summary: Eddie is a raging Demi-sexual with his first real crush and no ability to act on it on account of being as shy as hell is hot. So maybe you gotta bully him gently into action.
warnings: Smut, no use of y/n, abuse of the second POV, unedited, smut with plot, arguing as flirting, shy Eddie, mildly dominant reader, virgin, first time, hand job
wordcount: 5.4k
a/n: This is pretty inspired by a Drabble I saw by @bambimunson and have been cooking on it for a few days. I’m on a little writing kick apparently. Please please PLEASE 18+ ONLY. And don’t feed my work into AI I work really hard :((
Eddie could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand, which… really was a generous way to say he was a flat dead virgin. Not for lack of trying to tackle that specific issue, he had made a few attempts with girls floating in the circles he entered. The pub, gigs, hell even a pretty gal who’d been in the local dnd community for a bit. It always tended to end the same way, a hot make out session, some wandering hands and he just… couldn’t get it up. Not that they weren’t hot as shit, or pretty enough, or really anything else.
He’d always had a nagging sense of unease, of removal and discomfort. He just.. wasn’t in it. He could barely cite their names, couldn’t remember their eye color when they closed their eyes, and he couldn’t tell you the first thing about them.
He didn’t get it. He would question it through the years, but never really had a proper label. His friends could fuck and turn out girls with the bat of an eye. But Eddie? Eddie couldn’t get his dick to stand.
That was, until you slid into place in his life. You walked the same line. Pubs, gigs, dnd, concerts, shops. He ran into you often, you chatted often. At first, you were a pretty smile and a collection of interesting conversations. Then you were a number in his phone book. A presence among his friends, and in his apartment. You were his friend, and one of the first girls he’d really gotten to know in any meaningful way since preschool when the alienation between genders started.
It was really just.. natural progression that he’d form a crush. Totally innocent, a small hint of flirtation he’d float your way, and you’d bite, just as small. It thrilled him, but he knew better than to jump feet first into murky waters. So it carried for weeks, regular conversations in irregular situations. You’d lay on the carpet in his bedroom, spinning a record from The Smith’s, and puffing a joint which sat between your lips. He’d try so hard not to stare at the state of you, your shorts, your fanned out hair, the scabs on your knees.
He’d flirt more. You’d meet him halfway.
He’d tease the lines and you’d tease them back.
He knew the ball was squarely in his court. His virgin, terrified court. So he never quite crossed those lines, never took his shot.
So maybe you changed the rules a bit.
Guys always made the first move. That was among the rules, in the book of dating, your friends had laid out when you were still young.
This time, for once in your life, you didn’t wanna be solely chased by some poor bastard. You had waited, and sat pretty for Eddie each time he floated an attempt your way. You stayed poised each time he set up his moment, but he never carried it out. You’d both hold your breath, and it’d pass.
The setting sunlight painted the carpet in heavy, beaming puddles of orange and yellow, spilling from Eddie’s open apartment window and breaking through parted blinds. You laid in the fixture of the receding sun, in the same way you did each time you ended up at Eddie’s.
It was ritualistic.
The record player was dusty and well loved, its hinges creaking quietly as Eddie lifted the cover, the wood groaning. You waited, hand lifted and two fingers parted on a joint.
He slid the vinyl from its sleeve, the material crumpled from use but still intact. Your eyes moved from his steady hands as they lowered the track into its rightful place, instead finding the water stain on his ceiling you swore was getting bigger throughout the weeks.
Outside your vision, he fiddled, the crackle of power, the smooth lift of the lever, the distinct preamble before the music crackled to life.
The carpet dipped under his feet with each step, his weight moving between steps as he padded closer to you and sank down at your side. You fished in the back pocket of your jeans, lifting your hips to dip into the fabric. You pull free a small, pink lighter. It was due for replacement, but neither of you were quite ready to make that decision.
The flame came in a muted whoosh of air, then proceeded by quiet building lyrics. Your eyes landed on Eddie, whose gaze was already heavy on you. His eyes were rich earthy soil, widening a fraction as they were caught boring into your face. He smiled, shy and toothy all at once. “What?” He asked, a breathless huff escaping his parted lips.
You exhaled smoke in a controlled, slow breath, a small foggy cloud dancing in the rays of sunlight still painting you orange and gold. “What are you thinking about?” You pointed with the joint, motioning vaguely towards his head before then offering it to him, hand spreading.
He plucked it from between your fingers, bringing it to his own mouth, his drag much more urgent and rough than yours. He held it in his lungs as he responded. “That I like this song.”
You muse, a quiet rumble of sound somewhere in your chest and throat. Shifting your weight, you raise on an elbow, bringing your eye line closer to his own. His gaze never leaves you, still heavy, still searching.
Your legs cross underneath you, body sagging to place your elbows on your knees, letting your posture retain its lazy bend. “What’re you really thinking about?” You insist, noting the way his silver rings look almost gold in this light.
His eyes flicker away from you finally, their weight lingering on you despite their absence. He’s smiling, an awkward, shy thing that hides behind his lifted hand and the joint in it.
He takes another drag, slower this time. You watch his throat move, his chest rising. “You always do this.” He points out, tracing the edge of your silhouette but not quite brave enough to look at you again. “Come here, lay on my floor and.. I dunno. I was just thinking it was funny.”
You stiffen a bit, considering the implications. Did he dislike it? Had he begun to resent your presence?
He seemed to read your thoughts, his mouth rushing to fix his earlier statement, to sooth away the crease between your brows. “I like it,” he added, holding his hand out, open, palm down as if to physically halt your doubts. “I guess I was just wondering why you keep coming back?”
“Oh,” your lips linger in their parted position, forming around the sound despite its short lived nature. You lift a hand to quizzically cup your jaw, pursing your lips as if he’d asked you a difficult question. You hum, narrowing your eyes towards the ceiling. “Hmmm, mayyybee… I like hanging out with you…?”
He scoffed at your sarcasm, tossing his extended hand upward to swat away the very air of you before letting it land on his knee where it rested against the carpet.
You roll your eyes, lifting to your knees to shuffle closer. Your back meets his mattress as you turn to sit side by side with the man, taking his joint from his fingers. “I do.” You add quietly, not daring to look at him. It was your turn to hide behind the joint, taking a slow, prolonged pull of smoke that made your lungs sputter.
Eddie is brave enough to look at you, though he’s forced to rub his palms against the faded fabric of his ripped jeans to do away with the sweat collecting in his palms. He felt pathetic, getting so nervous just sitting near you. How was he supposed to do more if just looking at you made his stomach tie itself into knots?
“I..” he begins, and quickly ends as he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like he was some all hated, unloved freak who’d never received a compliment in his life. But he suddenly felt like one, like every other compliment he’d ever been given was suddenly obsolete because you had just so plainly admitted you liked spending time with him.
“You’re so gross.” He teased instead, sliding easily into something safe, something known. “Don’t get all sappy on me.” He bumped your folded leg with his arm, chuckling quietly to himself, despite the inward cringe running cold in his stomach and chest.
“You asked.” Your huff wasn’t annoyed, but it was quiet and accompanied by a lazy eyeroll. Eddie didn’t miss it, and felt suddenly.. forlorn. Like he’d personally strangled his chance at you in this moment.
His brows creased, a lump in his throat as his eyes pressed closed. His fingers tangled through his hair, one hand pushing curls flat along one side of his head. “It’s just,” he let a harsh breath escape his lips. “Why?”
“Why?” You echoed, and he could feel your gaze without needing to open his eyes.
He nodded.
You didn’t respond immediately. He feels your weight shift beside him, and he fears the sight that’d greet him if he looked now.
“Sometimes, when I’m with you, I wish time would just stop.”
He looks at you. You’re staring at him.
“Yeh?” He asks, a breathless grin finding its way across his lips.
“Yeh.”
He wants to ask more, and he’s sure he will, as soon as the goofy grin eating away at his face lets up. It doesn’t, and he’s too impatient to wait it out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You huff frustratedly at him, fingers twitching around the joint before stubbing it out in the nearby ashtray. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”
He clicks his tongue, chasing you in your retreat. His face moves back into your line of sight, his long limbs carrying him across the carpet as he leans nearly over you, chest meeting your knees. “No no,” he insists, lifting onto his knees to lift his hands from the ground.
They feel clumsy and thick as they come up to land on your knees, pushing you deeper into the mattress edge and the carpet to keep you from moving, pinning your legs to your chest and making you feel smaller than usual.
