely dominate if he felt like it,” until you finally stop in front of a ring toss that looks simple enough to tempt him.
“This one,” you say, crossing your arms like you’re issuing a challenge. “Win me something, Munson.”
He rolls his neck like he’s about to enter a real competition, shaking out his hands, and you swear he gets more serious than he ever does about anything else, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth as he lines up the first toss.
It misses. Badly. You snort, covering your mouth, and he shoots you a look over his shoulder that’s half offended, half amused.
“Okay, first of all,” he says, grabbing another ring, “that was a warm-up. We don’t count warm-ups.”
“Of course we don’t,” you echo, leaning against the side of the booth, watching him with that same soft look he gives you.
The next one misses. Then another. And when he finally knocks one clean onto the bottle, he turns to you like he just conquered something huge, eyes wide and triumphant.
“Pick your prize,” he says, breathless and a little smug, like he didn’t just miss the first three.
You scan the options, but your gaze drifts back to him instead, the way he’s standing there waiting, hair a mess, grin softening the edges of everything sharp about him. “That one,” you say finally, pointing to a ridiculously oversized stuffed bear.
He laughs under his breath. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Alright,” he nods, like he’s accepted a challenge from the universe itself. “Big guy, it is.”
It takes more tries than he’d ever admit, more muttered curses and exaggerated frustration, but when he finally wins it, he hands it to you like it’s something far more meaningful than cheap carnival fluff, like it matters because you wanted it.
“There you go,” he says, softer now. “Told you I’d get you everything.”
You take it, but your fingers catch his wrist before he can pull away, tugging him just a little closer.
“Thank you,” you say, quieter, meeting his eyes. “I mean it.”
Something in his expression shifts, just for a second, something softer than all the teasing and bravado, and he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple like he can’t quite help it.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he looks entirely too pleased about it.
The Ferris wheel is his idea, of course, because he claims it’s “mandatory for the full romantic experience,” and he doesn’t let go of your hand even when you’re climbing into the seat, even when the ride jerks into motion and the ground starts to fall away.
By the time you reach the top, the whole town is spread out beneath you, lights flickering, fireworks just starting to bloom in the distance, and Eddie shifts closer, arm slung behind you like it belongs there.
“Not bad, right?” he says, quieter now, like the height demands it, like the moment does.
You lean into him without thinking, head resting against his shoulder, the stuffed bear squished awkwardly between you both, and he lets out a soft laugh, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, like it’s instinct.
“Not bad at all,” you murmur.
The first firework goes off overhead, bright and loud, and for a second, it feels like everything pauses, like the world narrows down to just this small space and the way his fingers trace absent patterns against your arm.
“You know,” Eddie says after a moment, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “I had this whole speech planned about how I’m a great date, and you’re lucky to be here with me.”
You tilt your head, looking up at him, amused. “Had?”
“Yeah,” he huffs, glancing down at you with a crooked smile. “Kind of ruined it by actually liking you this much.”
It’s said like a joke, like everything he says, but there’s something real underneath it, something you feel settle in your chest.
“Good,” you say simply, reaching up to hook your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging him just close enough that your foreheads almost touch. “I’d hate to think I was wasting my time.”
He exhales, soft and shaky in a way that doesn’t match his usual confidence, and then he’s smiling again, but it’s different now, less teasing, more certain. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Definitely not a waste.”
The next firework lights up the sky, colors reflecting in his eyes, and before he can say anything else, you close the distance, kissing him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s always been leading here.
He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been waiting for it, hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in a way that’s almost careful, almost reverent.
When you pull back, just enough to breathe, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling in that soft, lopsided way that feels like it belongs only to you.
“Best questionable date I’ve ever planned,” he says.
You laugh, still close, still wrapped up in him and the noise and the light and everything in between. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”
The idea finds you both without much effort, much like everything else does when you’re together.
You take a wandering turn past the louder parts of the carnival where the noise fades into something softer, something quieter, until the glow of the rides gives way to rows and rows of sunflowers stretching taller than either of you.
There’s a hand-painted sign at the entrance, slightly crooked, warning in uneven red letters: SUNFLOWER MAZE. STAY ON PATH. DO NOT PICK THE FLOWERS.
Eddie slows just enough to read it, then glances at you, brows lifting like he’s already filing it under suggestions, not rules.
“Oh, we’re absolutely going in there,” he says, squeezing your hand once before tugging you toward the entrance, voice low and conspiratorial. “I feel like I was specifically told not to do something, and now I have to.”
You laugh, letting him pull you along, brushing past the first row where the sunflowers tower overhead, their faces turned toward the last fading light of the evening.
It smells faintly sweet, warm, like summer itself decided to settle here, and the further you walk, the more the outside world disappears until it’s just the narrow dirt path, the rustle of leaves, and him.
“You’re such a problem,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder as he leads you deeper in, turning corners like he has any idea where he’s going.
“Correction,” Eddie replies easily, glancing back at you with a grin that’s all mischief and something softer underneath, “I’m your problem.”
You hum like you’re considering it, even though you’re already stepping closer to him, your arm brushing his. “Debatable.”
“Wow,” he breathes, mock wounded, pressing a hand to his chest. “After I just won you a bear and everything.”
“You missed, like, five times.”
“Details,” he dismisses, waving a hand before catching yours again, lacing your fingers together like it’s second nature. “You still got the bear, didn’t you?”
You don’t answer, just squeeze his hand, and he notices, of course, he does, because he always does. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in that absent, grounding way.
The maze twists more than either of you expects, paths splitting and curving back into each other, and at some point, Eddie just gives up pretending he’s navigating and starts wandering instead, pulling you down whatever direction feels right in the moment.
“Alright,” he says after a moment, slowing until you nearly bump into his back, “important question.”
You tilt your head. “Should I be concerned?”
“Always,” he shoots back, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked smile. “But that’s part of my charm.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he softens just a little at the sight of it.
“If we get lost in here,” he continues, turning to face you fully now, stepping backward as he walks so he can keep looking at you, “do you think they send a search party, or do we just become part of the attraction?”
You cross your arms, pretending to consider it. “I think they would leave you in here as a warning to others.”
He gasps, offended, and it’s so exaggerated you can’t help but laugh, the sound catching in the warm air between you. “That’s cold,” he says, but he’s smiling, eyes bright. “After everything I’ve done for you tonight.”
“Oh, please,” you tease, stepping closer, your hand sliding up to catch the front of his shirt just lightly. “What exactly have you done, Eddie Munson?”
He stills for a second, just a second, like the question actually caught him off guard, and then his expression shifts, softening into something quieter, something that feels less like a joke.
“Spent time with you,” he says simply, like it’s obvious, like it’s enough.
And it is. It really, really is.
You don’t say it out loud, but your grip tightens just a little on his shirt, and he notices that too. His hand comes up to cover yours for a second before he exhales, like he needs to shake off how soft that moment just got.
“Alright,” he mutters, glancing around suddenly, like he’s remembered something important. “Hold on.”
Before you can ask, he steps off the path just slightly, reaching toward one of the sunflowers, fingers brushing the stem.
“Eddie,” you warn, even though there’s already a smile pulling at your lips. “The sign—”
“The sign,” he echoes under his breath, already carefully bending the stem, “is very clearly a suggestion.”
“It literally said do not pick the flowers.”
“And yet,” he says, glancing back at you as the stem gives way with a soft snap, “here I am.”
You shake your head, laughing quietly, watching as he turns back to you, sunflower in hand, suddenly a little less teasing, a little more deliberate.
“For you,” he says, softer now, holding it out like it’s something worth more than it probably is, like it matters because it’s from him.
You take it carefully, fingers brushing his, and for a second, you just look at it, at the bright yellow petals, the way it stands out against the darkening sky, and then back at him.
“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you say, but there’s no real warning in it, just fondness.
“Worth it,” he replies immediately, not even hesitating, like the answer was already decided the second he saw you.
You shake your head again, but this time you step closer, closing the space between you until the sunflower is pressed lightly between your bodies, your free hand finding its way to the side of his neck.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says softly, leaning in just enough that his forehead brushes yours, voice dropping like it’s just for you. “But you like me anyway.”
You smile, slow and sure, matching his energy in a way that feels effortless, like you were built to meet him right here.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “I do.”
He exhales, something in him settling, and then he’s grinning again, but softer this time, less sharp around the edges, his hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear before letting his fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.
“C’mon,” he says after a moment, nudging your nose lightly with his. “Let’s get lost a little longer.”
And you let him, hand in hand, sunflower and cheap bear tucked safely in your grip, the maze closing in around you like it’s keeping the rest of the world out, like for once, there’s nowhere else you’re supposed to be.
By the time you finally spot the end of the maze, it feels less like finding an exit and more like breaking out of something, the rows of sunflowers thinning just enough to let the outside world peek through again.
Eddie sees it a second before you do, his grip on your hand tightening as he speeds up, dragging you along behind him like he’s racing toward freedom.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, half-laughing already, “tell me you see that. Tell me that’s the end and not some sick joke.”
“I see it,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he pulls you faster, your shoulder bumping into his back. “Oh my god, slow down—” He doesn't. Because why would he?
The second you both step out into the open, out from under the canopy of sunflowers and into the wide stretch of grass beyond, Eddie abruptly lets go of your hand just to throw his arms up like he’s been delivered from battle.
“We made it!” he shouts to absolutely no one, voice echoing out into the open field. “Against all odds! Against the oppressive forces of agricultural navigation!”
And then, without warning, he drops straight to his knees in the grass. You stop short, staring at him, the sunflower still clutched loosely in your hand as you try (and fail) to hold back your laughter.
“Oh my god,” you manage between breaths. “You’re so dramatic.”
He looks up at you like he’s been personally wounded by the accusation, one hand pressed over his heart.
“I just led us through a treacherous labyrinth,” he says, breathless and grinning, hair falling into his face. “The least you could do is acknowledge my heroic efforts.”
You take a few steps closer, shaking your head, the smile on your face softening into something a little warmer as you look down at him like this, sprawled in the grass, entirely unbothered by anything but you.
“Heroic, huh?” you tease, nudging his shoulder lightly with your foot. “Pretty sure we got lost at least three times.”
“Strategic detours,” he corrects immediately, reaching out to catch your ankle, fingers curling just enough to tug you forward a step. “Big difference.”
You let him pull you closer, because you always do, and he tips his head back to look up at you, eyes bright, something playful flickering behind them.
And then his expression shifts, just slightly, like he’s about to do something you should probably be concerned about. “Trust me?” he asks suddenly, already starting to stand, still holding onto you.
You narrow your eyes, suspicious but smiling. “That depends.”
“Wrong answer,” he says, and before you can react, he’s tugging you sideways, pulling you with him as he deliberately lets himself fall.
You barely get out a surprised laugh before you’re both hitting the grass, the world tilting as you land tangled together, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to keep you close.
“Eddie—” you start, breathless, but he’s already laughing, that loud, unrestrained sound that always pulls one out of you too.
“Too late now,” he grins, shifting just enough to hook an arm around your waist. “Commit to the bit, sweetheart.”
And then you realize what he’s doing just as he pushes off slightly with his heel, sending you both rolling.
The hill isn’t steep enough to be dangerous, but it’s enough that gravity takes over quickly, the two of you tumbling together in a mess of limbs and laughter, the sky spinning overhead in flashes of dark blue and distant neon lights.
You clutch at him instinctively, fingers fisting in his shirt as he keeps you tucked close, his laughter pressed against your shoulder, your own breaking free in between gasps for air.
“Eddie, oh my god—” you try, but it dissolves into another laugh as you roll again, grass brushing against your skin, the world blurring into motion and noise and him.
It feels endless for a second, like you’ve both completely surrendered to it, to the chaos of it, to each other, until finally the hill evens out and you slow, momentum fading until you come to a stop in a quieter, more hidden stretch of land at the bottom.
For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re half on top of him, half tangled in his arms, both of you breathing hard, laughter still lingering in the air between you like something alive.
“Well,” he pants after a second, staring up at the sky before turning his head to look at you, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “That was incredibly stupid.”
You huff out a laugh, pushing yourself up just enough to look down at him, brushing a piece of grass from his hair without even thinking about it.
“Your ideas usually are,” you reply, but your voice is softer now, fond in a way that doesn’t even try to hide itself.
“Yeah,” he admits easily, one hand coming up to rest at your side, thumb absentmindedly brushing against you. “But you keep going along with them, so…”
You shake your head, but you don’t move away, your hand lingering in his hair for just a second longer before trailing down to his cheek.
“Because they’re fun,” you say quietly. “Because you’re fun.”
Something in his expression shifts again, that same softness from earlier creeping back in, less guarded this time, more open.
“Careful,” he murmurs, echoing himself from before, but there’s no teasing edge to it now. “You keep saying stuff like that…”
You lean down before he can finish, closing the space between you, kissing him slow and easy like there’s nowhere else you need to be, like the rest of the carnival and the noise and the world above the hill doesn’t exist anymore.
He responds immediately, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there just a little longer, just a little closer. When you pull back, the world feels quieter somehow, tucked away in this little hidden space at the bottom of the hill, the distant carnival lights barely reaching you now.
Eddie exhales softly, his forehead resting against yours, his smile small but certain. “Yeah,” he whispers, like he’s answering something unspoken. “This is better.”
And for once, you don’t have anything to tease him about. You just stay there, tangled together in the grass, the sunflower somehow still intact beside you, like proof that even in the middle of all his chaos, he still manages to give you something soft to hold onto.
The grass is cool beneath you now, the kind of soft, slightly damp earth that smells like summer nights and crushed green things. The carnival noise has faded to a distant hum: occasional pops of fireworks, tinny music, laughter that feels a million miles away.
Here, at the bottom of the little hill, it’s just the two of you, the faint glow of distant lights catching in Eddie’s dark eyes as he looks up at you.
You’re still half-draped over him, one of your legs slotted between his, the oversized stuffed bear and the stolen sunflower lying forgotten a foot away in the grass. His hands rest lightly at your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
You lean down again and kiss him.
It starts the same way it did before: slow, easy, smiling against each other’s mouths. But the second his tongue brushes your bottom lip, something shifts. The air thickens.
His fingers flex against your sides, pulling you closer, and you let him, melting into the kiss until it turns deeper, hungrier. A soft sound escapes you when he tilts his head, licking into your mouth like he’s been starving for it all night.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes when you finally break for air, voice rougher than usual, a little wrecked. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’m gonna forget we’re technically in public.”
You laugh quietly, but it comes out shaky. Your heart is hammering. You want him, God, you want him, but the thought of doing this right here, out in the open like this, makes your stomach flip with nervous heat.
“We shouldn’t…” You murmur, even as you’re already dipping back down to kiss him again, softer this time, almost apologetic. Your fingers curl into the front of his Hellfire shirt, holding on like an anchor.
Eddie hums against your lips, one hand sliding up your back, gentle but sure. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he says quietly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.
There’s no pressure in his voice, just that raw honesty he only ever lets you see. “We can just stay right here and make out like teenagers until the fireworks are over. I’m good with that. More than good.”
But you’re already shaking your head, cheeks burning. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you whisper. Your voice is small, reluctant, the words catching a little. “I do. I really do. It’s just… out here? What if someone—”
“No one’s coming down here,” he promises, voice low and soothing. He brushes his thumb along your jaw, tender, almost reverent. “We’re hidden. Just us. And if you change your mind at any point, we stop. No questions. Okay?”
You nod, biting your lip, the reluctance still fluttering in your chest even as heat pools low in your belly.
Eddie watches you for a second longer, like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away, then he leans up and kisses you again; slower this time, deeper, like he’s pouring every soft thing he feels for you into it.
His hands stay gentle. One stays at the small of your back, the other sliding up under the hem of your shirt to rest warm against your bare skin, not pushing, just touching. You shiver at the contact, and he feels it, smiling softly into the kiss.
You shift, straddling his hips properly now, and the moment you settle against him, you can feel how hard he already is beneath you. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest.
“Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little embarrassed, hips twitching once before he forces himself still. “You just… you feel really good.”
You kiss him to shut him up, rolling your hips experimentally. The friction pulls a broken sound from both of you.
Eddie’s hands tighten on your waist, but he doesn’t guide you; he lets you set the pace, lets you rock against him in slow, tentative movements while you keep kissing him like you’re afraid to stop.
Eventually, his fingers find the button of your shorts. He pauses, looking up at you with dark, earnest eyes. “Can I?” he asks, voice husky but careful.
You hesitate for half a second, that nervous reluctance still there, but you nod, whispering, “Yeah… just, go slow?”
“Always,” he promises.
He works your shorts and underwear down your legs with patient hands, helping you kick them off along with your shoes. The night air feels cool against your bare skin, but his palms are warm as they smooth up your thighs, spreading you gently over him.
He doesn’t rush. He watches your face the whole time, checking in without words, thumb stroking soothing circles against your hip.
When you reach for his belt, he helps you, lifting his hips so you can push his jeans and boxers down just enough.
His cock springs free, hot and heavy against his stomach, and you swallow hard at the sight. Eddie catches your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.
“We don’t have to go all the way,” he reminds you again, even though his voice is strained with want. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
But you do want it. You want him. So you nod, leaning down to kiss him as you reach between you, wrapping your fingers around him. He hisses softly at the contact, his hips jerking up into your touch before he catches himself.
You stroke him a few times, slow and exploratory, until he’s breathing hard against your mouth. Then you line him up, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance. You pause there, breath shaky, that last flicker of reluctance making you tremble.
Eddie cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and a little raw. “It’s me. You’re safe. We can stop right now if it’s too much.”
The gentleness in his tone cracks something open in your chest. You shake your head, whispering, “I want you. Just stay with me.”
“Always,” he breathes.
You sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, both of you gasping at the stretch. He’s thick, and the angle makes it feel even more intense.
Eddie’s hands stay on your hips, steadying you, but he doesn’t push; he lets you take him at your own pace, jaw clenched tight like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.
When you’re fully seated, you both stay still for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little. “You feel… Jesus, sweetheart. So perfect.”
There’s a quiet anguish in his tone, like he can’t quite believe this is real, like he’s afraid it might slip away.
You kiss him to chase it away, slow and deep, and start to move—careful rolls of your hips at first, then a little deeper, a little faster as the discomfort fades into pure, liquid heat.
Eddie groans low in his throat, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, the other staying at your hip to help guide you when you need it. He meets your movements with gentle thrusts from below, never too hard, never rushing.
Every stroke feels deliberate, like he’s worshiping you, like he’s trying to show you with his body what he’s still too scared to say out loud.
You bury your face in his neck, panting against his skin as pleasure builds in steady waves. He smells like cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and grass. He feels like home. “Eddie…” you whimper, the sound muffled against his throat.
“I know,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, anywhere he can reach. “I’ve got you. Just let go, baby. I’m right here.”
His free hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit with surprising gentleness, circling in time with your movements. The added stimulation makes your thighs shake.
You moan softly, hips stuttering, and he keeps the same steady rhythm, coaxing you higher without ever overwhelming you.
When you come, it’s quiet and overwhelming—your whole body tightening around him as pleasure crashes through you in slow, rolling waves.
You cry out against his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Eddie holds you through it, whispering soft, broken praises against your ear.
“So good… fuck, you’re so good for me… that’s it, sweetheart, just like that…”
Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. A few more shallow thrusts and he’s following you over the edge with a choked groan, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, arms wrapped tight around your back like he never wants to let go.