“What’s that mean?” He asks again, his head moving aside to chase your avoidant gaze before upward as it flickered away again. He speaks your name with a firm, commanding grin and you finally still.
Your brows furrow, expression hard and frustrated but he can see the color creeping into your skin even as his figure casts dark shadows across you.
You are stubbornly quiet for a second before sucking in a reluctant breath. “You haven’t figured it out already?”
He shakes his head, encouraging you with a tilt quickly after.
Your hands wring around themselves, nerves and fear clashing all at once.
You get now why he’s always shied away from saying or doing anything.
“I like hanging out with you.” You repeat, harder this time like that could answer the bigger question if he’d just consider the implication.
“Why?” He urged, and the conversation was giving you déjà vu.
You stare holes into his face, desperate and frustrated. A frog jumps in your throat and your jaw clenches. “I like.. you.” Your hands still and your eyes silently plead with him to use his stupid brain for once.
He blinks down at you, his hands feeling too heavy on your skin, still pushing you weakly in place. He opens his mouth to make a smart retort, but finds himself hesitating.
His lips close with a small, rough exhale.
It wasn't enough. You liked him. But why? In what way? He was being unfair, forcing you to do the heavy lifting. He knew it blatantly, and yet couldn’t force himself out of the motions of it.
“Eddie,” you spoke again, commanding and shaky. He nods to show he’s listening. You chew your lip. “This isn’t fair.”
He chuckles hoarsely, mouth feeling dry and useless. “I know.” It’s a mumble of sound but it’s enough to make you frown at him.
You push at his chest in a sudden motion that makes him rock back a bit, catching himself with one hand and giving you a look of wide eyed surprise. “Do something.” You urge, huffing. “Anything.”
He gapes at you for a second too long, mouth parted open and eyes blinking wide like a fish pulled right from the sea and forced to face the sun.
He stammers, half chuckling and half trying to brush you off as his free hand waves between you two, trying and failing to clear the air.
“Eddie.” You complain, throaty and impatient as your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist and hold him still, forcing him to stop.
He’s red. Had he been that color this whole time? It wasn’t the light dusting that’d become a permanent fixture in your presence. He was damn near nuclear red, like hot metal.
He deflated in a huff, falling back to plant his ass in the carpet, his legs sprawled against yours in a messy tangle as you unfolded yourself from the ball he’d curled you in. You crept forward, onto your knees again to invade the edges of his personal space. His head hung back, eyes closed but face turned towards the ceiling.
You could practically hear the thud of his heart against his ribs, a dull hammer in his chest that made breathing feel akin to manual labor.
You stopped short of him, hands flat on his thighs and knees digging into the carpet between his parted legs. He lifted his head to look at you, still sagging into his hands.
He mulled his thoughts, chewing at the full skin of his bottom lip before muttering out an indignant. “Fine.”
You perked at the word, spine straightening like a taunt cord. He didn’t move immediately, just stared through his bangs before creeping forward.
One hand cradled underneath your arm, near the edge where your shirt sleeve met the body of your t-shirt, encouraging you to meet him halfway as his face dipped forward.
Your mouths hovered for a second too long, like the final stretch of distance between you was taped off in concrete walls by a world of doubt and anxiety. Eddie moved through it in a final tilt of his head, his lips slotting with yours in an awkward, warm press of mouths.
It wasn’t sparks of lightning like you’d read about in books, or fireworks booming behind your closed eyes. It was all tingles and sensation. The pressure firmed, less a brush of lips and instead more solid, tangible.
His mouth parted with a throaty exhale, his head dipping to angle sideways. You squeezed your eyes tighter closed, shyly letting your jaw slack open. His tongue teased the small gap between your lips, a faint smile touching his expression before his hand lifted from your arm to tuck your cheek into his palm.
He guided you with him, a slow dance of teeth and tongue, of languid kisses and breathless exhales.
The room spun in sharp dizzying circles around you, the smell of smoke and the taste of weed staining your senses and bleeding into the almost spicy scent of his breath.
When he pulled away, you felt clumsy and out of place, eyes opening almost fearfully. You’d expected to find his goofy grin or teasing eyes. He was avoiding your gaze instead, shrinking into himself. It was strange to see someone as loud and overtaking as him.. shy.
“What?” You managed out, insecurity bubbling to the surface and gnawing you raw from the inside out until you felt the sharp, cold prick of rejection taking root.
“Nothing.” He spat, defensive and clipped, his legs shifting underneath your hands and attempting to close despite your position between them, leaving you bracketed by his knees. His hand dropped from your face to his lap, palm down and spread to hide beneath. “Wait-“
Your gaze dropped with his hand, catching the difference of his usually loose jeans, which now seemed uncomfortable and tight where his hand hovered. You froze. He was quick to lean forward off his opposite hand, catching your face to turn your gaze back up.
The gears in your head turned in slow, lazy motions, sputtering and not quite able to click the information together properly. Or maybe you didn’t want them to.
Eddie looked utterly caught, sweaty and red and unable to meet your eyes, his own fluttering around at anything but the face held in his hand.
“You’re hard.” You stated, blunt and questioning all in one. Eddie glared.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious, I hadn’t noticed.” He gritted out, tugging the fabric of his jeans to create some form of give.
Why, in all the years he tried, did his stupid dick wanna pitch an angry fit now? When you were only kissing, barely touching him and looking at him like a deer in headlights?
He cursed all the times he’d fisted the stupid hellian to the thought of your smile, the way you said his name, to every tiny detail about you that nestled in the folds of his useless, stupid brain. He’d fucking Pavloved himself to pop a boner at the worst times. Now here he was, caught red handed in the face of it.
Your hands, which still rested on his thighs, squeezed gently and your body leaned a fraction further towards him as if gravity itself urged you deeper into his orbit. He was almost inclined to lean away, to gather up what dignity he had left and bolt far, far away from you.
“Why?”
His eyes snapped up to yours, and it was his turn to be frustrated. “That’s a stupid fucking question.”
You smiled, biting at your bottom lip in a half hearted attempt to stop. “I thought you liked stupid questions.”
He huffed, chest heaving under the weight of his discomfort and the deep seated ache he was experiencing.
Were you making fun of him?
“Fuck you.” He spat and you closed your mouth, biting at the skin of your lip. He watched, attention rapt.
You edged ever closer, lifting your face level with his to find his mouth with yours. He was stiff but melted fractionally into the press of your lips.
Your thumb pet at the pocket seam of his jeans, reminding him where it rested before letting it lift, slow, shaky and so so shy. Your fingers brushed underneath his hand where it hovered at his jeans, sliding into the space that he’d been so intent on hiding. His fingers flexed, gripping yours instinctively.
A small nip at his bottom lip had him shuddering, his grip on you loosening. Your palm sank, meeting the rough fabric of his jeans again, and curling into the fullness underneath.
His breath punched out of him, his mouth stilling against yours as his attention strayed.
“Wait- wait-“ he gaped as you gave him a firm, exploring stroke, your thumb and pointer meeting around what you could only guess was the ruddy head of his dick.
A low, pained noise rumbled from his throat making you pause, pulling back from him only enough to look at his face, already dewy with sweat. His eyes were tightly closed, a lip curled slightly to expose teeth. His jaw worked, shallow breaths pulling from him and you suddenly felt a little guilty.
“Want me to..” You let your fingers slack partially, drawing back to retreat but his palm pressed over yours, pinning you in place. He shook his head, his curls bouncing in the sharp motions.
“No… no, it’s..” the brown of his irises came into view through his dark lashes, his lids parting in a slow, shy manner before his eyes lifted to meet yours. You offered a tiny smile, hair falling into your face as your head dipped one way. He huffed quietly, turning away from you again. His weight slacked backwards, his torso dipping from your proximity and landing on his elbows.
His curls fell across the carpet, his head falling back and revealing the length of his throat. The milky skin was flushed there, too. For a moment, you thought about what’d it’d be like to settle your lips there, or your teeth. A place so intimately his, where his scent would be so strong and so inescapable.
You hadn’t realized you were moving until your nose bumped clumsily into his Adam's apple, lashes fluttering as you pulled him into your lungs. It wasn’t exactly what you’d expected. It was spicy in nature, like damp cinnamon sticks, but heavy and earthy- the weed no doubt, maybe cigarettes.
“What’re you doin’?” His voice rumbled underneath you, his throat moving around the words and making his Adam’s apple bob.