Afterward, neither of you moves for a long time. You stay collapsed on his chest, his softening cock still inside you, both of you breathing hard in the quiet night air. His hand strokes slowly, soothing lines up and down your spine.
“You okay?” he asks eventually, voice hoarse and tender.
You nod against his neck, pressing a lazy kiss there. “Yeah. More than okay.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good. Because… shit. I think I’m in trouble.”
You lift your head just enough to look at him, brow furrowed. “Trouble?”
Eddie smiles, small and a little vulnerable, eyes shining in the dark. “Yeah. Big trouble. I’m pretty sure I just fell stupidly in love with you, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to go back to pretending I’m cool after that.”
Your heart squeezes. You lean down and kiss him softly, lingering. “Good,” you whisper against his lips. “Because I think I fell for you somewhere between the ring toss and the sunflower heist.”
He laughs again, softer this time, and pulls you back down against his chest, arms wrapping around you like a promise. The distant fireworks continue overhead, but down here in the grass, the world feels small and safe and entirely yours.
And Eddie, for once, doesn’t have anything clever left to say. He just holds you, heart still racing under your cheek, and lets the quiet settle around you both like it belongs there.
The quiet doesn’t last forever. It never really does with Eddie, anyway.
It starts subtly, just the distant pop of fireworks growing louder again, the faint swell of music drifting back over the hill like the world is calling you both out of your little hidden pocket.
You’re still tucked against him, warm and loose-limbed, his fingers lazily tracing up and down your spine like he’s got nowhere else to be, when your stomach gives a very real, very inconvenient reminder that you have not, in fact, eaten anything besides maybe a questionable amount of soda.
You shift slightly, pressing your face into his shoulder with a small huff.
Eddie notices immediately. “You good?” he murmurs, thumb stilling for a second against your back.
“Yeah,” you mumble, but it comes out a little too quick, a little too unconvincing.
He tilts his head, trying to catch your expression, eyes narrowing just slightly. “That didn’t sound like a ‘yeah,’ that sounded like a ‘something’s about to go horribly wrong’ kind of yeah.”
You laugh softly, finally pushing yourself up enough to look at him. “I’m just hungry.”
There’s a pause, and then his entire face lights up like you just handed him the best idea he’s had all night.
“Oh, perfect,” he says, already sitting up, dragging a hand through his hair as his grin turns borderline dangerous. “I know exactly what we’re doing.”
You squint at him, immediately suspicious. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?”
“Because,” he says, pushing himself to his feet before offering you a hand, “you don’t trust my genius.”
“Correct,” you reply flatly, but you take his hand anyway, letting him pull you up, your fingers instinctively lacing together again like they never stopped.
He brushes a stray piece of grass from your shoulder, quick and absentminded, then leans in just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple before tugging you back toward the hill. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’m about to make your night even better.”
“That is deeply concerning.”
The carnival feels louder now when you return, like you’ve stepped back into something alive and buzzing, lights flashing, people crowding the paths, the smell of fried food thick in the air. And then you see where he’s leading you.
“Oh no,” you say immediately, stopping short as he tries to pull you toward the stand. “Absolutely not.”
Eddie turns back to you, already laughing, eyes bright. “Oh, absolutely yes.”
“Eddie.”
“Funnel cakes,” he says, like that explains everything, gesturing dramatically toward the stand. “Freshly fried, covered in enough powdered sugar to ruin your life. It’s practically a Fourth of July requirement.”
You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground even as you smile. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Oh?” he asks, stepping closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to let you in on something important. “Then what are you worried about, sweetheart?”
You lean in slightly, narrowing your eyes. “You look way too excited about this.”
He grins. And that’s when you know. “Oh my god,” you breathe, already shaking your head. “No. No, absolutely not. I know that look.”
“What look?” he asks innocently, already reaching for his wallet.
“The one where you’re about to suggest something stupid.”
“Rude,” he mutters, handing over the cash before grabbing the plate they give him, piled high with fried dough and powdered sugar.
He turns back to you, holding it between you like an offering. “Alright,” he says, completely serious now. “Hear me out.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even—”
“No.”
“Okay, but—”
“No, Eddie.”
He huffs a laugh, stepping closer until he’s right in your space, the smell of sugar and grease mixing with his cologne, his grin softening just slightly. “One bite each,” he tries again. “Back and forth. We see who taps out first.”
You stare at him. “…Taps out?”
“Yeah,” he nods, like this is perfectly reasonable. “You know. Can’t handle it anymore. Too much sugar. Too much greatness. First one to give up loses.”
“And what exactly do they lose?” you ask, already knowing you’re going to regret engaging.
His grin turns wicked. “Winner gets bragging rights,” he says. “And… loser has to admit, out loud, that the other one is hotter.”
You scoff, immediately reaching for a piece. “That’s not even a punishment. That’s just factual.”
“Oh, is it?” he teases, watching you take the first bite, powdered sugar immediately dusting your fingers.
You chew, then pause, eyes widening slightly.
“…Okay, that’s really good.”
“Yeah,” he smirks, taking a bite himself, way too big just to prove a point. “I don’t mess around when it comes to fried food.”
You go back and forth like that, passing the plate between you, laughing in between bites, teasing each other when one of you slows down or hesitates. By the time you’re halfway through, your stomach is starting to feel… questionable.
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re slowing down.”
“I am not,” he shoots back, immediately taking another bite to prove it.
“Eddie—”
“Don’t you ‘Eddie’ me,” he says, though his voice is a little less confident now, chewing slower than before. “I’ve got this.”
You watch him for a second longer, then grin. “Oh my god,” you laugh. “You’re gonna puke.”
His eyes widen slightly, then he scoffs, shaking his head. “No way. Absolutely not. I am a professional.”
“You are not a professional.”
“I have years of experience in poor decision-making,” he argues, jabbing the fork into the last piece. “My body is built for this.”
“Your body is about to betray you.”
“Your body is about to betray you,” he shoots back immediately, but there’s a laugh caught in it now, like he knows exactly how ridiculous this is.
You both stare at the last piece. Then at each other. “…Together?” you offer, barely holding in your smile.
He considers it for half a second. “…Together,” he agrees.
You split it, taking the final bites at the same time, both of you chewing slowly, dramatically, like it’s some kind of grand finale. And then you both pause. Dead still.
“…Okay,” you say carefully. “I don’t feel great.”
“Yeah,” Eddie exhales, pressing a hand to his stomach, blinking like he’s trying to convince himself he’s fine. “No, yeah, I’m— I’m totally—”
He cuts himself off, suddenly turning away. You burst out laughing immediately. “Oh my god, you’re done—”
“Don’t—” he warns, already grabbing your wrist. “Don’t you dare leave me alone in this.”
“I’m not leaving you!” you protest, laughing as he drags you quickly away from the crowd, both of you half-running now, trying to escape the noise and the people and the very real consequences of your choices.
You barely make it to the side of the field before you both collapse into the grass again, breathless and laughing, the nausea passing just enough to make it funny instead of disastrous.
Eddie flops onto his back, groaning dramatically. “I regret everything.”
“You love everything,” you correct, dropping down beside him, still laughing. “This was your idea.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, turning his head to look at you, a slow smile breaking through anyway. “And I’d do it again.”
You shake your head, smiling as you shift closer, your hand finding his without thinking, fingers intertwining. “Of course you would.”
He squeezes your hand once, lifting it just enough to press a quick kiss to your knuckles, softer now, quieter after all the chaos. “Worth it,” he says again, like he did with the sunflower, like he means it every time.
And somehow, even now, a little sick, a little messy, covered in powdered sugar and grass stains, you know he’s right.
The nausea fades into something dull and manageable, replaced by that easy, loose feeling that always seems to settle in after chaos, like your body finally catching up to the fact that you’re okay, that you’re more than okay.
The carnival noise hums back into focus around you, distant but inviting again, and Eddie turns his head just enough to look at you, a slow grin creeping back in like it never really left.
“Alright,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbows, hair even more of a mess now, bits of grass still caught in it. “Round two.”
You snort, turning onto your side to face him. “If round two involves more food, I’m actually going home.”
He gasps, offended in a way that’s entirely theatrical. “Wow. After everything we’ve been through together tonight.”
“Eddie,” you laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You almost died over a funnel cake.”
“Worth it,” he says immediately, like it’s instinct, like it always is with you.
You shake your head, smiling, and let him pull you up again, your fingers slotting into his without hesitation as he tugs you back toward the lights.
The crowd feels softer this time, easier to move through, like you’ve already carved out your own space inside it, and Eddie doesn’t let go of you once, not even when he’s weaving you between groups of people, not even when he pauses to glance around like he’s looking for something specific.
And then he spots it. “Oh—oh, this is it,” he says, squeezing your hand before dragging you toward a small booth tucked between two louder attractions, half-hidden, a little crooked.
You follow, curious, until you see it. A photo booth. Old, slightly dented, the curtain hanging a little unevenly, a sign taped to the side advertising 4 PHOTOS – $1, as if it hasn’t been updated in years.
You glance at him, already smiling. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he nods, already digging into his pocket for change. “This is important. This is documentation.”
“Of what, exactly?”
He pauses, coins in hand, looking at you like the answer is obvious. “Of the best date I’ve ever been on,” he says simply. And there’s no joke in it this time.
Something in your chest tightens, soft and warm, but you don’t call attention to it. You just roll your eyes lightly, even as your smile gives you away.
“Wow,” you tease. “You say that to all your girls?”
“Don’t have ‘all my girls,’ sweetheart,” he shoots back, holding the curtain open for you with a small, crooked grin. “Just you.”
You duck inside before you can overthink that, before you can let it settle too deep, and he follows right after, the space immediately smaller, closer, the two of you pressed knee to knee on the narrow bench.
The machine whirs to life. “Alright,” Eddie mutters, leaning back slightly to look at you. “No pressure, but we have to absolutely nail this.”
You laugh under your breath. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”
“Wrong,” he says, pointing at you. “I am taking this exactly the right amount of seriously.”
The first flash goes off while you’re both still half-laughing, caught mid-movement, your shoulder bumping his. The second, he turns suddenly, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, catching you off guard just enough that your smile goes soft instead of teasing.
The third, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him in, kissing him properly this time, slow and easy despite the ticking countdown. The fourth…You don’t rush.
You stay close, foreheads resting together, both of you smiling in that quiet, unguarded way that doesn’t need a joke to cover it. The flash captures it. And then it’s over. The machine hums again, printing, and you both sit there for a second longer than necessary, like neither of you is in a hurry to move.
Eddie clears his throat softly, glancing away just for a second before reaching over to grab the strip when it finally drops. He looks at it first, and then he smiles. Not his usual grin, not teasing or sharp, just soft.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, shifting closer, holding it between you so you can see.
You lean in, shoulder brushing his, eyes scanning over the photos, each one somehow capturing exactly how the night has felt, chaotic and warm and something a little more than either of you has said out loud.
“They’re actually… really good,” you admit quietly.
“Yeah,” he says, voice softer than before. “They are.”
You reach up, tearing the strip cleanly in half, handing one side back to him without even thinking about it. He takes it, fingers brushing yours, and for a second, he just looks at it again, like he’s deciding something.
Then, without making a big deal out of it, he folds it carefully and tucks it into his wallet.
Not loose or careless, but deliberate. Like it belongs there.
The air feels cooler when you step away from the lights, the night finally settling in properly, and you shiver just slightly without meaning to. Eddie notices immediately.
“Hey,” he murmurs, slowing, his hand slipping from yours just long enough to shrug off his jacket.
Before you can protest, he’s draping it over your shoulders, the fabric still warm from him, smelling faintly like smoke and something that’s just simply, Eddie. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” you start, but it comes out weaker than you intend, your fingers already pulling the jacket closer around you.
He huffs a quiet laugh, stepping back into your space, adjusting it so it sits right, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I run hot,” he says casually.
You raise a brow. “You absolutely do not.”
“Wow,” he mutters, mock offended, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “You wound me.”
You laugh softly, looking up at him, and something about the way he’s standing there, a little messy, a little flushed, eyes softer than usual, makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to examine too closely.
“Thank you,” you say instead, quieter now.
He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. “Yeah,” he says. “Course.”
Then his hand finds yours again, not rushed, not grabbing, just there, fingers brushing until they slot together naturally. And you start walking. Slower this time.
No rushing, no pulling, just staying close, your shoulders bumping every now and then, your hands swinging lightly between you like you’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Same time next year?” he asks after a moment, voice light but not entirely joking.
You glance at him, smiling, squeezing his hand once. “Maybe,” you tease. “If you don’t almost kill me with fried food again.”
“No promises,” he grins.
You shake your head, laughing softly, leaning just slightly into him as you walk, his shoulder warm against yours, his jacket wrapped around you, the night stretching out ahead in that quiet, easy way.
And for once, neither of you feels the need to fill the silence. You just stay like that, hand in hand, leaving the lights behind together.
requested by: @mmunson86
i hope you enjoyed! let me know if you all have any other requests/ideas. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, HEAVY DARK CONTENT! Murder, blood, descriptions of dismembered bodies, heavy description of torture, blood, wounds, knives, kidnapping, homophobia, racism, fatphobia, smut, coercion, unprotected sex, humiliation. (More to be added).
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 18,5k
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana has been ravaged by unexplained and sudden murders, bringing terror and panic to the population. Five friends find themselves cornered by a mysterious and sadistic masked figure and forced to reveal their darkest secrets. In a sadistic game, the winner is not the one who comes out alive.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I know I promised to post this as soon as I finished writing, but halfway through I decided to change some things, which ended up delaying the rewriting. I decided to post it in five separate chapters plus a bonus chapter, so I have more control over the writing and you can read it without having to wait for me to finish everything. Just a warning, the chapters are extremely heavy and full of dark content, so if you are not comfortable with this type of content, please do not read. TAGLIST IS OPEN!
summary: you had long accepted that eddie was just a part of your family now. your parents loved him. your brother loved him. you pretended you didnt love him.
warnings/tags: dead dove ish?, dubcon, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, outdoor sex, jealous possessive! eddie, drunk sex, dirty talk, spanking, claiming, brat tamer! eddie, reader is 21 eddies like 28ish
masterlist // join the taglist
The van smelled like old weed, motor oil, and the faint ghost of every summer you’d ever spent in it.
Eddie slammed the back doors shut with a metallic thunk that echoed across the driveway, then turned to look at you over the roof, one eyebrow already arched like he was preparing for combat.
“You bring the good snacks or the sad ones?” he asked.
You hiked the strap of your duffel higher on your shoulder. “I brought what I always bring. You’re the one who always steals them.”
“I don’t steal. I redistribute. Big difference.” He pointed a long finger at you. “And if those are the weird sour-cream-and-onion pretzels again, I’m leaving you on the side of the highway.”
“You threaten that every year.”
“And one day I’ll mean it.”
"Fuck off Munson."
"Make me."
Your older brother just laughed from the passenger seat, already half-reclined with his boots on the dash like the years hadn’t changed a damn thing. The three of you had done this dance since you were kids—your parents driving the family car, Eddie’s van trailing behind loaded with tents and coolers and that ridiculous boombox he refused to retire. Your brother and Eddie had moved out to Chicago last year and missed the trip. This year the parents had finally waved the white flag. We’re too old for this, they’d said. You three can keep the tradition if you want.
So here you were.
Four hours of highway, two gas-station pit stops, and one argument about whether Dio or Iron Maiden was the superior soundtrack later, the van rattled off the paved road onto the familiar dirt track that led into the state park. The trees closed in overhead, filtering the late-afternoon light into green-gold shafts. You felt the same low thrum in your chest you’d always felt when the campground came into view—half nostalgia, half something sharper that had only started humming under your skin three years ago.
Eddie killed the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant cry of a hawk.
He twisted in the driver’s seat to look at you in the back. His hair was longer than last summer, curls escaping the bandana he’d tied around his head. A thin silver chain glinted at his throat. He still looked like trouble. He still looked like the boy who’d once dared you to eat a raw cricket and then laughed until he cried when you actually did it.
“Home sweet temporary home,” he said, voice low. “You gonna help set up or are you gonna stand there looking at me like I owe you money?”
You shoved the side door open harder than necessary. “You do owe me money, idiot.”
“Oh don't worry. I'll pay you back— with interest.”
Your brother was already out and stretching, cracking his back with a groan. “You two are exhausting. I’m grabbing the cooler before one of you starts the inevitable screaming match.”
Eddie hopped out after him, landing lightly despite the height. He caught your eye across the open doors as you both reached for the same folded tarp. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.
The air between you felt charged the way it always did now—like static before a storm, like the second before someone said something they couldn’t take back. You’d spent years pretending the dislike was pure. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting that every time he smirked at you or called you by that stupid nickname he’d invented when you were fourteen, something low and hot twisted in your stomach.
Eddie tilted his head, studying you the way he studied guitar tabs—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing something he already knew by heart.
“You're quieter,” he said.
“You're louder.”
“Fair.” He tugged the tarp free and slung it over one shoulder. “C’mon. Sun’s gonna drop soon. Last thing I need is you bitching at me in the dark because we can’t find the tent poles.”
You followed him into the clearing you’d claimed for years, boots crunching over pine needles. Your brother was already staking out the flatter ground near the fire ring, whistling off-key. Eddie dropped the tarp and started unfolding the bigger tent with the easy efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. You worked opposite him, feeding poles through sleeves, the familiar rhythm settling between you even as the unfamiliar tension hummed underneath.
Every so often your hands would meet again—passing a stake, smoothing a corner of fabric—and you’d both pause for half a second too long before pretending it hadn’t happened.
The sky was turning the color of bruised peaches by the time the tents were up and the cooler was cracked open. Your brother claimed the smaller tent without argument, already disappearing inside with a book and a beer. That left the bigger one for you and Eddie. Funny how life works out.
Eddie stood at the open flap, looking in at the two sleeping bags rolled side by side, then glanced over his shoulder at you. The fading light caught on the rings stacked on his fingers.
“You still snore?” he asked.
“You still talk in your sleep?”
A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. “Guess we’ll find out.”
He ducked inside without waiting for an answer, and the undercurrent between you pulsed once—hot, quiet, and very much awake.
The tent was dark and warm, the kind of close heat that only came from two bodies breathing the same recycled air. You’d fallen asleep facing the wall, sleeping bag zipped to your chin, determined to ignore the fact that Eddie was only a few feet away on the other side of the nylon floor.
Sometime past midnight you woke to the soft, rough sound of his voice.
Low. Thick with sleep. Your name. Almost a whisper.
“…not supposed to look at you like that… fuck… you're… goddamn…”
Your eyes snapped open. The words dissolved into an unintelligible mumble, then silence. You held perfectly still, heart thudding against your ribs, waiting to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t. Just a quiet shift of fabric as he rolled over.
You stared at the dark ceiling for a long time after that, pulse still elevated, before forcing your eyes shut again and pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.
Morning came too bright and too early.
Your brother was already up and making noise outside, clattering the little propane stove. Eddie emerged from the tent looking like he’d lost a fight with his own hair, bandana shoved in his back pocket, last night’s black T-shirt wrinkled and riding up just enough to flash a strip of pale stomach when he stretched. He caught you looking and immediately smirked.