He was watching you when your face lifted to greet him. His brows were furrowed, his expression almost frustrated but really he was just overwhelmed. The stiff set of his sprawled out body told you that much.
You didn’t know how to respond for a long moment, feeling caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Finally, you formed the words. “Got curious.”
He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his head lulling back again. “Weirdo.” He mumbled, no more than a grunt really.
You stayed just like for a moment, your hand cupping his erection, your face hovering close enough to study his ever moving face, your body perched over his, held up on your free hand where it sat planted to his side.
His eyes squeezed closed for a lingering second, a breath escaping his lungs from parted lips before he sucked his supple bottom lip between his teeth to worry.
“I’ve never..” he mumbled finally, eyes blinking open and risking a glance towards your face, which was notably fixed in an expression he couldn’t read with a map and a tour guide. You tilted your head in encouragement, urging him to keep talking.
He didn’t, closing his eyes again. Instead, his fingers pressed gently into the back of your hand and his hips stirred underneath you, angling up to rut into your palm.
You tried to push, craning your body closer until you were nearly laying on top of his laid back figure, separated by a mere inch. “Never what, Eddie?”
He cursed quietly, beads of sweat becoming apparent on his brow and cheeks, likely from the blood pooling under his flushed skin. “You know,” he cocked his head to nod towards you, avoiding saying the words out loud.
“Fucked anyone?” You supplied, the words feeling crude and out of place put together on your tongue.
He rolled his eyes again. “No- I mean- yes- I haven’t.. done that yet but,” his lips formed a line and he briefly met your gaze, trying to urge you to understand.
You understood. You wanted him to say it.
“What, Eddie?”
He seethed, the dying amber light of sunset catching his teeth before, finally- finally- he frustratedly snapped. “I’ve never been touched like this before.”
You almost wanted to praise him for finally raising to meet you halfway. Well, it was more seventy thirty, but you were feeling generous and the point still stood.
“Do you want me to stop?”
His startled expression boarded on panicked at the mere notion. “Jesus H. Christ- no.”
Your tongue poked into your cheek in thought, your eyes flickering between his, his warm eyes dark as the sun sagged behind the Earth and gave into the dusty blues and purples of night. Yet, unexplainably, he looked so damn soft.
“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him a testing squeeze before sliding your hand free from his, taking away the pressure and heat of your palm. He almost thought it to be merciful, if not for the gut wrenching disappointment that came with it. “C’mere.”
He lifted with you as you crawled off him, pulling his arms with regardful but insistent tugs until you were both tumbling into his bed. Anxiety and terror and excitement thrilled through him all at once as his sheets crumpled underneath your shifting and scooting.
His back pressed to your chest, his body cradled by yours and your sides pressing into his springy mattress. One of your arms looped underneath his body, hand splayed across his chest to tug up his distress band tee, and the other circled across his hip and waist.
“How’s this?” Your breath fanned the back of his neck, musing curls, chin propped against his shoulder blade before dipping to replace with your cheek.
Eddie’s brain was still catching up, still trying to figure out what ‘this’ was. Regardless, he nodded. You clicked your tongue and he jumped to speak. “It’s uh- good. It’s- what are we doing?” The caution in his voice made you snicker.
“Just watch.”
He swallowed and did exactly that. Watched in the dim light as your hand fumbled with his belt buckle, lonesomely accomplishing what he likely couldn’t do with both of his own shaking hands. His jeans parted open, the button and zipper giving you much less grief, before your fingers dipped into the waistband of his briefs.
You didn’t go for his dick immediately. Instead, you traced the path of his happy trail with a firm drag of fingertips, letting it lead you naturally towards the base of his saluting erection. Your pointer and middle finger parted opposite of your ring and pinky, surrounding the base of his dick.
Curls gathered against your palm, your thumb petting them down lazily, with no real intention. You hummed into his shoulder, questioning and encouraging all at once.
Eddie had been holding his breath, noticeably. He let it all out in one miserable exhale, his unsure hands finally deciding they needed to be holding something. He decided on you, one hand perching on your hip where it laid behind him and the other gripped yours where it gathered his tee, fingers clinging to your wrist.
“Wanna keep going?”
He nodded desperately.
You bit back a chuckle, lifting your hand higher to sweep your fingers together and to one side of his dick, curling them along the veiny underside. Eddie shifted, lifting one thigh and pushing himself into your hand.
Your touch firmed, wrapping properly around him and stroking upward, towards the tip of his length. And hell, if he didn’t have quite a bit of that. He was thick at the base, but bulged slightly along the underside, making your fingers spread wider to accommodate.
Christ.
He jerked as your thumb pet across the weeping slit of his cockhead, spreading messy precum. You chewed your bottom lip, closing your eyes to imagine what he looked like. You wondered if his skin was just as pale there too, or if he'd be flushed like his face had been- like his face still was.
“Shit-“ he grumbled, his head turning towards his pillow to muffle a broken sound as you gathered the slick droplets with your fingers and stroked him loosely, focusing on the needy, more sensitive head of his cock.
He pulsed in your hand, jumping and jerking in time with strangled, gasping sounds from his parted mouth. You regretted not being able to watch his face as he made those pretty sounds. You just knew he’d look so perfect with his expression screwed and flushed.
His hips, which he’d been trying to keep still, spasmed and rutted each time your hand dropped from tip to base, coating his cock in his own pre. Your name tore from his mouth and you felt your thighs ache before pressing together, trying to dull the needy bloom between them.
“Ah- fuck!” Eddie cursed as your hand tightened around him, brave enough to squeeze him a little tighter. You kept your cheek pressed to his shoulder before growing shy and turning to hide your face between his shoulderblades, tucking yourself tighter against his lanky frame.
Slowly, you grew more insistent. Eddie didn’t have the wherewithal to stop his hips from rolling to meet the repetitive glide of your hand, creating a messy, sloppy rhythm. The slick sound of skin on skin was horrifyingly embarrassing- he had really made such a mess?- but Eddie couldn’t even begin to process that shame when his senses were already in such a state of disarray.
His breaths punched out in throaty groans, trailing whines and needy keens that only spurred you on.
“You gotta- I’m- wait, I’m gonna-“ He couldn’t even string the words into order, his brain drawing blanks and his mouth falling open to tear much needed air into his lungs.
You held him on a cliffs edge, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he was even supposed to be there.
“Yeh?” You asked his back, words spoken straight into the column of his spine.
You didn’t really need an answer, you basically had it in your hand. His cock was throbbing in your grasp, sharp and hard enough to send shivers quaking through his body each time your fingers squeezed the head of his cock before dipping again.
He nodded anyways, expecting you would stop, expecting that you wouldn’t want to pull that out of him.
But why wouldn’t you?
You nodded in understanding and pulled him by his chest, pressing kisses against the back of his neck as you picked up the pace of your strokes.
You’d watched enough porn to know this part was messy, usually carried out by desperate, fast strokes and you weren’t gonna torture the poor guy more than necessary.
Thing about porn though? Most of those guys' dicks were half numb from overuse and too many people touching them. Eddie, on the other hand, was sensitive as all hell.
You had essentially spartan kicked him off the damn cliff, for lack of better phrasing.
His orgasm smacked him like a stop sign in a tornado, his body going stiff and rigid as it locked up, his mouth falling open in a sob as he snapped apart like a dropped Lego set.
His thighs shook as he painted the inside of his briefs, soaking through the cotton material and your fist with sticky, thick streaks of his spend.
You slowed to a stop as the last of his moans turned into whines, more wince than pleasure, but didn’t let him go just yet.
Eddie’s chest was heaving and your arm burned from the effort. How did guys do that? You felt sore. Eddie was the first to move, shifting to roll from his side to his back without knocking you with his shoulder or squishing you. You slipped your hand from his underwear as he did, holding it up and away from the both of you to avoid spreading the mess from its local residence.
Eddie’s eyes met yours, face burning with color and sweat clinging to his skin, along with messy strands of hair. You reached to push them away before catching yourself and retracting your hand before it had the chance to contaminate his poor face. Instead, you slid your other arm free and used that hand.
He gave you a weak, entertained laugh and you tilted your head at him, a smile touching your own lips.
“It’s not like- radioactive, ya know?” He motioned towards the sticky cum clinging to your skin.
“Eh, basically.” You hummed, giving your own arm a narrow eyed look over before shaking your head solemnly. “I think I’ll have to amputate.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and lightly tapped your cheek with his knuckles in the most pathetic slap of your life. If it could even be considered a slap.