“Morning, princess. Sleep okay or did the spooky forest keep you up?”
You shoved past him toward the cooler. “Your talking kept me up.”
“I— I was talking last night?” Eddie looked like he'd seen a ghost— the color draining from his already pale face.
"Mhm. Big talk last night Munson."
"Unconscious me is not the same person as conscious me."
"Keep telling yourself that."
Your brother popped out of his tent looking just as rough as Eddie. "What'd he say this time?"
"This time?"
"Nothing. Fuck you guys— let's go do something."
The day unfolded the way these days always did with the three of you—sunlight, river, the easy rhythm of people who’d known each other too long. Kayaking came first. The three of you dragged the rented boats down to the water, your brother claiming the single and leaving you and Eddie to share the double. Of course.
Eddie took the back seat without asking, which meant he controlled the rudder and got the better view of everything in front of him. Including you.
“Try not to tip us,” he called as you pushed off. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
“Your reputation is already trash.”
“Rude. Chicago doesn't know my Hawkins reputation so… I'm like recycled trash now.”
"They should be warned."
The river was slow and glassy, edged with overhanging branches that scraped soft green fingers across the surface. You paddled in sync more out of muscle memory than cooperation, the kayak cutting clean lines through the current. Every so often Eddie would dig his paddle in harder on one side just to make the boat rock, laughing under his breath when you twisted around to glare at him. Water droplets clung to the dark curls escaping his bandana. His arms flexed with every stroke, veins standing out along the insides of his forearms. You hated that you noticed.
At one point he leaned forward, voice dropping so your brother—paddling ahead—couldn’t hear.
“You still do that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating?”
You didn’t answer. Just paddled harder.
His quiet chuckle followed you down the river.
Softball happened in the open field near the campground after lunch. Your brother and Eddie claimed folding chairs and a cooler full of cheap beer like it was their sacred duty, while you ended up on a pickup team with a bunch of other campers. Eddie watched the entire time with the lazy intensity of a cat watching a bird. Every time you connected with the ball he’d holler something deliberately embarrassing—“That’s my girl!” or “Show ‘em how it’s done!”—loud enough that half the field turned to look. Your brother just shook his head and kept drinking.
By the time the game wrapped, the sun was sliding toward the treeline and the air had that golden, late-summer weight to it. People were already drifting toward the rec center at the far end of the campground. Strings of lights were being tested. A DJ was doing sound check.
You wiped sweat from your forehead with the hem of your shirt and found Eddie watching you again, beer bottle dangling from loose fingers.
“You gonna clean up for the dance or just show up looking like you lost a fight with a river?” he asked.
“You planning on actually dancing or just leaning against a post looking pretentious all night?”
He tipped the bottle toward you in a mock toast. “Depends. You planning on asking me?”
The words landed heavier than the teasing tone suggested. For a second neither of you looked away. The undercurrent that had been humming all day—ever since you’d woken up to the sound of your name in his sleeping mouth—tightened into something almost tangible.
Your brother clapped Eddie on the shoulder hard enough to make him sway. “If you two are done with the foreplay, I’m starving. Rec center’s got those shitty hot dogs and I want at least four before the music starts.”
Eddie finally broke the stare, flashing that crooked, dangerous grin.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes still half on you. “Wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”
The three of you headed back toward the tents to change as the first real notes of music drifted through the trees. The night was just getting started.
You changed in the tent with the flap zipped tight, the skimpy little dress clinging to your skin the second you pulled it over the bathing suit. The material was thin and soft, the kind that moved when you did, neckline low enough to make the heat feel intentional. Practical, you told yourself. If the night went the way these nights sometimes did—too many drinks, someone daring someone else—you could strip the dress and hit the water without a second thought. You’d done it before.
When you stepped out, the campground lights were already glowing through the trees.
Eddie was leaning against the side of the van with a fresh beer, one boot kicked up behind him. He took a long drink, eyes tracking you from the moment the tent flap opened. He didn’t even try to hide it. The look dragged slow—over the bare stretch of your thighs, the way the dress sat on your hips, the line of your collarbones—before he finally dragged his gaze up to your face and smirked like he’d caught you doing something illegal.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice low. “You trying to start a riot or just ruin my night?”
Your brother snorted from where he was tying his shoes on the picnic table. “She always looks like that. You’re just dramatic.”
Eddie didn’t look away from you. “I’m observant. There’s a difference.” He pushed off the van and circled you once, slow, like he was inspecting merchandise. "You’re gonna make the soccer moms clutch their pearls.”
“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, adjusting the thin strap on your shoulder. “You look like you got dressed in a thrift store during a blackout.”
He grinned, all teeth. “And yet here you are, still looking.”
Your brother stood, clapping his hands together like the world’s most oblivious referee. “Alright, children. Rec center. Hot dogs. Bad music. Try not to kill each other before we get there.” He was already walking, completely missing the way Eddie’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth, your legs, the place where the dress ended.
The three of you cut through the trees toward the glow of the gazebo. Strings of bulb lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in warm gold. A DJ booth had been set up under the roof, speakers already thumping something upbeat and slightly too loud. Picnic tables had been pushed aside to make a dance floor, and the bar was stocked with drinks. The smell of grilled hotdogs and firewood permeated the air.
Eddie kept pace beside you, still talking.
“I’m just saying, if you trip in those shoes I’m not carrying you. I’ll point and laugh. Publicly.”
“You’ve carried me before.”
“That was different. You were twelve and had a scraped knee. Now you’re—” He gestured vaguely at all of you, words failing him for half a second. “Anyway. Don’t expect chivalry.”
Your brother laughed, already peeling off toward the bar. “He’s so full of shit. He once carried a drunk girl two miles because she lost a shoe. Remember that, Eds?”
“I remember you never shutting up about it,” Eddie muttered, but his eyes were still on you.
You reached the bar first. Ordered something with a fancy fruity name, and took a long swallow. The burn settled low in your stomach. Perfect.
Eddie opened his mouth—probably to say something else annoying, something that would sound like an insult and land like a touch—but you were already turning away.
“I’m dancing,” you said over your shoulder. “Try not to miss me too hard.”
You didn’t wait for an answer. Just slipped into the growing crowd under the lights, drink in hand, the skimpy dress brushing against your thighs with every step. Behind you, you could feel the weight of his stare like a hand on the back of your neck.
Your brother was already laughing about something. Eddie wasn’t saying a word.
You danced alone at first, letting the music pull you under the string lights. The beat was heavy enough to feel in your ribs, the kind of song that made hips move without permission. Your drink was already half gone. The skimpy dress clung and shifted with every turn, the bathing suit underneath a thin secret against your skin. People watched. You didn’t care.
Then a pair of hands settled lightly at your waist.
You glanced back. Tall. Broad shoulders. Easy smile. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Attractive in that clean, summer-camp way—nothing like the chaos you were used to. He didn’t ask. Just matched your rhythm, body slotting in behind yours like he’d been waiting for the invitation.
You let him.
It started casual. Then it wasn’t.
His hands slid lower, fingers spreading over your hips, guiding you back against him. You rolled with it, spine arching, the thin fabric of the dress the only thing between his chest and your back. The music thumped louder. Someone whooped nearby. His breath brushed the shell of your ear when he leaned in, and you tipped your head just enough to give him more space. Your bodies moved together—slow, dirty, deliberate. Thighs brushing. Ass grinding back against the hard line of him. Every shift of your hips made the hem of the dress ride a little higher.
Across the open floor, past the shifting bodies and the glow of the lights, Eddie stood frozen near the bar.
Your brother was already three drinks past functional, leaning heavily against the table and laughing at nothing, plastic cup waving in the air as he tried to tell a story to some poor stranger who kept nodding politely. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.
Eddie had.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscle jumped under the skin. One hand crushed the neck of his beer bottle; the other was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans like he needed to keep it contained. He watched the stranger’s hands on your waist, watched the way you moved against him, watched the flush climbing your throat. His eyes were dark, almost black under the string lights, and the easy, mocking expression he usually wore had been scraped clean off his face.
He looked like he wanted to put his fist through something. Or someone.
You caught the stare over the random guy’s shoulder and held it for a second too long—just long enough to see the pure, boiling jealousy flash across Eddie’s features before you turned back into the dance. The stranger’s hand slid higher under the side of your dress, fingertips grazing the edge of your bathing suit bottoms, and you didn’t stop him.
Eddie’s bottle hit the bar top hard enough that your brother finally glanced over, still grinning drunk and clueless.
“Dude, you good?”
Eddie didn’t answer. He just kept staring at you like he was two seconds from crossing the floor and starting a fight.
Your brother swayed hard enough that he had to plant a hand on the nearest picnic table to stay upright.
“I’m done,” he announced, voice thick and cheerful. “Gonna pass out before I embarrass myself more. You two… don’t kill each other.” He pointed vaguely between you and Eddie, already turning toward the path that led back to the tents. “Love you, mean it, goodnight.”
Eddie moved before you could answer.
His hand locked around your upper arm—hard, fingers digging in just shy of bruising—and he yanked you away from the stranger mid-song. The guy made a confused noise, but Eddie didn’t even glance at him. He was already hauling you across the grass after your brother, jaw tight, boots loud against the packed dirt.
“Let go—”
“Shut up and walk,” he bit out.
You twisted in his grip. “Eddie—”
“Your brother’s hammered. We’re making sure he doesn’t face-plant in a ditch. Move.”
The walk back was silent except for your brother’s off-key humming and the occasional stumble that made Eddie’s grip on you tighten even more. By the time the tents came into view, your arm was throbbing under his fingers. Your brother crawled into the smaller tent without protest, mumbled something about breakfast, and was snoring within minutes.
The second the zipper closed, Eddie’s hand slid from your arm to your wrist. He didn’t let go. Instead he turned and started walking—fast, purposeful—toward the river path instead of the tent you were supposed to share.
“Where the hell are you—”
“Quiet.”
You dug your heels in. “Eddie, what the fuck is your problem?”
He spun on you so fast you nearly collided with his chest. Up close his eyes were wild, the jealousy still burning hot behind them. “My problem? My problem is watching some random asshole put his hands all over you like he had the right. My problem is you letting him.”
“I can dance with whoever I want—”
“Get in the kayak.”
You blinked. He’d already dragged one of the rental doubles halfway into the water, the plastic hull scraping against the pebbles. The river stretched black and quiet under the moonlight, the current lapping against the bank.
“Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night—”
“Get. In.”
You should have said no. You should have turned around, walked back to the tent, zipped yourself in and pretended none of this was happening. But the anger rolling off him was magnetic, thick enough to taste, and the curiosity that had been coiling low in your stomach all day flared hot. You’d never been good at smart decisions where Eddie Munson was concerned.
You stepped into the kayak.
He pushed off hard, climbing in behind you in one smooth motion, paddle already in his hands. The boat rocked once, then settled as the current caught it. Trees closed in on either side, blocking out the last of the campground lights. The only sound left was the soft dip of the paddle and Eddie’s heavy breathing at your back.
He didn’t speak again until the music and the lights were far behind you.
When he finally did, his voice was low and rough and right against your ear.
“You and me are gonna have a conversation. And you’re not getting out of this boat until I say so.”
The paddle cut through the black water in hard, angry strokes. You could feel every one of them in the way the kayak jerked forward.
“You’re being a fucking child,” you snapped over your shoulder, arms crossed tight under your chest. The dress stuck to your skin in the humid night air. “Dragging me out here like some jealous boyfriend when you’re not even—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” Eddie’s voice was low and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what I am right now.”
“Oh my God.” You twisted further, nearly tipping the boat. “You don’t get to manhandle me in front of half the campground because some guy danced with me. I can do whatever I want.”
“You were grinding on him.”
“So?”
“So I wanted to break his fucking hands.”
The words hung there, raw and honest. You faced forward again, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction even as something hot twisted low in your stomach. The river narrowed. Trees leaned in closer on both sides, their branches forming a dark tunnel overhead. The current slowed. Up ahead the water opened into a small, secluded pool half-hidden by a curve of rock and thick underbrush—a private little grotto the three of you had found years ago and somehow never told anyone else about.
Eddie drove the kayak onto the muddy bank hard enough that the hull scraped loud in the quiet. He was out first, boots splashing, then turning to offer a hand you deliberately ignored. You climbed out on your own, nearly slipping, and stalked over to the old fallen log that had served as a bench for years. The wood was cool and damp under your thighs when you sat, arms still crossed, staring hard at the dark water instead of him.
Eddie dragged the kayak further up so it wouldn’t float away, then planted himself directly in front of you. Close. Blocking the moonlight.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t.
“I said look at me.”
You tipped your head back just enough to give him the most unimpressed stare you could manage. “What, Eddie? You dragged me all the way out here to lecture me about dancing? Congratulations. Message received. Can we go back now?”
His hands flexed at his sides. “You’re being a fucking brat.”
“And you’re being a controlling asshole. We’re even.”
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that had zero humor in it. “You let him put his hands under your dress.”
“Barely.”
“I watched him.”
“Then maybe you should’ve danced with me instead of standing there looking at me like you had some moronic invisible claim over me.”
That landed. His eyes flashed. He took one step closer so his boots nearly touched yours, looming over where you sat on the log. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the second before lightning.
“You want me to dance with you?” he asked, voice dropping into something quieter and more dangerous. “That what this is about?”
You rolled your eyes and looked away again, pure brat, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “I want you to stop acting like you own me when you don’t. That’s what this is about.”
Eddie exhaled hard through his nose. He didn’t move back. If anything he leaned in another inch, the scent of beer and sweat and the metal of his jewelry filling the small space between you.
“Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “See what happens.”
You stood up from the log like he hadn’t just threatened you, like the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on.
“I’m swimming back,” you said flatly, already reaching for the hem of the dress. “You can sit here and be pissed by yourself.”
The thin fabric peeled up and over your head in one motion. You balled it up and tossed it into the kayak without looking, left standing in nothing but the little bikini you’d worn underneath. The night air kissed every newly bare inch of skin. You took one step toward the water.
Eddie moved faster.
“No the fuck you’re not.”
His hand shot out and caught you by the upper arm again—harder this time, fingers digging in as he yanked you back against him. The motion was rough, careless with anger, and his studded bracelet snagged the loose string at the back of your neck. The bow came undone with a soft, final slip. The triangle cups of the top fell forward instantly, baring your tits to the cool air and to him.
Everything stopped.
Eddie’s breath left him in a punched-out sound. His eyes dropped and stayed there, locked on the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks of your nipples already tightening under the sudden exposure and the heat of his stare. For one suspended second he just looked—hungry, furious, wrecked—before the last of his restraint snapped clean in half.
He hauled you fully against him and crushed his mouth to yours.
The kiss was all teeth and heat and years of denial. His tongue shoved past your lips like he was trying to punish you with it, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head exactly where he wanted while the other arm banded tight around your waist, pinning your bare chest to the front of his shirt. You could feel the metal of his rings cold against your spine, the hard line of his cock already pressing against your stomach through his jeans. He kissed like he hated how much he wanted it—deep, messy, wet—nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before sucking it into his mouth.
“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your lips between kisses, voice wrecked. “Knew you’d taste like this. Knew you’d be this soft. Goddamn tease—”
His hand left your hair only long enough to shove the ruined bikini top the rest of the way off your arms, then he was back, palm dragging up your side to cup one bare breast, thumb scraping roughly over the nipple. The sound he made when you arched into the touch was pure filth, low and broken.
He walked you backward until your calves hit the log again, never breaking the kiss, never letting more than an inch of space exist between your bodies. When he finally tore his mouth away it was only to drag it down your jaw, teeth scraping the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he spoke right against it.
“You let that asshole put his hands on what’s been driving me crazy for three fucking years. You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the bar right there.” His fingers pinched your nipple, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Still might bend you over. Keep being a brat and find out.”
You shoved at his chest even as your back hit the log again, still trying to keep the upper hand.
“Get off me—”
Eddie only laughed, low and mean, and used the grip he already had on you to force you down. One hard push at your shoulders and your knees hit the damp earth with a soft thud. He stepped in close, boots bracketing your thighs, and the sound of his belt buckle coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet grotto. Zipper next. Then he shoved his jeans and boxers just low enough to free his cock.
It was already hard, thick, the head flushed dark and shining at the tip. He wrapped one hand around the base and tapped the heavy weight of it against your cheek, smearing a streak of precum across your skin.
“Open.”
You tipped your chin up and gave him the most venomous look you could manage from your knees. “I swear to God if you shove that in my mouth I’m biting it off.”
Eddie’s eyes flashed. His free hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make your scalp sting. “Do it. See what happens when you try.”
He didn’t wait for another threat. The blunt head of his cock dragged across your lips once, twice, then he pushed forward. You opened on a sharp inhale—half protest, half something hungier—and he slid over your tongue in one long, relentless stroke until the head bumped the back of your throat.
“Fuck—there it is,” he groaned, both hands now fisted in your hair. “Knew that smart mouth would feel perfect wrapped around me.”
He didn’t ease in. He fucked your throat like he’d been thinking about it for years—short, punishing thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. Spit slicked down your chin. Your eyes watered. Every time you tried to pull back even an inch he held you tighter and pushed deeper, hips rolling with zero patience.
“Look at you,” he panted, staring down with dark, glassy eyes. “On your knees in the dirt for me after all that attitude. Letting some random fucker put his hands on you and now you’re choking on my cock like a good little slut. That what you needed? Someone to shut you up properly?”
You glared up at him through wet lashes, still trying to be defiant even with your lips stretched wide around him. The threat of your teeth was still there; he felt it, and it only made him groan louder and thrust harder.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, voice rough. “You bite me and I’ll bend you over that log and spank your ass red before I fuck you. Try me. Please. I’ve been dying to.”
His hips snapped forward again, burying every inch. The wet heat of your mouth, the way your throat fluttered around him, the bratty fire still burning in your eyes—it all pulled a broken, filthy stream of words out of him as he used your mouth without mercy.
“God, you’re soaking the front of those little bottoms already, aren’t you? I can smell how wet you are from here. Fucking hate how bad I want you. Hate that I’ve jerked off thinking about this exact view for three goddamn years. Take it. Take every inch like the mouthy little bitch you are.”
Eddie’s rhythm turned short and brutal, hips snapping forward with no more pretense of control. His fingers tightened hard in your hair as the first pulse of his orgasm hit, thick and hot, flooding your tongue and the back of your throat.
“Fuck—swallow it—take it—”
You didn’t.
The second he started to pull back you dragged your teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock—not hard enough to break skin, but sharp enough to make him hiss and jerk. Then you shoved him the rest of the way out with your tongue and spit.
Everything he’d just pumped into your mouth landed wet and messy across the front of his jeans and the base of his still-twitching cock. A long, shiny strand connected your bottom lip to him for a second before it broke. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him, eyes pure challenge.
“Oops.”
The sound Eddie made was almost a snarl.
He hauled you up by the hair and the arm so fast your knees left the ground. In two strides he was sitting on the log and you were face-down across his lap, the rough denim of his jeans scraping your bare stomach and the soft insides of your thighs. One of his hands pinned both of your wrists at the small of your back; the other yanked the soaking bikini bottoms down to mid-thigh, baring your ass completely to the night air.
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice was low, shaking with leftover pleasure and fresh fury. “Had to push. Had to spit my come all over me like a spoiled little brat who wants to get punished.”