“I’ll get the med kit.” He pretended to fumble for a nonexistent first aid kit on his nightstand, instead knocking over an empty beer can and cursing under his breath. He peered over to make sure it was as empty as it sounded before returning his attention to you.
You were staring expectantly at him. He blinked a few times before his eyes popped open wider in understanding and he sat up in a quick motion, making his fuzzy head spin. “Oh- shit, right- yeh.” He fumbled to tuck his dick back into his sticky underwear, cringing at the feeling and sprung out of the bed to scrounge for a shirt or something he could use to clean you up.
summary: When Eddie starts his new job at a pizza place and befriends a delivery driver, he hopes for the best. Only for a mean rumor to squash his poor dreams. That is, until he’s fucking you in the back of his van.
warnings: Smut, no use of y/n, abuse of the second POV, unedited, smut with plot, slight hurt comfort, angry Eddie, mild degrading, friends to enemies to lovers
wordcount: 2k
a/n: Highly self indulgent, hope ya like it. Please please PLEASE 18+ ONLY.
Eddie’s hips met you in sharp, unkind snaps, punching both the air from your lungs and the thoughts from your head. Your spine bowed with each thrust, the impact sending shockwaves through your body and your ass bouncing off his hips. The sounds were pure filth, the slap of skin, the wet squelch of his cock sinking into your grasping cunt. It was brutal, and you’d invited it without ever outright asking.
It’d been that mouth of yours. The one you used to casually degrade him almost every chance you got.
Being your coworker should’ve been fun. Hell, it’d started fun. When you’d snicker at his jokes amongst the chaos of orders, or praise him as he learned the repetitive, fast paced tasks you’d long since perfected in your months of working together.
Then some stupid asshole decided to spread the rumor that you’d fucked and suddenly, your kindness evaporated.
He didn’t blame you at first.
Until you’d taken to calling him a dumbass for simple mistakes and barely acknowledging his existence outside of immediate work related tasks. He tried to be sympathetic, but when you bit, you bit hard.
“Can you fucking focus for once in your life and get off my dick?!” You shouted at him, cutting off the question he was only halfway through asking. Your coworkers stopped dead, staring wide eyed at the two of you as the restaurant went quiet for a pause. His ears burned, his voice died in his throat and he could only stare wide eyed at you.
That had been the catalyst. The final straw between being sympathetic and finding you to be a raging cunt.
A cunt who he couldn’t squash his crush on.
Because as sharp as your mouth was, you’d still jump in to save him from an asshole customer, swoop in to help when orders piled up even though you had deliveries, and tag him out for his breaks when it was simply too busy for him to step away. Should’ve been normal but it wasn’t common practice at the pizza joint where you both worked. Which was a kind way of saying you were the only one to do it, and you only did it for him.
Maybe that kindness was why Eddie was still willing to end up here. Leaning over you, with his hands bracketing your head and your name on his lips.
You’d been helping him with something at the end of a shift. A popped tire. You’d called him dumb again for not knowing how to change his own tire, with the summer heat drenching you in sweat, and then he’d had you by the shirt.
Maybe that was a little fucked up. Maybe it was fucked up that instead of talking, or apologizing, you’d kissed him. Maybe it was fucked up that he kissed back. And now you were in the bed of his van.
“Shit- Eddie-“ you choked out, your thighs trembling and your knees biting into the rough metal along the floor of his van. His chest lowered to meet your back, his elbows digging into the floor as one hand cupped your face, and the other dipping below you to press into your belly, holding you firmly in place. “Ho-holy- fuck!”
You were shaking apart underneath him, still dressed in your uniform, jeans gathered around your thighs and your top tugged up to reveal your chest. Eddie’s groans hit all the right places, making your brain short circuit as your name spilled between his lips.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” he grumbled into your ear, letting his teeth nip at your pierced lobe and tug superficially. “Letting all this fucking-“ his hips jerked, snapping down to slam so hard into you, it ripped a yelp from your lips and made you flutter desperately around his cock. “Bullshit get you spun up.”
You shook your head, wanting to argue, wanting to bite back but he gave you no such opportunity. His fingers, which had been so sweetly cupping your cheek, lifted upwards to secure over your parted mouth, muffling your wrecked noises with his palm.
He pressed his lips against the opposite side of your face, uncaring of how sweaty you were or the fact that your skin was hot enough to burn.
“Letting some fucking bastard fuck ya up..” he continued, the hand resting at your belly traveling downwards to part your legs open, one of his legs lifting outwards to bracket your hip despite how his jeans were gathered around his ankles. He didn’t care about the awkward pull of fabric or how his boots caught, or if the van was rocking.
He slowed his pace, angling his hips to find a rhythm, slower and harder. He wanted to torment you, really, and he knew exactly how. He didn’t need to wonder if it was working, not when your teeth caught at his fingers and bit down and your body rocked to meet him.
He let his forehead press to your shoulder, his mouth falling open in a breathless, struggling groan. He felt like he could explode. With you wrapped around his cock so pretty and the sounds you made, he was teetering the edge.
He cupped your bare breast, his warm hand a reprieve as his fingers dragged mindlessly over the peaked bud of your nipple. “Fuck talking to me, no that’d be too fucking logical.” He continued breathlessly. “No, just screw how I feel. Walk around saying whatever the hell you want, treating me like a fucking dog.”
He couldn’t keep up like this, not when you felt so good. He wanted to tear you apart first, wanted to know you were struggling just as much as he was. He couldn’t even see your damn face and that wasn’t working for him either.
Without missing a beat, he pulled out, leaving you whining and flipped you in his arms. You seethed against the uncomfortable floor of his van and he quickly fixed that, lifting you into his lap as he sat up. Your arms looped around his shoulders instinctively, fingers gripping at his mused work shirt and disheveling the stupid collar.
He hooked one arm underneath your leg, his hand splaying across your hips as his other hand cupped the back of your neck. He lifted you easily, handling your weight like it was nothing, his body still knelt in place. His cock slid between your soaked lower lips, catching your clit and making him jerk with a gasp before he tried again, notching at your entrance.
A satisfied hum escaped his lips before he pressed them again to your cheek, too sweet for the anger he held. You sank slowly in his lap, eyes rolling back as a choked sound escaped your throat. His cock parted you open all over again, the thick vein along the underside rubbing into that deep bundle of nerves your fingers could never quite reach. “Good, that’s good,” he praised in a huff, feeling your sensitive walls squeeze him in desperate, needy flutters. Each inch disappeared into you until your bodies were flush, his waist parting your thighs wide. “That feel good, babydoll?”
You nodded desperately, the tremble returning to your limbs before you could even wrap your head around any proper, coherent thought. The pet name, whispered into your skin, felt like a brand.
Eddie would’ve been smug if he wasn’t so focused on trying not to bust his load right there in your drooling cunt.
Last thing he needed was a little oopsie Munson running around. Even if he was weirdly keen on the idea of making such a mess of you.
Focus, idiot.
When he started moving again, leading with one hip and letting the other roll lazily after it, your eyes rolled back and snapped shut.
He was good at this, effortlessly. Not in the practiced, methodical way guys with too many notches in their belt had. He just seemed to know.
And that, in itself, was fucked up. Unfairly so.
Your lips found anywhere they could to press sloppy, open mouthed kisses too. His cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His shirt was bunched in your hands, exposing his waist and the happy trail leading to groomed curls at the base of his cock.
Each time he bottomed out into your welcoming cunt, he ground your clit against himself, making you see stars. “God, your gonna fuckin’-“ he cut himself off with a husky groan, feeling the way you were starting to clench so so tight around him. Your cunt squeezed like a fist around his dick, pulsing and squeezing and ripping his air from his lungs.
“I’m gonna- shit- I’m-“ you could barely get the words out before Eddie seemed to figure it out himself, holding your hips still to piston his cock in and out of your aching sex. He didn’t really care that it wouldn’t last, that the brutal pace was exhausting or that his cock was swelling with each stroke.
He only really cared that you were getting off, because for a suspended moment, it’s the only damn thing that mattered. Your orgasm smacked into you like a heap of bricks, sucking the air from you and leaving you crying out soundlessly into Eddie’s neck.
Eddie followed you shortly after, his hips faltering and his pace turning sloppy until he knew he had to pull out or risk spilling into your cunt.
He yanked you upward as his hips lurched backwards, his cock leaving you with an obscene ‘pop’ before his mouth fell open. His face buried in your hair as he moaned helplessly against your ear, his cock jumping with each almost painful wave of his own orgasm, painting the floor between his knees with his load.