The first slap cracked across your right cheek hard enough to make the sound echo off the water. The sting bloomed hot and immediate. You jerked, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.
“Count.”
You stayed silent on pure principle.
The second slap landed harder, lower, catching the sensitive crease where ass met thigh. Your breath punched out of you.
“I said count, sweetheart.”
“One,” you forced out through gritted teeth, still trying to sound defiant even as heat flooded between your legs.
“Good girl.” Another sharp crack. “That’s two. You’re gonna feel every single one of these when I finally fuck you. Going to remind you what happens when you act like you don’t belong to me.”
His palm came down again and again—steady, deliberate, spreading the burn across both cheeks until the skin felt swollen and throbbing. Between strikes he dragged his fingers through the mess of slick already coating your inner thighs, collecting it and smearing it higher, teasing your entrance without giving you anything.
“Look at this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Dripping down my leg already. You did this on purpose. Wanted me to lose it. Wanted me to bend you over and make it hurt.”
Another slap, harder than the ones before. You couldn’t stop the broken sound that left your throat.
Eddie leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear while his hand soothed roughly over the hot, stinging skin he’d just punished.
“We’re not even close to done. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. And you’re going to say thank you when I’m finished. You're mine now. Thought I didn't notice your little crush on me? Made it fuckin' obvious you brat.”
You twisted against the iron grip he still had on your wrists, cheek pressed to the rough bark of the log, ass burning. The words came out sharp and breathless.
“I don’t belong to you.”
Eddie’s hand stilled for half a second on the hot skin of your cheek.
“You’re just my brother’s annoying best friend. That’s all you’ve ever been. Some loud, chaotic asshole who made fun of me for years. Why the fuck do you think you get to act like you have some claim?”
He didn’t answer with words at first.
Two fingers slid between your thighs from behind, parting the slick folds of your pussy with zero warning. You were soaked—embarrassingly, shamelessly wet—and the sound his fingers made dragging through it was filthy in the quiet. He stroked slow, deliberate, gathering your wetness and spreading it up to circle your clit without ever giving you real pressure.
“You want to know why?” His voice was low, almost conversational, even as his fingers kept teasing—gliding, pressing, never quite pushing inside. “Because I’ve watched you grow up into the exact kind of trouble I can’t stay away from. Because every time I saw you, you got louder and meaner and hotter and I had to sit there pretending I didn’t want to bend you over the nearest flat surface.”
He finally pushed one finger into you, just to the first knuckle, then pulled it back out to smear more slick over your clit. Your hips jerked despite yourself.
“Because three years ago you turned eighteen and started looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you, and I started jerking off to the idea of it every single night. Because I hate how bad I want you. Hate that some random guy got to put his hands on you tonight while I stood there hard and furious. Hate that you’re still trying to pretend this—” he pushed two fingers into you in one smooth stroke, curling them just right, “—isn’t already mine.”
He fucked the fingers into you slow and deep while he talked, the wet sounds loud between every sentence. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake.
“You’re my best friend’s little sister. You’re a fucking brat. You’re the last person I should want. And I still can’t stop. So yeah—I think I get to claim you. Because the second you opened that smart mouth for my cock you stopped being just his sister. You became mine to punish. Mine to tease. Mine to fuck until you stop lying about how much you want it.”
He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching, then curled them hard against that spot that made your whole body jolt.
“Keep telling yourself I’m just the annoying best friend. I’ll keep proving you wrong with every dripping inch of this pussy.”
“Fuck you.”
The words came out rough and breathless, half muffled against the bark.
Eddie laughed—low, dark, delighted.
“Already planning on it, sweetheart. Thanks for the invitation.”
He hauled you up off his lap like you weighed nothing. One second you were face-down across his thighs; the next he had you bent over the log proper, chest and cheek pressed to the cool wood, ass in the air, bikini bottoms still tangled around one thigh. He kicked your feet wider with his boot, shoved his jeans lower, and notched the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.
No more teasing.
He slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
The stretch burned—perfect, overwhelming—and the sound that tore out of you was pure punched-out need. Eddie groaned like he’d been stabbed, hands clamping hard on your hips hard enough to bruise.
“Jesus—fuck— so goddamn tight.” He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder. “This what you needed? My cock splitting you open after you spent all night acting like you didn’t want it?”
He set a relentless pace immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps that echoed off the water. Every thrust shoved you further up the log; every retreat left you clenching around nothing for half a second before he filled you again. His rings dug into the soft flesh of your hips. The metal of his belt buckle slapped against the back of your thigh with every stroke.
“Look at you taking it,” he snarled, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and yank your head back. “Bent over a log in the middle of nowhere, dripping down your thighs for your brother’s best friend. You hate me so fucking much, don’t you? Hate that I’m the one who gets to wreck this pussy.”
He changed the angle, folding over your back so his mouth was right at your ear, breath hot and ragged while he kept pounding into you.
“Feel how deep I am? That’s three years of wanting to shut you up just like this. Three years of watching you strut around in those little outfits, mouthing off, pretending the tension wasn’t eating us both alive. Now you’re stuffed full of me and still trying to act tough. Doesn’t work when you’re this wet, baby. Doesn’t work when your cunt keeps sucking me back in like it never wants me to leave.”
His free hand snaked around your hip and found your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your knees buckle; only the log and his grip kept you upright.
“That’s it—take it. Take every fucking inch. Gonna fill this bratty little pussy up so full you feel me dripping out of you the whole ride back. Gonna make sure every time you sit down tomorrow you remember exactly who you belong to when you stop lying.”
He fucked you harder, faster, the wet sounds of your body taking him almost obscene. His voice never stopped—filthy, continuous, pouring into your ear while he used you like he’d been dying to for years.
“Fucking perfect. Fucking mine. Say it or don’t, I don’t care—your cunt already did.”
“I’m not—fuck—I’m not yours,” you managed between broken breaths, the words barely coherent with every brutal thrust still punching them out of you.
Eddie snarled and brought his open palm down hard across your already stinging ass.
“Say it.”
Another sharp slap. Then another. The wet sound of his hand meeting your skin mixed with the filthy slap of his hips.
“Say you’re mine.”
“No—”
He spanked you again, harder, the burn blooming white-hot just as he drove particularly deep. Your whole body clenched around him and he felt it—felt how close you were, how your cunt was starting to flutter and seize.
He pulled out completely.
The sudden emptiness made you cry out in pure frustrated rage, hips pushing back chasing him, empty and throbbing.
“What the fuck—”
“You don’t get to come yet.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked but steady, almost cruel with control. He stepped back just far enough to sit on the log, jeans still shoved down his thighs, cock slick and shining with your wetness, standing hard against his stomach. He looked at you like he had all the time in the world. “Not until I say. Not until I’m looking at your face while you fall apart on me.”
He patted his thigh once.
“Get over here and sit on it.”
You stayed where you were for a defiant second, chest heaving, ass burning, pussy aching and neglected. The refusal was still on your tongue.
Eddie raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the brat act now.
“I wasn’t asking. Climb on my cock and ride it until you come. I want to watch every second of it. Want to see exactly what you look like when you finally stop pretending you hate this.”
He wrapped a hand around the base of himself and stroked once, slow, showing you how wet you’d left him.
“Now, sweetheart. Before I change my mind and leave you empty for the rest of the night.”
You glared at him for one more stubborn second, then gave in.
Climbing into his lap felt like surrender and you hated how much your body wanted it. You straddled his thighs, one hand on his shoulder for balance, and reached between you to line him up. The second the thick head of his cock nudged your entrance you sank down in one long, shaky slide until he was buried to the hilt again.
Eddie’s head tipped back on a deep, satisfied groan.
“There she is,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist like they’d always belonged there. “Knew you’d give in. Look at you—sitting on my cock like you were made for it after all that ‘I’m not yours’ bullshit.”
He didn’t give you time to adjust or to sass him. His boots dug into the dirt for leverage and he thrust up hard, burying himself even deeper from this new angle. The shift dragged the head of his cock directly across that perfect spot inside you and white sparks exploded behind your eyes. A broken, helpless sound tore out of your throat.
Eddie grinned like the devil.
“Ohhh. There it is.” He did it again—short, powerful upward snaps of his hips that punched the air out of your lungs every time. “Found the spot that makes the brat shut up, huh? Look at your face. You’re fucking melting.”
He kept the pace merciless, hands gripping your hips to pull you down to meet every thrust so you took him to the base again and again. The new angle was devastating. Every upward drive rubbed relentlessly against the place that made your thighs shake and your thoughts scatter. You tried to stay upright, tried to keep some scrap of defiance, but he could feel every flutter and clench of your cunt and he used it against you without mercy.
“That’s it—ride it. Use me. You’re soaking my jeans, dripping down my balls, and still trying to look pissed. Adorable.” His voice was pure smug heat. “You’re putty. Completely fucking ruined for anyone else after this. Gonna feel empty every time something that isn’t my cock tries to fill you.”
One hand slid up your spine and fisted in your hair, forcing your back to arch so he could watch your tits bounce with every hard thrust. His eyes were dark and triumphant, locked on your face, drinking in every broken expression he dragged out of you.
“Go on. Keep glaring at me while your cunt milks my cock like it never wants me to stop. I can do this all night. Can keep you right here, full and shaking, until you finally admit what we both already know.”
He thrust up particularly deep and ground against that spot until your vision went white at the edges.
“You’re mine when you’re on my cock, sweetheart. And right now you’re exactly where you belong.”
Eddie never slowed.
He kept driving up into you with that same punishing rhythm, the thick drag of his cock hitting that devastating spot over and over until your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. One hand left your waist and shoved between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit immediately. He rubbed tight, relentless circles—no teasing, no mercy—while the other hand slid up your chest and wrapped around your throat.
Not gentle.
His fingers flexed, cutting off just enough air to make every thrust feel sharper, deeper, more overwhelming. The pressure at your neck, the relentless friction on your clit, the heavy stretch of him filling you again and again—it all crashed together into something white-hot and unbearable.
“That’s it,” he growled, eyes locked on your face as your mouth fell open. “Take it princess."
Your body seized.
The orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision blanked. You clenched around him like a fist and then you were squirting—hot, uncontrollable pulses of wetness that soaked his cock, his jeans, his thighs. The sound was filthy, wet, unmistakable. You shook through it, choking on the air he allowed you, cunt spasming wildly around every deep thrust he kept forcing into you.
Eddie laughed, low and utterly wrecked with triumph.
“Holy shit—look at you. Fucking squirting all over me. Knew this bratty little cunt would make a mess the second I choked you properly.” He fucked you straight through it, never letting up, dragging the climax out until you were sobbing for breath and still clenching around him in helpless aftershocks. “So pretty when you come. So fucking loud. Everyone downriver probably heard what I do to you.”
His hand stayed on your throat, the other still working your oversensitive clit in mean little circles that made you jerk and whimper. He was close—you could feel it in the way his thrusts turned short and brutal, in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump you so full of me you’ll feel it leaking down your legs the whole way back to camp. Marking what’s mine. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember exactly who owned this pussy tonight.”
He slammed up one final time and came with a broken, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed deep inside you. Hot, thick ropes of come flooded your cunt, overflowing around his cock with every residual throb. He kept you pinned there, hand still loosely around your throat, hips grinding in slow circles like he was trying to push it even deeper.
“Fuck… yes. Take it. Every drop.” His voice was pure satisfied filth. “That’s my come inside you now. No one else’s. Just mine.”
He didn’t pull out. Just stayed buried, breathing hard, thumb stroking almost absently over the side of your neck where his fingers had pressed while he watched your face with dark, cocky satisfaction.
Your legs barely held you when you pushed off his lap.
The second you stood, everything between your thighs felt swollen and oversensitive and wet—his come already starting to slip out of you and trickle down the inside of one leg. Your knees wobbled hard. You took one unsteady step and nearly pitched forward into the dirt.
Eddie caught you by the waist before you could fall, hauling you back against his chest with an arm banded tight around your middle.
“Get off me—”
“You’re gonna face-plant, genius—”
“I said get off.” You shoved at his arm until he let go, then spun on him, still half-naked, hair a mess, lips swollen, the evidence of everything he’d just done to you streaked down your thighs. The anger hit all at once, sharp and shaky and too big for the quiet little grotto.
“If you liked me for that long—three fucking years—why did it have to be like this?” Your voice cracked on the last word and you hated it. “Why couldn’t you just be normal about it? Talk to me like a person instead of acting like a jealous asshole and dragging me out here to—to punish me? You didn’t have to be mean. You didn’t have to be so fucking—”
Eddie stayed seated on the log, jeans still open, watching you with that same dark, unreadable expression. He didn’t look sorry. If anything he looked like he was fighting a smirk.
“You liked it.”
The simple, cocky certainty in his voice made your face burn hotter than the spanking had.
“I—yeah, but—” You stammered, caught between the truth and the residual fury still sparking under your skin. “That’s not the point, you dickhead. You didn’t have to do it like that. You could’ve just… said something. Instead of losing your shit and treating me like some toy you finally got to break.”
Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still looking up at you with that infuriating half-smile. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple. His voice came out quieter, but no less certain.
“You’re right. I could’ve been normal. Could’ve asked you out like a gentleman and taken you to dinner and held your hand.” He tilted his head. “But that’s not what either of us wanted, is it? You didn’t melt for polite. You melted when I was mean. When I made you take it. When I refused to let you keep pretending there was nothing here.”
He stood slowly, towering over you again, and reached out to tuck a tangled strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.
“I was jealous. I was angry. And you came so hard you soaked me to the skin. So maybe stop yelling at me for giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for with every look and every smart-ass comment for three years.”
“Just take me back to camp.”
Eddie looked at you for a long second, then simply nodded.
You both dressed in silence—your dress pulled back on over the still-damp bikini, his jeans tugged up and zipped with a wince. The kayak rocked as you climbed in first, settling on the front seat without looking at him. He pushed off the bank and started paddling, the only sounds the soft drip of water from the blade and the distant chorus of frogs.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did you.
Halfway back the river widened again, the current slow and glassy under a sky packed with stars. The campground lights were still a distant glow around the next bend. Eddie lifted the paddle out of the water and let the kayak drift. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the arguing had.
You glanced over your shoulder. He was staring up at the sky, profile silvered by moonlight, curls messy from your hands. When he finally spoke his voice was quieter than you’d heard it all night.
“Were you really mad at me?”
The question sat between you, stripped of the earlier swagger and heat.
You turned back around, watching the dark water slide past. “Kinda.”
Eddie exhaled. The paddle rested across his thighs. For a while the only movement was the gentle rock of the boat.
“I tried being nice,” he said eventually. “More than once. You never looked at me twice.”
You stayed quiet, letting him talk.
“First time was the summer you turned eighteen. I asked if you wanted to come with me to the record store in town. You said you already had plans and walked off. Called me a jackass. Next year I tried again—offered you the aux cord on the drive up, told you to put on whatever you wanted. You handed it straight to your brother and put your headphones in.” His laugh was soft and self-deprecating. “Every summer I found some stupid little way to be less of an asshole around you. And every summer you treated me exactly the same. Annoying. Loud. Your brother’s best friend. Background noise.”
He dipped the paddle once to keep the boat from spinning, then let it rest again.
“So yeah. I stopped trying to be normal. Being mean at least made you look at me. Made you fight back. Made you feel something. Even if it was just wanting to punch me in the face.” The water lapped quietly against the hull. “Guess I figured if I couldn’t get you to like me the regular way, I’d take whatever version of your attention I could get.”
The stars above the treeline were absurdly bright. The night air smelled like wet earth and pine. Somewhere far behind you the rec center music still thumped faintly, a whole different world.
Eddie waited, paddle still, giving you the space to answer or not.
You stared at the dark water for a long time before the words finally came out.
“I’ve liked you forever.”
The admission felt huge in the quiet. Behind you, Eddie went completely still.
“I just… always thought you were only being nice because of my brother. Like it was some obligation. Keep the little sister from feeling left out so everything was easy. You were always around, always loud, always there, and every time you did something decent I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just stuck with me.” You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “So I kept you at arm’s length on purpose. Acted like I couldn’t stand you so it wouldn’t hurt when I was right.”
The kayak drifted another few feet. A soft breeze moved through the trees on the bank.
Eddie set the paddle down across the hull with a quiet clatter.
“Jesus Christ.”
You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the last several years of his life in one sentence. The cocky mask was gone. What was left looked almost young.
“You’ve liked me,” he repeated, slow, testing the words. “This whole time.”
“Yeah.”
“And I thought you couldn’t stand me.”
“I wanted to not stand you.”
Eddie dragged both hands down his face and let out a laugh that was half groan. “We’re idiots.”
“Complete idiots,” you agreed.
“I spent years being an asshole on purpose because I thought it was the only way you’d notice me, and you spent the same years freezing me out because you thought I was only nice out of pity.” He shook his head, curls bouncing. “Do you understand how stupid that is? We could’ve been doing this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, at the kayak, the river, the lingering ache between your legs, “—years ago.”
You turned fully on the seat so you could face him. The boat rocked. Moonlight caught the silver of his rings and the still-flushed look on his face.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We really could’ve.”
Eddie held your gaze for a long moment. The anger and the heat from earlier were still there under the surface, but something softer sat on top of them now—wonder, maybe. Relief. A little bit of awe.
He picked the paddle back up, but he didn’t start rowing yet.
“For the record,” he said, voice low, “it was never because of your brother. Not once.”
The night felt different after that. Quieter. Fuller. The stars overhead seemed closer somehow, and the water carried you both forward without either of you needing to fill the silence right away.
The kayak scraped onto the shore near the campground docks. Eddie hopped out first and offered a hand; this time you took it. Your legs still felt a little unsteady, and the evidence of everything that had happened at the grotto was a secret, sticky reminder with every step.
The walk back through the trees started quiet, then cracked open into something lighter.
You bumped his shoulder with yours. “You’re still an asshole, for the record.”
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now. Big promotion.”
You snorted. “Don’t push it.”
Eddie grinned sideways at you, the same crooked, troublemaking smile he’d worn for years, only now it landed differently. “I’m just saying. For someone who spent the whole night insisting she didn’t belong to me, you came awfully hard when I treated you like you did.”
“Shut up.”
“Made a mess all over me and everything. Very convincing ‘I hate you’ performance.”
You shoved him lightly in the ribs. He caught your wrist and didn’t let go, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His rings were cool against your skin.
“I’m serious,” he said, voice dropping into that lower register again as the tents came into view. The smaller one was still zipped tight; your brother was clearly dead to the world. “We’re doing that again. Maybe not the dragging-you-into-the-woods part… or maybe exactly that part. Haven’t decided yet.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull your hand away. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like it.” He lifted your joined hands and pressed a quick, smug kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
The campground was quiet except for the distant leftover music from the rec center and the soft rush of the river behind you. Somewhere in the big tent your sleeping bags still waited on opposite sides of the floor.
Eddie glanced at them, then back at you, eyes warm and wicked under the string lights.
“C’mon,” he said, tugging you forward. “We’ve got a whole tradition to keep ruining.”
You followed him into the dark, still holding his hand, the night air cool against your flushed skin and the future suddenly looking a lot less like an argument and a lot more like trouble you actually wanted.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Getting high with your guy best friend and he starts listing reasons you should let him put his cock inside you. Based on this post.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, little bit of handjob, smut, unprotected sex, smoking weed, hint of size kink. I think that's all, lmk if i missed something.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,5K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Yes, i'm still on hiatus but i'm still writing some ideas and requests that you guys sent me. I didn't really like how this went because i had something different in mind for this oneshot, but i was listening to ethel cain and maybe it got to my head so i wrote more...no, less sexy than i intended. But i hope you guys like it!! My requests are still open (and the anon option is back yay!!) so send me some ideas to write. Love you all, thank u for being patient with me. 🩷
The apartment's living room was shrouded in a whitish haze, filled with distorted guitar riffs and vocals indistinguishable amidst a symphony of screams and guttural growls. Eddie was currently sprawled across the vintage red velvet sofa, legs dangling over the armrest and head tilted back against the cushions; he looked like a marionette that had gotten too close to the fire — melted and then discarded.
His limbs lay heavy and loose, sprawled across the sofa almost like the exaggerated pose of a body at a crime scene, while his eyes were half-closed and his mouth twisted into a scowl that looked like disgust as he gave his head a subtle, minimal shake — it was just his own peculiar way of showing he was enjoying good music — specifically, the guitar riff that made the floorboards vibrate and would almost certainly earn him a complaint from the downstairs neighbor within minutes.
The weed had hit both of you harder than usual, turning the apartment into an almost slow-motion sanctuary where the only things that mattered were the rhythmic pulse of the bass and the way the sun filtered through the loosely closed blinds in irregular golden bands.
"Pass the lighter, please?" Eddie murmured, his voice hoarse and drawling. He didn't move his head; he simply extended a tattooed hand, the ink snaking up his forearm in sharp, geometric patterns. He had a way of moving that was always slightly dramatic, even when he was practically unconscious from a joint.
He smiled, the dimples beside his mouth deepening as he met your gaze, while dark brown curls tumbled over his shoulders in a chaotic tangle. You leaned forward, sliding the lighter across the coffee table, feeling your limbs as if they were made of hot, softened wax on the verge of turning to liquid.
You had spent the last three hours in exactly that state — talking about everything and nothing, arguing about vinyl records, and sinking deeper into the cushions until you almost merged with the furniture. There was a comfortable weight to the silence between you, the kind that exists only between two people who have seen each other at their worst and decided they still liked the view.
"Have you ever thought about how we’re basically just ghosts inhabiting flesh suits? No… aliens in a robot suit made of flesh, just like in the movie MIB," Eddie asked, his voice drifting as if he were narrating a documentary only he could hear.
He shifted his position, turning onto his side to face you in a slow, languid movement; the light caught his ear gauges, the silver rings glinting as he propped himself up on his elbow. The metal music shifted to something slower, a dense, hypnotic rhythm that seemed to sync with the pulsating heat beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach.
He didn’t pull away when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing against his. Instead, he reached out, sliding his hand along your shoulder with a tenderness that anchored you amidst that haze of smoke and metal. His fingertips were calloused from guitar strings, yet they grazed the curve of your breast with a light, teasing precision that made your breath hitch.
"Speaking of 'meat suits'…" he murmured, his brown eyes darkening, "I’ve been thinking of a few reasons why you should finally let me put this meat inside you."
You let out a low, breathless laugh, but the sound died away when you felt movement against his jeans. Eddie wasn't just talking; he was touching himself, his other hand sliding down to stroke his length right over the fabric.
He was in no rush, moving at a slow, deliberate pace that accentuated the thick, heavy outline of his cock. He pressed lightly against you; the friction of the denim created a low, thumping in your chest that competed with the bass of the music.
"Reason number one," he whispered, dimples appearing in a predatory, playful smile, "we’re already halfway there. The vibe is perfect. Reason number two…" He paused, his hand squeezing tighter, shifting the angle so you could see exactly how much space he took up. "You know I’m huge, right? Like, pornstar big."
"Shut up," you managed to say, though the protest lacked any real conviction. Your voice came out low, swallowed by the music's heavy distortion and the rising heat of the room.
Eddie didn’t blink, his gaze was fixed on yours with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. He was no longer laughing, the playfulness had given way to something hungrier, though the warmth remained.
He shifted his weight, pressing his thigh firmly against yours, the heat of his skin radiated through his jeans. His hand continued that slow, rhythmic motion, the denim stretching taut over his thickness.
"I'm serious," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave and vibrating in the small space between you. "I'm massive. Touch it and see."
The challenge hung in the air, drifting languidly like smoke. You hesitated for a moment, your pulse pounding in your throat, before reaching out.
The instant your fingers grazed the rough denim, Eddie didn't wait for you to find your rhythm; with a fluid, practiced motion, he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pushed his jeans — along with his underwear — down, freeing himself with a heavy, sudden thud against his navel.
You froze, the air escaping you in a sharp exhale as you looked down. It was magnificent — pulsing with a raised vein that ran along the base to the tip, the head swollen and leaking, flushed a deep reddish hue that contrasted sharply with the pale skin of the shaft. It was far larger than you had imagined; heavy, imposing, and of a length that seemed to defy the very definition of the word.
"Holy shit," you whispered, eyes wide as you darted your gaze between his impressive size and his face. "This is going to break me."
Eddie’s expression was one of pure, triumphant satisfaction; he arched his hips slightly, showing himself off with intense confidence. "God, I hope so," he groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
He reached out, his hand finding the back of your neck and pulling you just a few inches closer, close enough for the heat radiating from him to envelop your skin.
You didn't wait for him to urge you on again, your fingers closed around him, and the first thing you noticed was the searing, pulsing heat that seemed to vibrate in time with your own heart. He was solid — his skin smooth yet stretched taut over the sturdy structure of his length.
As your hand slid upward, feeling how he filled your palm — your fingers unable to fully wrap around him — Eddie let out a sharp, hissing gasp, his head hit the back of the sofa with a dull thud, and his eyes closed as he surrendered to the contact.
"Shit," he murmured, his voice strained. "You’ve got quite a grip, sweetheart."
You didn't answer, too occupied with what was right in front of you; you slid your hand down, feeling the weight of his balls and the way he pulsed against your palm. You squeezed his dick lightly with the other hand, testing his firmness, and Eddie’s hips jerked instinctively upward as a low, guttural sound escaped from deep in his throat.
"Careful," he gasped, though his eyes were open now, half-lidded and dark, revealing a mix of pride and desperation. "If you keep doing that, I won't be able to wait until the list is finished."
You let out a shaky laugh as your thumb caressed the head of his cock, noticing how he jerked at the touch. The weed had softened the outlines of the room; the velvet of the sofa felt like moss beneath your touch, and the air seemed thick, almost like liquid goo.
You moved closer, and his scent — spicy, woody vanilla, tobacco, and a faint hint of sweat — overwhelmed your senses. As you shifted, your knee brushed against his thigh; the contact sent a jolt through you that made your toes curl against the sofa.
Eddie’s hand, which had been resting at the nape of your neck, slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him to claim the space, his solid frame enveloping you completely. He lowered his gaze to where your small hand could barely grasp his thickness, and a slight smile appeared on his lips; his dimples appeared one last time before his expression turned serious.
“Reason number three,” Eddie whispered, his voice nothing more than a breath against your ear. "Chemistry. We have plenty of that, don't we?" He didn't wait for an answer; his hips surged forward, pressing his hot, velvet-smooth length against the seam of your jeans.
The contact was electric — a sudden, intense flare of heat that made your breath hitch. You felt the tremor in his thighs, the tension of muscles coiled like a spring, holding back a surge of urgency that threatened to spill over. He wasn't trembling from the effects of the weed, but from the immense effort of staying still while you explored his impressive size.
You shifted your grip, sliding your hand to the base of his member and pulling upward in a slow, firm motion; the friction of your palm against his skin created a wet, sliding sound that seemed to amplify as the music’s volume suddenly dropped.
Eddie’s eyes flew open, his pupils dilated to the point of swallowing the brown of his irises, turning them almost black; he let out a sound that was half-moan, half-gasp as his fingers dug into the small of your back.
"You're killing me," he said in a hoarse voice, his head lolling to the side as he struggled to breathe. "You're really killing me."
You didn't let up; you slid your hand back down to the base and closed your fingers around him again, this time squeezing with slow, deliberate pressure. The sound that escaped Eddie didn't even seem human — a low, guttural rumble that started in his chest and ended in a sharp intake of breath, making his entire torso shudder.
"You're talking too much, Munson," you whispered, your voice sounding distant and hazy to your own ears. You leaned forward, your chest brushing against his arm, the lust between the two of you was now a physical force that seemed to distort the hazy air.
Eddie’s eyes locked onto yours, the hunger there was almost predatory, yet softened by the warm, familiar affection that had defined your friendship for years. He made no move to push you away, nor did he pull back.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps; he shifted his hips, his weight and girth sliding against your palm. The friction created a searing sensation that made your head spin and your senses blur — like an addictive drug you’d discovered and had no intention of giving up.
“I’ve got plenty of reasons,” he managed to say, though his voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “The fourth reason… the way you’re looking at me right now, like you want to see if I really fit inside you.”
“You’re dangerous…” you whispered, but you didn’t pull your hand away. You shifted your weight, moving off the velvet cushion to kneel between his legs, which were spread wide across the sofa.
The change in perspective made him look even more irresistible: his chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his long hair fanned out against the sofa, creating a dark, wild aura. From that angle, his imposing presence was even more overwhelming; the room seemed to shrink, the walls receding until nothing remained but the distorted sound of the speakers and his scent — intense, masculine, and intoxicatingly warm.
Eddie let out a long, shaky breath, his head falling back against the sofa once more; his eyes were closed and his jaw was set, yet he remained completely attuned to the sensation of your touch. His hand, still resting on your shoulder, gave a light squeeze, his thumb grazing the line of your collarbone.
“The fifth reason…” He groaned, the words barely escaping his lips. “I… God, I thought about this every time we hung out these past few months. Every time you laughed at my jokes, every time you touched my arm… I just wanted to feel you all around me.”
The sincerity in those words hit you harder than the weed. The air in the room was heavy, thick with the mounting tension of months of pent-up desire and unfinished sentences.
You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability beneath his tough guy act, the way his chest rose and fell in ragged, breathless movements. He was laying himself bare — raw and exposed — waiting for you to decide if the risk posed by his size was worth the reward of his touch.
You didn’t answer with words; you simply leaned forward, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Eddie let out a sharp, stifled sound — something between a gasp and a plea — and his fingers dug into the fabric of your top, pulling you closer.
You could feel the heat radiating from him in waves — a furnace of anticipation that made goosebumps rise across your skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, you slid your hand back along the length of his body; your palm molded to his imposing thickness, feeling him shudder and pulse beneath your touch.
"Six," Eddie whispered, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with dark desire. "Reason number six… because I know exactly how to take care of you. Once I’m inside, I’m not letting you go anytime soon."
You reached for the button of your jeans; as you lowered the zipper, the cool air of the apartment brushed against your skin for a split second before you felt his searing heat pressing against your thigh. He was so large he seemed like a physical barrier — a wall of heat and muscle that demanded your full attention and took up nearly all the space on the furniture.
As you pushed your jeans and panties down, the sudden absence of fabric felt like a release; you shifted, sliding back until you were stretched out on the velvet cushions, your legs parting instinctively to make room for him.
Eddie didn’t move immediately; he just watched you, his chest heaving and his eyes tracing your face as if searching for any sign of hesitation. Seeing you open to him seemed to break something loose inside him, and he let out a low, guttural sound, more of a growl than a word.
He moved with agonizing, deliberate slowness, kneeling on the couch as he settled between your thighs. It was impossible to ignore his approach; the heavy, throbbing head of his cock brushed against your entrance, and the friction made you arch your back. He let out a ragged breath, his forehead resting against yours, his dark curls forming a curtain that shut out the rest of the apartment.
“Do you still think it’s too much?” he murmured, his voice a vibration you could feel in your very bones.
“Just do it,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his biceps and pulling him closer.
Eddie didn’t rush. He couldn’t. The size and thickness of his cock demanded a patience that contrasted with the desperate hunger in his eyes; he shifted his weight, bracing himself on his forearms with his chest hovering just inches above yours. He took a deep breath — a shaky, audible intake that rumbled in his throat — and then pushed forward a little.
He was so thick that the sensation wasn't one of sliding, but rather of a slow, insistent expansion; you felt his blunt head stretching you open, breaking through the initial resistance with a heavy, relentless force.
A small, involuntary gasp escaped you as your fingers dug into his biceps, feeling the rock-hard muscle tense beneath your touch. Eddie froze and waited, his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign that it was too much.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if it had been dragged over gravel.
“I– Fuck, don’t stop…” you pleaded, arching your hips upward, unconsciously seeking that blend of pleasure, pain and being completely filled.
Eddie let out a low, distorted groan and shifted his hands; one slid from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to maintain eye contact as he pushed deeper.
The sensation was overwhelming, a forceful, pulsing power that made the air escape your lungs in a sharp, ragged hiss. You could feel every vein and ridge of him as he slowly navigated the tight space; his thickness left no room for anything but him; a collision of wet friction and wild desire, the feeling of being completely filled. As he drove in another inch, your hips lifted instinctively, your body trying to make room for his colossal size.
“Holy… shit,” Eddie groaned, his voice breaking. He had stopped moving, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving in violent, ragged breaths.
He was trembling, muscles taut, fighting the urge to simply thrust with full force; the pleasure of that tight, snug fit was clearly pushing him to the limit.
The look on his face was one of absolute, agonizing ecstasy, a religious epiphany and a physical breakdown all at once.
He shifted his grip, his large, tattooed hands slid beneath your thighs to lift your hips higher, positioning you so he could thrust even deeper.
The change in position allowed him to go to the absolute limit, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he let out a long, shuddering breath.
He looked down at you — his brown eyes wide and glazed — and his dimples flashed briefly as a wild, hungry smile touched his lips.
"You’re really taking it all," he murmured, his voice hoarse and broken. "God, you’re so tight… it’s like you’re trying to squeeze the soul right out of me."
"Maybe I am," you managed to stammer, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears. You wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles to anchor yourself against his overwhelming force.
The sensation of being stretched to the limit was dizzying, a heavy, throbbing pressure that made the room spin faster than any high from the weed ever could. With every thrust, it felt as though he were rearranging your internal organs, opening up a space that had never existed before.
Eddie’s breathing came in a series of ragged, desperate gasps. He began to move again, but the rhythm shifted from a steady cadence to something more primal and erratic, his movements grew shorter, sharper, and more frenzied.
The friction of his thick length against the walls of your cunt was almost unbearable, making you arch your back and throw your head back against the sofa cushions. You could feel the bass vibrations from the speakers echoing through his chest and directly into yours, syncing with the heavy pounding of his heart.
"I can't—" Eddie groaned, his voice thick with emotion. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. "I can't believe you actually fit… God, you're so hot."
He shifted his body, placing all his weight on you and pressing you against the soft fabric of the sofa. The added pressure only drove him deeper, pushing past every limit until you felt his tip against your cervix that sent a wave of white-hot pleasure radiating through your lower belly.
"Reason seven," Eddie managed to say, his voice a hoarse, ragged sound; his eyes were squeezed shut, his head tossing from side to side as he struggled for breath. "Reason seven… is that I can't… God, I can't breathe— fuck, when I'm inside you." He let out a guttural roar, the sound vibrating deep within his chest.
"Eddie," you whispered softly, his name barely more than a breath. You weren't sure if you were asking him to stop or begging him never to let go.
"God, you're like… a vice," Eddie groaned, his voice cracking as he gripped your hips, tattooed fingers sinking into your skin to hold you steady, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, his chest heaving against yours.
"I can feel every… every inch of you squeezing me. It’s unfair. That’s cheating."
You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your legs locked tight around his waist, pulling him even deeper into that heat.
"Who's cheating? It's you… you practically have a whole tree trunk attached to you."
"And yet you let me plant that trunk in your soil," he shot back, a manic, dimpled grin breaking through the ecstasy.
He shifted the angle, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you wide open, the change in position allowed him to thrust with agonizing depth, his weight pressing you into the fabric as he drove all the way in.
You let out a sharp, stifled moan, your toes curling as his thick head hit that same white-hot spot, sending a fresh jolt of electricity racing through your hips.
His movements had turned heavy and relentless, every thrust was a slow, overwhelming slide that made it feel as though your skin were fusing with his, forcing your opening wide with a searing, slick heat that made your breath come in short, ragged gasps.
An intense, vibrant pressure spread through you, turning your muscles to liquid lava, you arched your back, your hips instinctively tilting to meet him, seeking that overwhelming impact again and again.
The friction was immense, a wet, slapping sound echoing the music’s deep bass, creating a sensory loop that drove you closer and closer to the edge.
"Eddie, please," you moaned softly, though you didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, you only knew that the sensation of being completely filled by him was the only thing in the world that mattered right then.
"Please what, sweetheart? Be specific," Eddie panted, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper.
He didn't slow down, digging his heels into the sofa for leverage and driving into you with sudden, sharp intensity, hitting the same spot over and over.
You couldn't find the words, so you simply wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles and squeezing with all your might.
He began moving in shorter, frenzied thrusts, each withdrawal was a teasing, agonizingly slow release of pressure, immediately followed by a devastatingly deep thrust that seemed to rearrange your insides.
The sensation was overwhelming, a total occupation of your body that made the rest of the world — the music, the smell of weed, the mess of his apartment — fade into a distant, irrelevant blur. Nothing existed but his heavy, sliding weight and the way he filled every available millimeter of you.
"Right there," you moaned, your voice a fragile thread of desire and pleading. "Eddie, right there."
"Almost… right there," he gasped, his voice a shattered shadow of who he used to be.
The friction was turning into an overwhelming blaze, a searing heat that dissolved the boundaries between where your body ended and his began.
His movements shifted from rhythmic to desperate, his breath escaped in ragged, guttural sounds. He drove into you with absolute, focused intensity, bracing his heavy thighs against the velvet cushions as he sought the deepest connection possible. With every full thrust, he let out a low, trembling groan that made your entire body vibrate with raw, visceral desire.
"Holy… shit," Eddie moaned, his voice wavering.
He let out a long, guttural sound — half-groan, half-cry — as he slammed his hips against yours and buried himself deep, his entire body shuddering from the force of a release that seemed to make even the floorboards vibrate. He froze, his whole body locked in a rigid line of tension, muscles taut and trembling.
You felt his sudden, hot surge pulsing deep against your cervix and moaned a long, high-pitched sound of absolute surrender as his forehead dropped onto your shoulder and you finally gave in to the overwhelming pleasure of climax, your breath coming in ragged, shaky gasps.
He didn't pull away immediately, he remained there, lost in the intense, pulsing heat of your body as your heartbeats synchronized in the sudden silence, before collapsing onto you with his forehead resting on your shoulder and his chest heaving in ragged, panting spasms.
He shifted and slid out of you, dropping onto the sofa beside you, a slow, reluctant withdrawal that seemed to last an eternity. As he slid out, a sense of emptiness took hold, his sudden absence was almost as impactful as the penetration itself, making you shiver despite the warmth of the apartment.
He let out a long, shaky breath, letting his head fall back against the velvet as he stared at the ceiling, dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"Holy… God," he breathed, his voice returning to that husky charm, though stripped of all pretense. He looked at you, a hint of a smile returning to his lips. "Did I… you know… break you? Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, how much of a wreck are you right now?"