You stayed there with him, both heaving for a long pause, hanging onto one another with all the strength in your limbs until the tension bled out.
Your leg unhooked slowly from his arm, which he pulled away to raise higher around your back. He sank slowly backwards, sitting against the floor and leaning into the van door. You settled in his lap, your arms never loosening around his shoulders as you sat there, trying to catch your breath.
It didn’t matter for a minute, the arguing or the tension, the pretense or anger.
“You good?” He asked hoarsely, both arms still looped around you, one hand holding the back of your neck and the other on your shoulder. You huffed in response, a smile creeping onto your lips, something he could no doubt feel. “Good.” He murmured in a breathless chuckle, relaxing a fraction.
Slowly, carefully, you untangled. Tingling limbs, you tugged your jean shorts back up one leg, avoiding getting caught in your boot as Eddie did the same. You fixed your shirt, smoothed out the fabric, tried to wrap your head around what’d just happened.
When you finished, you finally looked at him again. He was already staring at you, his bangs slick to his sweaty forehead, his bun frayed and his milky skin still flushed.
You didn’t know what to say. He didn’t either. So instead, he opened the door to motion you out. You took his offered hand and stepped back into the humid night, trying not to look guilty. He followed you, his boots crunching against the concrete below as they met the ground.
He took a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly and idling beside you, unable to meet your eyes.
You pondered for a long moment, staring holes into his face before a snicker escaped you. “See ya..” you offered a small wave, taking a few cautious steps towards your car before pausing. Your gaze landed on him again.
He looked so suddenly small, eyes only brave enough to trace the ground where your boots dragged against the concrete before planting.
“Eddie?”
His eyes met yours, full of something unreadable and dangerously heavy.
“Can you kiss me again?”
He stared at you for a pause before sighing, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
˚꩜｡pairing: 40s!eddie munson x 20y!fem!reader
˚꩜｡summary: Coming home from the summer was supposed to mean backyard barbecues, Fourth of July fireworks, and spending time with your parents before your final year of college. Falling into bed with your dad's forty-something tattoo artist had definitely not been part of the plan.
˚꩜｡tags/tw: 18+ explicit sexual content, minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!f!reader, big age gap, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, squirting, fourth of july jumpscare (this is a joke pls dont shoot me), 1 comment about reader losing weight but no descriptions of how much and/or body type, im sharing my parents w u guys in this one bc they’re cool and i miss them, underage drinking, smoking marijuana/tobacco, reader has tattoos, mentions of getting a tattoo as a minor, kinda self indulgent sorry, the faintest of angst at the end, lemme know me if i forgot anything :)
˚꩜｡word count: 17.1k+
˚꩜｡a/n: so i know it has been six days since the fourth, but i saw this tiktok and i immediately started to write this so all credits to @/arthursfemalehorse on tiktok for the edit that inspired this<3 (this was supposed to have been posted two days ago but i got too horny to continue writing)
At eighteen, freshly graduated from high school, you couldn’t wait to forget your old life, sever all contact with your old classmates, and never return to the godforsaken town of Hawkins, Indiana, where you had been born and raised.
Now, at twenty-one years old, and just one year shy of graduating NYU and snatching your master’s degree in Art Therapy, you couldn’t wait to return to the sleepy little town.
It had nothing to do with missing your old mates or the achingly slow routine you’d left behind two years earlier. Hell, it wasn’t even because you missed your parents — which you did, obviously — but that wasn’t the reason you were planning to move back.
New York was, for lack for a better, great. Truly. It was everything you’d dreamt about throughout your teenage years — multicultural, freeing, authentic in a way that demanded respect, with a shit ton of opportunities Hawkins couldn’t even dream of offering.
But it was also… just too much.
Too loud. Too smelly. Too busy. Too anxiety-inducing.
Hawkins, on the other hand, wasn’t amazing. Most of the time, it wasn’t even fun.
But it offered a quiet that you never realized you needed until you moved to the East Coast, without ever asking anything in return.
It wasn’t a place that expected — nonetheless demanded — you to keep up, nor did it punish you for slowing down and taking a breather. You could leave the house without planning every minute of your day around subways delays, packed sidewalks, and whether or not you could afford another ridiculously overprices coffee just to justify sitting somewhere for an hour.
In Hawkins, you knew the cashiers at the grocery store and which roads flooded first after heavy rain. You knew which diner stayed open the latest, where to get your tires replaced without getting ripped off by some surprise inspection tacked onto the bill, and exactly which back roads to take if you simply wanted to drive with the windows down for a while.
It was the kind of comfort you missed in the big city.
So the moment your final summer break before your last year of graduate school rolled around in the middle of May, you’d already made up your mind — you were going home for the first time in two years.
Unfortunately, your bank account had other ideas.
Rent in New York — even while sharing a shoebox apartment with two other girls — had a funny way of reminding you that dreams didn’t pay themselves, and neither did tuition. So instead of immediately packing your bags and hopping on the first plane to Indiana, you picked up every extra shift your manager was willing to throw your way.
Mornings behind the espresso machine turned into afternoons. Afternoons bled into closing shifts. Before you knew it, six weeks had disappeared somewhere between burnt coffee, impatient tourists, and people who genuinely believed ordering six different modifications somehow made them easier to deal with.
It wasn’t until the first week of July, when your savings account finally looked healthy enough, that you were able to point yourself towards Indiana.
Not forever. Come mid August, you’d be squeezing back into your apartment, picking up where you’d left off, and tackling one final year before graduation. But for the next month and a half, Hawkins was home again.
Funnily enough, the cheapest flight back from New York to Indianapolis landed in the middle of the night on the Fourth of July — only forty bucks cheaper than the alternatives, but still. An extra forty bucks for a college student meant not eating ramen for four consecutive days.
And, considering, you hadn’t given your parents an exact date for your return, arriving early on the holiday made for a nice surprise.
What wasn’t a nice surprise, however, was the half-hour delay it took to get off the plane. The two-hour drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins in a cramped rental car wasn’t exactly enjoyable either, although the endless stretches of cornfields and the occasional herd of cows were enough to pull a small smile onto your face again.
The weather had already been bordering on suffocating at almost ten in the morning when you passed the Welcome to Hawkins sign, and the cracked windows of the car did little to help in that regard.
But it was the Fourth, and that meant your parents were probably putting up the pool — if they hadn’t already done it the day before — and that an endless supply of ice-cold drinks was already waiting for your surprise return.
You instinctively turned the volume of the radio down as you made the familiar right turn into your old neighbourhood.
The early morning sunshine stretched across the quiet streets, warming the asphalt as it spilled between neat rows of modest houses and leafy trees. Tall utility poles and tangled power lines framed both sides of the road, looking exactly as they had the day you’d left.
Your foot eased off the accelerator almost automatically when the familiar house came into view. The wraparound porch looked exactly as you remembered it, supported by simple wooden posts and bordered by a railing that had hosted more lazy summer afternoons than you’d probably ever admit missing.
And then you noticed the ridiculous red, white and blue decorations your dad insisted on dragging out of the attic every year.
A massive American flag covered nearly the entire front window. Patriotic garlands hung from the porch ceiling. And, judging by the perfectly coordinated flower beds, your dad had somehow convinced your mom to plant red, white and blue flowers just in time for the holiday.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That… was definitely something you hadn’t missed.
You’d save the annual debate about nationalism, capitalism, and the political and economical state of the country and why you didn’t believe the Fourth of July and its founding fathers were something worth celebrating for another day. Preferably one that didn’t involve your father.
The engine died with a quick twist of your wrist, followed by the familiar click of your seatbelt, but you didn’t get out just yet. Instead, you sat there for another moment, your shoulders relaxing almost instantly as you looked at the house you’d once spent every waking moment trying to escape.
Your street had barely changed. Down the road, Mr. Flynn was moving his front lawn like he did almost every morning, while the kids of number 61A were already testing fireworks far too early.
Your lips curled into a small smile as you finally pushed the car door open and made your way to the trunk to grab your bags.
The fence around the house had recently been given a fresh coat of lacquer, and the brick path leading to the backyard had clearly been scrubbed clean days earlier.
Pushing open the familiar creaking gate and stepping into the backyard pulled a content sigh from your chest as you finally set the heavy bags on the ground.
“You here already, Ed?”
Your dad pushed the screen door open with one hand while carrying a heavy-looking cooler in the other.
“Who is Ed?” you asked when your eyes landed on your greying father.