"Eleven," you managed to say, your voice hoarse and fragile. "I think you actually shifted my organs, I can feel my liver in a different place."
Eddie let out a loud, rich laugh, the sound echoing through the room.
"You know," Eddie murmured, traces of laughter still in his voice, "the list had twelve reasons. I only managed to say seven."
You let out a low, weary laugh, turning your face to look at him. "Seven reasons seems like more than enough to me."
Eddie let out a deep, resonant laugh that vibrated through his entire body and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that there wasn't a breath of air between you.
The room was dark, the late afternoon light had taken on a purplish hue, matching the languid, lazy atmosphere that had settled over you both.
⋆˚꩜｡pairing: eddie x bff!fem!reader
⋆˚꩜｡summary: After three months of listening to your best friend brag about the size of his dick, you finally decide to call his bluff.
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit sexual content 18+ minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!fem!reader, best friends to lovers, alcohol use, light praise kink, unprotected p in v, eddie is a cocky mf, i think that’s all?
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 4.8k+
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: loosely inspired by this post right here, that has been sitting for literal years in my likes lol hope this is readable x // still on my writing break! just wanted to drop this<3
Eddie Munson was the bane of your fucking existence.
He was too loud, always yelling or laughing directly into your ear until it rang for the rest of the night. He was kind of disgusting too, forever burping in your face or wearing the same dirty socks because he’d forgotten to do the laundry again. He was annoying in every sense of the word. In fact, if you looked up annoyance in the dictionary, you’d literally find a picture of him grinning proudly at the camera.
Unfortunately, you’d grown more than used to all of it, considering he’d also been your best friend for years.
Although, lately, you’d been seriously considering giving him a different title instead. Best asshole. Best cocky motherfucker. Best creep.
Those last two had a nice ring to them, actually.
Especially considering that, ever since he’d lost his virginity three months ago, he’d developed an insufferable habit of flashing you that smug, sideways grin while going on and on about how big his dick supposedly was.
“I’m serious, sweetheart.” He leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself as his gaze dragged lazily over you before settling on your face again. “There’s no way someone like you could fit it.”
Ignoring the second glance he snuck down your cleavage as you leaned over the pool table, you lined up your shot with steady hands and fixed your eyes on the cue ball.
“What do you want me to say, Eddie?”
You pressed the tip of your tongue against the inside of your cheek as the cue brushed over your knuckles while you drew it back, just enough to steady the swing.
“Congratulations?”
The stick slid forwards in one smooth, measured movement, sending the cue ball snapping across the felt.
“Or condolences for never, ever finding someone willing to hop on your monstrous dick?”
One by one, the balls found their places. The striped ball disappeared into the pocket with a muted click, clean and final.
You didn’t rush to celebrate. Instead, you studied the table for a second longer, taking in the angle you’d left yourself before stepping into position for your next shot. It looked good when you leaned over the felt, cue gliding through your fingers as you lined it up.
Except it wasn’t, and the object ball caught the jaw of the pocket with a dull clack before spinning back onto the table.
“Aw, fuck,” you muttered under your breath, straightening as you stepped aside.
Eddie let out a low whistle as he took your place, that stupid, cocky grin still plastered across his face. Leaning over the table, he tapped the cue against the rail once before lining up his own shot. A sharp crack echoed through the empty bar as the cue ball connected, sending one of the solids banking neatly into the corner pocket.
“Listen, dude, I’m just saying.” Eddie shrugged as he pushed himself upright and reached for his beer.
Circling the table with your cue balanced loosely in one hand, you searched the table for what he’d left behind.
“Saying what, exactly?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.
“That it’s a genuine problem,” he replied over the rim of his beer bottle. “Remember that girl I fucked in the back of the van last week?”
Before you could even tell him to stop, he was already launching into the story.
Apparently, she’d spent half the time insisting he was too big while stubbornly trying to take all of him anyway.
You answered by leaning over the pool table once more, deliberately focusing on your shot instead of the absolute bullshit coming out of his mouth. The cue slid smoothly through your fingers before the cue ball rolled forward with a satisfying crack.
“Dude.” You scrunched your nose in disgust as you straightened. “I do not need to know all the details.”
Eddie flashed that infuriating grin again, dragging the tip of his tongue lazily across his lower lip.
“You don’t have to hear the details,” he said with a shrug. “You could always skip straight to the practical demonstration.”
And there it was.
It wasn’t the first time Eddie had held your gaze a little longer than necessary while spewing some ridiculous bullshit about taking him for a test drive. It came with years of friendship – careless, empty words tossed around for no other reason than to get a rise out of you.
But, see, Eddie had somehow forgotten who he was talking to – you. The physical incarnation of intrusive thoughts, and the only person who could match Eddie’s freak – or his stupidity.
The rest of your friend group had perfected the art of staying out of it; they’d learned years ago that the quickest way to become collateral damage was to accidentally encourage either of you.
And once one of you committed to the bit, the other treated it like a declaration of war.
Big mistake on Eddie’s part for forgetting that.
“Alright,” you said with a dramatic sigh as you pushed yourself away from the pool table. “Strip.”
Eddie’s hand stalled halfway to his mouth, the beer bottle hovering just below his lips. The cocky grin faltered for only a second before he recovered with a chuckle.
“C’mon, sweetheart.”
“I’m serious.” You raised an eyebrow. “You closed the place an hour ago. It’s just the two of us here.”
Crossing the room, you slid your cue back onto its rack before grabbing your beer from the table behind him. You tipped back the last mouthful and set the empty bottle down with a hollow thunk before turning back to him.
“So…” You folded your arms across your chest. “Strip.”
“I’m not just gonna–”
“Why not?” You tilted your head, all mock sympathy. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself?”
Eddie scoffed, although it lacked some of its earlier confidence. “Of course not–”
“Then fucking strip and get on the pool table.”
Eddie blinked, caught off guard for the briefest moment, before that crooked grin slowly crept back onto his face. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the grin returning despite the lingering pink in his cheeks.
“Jesus H. Christ. You’re actually serious.”
“I’m dead serious, Eddie.” You kept staring at him, thoroughly unimpressed by the fact he still hadn’t moved. “Do I have to come over there and do it myself?” You’d barely finished the sentence before uncrossing your arms and taking a few deliberate steps towards him. “Because I will.”
“What–”
“You know, I don’t believe a word that’s come out of your mouth for the past three months.” You stopped in front of him, curling your fingers into the open front of his flannel just enough to tug him a fraction closer. Holding his gaze without blinking, you added, “So here’s your chance, big boy. Prove me wrong.”
Eddie searched your face for the punchline, but there wasn’t one.
The flirting had become second nature a long, long time ago, neither of you really able to pinpoint exactly when. Somewhere along the way, the lingering touches, the forced proximity, and the teasing words had all become part of the game the two of you played more often than not.
A game that had never gotten this far before.
And somehow, Eddie didn’t seem to mind.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind his back and set his beer on the edge of the table, and then his hands settled on your hips instead.
“Look, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckled, tightening his grip on your hips. “How about you take me out to dinner first, hm?”
“You already made me buy you a shot during your shift.” You shot him an unimpressed look before tightening your fingers around his flannel. With a firm tug, you slipped it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor between you. “You’re stalling, and I’m getting impatient.”
A crooked grin spread across Eddie’s lips as he flickered his gaze up and down your face. “As you wish, sweetheart.”
His gaze lingered on yours for another beat as the tip of his tongue swept lazily across his lower lip. Giving your hips one final squeeze, he finally let go and took a few unhurried steps backwards. He winked, and then reached for the button of his jeans.
“This better be worth my time, Munson.”
Taking a few steps back yourself, you leaned against the edge of the pool table before hoisting yourself up to sit on it.
Ignoring the raised eyebrow Eddie shot your way, you hooked your fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and peeled it over your head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere in his general direction.
Eddie’s ringed hands stalled for the briefest moments as his eyes wandered over your frame – or, more specifically, the lacy bra hugging your chest just a little too well for his own peace of mind.
This felt vastly different from seeing you in a bikini.
Maybe it was because there was nothing casual about it. Nothing accidental about you taking your shirt off for him, on purpose.
Or maybe it was the faint outline of your nipples beneath the lace.
Whatever the reason, it was definitely not why his fingers hesitated for that split second before he forced himself to continue undoing his jeans.
Eddie’s entire shift had been so fucking loud that, by the end of it, his head had been pounding behind his temples.
Now though? The quiet was somehow worse. The low hum of the bar fridges beneath the counter and the steady ticking of the clock somewhere behind him suddenly sounded deafening. There was no music or drunken chatter to drown out the frantic pounding of his heartbeat – or the fact that you didn’t seem to have any intention of backing down.
Which, naturally, meant Eddie wasn’t about to back down either.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat and praying you hadn’t noticed, he forced that cocky grin back into place before kicking off his shoes and shoving his jeans down the rest of the way.
“Gonna take off that skirt of yours,” he scoffed as he hooked a thumb beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head, “or do you want me to do it?”
“Hm.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider the offer as the tip of your tongue swept lazily across your lower lip. “Promise not to cum the second you see my panties?”
Eddie rolled his eyes, though the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth never quite disappeared. “Real funny, sweetheart.”
He closed the distance between you with a couple of slow, deliberate steps. Curling his hands around your hips once more, Eddie lifted you off the edge of the pool table in one smooth motion, earning a startled shriek from you. He pulled you flush against his bare chest, looking at you through his lashes before a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
His tongue swept lazily across his lower lip as he let his hands drift from your hips to the waistband of your skirt. Tilting his head forwards, he brushed the tip of his nose against yours while his fingers found the button.
The soft click of it coming undone echoed through the otherwise silent bar, and then came the quiet rasp of the zipper down. The sound lingered in the air for a moment before your skirt pooled around your ankles with a muted thud.
“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked quietly, his fingertips lingering against the bare skin of your waist.
His grin lingered as his hands drifted back down to your hips. Warm, calloused fingers settled against your skin before tightening just enough to lift you onto the edge of the pool table once more.
“You gonna keep stalling, or are you gonna show that supposedly big dick of yours?” you murmured, instinctively curling your legs around his waist as a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
Eddie scrunched his nose in mock offence, looking almost genuinely offended by your choice of words. “Don’t objectify me.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing for the last three months?” You shot him a flat look.
He opened his mouth like he’d already thought of the perfect comeback, only to stop himself halfway through. A dry, disbelieving laugh escaped him instead as he shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“…Yeah, alright. Fair enough.”
For a second, you couldn’t remember what either of you had been saying as your gaze drifted across his face. It lingered on his parted lips for the briefest moment before finding his eyes again.
Eddie had always been Eddie – loud, obnoxious, and completely insufferable. The kind of asshole who’d burp in your face just because he knew it’d piss you off, steal fries off your plate after insisting he wasn’t hungry, and somehow turn every conversation into an opportunity to talk about himself.
Somehow, standing this close to him now, with your legs curled around his waist, he also looked unfairly handsome.
You hated that realisation.
More than that, you hated the fact that your eyes kept drifting back to his mouth – and that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by them.
You could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched into that stupid, cocky grin, and the way he stood there looking entirely too pleased with himself, as though he’d already decided he’d won.
There was no way in Hell you were about to let Eddie win this round.
So, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forwards and pressed your lips against his.
Eddie froze for the briefest moment, clearly caught off guard by the sudden kiss. His eyes widened just slightly before they fluttered shut again, a quiet, almost disbelieving hum escaping him like he hadn’t expected you be the one to close the distance first.
Then, as if remembering exactly who he was kissing, that familiar confidence returned. His grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly as he tilted his head, meeting you halfway and deepening the kiss with an ease that made your stomach twist.
His lips were every bit as soft as they’d looked, and it drove you just a little bit insane how unfairly good the asshole was at kissing. The steady pressure of his mouth against yours sent warmth blooming through your chest, only intensifying when he lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before finally drawing back enough for the two of you to breathe.
“I thought I’d told you to get on the pool table,” you murmured, still slightly out of breath.
Looking up at him through your lashes, you swept your tongue across your lips, unconsciously catching the lingering taste of the kiss as you slowly unfurled your legs from around his waist.
Eddie, however, didn’t seem all that eager to let go. One hand lingered on your hip while the other drifted to the strap of your bra. He gave it a curious tug before letting it snap gently back against your skin, a smug grin spreading across his face.
“Getting desperate already?”
“Just wanna get this nightmare over with,” you replied with a dramatic roll of your eyes, giving his chest of a half-hearted shove.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Eddie chuckled as he finally let go of your hip. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Turning just enough for the small of his back to meet the edge of the pool table, he hoisted himself onto it before shuffling towards the middle of the green felt. Once has was comfortably settled, he folded his arms behind his head and looked over at you with some infuriating grin.
“Gonna make me sit here in anticipation just so I can be impossibly disappointed?” you scoffed, pushing yourself away from the edge of the table anyway.
“Wanna do the honours?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he nodded towards his boxers.
Resting one knee on the felt before the other, you shuffled closer until you found yourself sitting between his parted legs. The green felt rubbed roughly against his back, but Eddie didn’t seem to care too much about it when your soft hands trail up his thighs.
Your gaze was fixed on Eddie, studying and memorising every single twitch of his face as you skimmed your fingers against the cotton material of his boxers before pulling back again.
You reached behind and unclipped your bra, slowly pulling the straps down your arms until there was nothing to keep Eddie’s eyes from drinking you in. Just for the Hell of it, you threw the lacy material in his face with a smug grin spread across your lips.
The soft glow of the bar casted soft shadows across your exposed chest, highlighting every dip and curve. His dark brown eyes are completely on your breasts, commuting each detail to memory – perfect, with a beautiful roundness to them, and hardened nipples that nearly drove him insane. Eddie’s palms itched to touch, to feel their weight in his ringed hands, and it took all of his self-control not to reach for you, to pin you down and cave in, to Hell with this stupid game between you.
But he waited, breath held, for you to make the next move as he did his best to keep that confident, stupid smirk on his face.
Eddie’s eyes pulled away from your breasts to the red lacy bra that had fallen onto his chest. “You know I’m keeping this, right?”
“You get souvenirs and I get disappointment?” you muttered, leaning forwards. “Doesn’t sound fair to me.”
“Only disappointment that you won’t make it fit, sweetheart.”
Anticipation coursed through your veins as your fingers grazed his hips before curling around the waistband of his boxers. Eddie lifted his hip silently, letting you slide his boxers down his thighs until he kicked it somewhere to the floor behind you.
The cool air fanned his bare skin, raising goosebumps in its wake – or maybe that was just the weight of your parted lips and gaze fixed on his cock.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The bastard hadn’t been lying.
There was absolutely no fucking reason for someone’s dick – especially Eddie’s, of all fucking people – to be this big.
He was long, a little thicker than your wrist, and the tip of his cock, swollen and desperate, was a beautiful shade of pink that matched his lips almost perfectly. And his balls, holy– They were absolutely perfect. Big, and round, and slightly droopy, beautifully adorned with a bush of tight, dark curls.
The lack of reaction – which, frankly was a reaction in and on itself – merely made Eddie’s smug grin widen as you kept staring dumbly at his cock.
“So, what do you say, sweetheart?” He chuckled lowly, reaching for one of your thighs. He trailed a finger along the seam of your inner thigh, delighting in the way you shuddered. “Is it gonna fit? Or is it too big for you?”
“I–”
“It’s okay if it doesn’t,” he reassured mockingly.
The tension between you stretched taut and electric as he guided your hand to his aching length. Eddie buckled into your palm, a low groan escaping his lips at the touch of your hand – so much softer, warmer, smaller than his.
“Shut up,” was all you could muster, although it sounded low and unconvincing.
You gave him a few curious flicks of the wrist before letting go of him again. The absence of your touch was infuriating, but the feeling quickly melted away as he watched, transfixed, as you shuffled to straddle him.
“Make me, sweetheart.”
You hovered right above his cock, and impatiently pulled your panties to the side while you lined him up with your free hand. Keeping your gaze fixed on Eddie’s, you swallowed hard before taking a deep breath and sinking down on his cock in one quick move.
A strangled gasp tore from your throat – or was it Eddie’s? – as you enveloped him in your slick heat. His hands immediately reached for your hips, his head mercilessly falling against the hard pool table.
“Jesus–” His breath hitched.
You let out a broken moan as you gave yourself good few seconds to get used to the forced stretch – he’s too long and too fucking thick, hitting you in all the right places while also making you feel completely impaled.
Biting your lip to keep the broken moans from escaping, you slowly began moving your hips in languid rolls. Each drag of your slick walls along his aching cock sent shockwaves rippling through you. You’re drowning in the feeling, lost to everything but the addictive pressure of his swollen tip hitting your cervix each time you sank back down.
“I– Fuck,” you whimpered, reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Son of a–” he gritted out, voice wrecked with need. He let out a strained chuckle while digging his fingers into your hips. “If you could only see yourself, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s gaze locked with yours, pupils blown wide and dark with desire.
“I-I can take it,” you whimpered, biting your lip when he rocked up into you, meeting your rhythm stroke for stroke. “S-see?”
“You for sure showed me, sweetheart.” He shot you that cocky smile you hated, moving your hips back and forth to help you. “I’m so upset I was wrong.”
“You’re so fucking i-insufferable,” you gritted out, voice wrecked with need.
The pool table beneath you creaked as Eddie’s hips pistoned frantically while he kept guiding you. He thrusted up into your slick pussy, meeting each roll of your hips with growing urgency. The wet, sticky sounds of his cock filling you filled the silent bar, obscene and thrilling.
“That’s it, baby,” he praised hoarsely. “You were made to ride my big, fucking cock, hm?”
The way he filled you to the brim made you feel hyper sensitive, and it’s too much and it fucking hurt, but holy shit did he feel incredibly good.
Eddie watched you through half-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of your cock-drunk expression. Your breasts bounce with each impact of your bodies, hardened nipples just begging for attention. Leaning up, Eddie captured one in his mouth, suckling greedily while he kept thrusting up in the same pace. He growled into your cleavage, biting down.
“J-Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.” He breathed as his eyes trailed down to where you were connected, watching in fascination at how you were practically drenching his cock. “You take me so fucking well. Greedy pussy gripping, hm?”
With a broken whimper, you pushed Eddie back down onto the felt table, and sped up your movements. The tiny curls around the base of his cock brushed against your swollen clit with every roll of your hips, pulling broken moan after broken moan. He was balls deep inside of you, hitting that special spot, determined to melt your brain until you couldn’t even form thoughts anymore.
Eddie’s cheeks were impossibly flushed as he stared up at you with half-lidded eyes as his tongue slipped out from between his lips. You leaned forwards, digging your nails into his shoulders as you smashed your lips against his for a messy kiss of spit and clanking teeth.
“I’m c-close, Eds,” you panted against his neck, teeth grazing his sensitive skin. “S-so fucking close.”
“Already, sweetheart?” Eddie scoffed, punctuating the question with sharp thrusts. “Fucking do it then, soak my cock.”
He ground against your sensitive spots, determined to push you over the precipice as his fingers found your swollen clit, stroking it with firm, purposeful circles. His own lips dropped open, a whiny groan slipping past his lips when you whined, loud and needy – he couldn’t help it, not when you looked like this.