A heavy thud echoed through the otherwise quiet backyard as he let the cooler slip from his hands, standing frozen between the back door and the patio.
“What the fuck?”
“Please don’t curse this early in the morning!” your mom called from somewhere inside the house.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be cursing too if you saw what the fuck I’m seeing.”
While your dad remained rooted to the spot, eyes still wide with disbelief, your mom mumbled something unintelligible as he made her way towards the backyard.
The towel she’d been drying her hands with joined the cooler on the ground.
“What the fuck?”
“Told you.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped you as the two of them simply stared.
“I told you guys I was coming home from the summer.”
“But not that you were coming today!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around you, only pulling back enough to cup your face between her hands. Her eyes searched every inch of it like she hadn’t seen you in decades. “Why didn’t you call? We could’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“I wanted to surprise you guys.”
Your dad finally seemed to reboot.
“Did you rent a car?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Hi to you too, Dad.”
“How much was it?”
“That’s your first question?” You tilted your head in disbelief.
“Oh, Pigeon,” your mom whispered, still holding your face. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been eating properly?”
“Mom, I’m fine—”
“Rentin’ a car is expensive,” your dad muttered, already fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “On top of paying New York rent? Jesus, Pigeon. You should’ve called.”
“Dad, I rented the car for three days—”
“I’m sending you money.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Almost twenty-one years old, and you were still their baby girl — apparently incapable of looking after your own health or your own finances.
Not that there was any point to trying to convince them otherwise, their minds had already been made up.
The cooler had been completely forgotten beside the screen door as your dad wrapped his hands around the handles of your bags — despite your repeated insistence that you were more than capable of carrying them yourself — and made a beeline for your childhood bedroom.
He was still going on about the rental car as you followed him up the creaky staircase, only abandoning the subject once he’d nudged open the familiar white bedroom door with his foot.
The door was still decorated with stickers. The walls were still painted your favourite shade of pale green, and the embarrassingly emo and scene band posters you’d sworn you’d take down before leaving college were still scattered across them.
Aside from the new rug in the middle of the room, nothing had changed.
“You should call your friends,” he said as he set your bags down on the bed. “See if anyone’s around to hang out.”
“I kinda lost touch with everyone, Dad,” you replied with a small shrug. “I’m perfectly happy hanging out with you two.”
“Well, us two and Eddie.” He scratched at his beard. “And a handful of our other friends too.”
“Who’s Eddie?” You frowned.
“Eddie Munson.” He pushed the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt farther up his arm, revealing the tattoo he’d gotten the year before. “He moved back last year when his dad got sick. Opened a tattoo studio downtown not long after.”
Your hand reached out almost on instinct, fingertips brushing over the healed ink.
The words of an embarrassingly sentimental poem you’d written in elementary school curved neatly around his upper arm, permanently preserved in your own unmistakable chicken-scratch handwriting.
And just above it sat a black-and-grey coloured realistic pigeon.
You still weren’t entirely sure which tattoo was more ridiculous.
“I still can’t believe you actually got this tattooed,” you snorted, looking back up at him.
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, tugging his sleeve back down. “Can you blame me for being obsessed with my only child?”
“If your obsession makes you do stupid things?” You folded your arms. “Then yes. Absolutely.”
He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on his hips in that particular way that always told you your dad was about to call you out.
“Says the girl who got 1D tattooed on her ankle when she was fourteen.” He pursed his lips for a moment before they curled into a disbelieving grin. “Still have no idea how you managed to get a tattoo back then.”
“Black ink from a pen and a sewing needle.” You shrugged as you unzipped one of your bags. “Saw a tutorial on YouTube.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Your giggles echoed through the bedroom as your dad simply shook his head, muttering something about teenagers while backing into the hallway.
“Put your bikini on. It’s gonna be hot today,” he said, pausing in the doorway to rap his knuckles against the frame, and then pointed a finger at you. “And then get downstairs and help me with the grill.”
“Aye, captain,” you laughed. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Good.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over the bedroom once again.
You let yourself sink onto the edge of the mattress before eventually falling backwards with a soft whump, the old springs protesting underneath your weight just as they always had, and you let your eyes wander across the familiar room.
The glow-in-the-dark constellations were still stuck to the ceiling. The bookshelf tucked beside your desk still leaned ever so slightly to the left after you’d tried to climb it when you were ten. The faded Polaroids hanging from the mirror still showed smiling faces you’d long since lost touch with.
Nothing had changed — not really.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were kind of grateful for it.
It took you a few more seconds of studying an older, more innocent version of yourself before you finally pushed yourself off the bed to change into a bikini like your dad had suggested.
For a second, while pulling open one of the drawers, you considered putting on the ridiculous American flag bikini as a joke, but the thought of your dad embarrassing you by saying something along the lines of, “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Celebrating the American spirit!” was enough to make you think better of it.
So you opted for another one instead — the one with the gold sequins and pink beads you’d bought during your junior year in a desperate attempt to impress Andrew Harrington.
Despite what your mom had claimed downstairs, you hadn’t actually lost weight. If anything, somehow surviving almost exclusively on ramen and bread had convinced your body that your chest needed to grow another cup size. The bikini still fit, but the straps leaned a little more to the digging into your shoulders side.
A pair of light-washed denim shorts covered the bottom half of your bikini, and your sneakers were swapped for sandals.
The familiar creaks of the staircase were drowned out by the unmistakable roar for a pickup truck pulling into the driveway as you made your way downstairs.
“Dad,” you called as you stepped into the kitchen. “Need anything from inside?”
“Uh…” he thought aloud for a second. “No, Pigeon. I think we got everything already.”
You hummed in acknowledgement and wandered over the fridge instead.
Having a beer at ten-something in the morning wasn’t exactly frowned upon if it was the Fourth of July, right?
You grabbed one from the bottom shelf before popping the cap off against the edge of the countertop, taking a long sip as the icy bitterness settled pleasantly against the summer heat that had already begun creeping into the house through the open windows.
Outside, a car door slammed shut, and your dad’s voice carried through the open window almost immediately.
“About time you got here!”
A man’s laugh answered him.
“Had some things to sort out.”
You were halfway through another sip when your dad called again.
“Pigeon! Come out here for a sec!”
Beer still in hand, you made your way towards the backyard, already half-expecting him to need help moving the grill or finally dragging the pool out of the garage.
Your dad stood barefoot on the grass, tongs in one hand and a bag of charcoal in the other, a broad grin already spreading across his face.
Beside him stood a man in a faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark three-quarter shorts, two six packs tucked beneath one arm.
Greying curls brushed his shoulders, a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head. Tattoos disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, and you were fairly certain you caught the glint of a small silver hoop through one of his nostrils.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open.
“Well,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing this is the famous poet who wrote Lovely Purple Pigeons.”
A warm laugh escaped you as you finally snapped out of your thoughts. Shaking your head, you walked down the few steps towards the two men before offering him your hand.
“Well, I’m no Emily Dickinson,” you joked, “but I’m glad you enjoyed my greatest work.”
You ignored the feeling of your tongue sliding over your bottom lip when a large, calloused hand wrapped around yours, his handshake firm without being overbearing.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said with a smile. “Kinda impossible not to become a fan of your work.”
“I’d say the same,” you replied, “but I still think letting my dad get that tattoo counts as a felony.”
That pulled another laugh from him.
Meeting new people had never exactly been your favourite thing. While you weren’t the most sociable person in the word, you weren’t exactly an introvert either. More often than not, though, first conversations felt painfully awkward.
Meeting Eddie was nothing like that, and conversations came surprisingly easily.
He laughed at your jokes — whether because they were actually funny or simply because he was being polite, you had no idea — and every question he asked felt genuine instead of obligatory.
More importantly, he never once spoke to you like you were still fifteen. Considering most of your parents’ friends still seemed convinced you were, that alone was enough to make you like him.
Your dad, who had wandered over to the grill while you and Eddie were talking, pulled you out of your thoughts when he spoke again.
“Emily Dickinson has nothing on you, Pigeon,” he called over his shoulder before doing a double take. “…Is that a new one?”
Your eyes followed his line of sight to the palm-sized, fine line design of a little fishing boat resting against your ribcage.
“Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Got it during spring break with a friend.”
“You don’t even like boats.” He frowned.
“It’s an inside joke from when we were, uh,” You hesitated for a second before taking another sip of your beer, “…stoned.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“There was something about boats and Led Zeppelin.”
“I don’t even wanna know.”