Arching your back and crying out his name, you kept taking every deliciously painful thrust he gave you and, in return, you made him squirm under you with every clench of your pussy. He matched the tight circles he drew with his thumb to the quick snap of your hips, feeling the friction burning in your veins until your orgasm finally snapped.
“E-Eddie! Fuckfuckfuck.” You came hard with a loud cry of his name, soaking his cock as your thighs jerked. Distantly, you could feel a slick gush trail down to Eddie’s hips, sticky and addictive.
Eddie watched your body tremble before tensing, hips frozen against his as you threw your head back with a broken cry. His pubes tickle the inside of your thighs just right,
Frantically, he thrusted up, again and again, your body bouncing with every move. His grip tightened around your thighs, nails leaving crescent impressions in your soft skin.
“W-where do you want me, sweetheart?”
“I-inside, Eds,” you pleaded, high and desperate. “P-please, I need it. Fill me up.”
“Like you’re not filled enough already,” he scoffed against your lips. “Fucking take it then.”
Pleasure crested sharp and urgent, with one more thrust, two– then bliss exploded through him, stealing his breath and scattering coherent thought. You let him bite your lip while he throbbed and spilled into you, filling you to the brim until he’s practically covered in his own seed.
You slumped forwards, burying your face in the crook of his neck as it took you a good minute or two to come back down to earth. Eddie gave your hip a lazy squeeze, a contented sigh escaping him while his other hand drifted slowly up and down your bare back. His calloused fingertips traced absent-minded circles against your skin as he tried to steady his breathing.
Eventually, you pushed yourself up just enough to look at him. Your eyes met his, still slightly glassy, and you swallowed hard before a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.
“So…” you started softly, only for the rest of the sentence to die somewhere between your brain and your mouth.
“So,” Eddie echoed with a tired chuckle, his thumb lazily brushing against your hip. The silence that followed wasn’t nearly as awkward as you’d expected; if anything, it felt strangely comfortable. “That was definitely… worth the wait.”
Eddie’s grin wasn’t nearly as cocky anymore; it had softened into something you’d never seen directed at you before. Or maybe it always had been, and maybe you’d just never noticed it before.
“You…” You swallowed, suddenly finding it much harder to get the words out than you’d expected. “You make it sound like this wasn’t just about proving a point.”
Eddie’s gaze wandered across your face before settling on your eyes again, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest of smiles. “Because it’s wasn’t. Not really.”
The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that they almost caught you off guard.
Truth be told, it wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed your mind – because it had. More than once, actually, if you were being completely honest with yourself.
Somewhere between lazy movie nights, sharing his bed after one too many drinks, lingering hugs that lasted a second too long, and countless inside jokes that blurred the line between friendship and flirting, you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Actually crossing that line, though… you’d never imagined it would happen because neither of you knew when to shut up.
Eddie let out a quiet breath through his nose, his thumb brushing another slow circle against your hip. “Didn’t think you’d ever look at me like that,” he admitted.
You looked at him for a long moment before a quiet laugh escaped you.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“What did I do now?” His eyebrows pulled together in mock confusion.
“Instead of telling me about…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “…whatever this is, you spent the last three months talking about how dick was in the hopes I’d just cave.”
Eddie huffed out a laugh, averting his eyes away from you. “Sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud.”
“Because it is stupid,” you chuckled. “And so are you.”
A tired groan slipped past his lips as he pushed himself up, not caring if the remnants of your activities stained the green felt of the pool table beneath him. The hand on your back was warm as he trailed it up to cradle your cheek.
“So…” he trailed off, his voice quieter than before. “Do you wanna–”
“Give this a shot?” you finished for him, your eyebrows lifting ever so slightly.
Your gaze drifted slowly across his face, as though you were trying to commit every freckle and crooked smile to memory. By the time your eyes had found his again, your expression had softened.
“Yeah.” You held his gaze for a long moment before your smile grew a fraction wider. “I think I’d be pretty stupid not to.”
A/N: im back with some filthy smut, it took me way too long to finish this fic but here we are!
WORD COUNT: 6.7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: Harry is a lot of things. A talented business man, a known name in the industry, a dedicated CEO and a fucking goner for his assistant. He knows he shouldn't be having dirty thoughts about Y/N and he fights them as much as he can, but when one drunken email gets sent to the worst person possible he completely loses his mind. But maybe, just maybe, that email wasn't the worst thing to happen.
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
This meeting is stretching way too long. Harry knew it would be useless to talk about these topics for an entire hour when he walked into the meeting room, but apparently it would be rude to tell everyone to just email him the numbers and don’t bother him. So here he is, staring at his laptop screen, pretending he is reading something, but really, he is just zoning out while the fourth person is presenting something he couldn’t care less about.
He checks the time, just ten more minutes and he is free to go. He has an entire hour for lunch today and he is not meeting up with anyone either, which is a rare occasion. And it also means he is spending it with Y/N, his assistant.
At the thought of her his eyes jump over to the glass wall that separates the meeting room from the hallway and he instantly spots Y/N sitting on a sofa, typing away on her laptop with a focused look on her face. It makes him smile, wondering what she could be working on currently. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes are jumping rapidly on the screen as she reads something and then starts rapidly typing again.
He finds himself chuckling under his breath before returning his attention to the meeting, now wanting it to end even more to talk to her. The thought comes to him so easily and fast, he fails to catch himself from sinking further into it. He just starts daydreaming about the smile she’ll gift him once he walks out of the room, about her perfume that will fill his nostrils once he is standing close to her and the way she’ll giggle when he urges them to leave for lunch as quickly as possible.
This has been quite frequent lately, Harry finding himself thinking about her, at work, at home, in meetings and at events, whenever she is not with him, but also when she is right beside him. He has no idea when things shifted in his mind, when she moved from just being his assistant to occupying almost all of his thoughts. It’s been tearing him up, if he is being honest, because he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about her this much and in this way. Because his thoughts are often straight up fantasies.
It’s been a reoccuring event lately: Harry waking up after a rather steamy dream that featured Y/N, sporting the worst case of a morning erection which he had to take care of in his shower and then pretend none of it ever happened when he walks into his office and sees her bright smile.
Fuck, he feels like an actual piece of shit for having dirty thoughts about his sweet, young assistant who does her job so well and he definitely shouldn’t ruin things because of his horny thoughts.
An email notification pops up on his screen when there’s only five more minutes left of the meeting and as soon as he sees the sender his eyes jump up to the person sitting across from him at the oval table.
Niall, his CFO, is grinning smugly at him, like he is daring Harry to open the email, though he already knows it’s nothing work related.
With a soft sigh Harry opens it and reads the single line Niall sent him.
Stop jerking off to your assistant in your mind.
Harry shoots him a murderous look over his laptop, but Niall just shrugs with a grin and then pretends to be listening to the presenter. Harry shakes his head and types a quick response.
I’ll call compliance on you if you don’t stop.
He deeply regrets that one drunken night when he and Niall drank way too much sake and he ended up confessing his attraction towards Y/N, which Niall is not letting him live down ever since. This is the downside of running a company with your best friend, who also tends to be a big pain in the ass. He tells Niall one little thing in a weak moment and he’ll bring it up at the worst possible moments.
“Our time is up, thank you for your attention, I’ll send you all the slides and schedule a follow-up meeting soon.”
That snaps Harry out of his thoughts as the room comes to life and everyone starts packing and he does the same. Niall walks over to him, leaning closer so only Harry can hear him.
“Just bone her already, dude.”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make sure you end up jobless,” he groans, but it only makes Niall laugh as he pats him on the back.
“In all seriousness, I’m getting tired of seeing your pining. Just ask her out already!”
“Niall, already told you to quit with it,” Harry sighs as he grabs his laptop and phone and the two men start walking out of the room side-by-side. “We both know it’s just… It’s not gonna happen.”
“You’re just making it way too complicated, when it’s not.” Niall rolls his eyes as they step out of the room. Y/N is already standing, holding her laptop to her chest, a bright smile on her face as the two men approach her.
“Just… let it go, will you?” Harry hisses to Niall, but he just snorts out a laugh before walking away.
“How was it?” Y/N asks Harry as he stops in front of her.
“Boring. Let’s eat.”
She giggles with a nod and he ignores the tug in his chest as they head out.
There’s a sandwich place near the office they both like and it’s not as crowded during lunch time as all the other places in the neighborhood for some reason. That’s where they settle, Harry with a veggie sandwich and an iced tea, Y/N with a club sandwich and a lemonade, their usual.
“How is the book hunting going?” he asks between bites. Y/N has been trying to find a first edition of Little Women, a book she loved so much growing up.
Y/N shakes her head with a soft chuckle.
“Not good. I thought I found one the other week, but it turned out to be a scam.”
“What about that auction piece? Have you signed up for that?”
“There’s no way I can buy that. The price starts at twenty-six thousand, my budget is fifteen at best,” she shakes her head sadly.
“Told you, I can pa–” Harry starts, but she cuts him off instantly.
“You’re not paying the rest, Harry.”
“Why not? Take it as a bonus,” he shrugs, taking a sip from his tea. He has offered to buy the book all together, but she just refused to accept his help every time.
“So then I won’t get my usual bonus at the end of the year?” she arches an eyebrow at him.
“Of course you will.”
“Then I’m not taking ten grand from you just randomly,” she chuckles. “I’ll find one that I can afford, I just have to be patient,” she adds and with that Harry knows her mind is set.
He wishes she would stop being so stubborn. He would buy it without hesitation if it means it makes her happy. He already thought of just getting it, ignoring all her protesting.
“Anyways, I made your schedule for next week. Did anything new come up that I need to fit in?”
“Nothing I know of.”
“No parties or dates maybe?”
“You know the answer to that, Y/N,” he gives her a look that makes her laugh.
Parties haven’t been his thing in a while and dating… He can’t remember the last time he went on a date. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have anyone to ask out, because he simply doesn’t talk to women in that way. Hasn’t been in a long time and he is not ready to admit it, but it’s been since he started to compare everyone to Y/N.
The rest of lunch goes by without any work talk. Y/N tells him about the trips she has planned with her sister and Harry listens like it’s his favorite podcast. Really, she could be talking about anything and he would be drinking her words, he just absolutely loves listening to her.
Returning to the office is painful, but at least Harry manages to focus for a while as he buries himself in work. It’s a temporary fix, but a welcomed one.
It’s not unusual for him to stay late, but he noticed that Y/N tends to work late too when he does. As the building starts to empty out Harry is still deep in a task, but he looks up and spots Y/N still sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop.
“Let me remind you again that you can leave before me.” He stops at her desk, hands tucked in his pockets as he looks down at a sleepy-eyed Y/N.
“I have stuff to do.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” She bites her lip with a guilty look that answers his question. “Alright, then you’re done for today,” he simply says, shutting her laptop.
“Bossy,” she chuckles under her breath, but doesn’t protest as she pushes her chair away from the desk.
“Well, I am your boss.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she chuckles, throwing her things into her bag and rounding it to meet him at the front. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he nods and then watches as she walks away to the elevators, a heavy feeling settling over his chest that he wishes she was going home with him.
Harry returns to his desk to finish up so he can finally go home as well, but when Niall appears he knows his plans are about to get destroyed.
“Want to grab some drinks?” he asks, throwing himself down to the sofa in the corner of his office.
“I’m tired and it’s Thursday, we have work tomorrow.”
“When did you become absolutely no fun?” Niall groans, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he stands and walks over to the minibar where Harry keeps some good whiskey and two crystal glasses. It’s usually for when they close a deal, a little ritual they’ve been doing since the start of the company. “Alright, then let’s just drink here.”
“Any particular reason for that?” Harry sighs, but takes the glass Niall hands him, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s Thursday,” Niall simply shrugs, clinks his glass to Harry’s and then they both take a sip.
Harry had a suspicion that Niall wanted to bug him about Y/N again, but surprisingly, he doesn’t bring her up. They unwind a little, talk about work stuff and then anything but work as they both empty their glasses before Niall refills them.
“Oh fuck, it’s already past eleven,” Harry growls after the second glass that already made him kinda tipsy. He hasn’t eaten anything since lunch, so it’s hitting him like he’s lightweight.
“Again, when did you become absolutely no fun?” Niall snorts. “But alright, I’ll call us a car.”
The building is eerily empty when they make their way out of it, laughing at something Niall said in the elevator. They bid goodbye to the night guard stepping out into the breezy night, the car already waiting for them.
“Ah man,” Nial sighs, sliding down on the seat as the driver heads to his address first. “Are you really not gonna do anything about the Y/N situation?”
“Not this again!” Harry groans. “I told you, it’s not happening.”
“But you didn’t even try! I think you have a good shot with her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head, that familiar tug in his chest back again, but he brushes it off. “She is my assistant, I’m her boss. It’s not happening.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person on Earth to fuck an employee,” Niall grins at him wickedly.
“I won’t even be one,” Harry retorts.
“Okay, but I need to know something.” Niall says, sitting up straight, as if he is about to say something serious. “You’re fantasizing about the nasty stuff with her, right?”
“Jesus,” Harry rolls his eyes, just as the driver pulls up in front of Niall’s apartment building. “Good night, Niall!”
“Have you thought about fucking her in your office?” Niall’s grin widens as he opens the car door, but doesn’t get out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Harry pushes on him, urging him to get out.
“Come on! Just give me a crumb!” Niall begs, climbing out of the car.
“No! Good bye!” And with that Harry shuts the door, cutting his friend off.
It’s only a few minutes drive to his place and those minutes are occupied by thoughts of Y/N thanks to Niall’s prying. He wonders what she is doing right now. Is she already in bed? Or maybe having a bath? What did she have for dinner? Is she the kind to lay her clothes out for the next day? His guess is not.
Her bed must be full of pillows and it smells just like her. He wonders what it would be like to lie next to her, pull her into his arms, kiss her…
“Fuck,” he groans when the driver stops at his building and he’s already feeling himself getting hard.
His head feels dizzy as he rides the elevator up to the penthouse, thoughts of Y/N racing in his mind. His phone pings just as he steps into his home. It’s an email from Y/N.
Found the contracts you’ve been looking for. I’ll have them printed and on your desk by the morning!
He smiles seeing her picture on the screen next to her email address, but then realizes that she must be working at home this late as well. Settling on one of his kitchen stools he types a reply.
If you don’t stop working right now, I will fire you!
He sends the email, but then quickly sends another one.
Hope you know I’m kidding, I would never fire you.
Her response came at the same time another email arrived, the second one from Niall. First he opened the one from Y/N.
Never? That’s a brave statement! Should I put it to the test?
He barks out a laugh before opening Niall’s email.
So like on your desk? Or her desk? I bet you fantasize about fucking her in the kitchen!!!
Harry groans and decides to ignore him as he goes back to Y/N’s email to reply, but first he needs some water. He leaves the phone on the counter and grabs a bottle from the fridge while his thoughts start racing again.
He did think about fucking her on his desk. Several times. On hers too. And he would be lying if he said the kitchen never came up in his dirty daydreams, though the one that keeps haunting is fucking her from behind by his floor-to-ceiling windows, her sweet moans filling his office.
And just like that, he is hard again. All because stupid Niall wouldn’t leave him alone.
With a frustrated groan he goes back to his phone and starts typing.
Of course I think about fucking her on every possible surface in the office and in my home, it’s literally all I can think about all the time, especially when she comes in wearing a tight dress or a blouse with a low cut or those goddamned short skirts that make me want to slide my hand under it and feel her warmth between her smooth legs!!! Happy? This is what you wanted me to admit???
He sends the email with an angry tap on his screen, then tosses the phone back onto the counter as he tries to control his reaction to the thoughts.
But then his heart skips a beat.
His eyes snap to his phone, the screen still unlocked as he grabs it and checks who he just sent the email to, his worst nightmare staring back at him from his phone. He didn’t send it to Niall, his detailed fantasy just ended up in Y/N’s inbox and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Shit!” he shouts, dropping the phone as he stares at it with bewildered eyes, hands gripping his hair so hard he almost rips his locks out. “Fuck! No!”
He grabs the phone and checks again, but nothing changes, his pornographic paragraph was sent in reply to her last email and by now he is sure she’s read it, judging from how quick her responses have been. In a frenzy he quickly sends her another email.
Shit Y/N, I’m sorry, this wasn’t meant to you!! I was emailing Niall at the same time and sent it in the wrong thread, I’m sorry!
He waits, holding his breath as a minute passes by, then another and she finally replies.
It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.
“Fuck. I’m so fucked,” he groans, his forehead dropping against the hard surface of the counter and he even smacks his head against it a few more times, like some kind of punishment for being such an idiot.
He has no idea what to do, how to handle it. What’s the protocol for when the CEO sends a dirty message to his assistant about wanting to fuck her on every surfice in the office? Is this a matter for HR? What if she quits tomorrow? He wouldn’t blame her, not wanting to work for such a pig.
He fucked up, big time. But he also knows there’s nothing he can do now, he’ll have to face the consequences of his actions tomorrow.
***
He didn’t sleep, not even for a second. Harry laid in bed all night, thinking about the worst possible scenarios that could happen because of his mistake. He is on the verge of losing his mind by the time he arrives at the office in a wrinkled shirt and his hair looking like a bird’s nest.
He ignores the weird looks he is getting on his way up, only thinking what he should do or say if Y/N is already in. But when he sees her desk abandoned, relief spreads in his veins, however it’s rather short-lived.
Is she not here because she is about to quit? Or is she already talking to HR about the email? What can HR do to him? Nothing, he is the CEO. Right?
The spiraling continues as he forces himself to start his usual morning routine of checking his mails and schedule. He manages to sit still for a whole 10 minutes, but then he spots her walking towards her desk.
He jumps to his feet as if catching him sitting would get him into even bigger trouble. She is reading something on her phone while walking, so she doesn’t spot him right away and Harry has a few moments to look at her.
She looks like she always does. Beautiful and effortless, no signs of distress, so that might be a good sign. Then when she’s just a few steps away from her desk she looks up and their eyes meet.
“Hey,” Harry breathes out. “Can–Um… Can we talk?”
For a second she looks hesitant, but she nods, dropping her bag onto her desk before heading into his office with him.
She stops in the middle of the room, at the same spot she always does when she comes in to talk, but her usual cheery vibe is missing today. Harry notices how stiff and uncertain she looks and he hates that it’s because of him. He stands by his desk as he looks at her.
“Look, I’m really, really sorry about that email. That was… So unprofessional and I swear I didn’t mean to send that to you, I hope you know I would never put you in such an awkward situation on purpose.”
“It’s fine,” she says, keeping her gaze down at the floor, her voice so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her.
“It’s not fine and I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N.”
“No, let’s just… Let’s move past it,” she shrugs, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I really hope we can do that, I would hate it if my stupidity ruined our dynamic. I’m officially promising not to ever reply to Niall’s awful emails,” he adds with a bitter chuckle and that at least pulls a small smile out of her.
“You often email about stuff like that?” she asks, finally looking into his eyes.
“He likes to be a pain in the ass,” he chuckles. “We had a few drinks yesterday and he started his usual game of bugging me on the way home. I thought once we parted ways I would be free of him, but then he started emailing me. That’s something he likes to do recently.”
The words are flowing out of him like he has no control over them. It’s like he needs to say all of this in order to attempt to move on, so he continues.
“So he sent me a very inappropriate email about you right when you were emailing me and I guess I had enough drinks to finally give him a crumb of what he’s been trying to pry out of me, but then I messed up the emails and—”
“Wait,” she frowns, confusion taking over her expression. “About me?”
Harry stops, unsure what she is asking about. “What?”
“The email… It was about me?”
“Yeah, it’s… Shit.”
That’s when Harry realizes that in that message, he didn’t name her, Y/N had no idea he was talking about her. It was only obvious to him, since he knew he was talking about her. But now he just made it clear to her as well.
For a second he feels like he is about to pass out. All along Y/N thought he was just talking about someone, any woman in the office, but now she knows it was particularly about her.
Her expression changes, but he can’t read it. She opens her mouth to say something two times, but ends up staying silent.
“Y/N, I’m sorry. I thought you knew it was about you. I’m really sorry, I don’t want this to fuck things up between us.”
“No, it’s…” she shakes her head, as if she is just now snapping out of her thoughts. “It’s… fine.”
He wants to talk more. He wants to apologize more, he feels like he needs to, but then Carla, his marketing manager appears at the door.
“Knock-knock! Hey, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a few things I need your insight about like right fucking now.”
“I’m coming, just a minute,” he says, turning back to Y/N. “I’m really sorry. Are we good?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out, her tone is not quite convincing, but he has no time to push it further.
“I’ll… Let’s talk later, okay?”
“Sure,” she nods and then walks out as Carla takes her place and business takes over.
Harry hates how the conversation ended, he is debating blowing everyone off just to talk to her until everything is resolved, but that’s not happening.
In fact, he barely speaks to her until late afternoon, jumping from one meeting into the other, emergency calls and last minute tasks, the whole day is just one stressful blur.
When he finally finishes his last meeting of the day he heads back to his office and sees Y/N in one of the meeting rooms, pacing the floor while talking on the phone. It’s past five, she should be heading home, but as always, she is working overtime. When Harry returns to his office he finds Niall lounging in his chair.
“I’m not in the mood for your games today, Niall,” he bites out.
“Woah, someone is pissed today. What’s gotten your panties in a twist?”
“Remember your stupid emails last night?”
“I’m still waiting for your reply on that,” Niall grins, which just pisses Harry off even more.
“I did reply to it. Only problem is that I didn’t send it to you, I accidentally sent it to Y/N!”
Niall’s jaw slacks, staring back at his friend before the most hysterical laugh bursts out of him. It takes several minutes for him to even calm down.
“And what now? What did she say?”
“She didn’t realize it was about her, which I didn’t know and when I started apologizing like a maniac in the morning I revealed it to her.”
“Oh my God, this is like the best comedy ever!”
“I’m glad my misery is so entertaining to you,” Harry grumbles under his breath, massaging the bridge of his nose. He is so tired, he feels like he ran a marathon today, that’s how much all this stress affected him.
“And what’s going on right now? I saw her today, so I’m guessing she didn’t quit.”
“We didn’t have more time to talk, she said we were good, but I don’t know…”
“Dude, this is your time. Just tell her you meant whatever you wrote, send me those deets by the way, and finally get your girl!”
“I can’t believe you’re still on this shit,” he shakes his head, giving up. “Just leave, Niall. I’m too tired for… I’m too tired for you right now.”
“Ouch!” Niall places a hand over his chest dramatically, but stands from the chair. “Alright, I’ll let you sink into your guilt for a little longer, but just know that I think you’re missing out of the best opportunity ever.”
“Leave already!” Harry groans, gesturing towards the door. Niall shakes his head with a quiet laugh and walks out.
He collapses into his chair, a headache already throbbing in his skull from this day. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back for a bit, hoping to gather some energy to carry on for the rest of the day.
He doesn’t even hear it when Y/N appears in his open door, only snaps his eyes open when he hears her knocking on the doorframe.
“Hey!” he sits up straight right away. “Come in. Sorry for being MIA all day.”
“It’s fine, I know how it is,” she smiles softly as she walks in and stops in her usual spot.
“And I’m sorry for cutting things short in the morning,” he adds, clearing his throat. “I know you said we’re good, but I just wanted to apologize again.”
“Really, it’s all good,” she shakes her head dismissively.
“Can we just forget about it?” he suggests. She freezes for a moment, like she is considering it, but at last she nods.
“Sure. Forgotten.”
He exhales in relief, leaning back in his chair.
“Okay, good. Now go home, I don’t want to see you working overtime on a Friday,” he smiles at her, which she returns, but there’s something different about it this time, though he can’t put a finger on it.
“Then you should head home too,” she challenges him, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips as he nods, standing from his chair.
“Fair point. I’ll see you on Monday, Y/N.”
“Yeah, see you,” she nods, voice quiet as she turns around and starts walking towards the door while Harry gathers his stuff from his desk, ready to leave as well.
But then just a step away from the door she stops.
“And what if… What if I don’t want to forget about it?”
Her voice is quiet, but Harry hears her, loud and clear. He stops mid-action, gaze jumping over to her figure, her back facing him.
“What?” he asks, heart thumping wildly in his chest. Y/N slowly turns around, a sheepish look on her face.
“What if… What if I wanted all that too?”
Harry stares back at her, his first thought is that he must have heard her wrong. She definitely did not say that. But slowly, it sinks in that she actually did say that and now she is standing there, waiting for him to say something, anything.
He rounds the table, walks closer, but stops a few feet away from her. He notices how nervous she appears, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her pencil skirt, her chest rising and falling as she draws deep breaths.
And something switches in him.
“Do you?” he asks, voice low.
“What?” she breathes out.
“Do you want all that too?”
She sucks on her breath, a heartbeat passes and then she nods. He almost groans, desire flooding his groin instantly as he walks around her, like she’s a prey he wants to hunt down, while she just stands there, frozen.
“I need your words, Y/N,” he says, now standing behind her. He is not touching her, but she can feel his presence right behind her.
“I want all of that too. What you wrote in that email.”
“Fuck,” he exhales, pushing his body forward just an inch so now his chest is pressed against her back and as soon as she feels him, she leans even more into him.
His hands move to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh over the fabric of her skirt, but she is eager to feel him somewhere else, her hands cover his and pull them up, over her breasts, her bluntness sending a shiver down his spine as he palms her.
Even though she is practically offering herself to him, he feels like he needs to be cautious, as if he could scare her away at any moment. Her head rolls back to his shoulder, baring the soft skin on her neck and now he has a great view of her breasts in his palms, a scene he has probably played in his mind a million times before. His erection is growing harder with each second and when she pushes her ass against him he can’t help the moan that slips past his lips.
Leaning down he runs his nose down the side of her neck first, teasing her a bit with the feather-like touch, but then he can’t hold himself back any longer, practically latching onto her neck, kissing, sucking, biting the soft skin, making her arch from the sensation. When he pulls back he is happy to see the mark he left on her, bright and clear, almost screaming his name.
He moves a hand up her chest, cradling her jaw to turn her head until she is facing him. For a second she looks nervous, almost like a deer caught in headlights, but then he sees the pure desire in her eyes and realizes it’s excitement that has her all worked up, unsure what’s coming next, but also quite thrilled.
He takes a moment, just admiring her this close, the want and need in her eyes directed at him, it’s making him go feral.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes out before leaning in and kissing her.
He goes in hard, demanding, wanting to devour her and she willingly kisses him back with just as much fever, twisting in his arms until she is facing him with her body as well, arms locking around his neck while his hands grab onto her ass, pressing her even more against him. She moans into his mouth, grinding against him when she feels his erection pressing into her stomach and he starts walking her backwards without breaking their hungry kissing, right until the back of her legs bump against his desk.
Blindly, he pushes everything to the side on the tabletop before picking her up and sitting her on it, her legs caging his waist in an instant as they keep kissing wildly. It feels like a fever dream, Harry thinks, but he doesn’t want to wake up.
His hands tug her shirt out of her skirt, then he leans back just enough to rid her from it, throwing it behind him as he looks at her exposed chest, now that she is only wearing her lacy bra on the top. The sight of her is so beautiful he needs to take another moment to just admire her. Sitting on his desk, her breasts almost spilling out of her bra as her chest is heaving from her panting. Her lips are swollen and parted and her eyes… they are bewildered, full of lust and want, only for him. The sight of her alone could make him come, he swears.
Then he returns to kissing her, hands pushing up her skirt to reveal even more of her soft skin on her thighs until the fabric bunches around her waist. Her hands roam his body through his shirt, but soon she starts unbuttoning it, only reaching the button under his pecks, because she is so impatient to touch him she simply starts clawing at his pecks, reaching into the shirt as far as she can.
Harry steps back, a disapproving groan slipping from her lips once he is not pushed up against her, to which he just chuckles softly.
“Take your skirt off, baby,” he says as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt as well. Y/N jumps off the table, fumbles with the zipper of her skirt before she can slip it off. It pools around her feet, she steps out of it and then simply kicks to the side. Harry has got ridden of his shirt as well and he is now taking his pants off, leaving both of them only in their underwear. His mouth goes dry seeing the matching set on her, part of him wants to leave it on, but another part of him wants to tear it off her body with his teeth.
She leans back against the desk, pushing her thighs together, clearly to get some friction between them as she eyes him standing there in only his boxer briefs, palming himself through the fabric while his hungry eyes are eating her up. Then, with confidence she hasn’t seen from a man before he simply takes himself out and pushes his underwear down, leaving him in all of his naked glory. He gives himself a few lazy tugs while watching her with hooded eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. She pushes herself away from the desk, hooks her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and pushes they down while keeping eye-contact. Once the fabric pools around her ankles she kicks the underwear to the side as well and then… and idea pops into her head.
With Harry still standing there she simply turns around and bends over his desk, peeking over her shoulder to see his reaction, which doesn’t disappoint.
He stops moving, maybe even stops breathing, eyes glued to her exposed cunt, glistening from her arousal that’s all for him. His cock twitches in his hand and he lets out a long, shaky breath before stepping closer and dropping to his knees, mouth latching onto her in an instant.
“Of fuck!” she cries out, grabbing the edge of the desk to stabilize herself.
He shows no mercy, hands grabbing her ass cheeks while his tongue works wonders, almost making her see stars. If it was his last meal, he would go as a happy man, he thinks.
But as much as he would love to spend hours with his face buried in her cunt, he is also aching to have his cock buried in it too. When he stands and yanks her up as well, kissing her vigorously she can taste herself on his lips, but it just makes her want even more of him.
With skilled moves he easily unhooks her bra and tosses it to the side before grabbing the back of her thighs and picks her up with ease, walking over to the sofa in the corner of his office where he sat and daydreamed of her so many times before. Holding onto him she starts kissing a path on the side of his face until she reaches his lips, kissing him so deeply he stops in his track for a second.
Sinking onto the soft cushion of the sofa he pulls her onto his lap, her wet pussy meeting his erection, making them both moan at the same time and she involuntarly grinds against him, making his cock glide between her lips.
“Fucking hell,” he curses, head falling back, his fingers digging into her hips. “You have no idea how many times I thought of having you like this.”
“How many?” she asks with a coy smile as she keeps grinding her hips gently, just enough to drive them both insane. “Did you fantasize about me during meetings?”
“Yes,” he answers shamelessly right away.
“Did you get hard?”
“Always.”
With each answer her confidence keeps growing, she loves seeing him so gone for her. One of his hands comes up, cupping her breast, making her moan in pleasure, then he leans forward and takes her hard nipple in his mouth, sucking on it hard. Y/N whimpers, fingers sinking into his hair, scraping his scalp with her nails which makes him groan against her skin.
“Have you ever been hard, hiding it under your desk when I was in here?” she asks, almost out of breath. Harry nods against her chest, then tilts his face up just enough to look at her, while he swirls his tongue around her nipple.
“Many times,” he whispers and she swears she almost came just from those two words and the look on his face.
“I need you,” she whimpers, pulling his face up so their lips can meet. “I need to feel you.”
“Feel me as much as you want, baby,” he mumbles against her lips.
“No, I want to feel everything,” she says, hoping he’ll finally understand what she is trying to imply. It takes him a few seconds, but he finally does.
“Are you on–”
“Yes,” she nods eagerly. “And I’m clean.”
“Me too.”
“I trust you,” she says and the words tug on something in his chest.
“Come here,” he whispers, cradling her jaw in his hand as he pulls her face close, kissing her passionately, his other hand reaching down between them, tugging his cock so it lines up with her entrance.
She sinks down on him not too slow, not too fast, both of them moaning against each other’s mouth as he fills her up inch by inch. Once he is in fully, she takes a few moments to adjust to his size, gently circling her hips slightly.
“Want to ride me, baby?” he asks, giving her hips a squeeze.
“Yes, boss,” she breathes out and then starts moving.
Up and down. Back and forth. She is bouncing on him, nails digging into his pecks, surely leaving marks, but neithe rof them cares. He’ll happily wear them and then once they fade he will have her redo them again and again.
When she can feel her orgasm nearing Harry wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against him, lips crashing messily but she just keeps moving even when her thighs start shaking.
“Harry,” she pleads gasping.
“Let me feel you come on my cock, Y/N,” he growls against her lips, his arms locked tightly around her.
Then he starts thrusting up, meeting her rhythm and a few seconds later he feels her walls gripping his cock as her orgasm washes over her. He doesn’t stop moving, watches her ride through her pleasure before he reaches his high as well, his thrusts staggering. She can feel him pumping inside of her and seeing him completely lose himself in her is something she will never forget.
They stay like that, Harry is slowly softening, but he is still inside her as they lazily kiss. When she leans back she reaches down and collects some of his cum that has dripped out of her with her finger and he watches as she sucks it off before letting her her finger go with a pop.
“Jesus, you’re killing me,” he growls, head falling back, but she just chuckles and kisses his chin.
“Mm don’t tell me you’re done for today,” she smiles at him coyly. Harry looks up at her in awe.
“Not at all. But why don’t we go back to my place? I have quite some fantasies to fulfill with you there as well.”
She leans closer, but stops before their lips could meet, then whispers:
“Yes, boss.”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
warnings: use of pet names (baby, bunny, sweet girl, good girl, love, needy girl), unprotected p in v, cockwarming, kissing
summary: Y/N wakes up immediately needing harry. and of course, how could he say no to an angel like her?
a/n: requested by queen @sparklejumpropequeen1113 <3 tysm for this i had so much fun writing! i also apologize for taking quite a while for a smaller-ish fic. i’m trying to be more consistent. feel free to send in requests! also please know i see them, i just can’t do so many at once 🤍 there’s also a tiny ready, steady, go reference somewhere in here… if u find it i’ll kiss u
The soft glow of the sun peaking in from the windows lit up a sliver of the hotel room, making Harry’s bare skin look golden.
He looked ethereal in this light, content and relaxed with his sweet girl in his arms, breathing steadily above his chest.
Harry just finished his short São Paulo residency in Brazil and they were both delighted to have a few days alone before Mexico.
When Y/N woke, she was curled up into Harry’s side as usual, warm and comfy.
But it wasn’t enough.
She kept trying to scoot closer and closer, but unable to find a position that pleased her.
So at one point, after basically tossing and turning, she decided to just… flop on top of him. Y/N buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent, pressing herself impossibly close to him.
That’s when she noticed the heat pooling between her legs.
For now, she ignored it.
“Well, good morning, baby,” Harry murmured, raspy from sleep, slight amusement in his tone. “You comfy?”
His words made her pout.
No.
She wanted to be even closer.
A short shake of her head told him everything.
“S’not close enough,” she whispered. “I miss you.”
Harry’s lips quirked upwards. “Oh, my sweet girl. M’right here. Never leaving.”
His large hand rested lightly on her bum, the other sliding up her cute little sleep shirt and rubbing her back.
“Don’t wanna leave bed today. Not once.”
It was clear the lack of proper intimacy because of his busy schedule was getting to her. Not just her— him too. How could it not? He always tried his hardest to fit it into his days, but they hadn’t been able to be close like this without exhaustion or a phone call from Jeff interrupting it.
“Okay, bunny. We won’t. I’ll let you suffocate me as long as you want, yeah?” He purred, still stroking her back.
Y/N exhaled, the slight frown on her face fading into something more relaxed.
They stayed like that for a few minutes.
Until she felt the need for even more. It just wasn’t enough.
Her thighs squeezed together, head lifting from his neck to look at him.
She blinked.
“…Yes?” Harry couldn’t help the smile on his face. “You uncomfortable already?”
She frowned again, pressing her lower half against him.
“Oh, I see.” He rasped. “Tell me what you need, sweet girl.”
“You.” Y/N pouted.
This was truly making his morning.
“Baby, you have to tell me how you need me. You know I’ll give it to you.”
The hand that was stroking her back left to gently push back some of the messy strands of hair falling in front of her pretty face, his thumb then tracing those pouty lips.
Y/N hesitated, shuffling a bit closer, a small, barely audible whimper leaving her lips.
“…Want you inside,” she whispered, shy and needy.
“Yeah?”
She nodded once.
“Okay, bun,” Harry sat up slightly, shifting her weight on top of him to push down his boxers. “C’mere. Take these off f’me.” His finger tugged at the waistband of her panties.
She obeyed immediately, tugging down the fabric. She climbed back onto him, straddling his thick thighs that she loved so much. Harry’s hands steadied on her waist as she sunk down slowly. Her lips parted, clenching around his tip. Her pussy swallowed his cock, hungry to feel all of him.
“Oh, my poor baby, so wet,” his thumb flickered over her clit, swollen and aching. “Needy girl.”
Y/N bunched up against his chest the second she was all the way down, whimpering quietly.
Harry wrapped his arms around her, keeping her as close as possible while also buried deep inside of her. “Squeezing me so nice, love. You feeling okay? Or did you just need to feel me?”
She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her tummy fluttering from being so stuffed.
“Just really missed you,” she murmured quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Her chin tilted slightly, pressing a warm, soft kiss to his neck.
A few more moments went by of silence before her head lifted again.
“Harry?”
“Mmm.”
“I wanna kiss.”
Her soft, sweet words caused a smile on his face. This damn girl truly was the light of his life.
“Anything you want, bun,” he said.
Their lips pressed together, moving in a sweet motion that butterflied both of their bellies.
She was so happy that he was back on tour. So happy. There was nothing she loved more than watching Harry do what he loved most. But it was moments like these, days he was completely free, that made her miss when everyday was like this.
But then again, she knew she was the luckiest girl in the world that her boyfriend made enough time for her to have moments like these at all.
She had it good. So did he.
A lot of his fandom despised her for the fact she was in a relationship with him at all, and the age gap between that fueled that. Things like that had harmed his past relationships. But he knew she was it. They both knew it. He knows that positivity, the bond they have, and the love, is why they’re still so strong.
And that was why they were so compatible— the fact that no matter what they had going on in life, they always made time for each other.
When they pulled back, Harry gave a short kiss to her nose.
“So pretty.” He said.
Y/N straddled Harry comfortably with her face buried in his neck, stuffed full of his cock so deep she could feel it in her belly, her entire body tingly from the closeness.
“I love you,” she whispered quietly.
“I love you more, bunny.”
Her chest rose and fell, lips pressed against the soft skin under his ear, air softly blowing against his neck every time she breathed.
It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.
Harry’s big hands rubbed her back gently while she rested, content and happier than ever to be cuddling with his favorite needy girl in bed with a week left of break to do this everyday.