“Tattoos and Led Zeppelin?” Eddie laughed beside you. “Oh, I definitely wanna know.”
You looked over at him, only to find warm brown eyes already fixed on yours, and your mouth opened and then immediately closed again.
A stupid little laugh escaped you as warmth crept across your cheeks.
“It’s really not that interesting,” you warned.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jokingly rolling your eyes at him, you gave in anyway.
You told him about spending spring break in Florida with one of your roommates, getting far too high one evening, and somehow ending up in a twenty-minute conversation about whether Led Zeppelin sounded more like the name of a rock band or a fisherman boat.
Somewhere along the way, your roommate started pronouncing Zeppelin in an exaggerated Southern accent that had reduced the two of you to tears.
Looking back, it wasn’t even that funny — not unless you’d been there, at least.
“See?” you finished with an awkward shrug. “It’s one of those stories.”
The crowfeet beside his eyes deepened as he laughed.
“No, I get it.” Eddie smiled. “I’ve got a shit tone of those too.”
Adjusting the two six-packs, he nodded towards your side.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You returned the nod before turning slightly, lifting your arm just enough for the tattoo to come into view.
Eddie stopped closer — not enough to crowd you, but just enough to see the details.
“Can I?”
You nodded again, and his fingertips brushed lightly against your skin as he gently stretched it, the touch careful and practiced in a way that immediately gave away years of experience. Professional. Matter-of-fact, even.
Which definitely didn’t explain the fresh wave of heat climbing into your cheeks.
“It healed really well,” he said quietly, studying the delicate shading. “Nice line work.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “I’ll pass the compliment along.”
“Ribs are a bitch to get tattooed.”
“It honestly wasn’t that bad,” you admitted. “It tickled more than it hurt.”
“Huh.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “That’s a first.”
He let his hand fall away before straightening to his full height, and only then you realised just how much taller he actually was.
Well over a foot, if you had to guess. Which definitely wasn’t something you were thinking about either.
His eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer before he looked over towards your dad.
“So,” he said, lifting the six-packs. “Where do you want these?”
Your dad muttered something unintelligible while gesturing vaguely towards the house.
Eddie looked back at you.
“You wanna show me where the kitchen is?”
You raised an eyebrow at that.
If Eddie was more than just your dad’s tattoo artist — which, judging by how comfortably the two of them interacted, he clearly was — then he absolutely knew where the goddamn kitchen was.
But still.
“Sure.”
Turning on your heel, you led the way inside.
Entering the kitchen, your mom had just put the lid on the bowl of potato salad before turning around and making a beeline for the backyard.
Balancing the bowl on her hip, she pulled Eddie into a quick side hug, asking how his dad had been while you set your bottle down on the counter and opened the fridge.
“I’m gonna see if your dad needs any help,” she said over her shoulder. “Be right back.”
You hopped up onto the counter beside your beer as Eddie stepped over the fridge.
“How long are you staying?” he asked absentmindedly while tearing the plastic wrapping off one of the six-packs.
“I fly back on the twentieth of August,” you answered lightly.
A low whistle escaped him before he spared you a quick glance as he returned to stocking the already overcrowded fridge.
“That’s a long time to spend in a town like Hawkins.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Especially when you’ve got New York to go back to.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for your bottle again. Your fingers absentmindedly started peeling away the label. “It’s just…”
The sigh that followed was almost drowned out by the refrigerator humming as it struggled to keep up with the summer heat and the open door.
“It’s not what you expected?” Eddie offered.
“No, it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “More than I expected, actually.”
You looked down at the bottle slowly turning between your fingers.
“But I guess I found out there’s beauty in simplicity, too.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you after that.
Eddie finished squeezing the last few cans into the fridge before his eyes drifted towards the nearly empty bottle in your hands.
Without asking if you wanted another one, he reached in one last time and grabbed two cold beers.
“I spent twenty years trying to escape this place.” He popped the caps off both bottles with a battered old lighter before holding one out towards you. “Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Yeah.” You bit your lip as your fingers curled around the cold bottle. “I’m thinking about moving back next year.”
His eyebrows lifted at the confession.
Taking a long sip of his beer, he stepped closer to the counter and leaned against it, turning his face towards you.
“It’s the rent, isn’t it?” He teased.
“Definitely.” A laugh escaped you before you took another sip.
The sound of clattering dishes and your parents’ laughter drifted through the cracked kitchen window, filling the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you.
“So…” you spoke up after a few moments. “Your own studio, huh?”
Eddie’s eyes, which hadn’t really left your face since he’d walked over, softened into a smile before he glanced down at his boots.
“It’s busier than I expected,” he admitted, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. “Guess Hawkins isn’t the conversative little town it used to be.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Oh, yeah.” A disbelieving chuckle slipped from him. “The principal called my old man the first time he saw this.”
He swapped the beer into his other hand before extending his right arm towards you, and your eyes immediately fixed on the faded marionette inked across his forearm.
“Master of Puppets by any chance?” you asked quietly.
His gaze lifted from the tattoo to your face. “You’re a Metallica fan?”
You tipped back the last of your first beer before answering.
“I went through a metal phase,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Always skipped that song, though.”
Eddie tilted his head back dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as though you’d personally offended him.
“Oh, fuck off.”
A laugh burst out of you at his antics.
“Welcome Home was my favourite.”
“Jesus,” he sighed. “That’s somehow even more depressing to hear, sweetheart.”
The word settled somewhere low in your stomach.
Not because it was particularly intimate — if anything, it rolled off his tongue with the effortless ease of someone who’d probably called half the town sweetheart at one point or another.
But it somehow felt different directed at you.
Heat crept into your cheeks as you looked away, your tongue absentmindedly sweeping across your bottom lip before your attention dropped to the empty bottle in your hand. You rested it against the windowsill, intending to throw it away later.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, searching for the right words. “Guess I–”
“Pigeon!” Your dad’s voice boomed from the backyard. “Help me light the goddamn grill, for the love of God.”
You squeezed your eyes shut before answering.
“Coming!”
Eddie’s snort of laughter followed you as you hopped off the counter.
“I should probably go save him from himself.”
“Probably for the best,” he grinned. “I’d hate for your old man to burn his eyebrows off before lunch.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the back door.
Being your parents’ only child, your dad had spent the better part of twenty years making sure you knew how to do just about everything he could think of — from managing your finances, although he sometimes questioned your abilities, to cooking what he insisted was the perfect steak.
Which was why, apparently, you were the only person capable of getting the grill started.
The very same grill he’d begged for two Father’s Days ago after doing, in his words, extensive research on the best one money could buy.
Your beer instantly found a home on the folding table beside it as you crouched down to inspect the brand-new gas cylinder.
A sigh escaped through your nose as you shot your dad a quick glance before you reached down and connected it to the grill.
“Just tell me your knees are hurting next time.”
“That’s slander.”
“No,” you replied, straightening back up. “That’s old age, Dad.”
Somewhere behind you, Eddie laughed.
You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch him leaning back in one of the lawn chairs, beer balanced against his tattooed knee and a grin still lingering across his face.
Your dad, meanwhile, looked thoroughly offended.
“I’ll have you know these knees still work perfectly fine for my age.”
“Clearly.”
You turned the gas valve before pressing the igniter, and the grill roared to life on the first try.
“There.” You dusted your hands together. “Happy?”
“I would’ve gotten there eventually.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten back up.”
The familiar creak of the backyard gate interrupted whatever comeback your dad had been preparing.
A chorus of cheerful greetings immediately followed as a handful of familiar faces filtered into the yard, coolers swinging from their hands and bowls of homemade food balanced carefully against their hips.
Your mom was already making the rounds, hugging nearly everyone before they had both feet inside the gate.
It didn’t take long for the backyard to settle into the kind of comfortable chaos that only existed at neighbourhood barbecues. Someone had already claimed the lawn chairs beneath the shade, while another group gathered around one of the many coolers in search of cold drinks.
Laughter drifted across the yard, blending with the occasional pop of early fireworks somewhere in the distance as the late-morning sun climbed steadily higher.
“You wanna help me with the pool?” Your mom asked as she approached, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “God knows your father will take too long getting it out of the garage.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Keeping her arm around you, the two of you made your way towards the garage.
During one of your many phone calls, your mom had mentioned she was planning on spring-cleaning it, but you hadn’t actually believed her until you stepped inside.
Gone were most of the shelving units that had once covered the entire back wall, along with the countless heavy boxes that had sat on top of them. The concrete floor looked freshly swept, and judging by the faint smell that still lingered in the air, the walls had recently been given a fresh coat of paint, too.
“So,” your mom started casually as she searched between the remaining boxes, “what do you think of Eddie?”
You turned towards her just in time to stop yourself from looking quite as startled as you felt.
“Uh…” You cleared your throat. “Yeah. He’s… cool.”
If she’d noticed the slight hesitation or the awkwardness creeping into your voice, she didn’t let on.
“He’s handsome too, isn’t he?”
“Mom.”
She dismissed your protest with a wave of her hand, a grin already spreading across her face.
“Oh, come on. I’m not blind, Pigeon.” She crouched down to tug at a large carboard box before looking back up at you. “And I’m closer in age to him than I am to your father.”
Right.
The age gap between your parents was practically the size of the Atlantic Ocean.
But still somewhat smaller than the Pacific Ocean-sized gap between you and Eddie.
Guess having a thing for older men ran into the family.
“He kind of looks like one of those boys you have all over your bedroom walls.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Just… older. And without make-up.”
“I guess.” You shrugged, hoping the conversation would die there.
The sound of cardboard scraping against metal shelves echoed through the garage as your mom finally managed to wrestle the pool box free.
She let it drop onto the floor with a heavy thud before turning back to you, the faint smile she’d been wearing slowly softening.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” You nodded a little too quickly before reaching down for one side of the box. “Of course, Mom.
She studied you for another second or two before deciding not to push any further, and offered you a warm smile.
“Come ne.” She grabbed the other end of the box and nodded towards the backyard. “The longer we wait the longer it’ll take to fill the pool.”
The box was just as awkward to carry as you remembered, and your mom laughing at the disastrous way the two of you shuffled back towards the party definitely earned her a look.
Somehow, the two of you managed to carry it across the backyard before dropping it onto the grass with a heavy thud.
You immediately crouched down to pry open the cardboard flaps, fishing the instruction booklet from the top for a quick refresher. A few pages flicked by beneath your thumb as your eyes skimmed over the familiar diagrams.
“We’ve been putting this thing up for almost a decade, Pigeon.” Your mom looked down at you as though consulting the instructions was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever witnessed. “We don’t need the instructions.”
“Last time I was here, this thing nearly collapsed,” you muttered dryly, still scanning the pages.
A teasing smile spread across her face. “What happened to all that loud Girl Power thing of yours?”
“I turned the volume down,” you deadpanned, setting the booklet aside before reaching for the folded blue liner.
The plastic unfolded with a dramatic whoosh, nearly knocking your backwards. Your mom burst into laughter, gripping the edge of one of the folding tables to steady herself.
“Oh, shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You carried me for nearly ten months. I’m literally capable of reading your thoughts, Mom.”
Still chuckling, she helped you spread the liner across the grass while the metal poles clicked together with familiar little snaps.
As always, the liner refused to cooperate, folding in on itself every other minute before one of you inevitably sighed, untangled it, and started again.
From the other side of the backyard, Eddie tipped his bottle back before glancing over at the two of you with quiet curiosity.
“Should we help them?”
Your dad looking over his shoulder, and a chuckle escaped him before he turned his attention back to the burgers sizzling on the grill.
“Not if you wanna keep your head.”
By the time the pool was finally standing upright instead of threatening to collapse every five minutes, the sun had climbed high enough for the backyard to shimmer beneath the relentless July heat.
Burgers and hotdogs had long since disappeared from paper plates, coolers had been emptied and restocked more than once, and you’d already claimed the half-filled pool despite the water still being cold enough to make you swear.
The other guests drifted in and out of the house as though it were their own, someone had put on a questionable summer playlist that crackled through the garden speakers, and every now and then another firework echoed somewhere across town despite it only being four in the afternoon.
Somewhere between rescuing your dad from overcooking another batch of burgers, helping your mom carry dishes back and forth, and watching Eddie seamlessly weave himself into every little task the afternoon seemed to produce, he had quietly made it a habit to bring you a fresh beer whenever he got one for himself.
You never asked. He simply remembered.
You’d spent the last ten minutes talking to one of your mom’s friends about New York, college, and the seemingly endless questions of the existence of someone in your life.
“So you’re still studying psychology?”
“Art therapy,” you corrected with an easy smile, grateful for the change of subject.
“Oh, right!” she laughed. “I keep forgetting.”
She excused herself to the bathroom not longer after that, and before the chair she’d left beside the pool had even stopped rocking, a smudge of black dropped into it.
Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, one arm draped over the backrest of the pool.
“First Zeppelin, then Metallica, and now art therapy.” He took a slow sip of his beer as his eyes drifted towards you. “You’ve got a surprisingly eclectic résumé.”
A laugh escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
Silence settled between the two of you for a few seconds before he broke it again.
“I gotta admit,” he started, unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” Your eyebrow lifted.
“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully and took another sip of beer. “I’ve heard so much about you over the last year that I think I accidentally invented an entirely different person.”
He looked you up and down — but not once did he linger anywhere below your clavicles.
“You’re considerably more interesting that I had imagined.”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you tilted your head to the side.
“I would’ve thought you’d have learned how to flirt better at your old age.”
Eddie barked out a surprise laugh.
“Old age?”
“You heard me.”
He was still too busy laughing to notice your fingers curling around his beer bottle. You stole it from his hand with surprising ease before taking a slow sip without ever breaking eye contact.
His laughter faded as you tipped the bottle back.
“Careful. Keeping doing things like that,” he smiled, “and people are gonna think you like me.”
“What if they are right?”
Your fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary against his when you handed the bottle back.
“I don’t know.” He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle again. “You tell me.”
Neither of you looked away, and after a moment, Eddie scratched thoughtfully at his beard.
“You wanna know something,” he began slowly, his eyes dropping briefly to the bottle in his hand before finding yours again. “I’ve been trying very hard not to flirt with you all day.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded once.
“Thought it’d be inappropriate.” His gaze flickered towards your parents for the briefest of moments before returning to you, shrugging lightly. “You know… Me being friend with them and all.”
The pool creaked softly as you leaned back against the wall, cool water lapping gently around you. Tilting your head back just enough to let the afternoon sun warm your face, you closed your eyes with a quiet sigh.
“You’re forgetting there’s a big age gap between them too,” you murmured.
Silence settled for another moment — long enough for you to become acutely aware that he still hadn’t looked away.
In fact, you were fairly sure his eyes had trailed somewhere past the tight straps digging into your shoulders.
“Thirteen isn’t quite the same as twenty-three, sweetheart,” he replied distractedly.
“No,” you admitted as a quiet laugh escaped you, opening your eyes again. “I suppose not.”
“It’d be different if I didn’t know them.”
You studied him for a moment, catching the way his gaze indeed lingered on your bikini before trailing up to meet yours.
“You know,” you stared slowly. “You’ve been doing a terrible job with the whole not flirting thing.”
“Yeah?” Eddie barked out a laugh. “Thought I was being subtle.”
“There wasn’t anything subtle about the way you just stared at my breasts, Eddie.”
You bit your bottom lip to stop the smile threatening to spread across your face as you watched his mouth fall open.
That was clearly not something he’d been expecting, and for what was probably the first time all afternoon, he looked completely speechless.
His mouth opened once, only for him to close it again. then he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, clearly searching for something — anything — to say.
Somewhere behind him, your dad’s booming laugh cut through the silence that had settled between the two of you.
“Ed!” he called from the grill, and pointed towards the man standing next to him. “Get over here. You gotta hear this.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered back to you for one last glance before he pushed himself up from the chair.
“Try to pay attention,” you called after him before he’d fully turned around, and then lowered your voice just enough as you continued. “And try not to imagine them without the bikini.”
If he hadn’t been flustered before, he certainly was now — the flush spreading across his milky cheeks deepened as he paused mid-step, his mouth opening before immediately closing again.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Then, as he started walking backwards towards your dad, he pointed the neck of his beer bottle in your direction.
“We’re not done with this.”
A grin tugged at your lips.
“Promise?”
For a split second, he looked like he’d forgotten how words worked.
Then he simply shook his head, mumbled something and laughed under his breath as he finally turned away.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away much the same way the earlier hours had.
Somewhere along the way, your dad had insisted on putting on his classic rock playlist after declaring the previous one too depressing, despite nobody remembering who’d put it on in the first place. A few more neighbours filtered through the creaking backyard gate with desserts balanced on plates, while the coolers slowly emptied for what had to be the fifth time that day.
Every now and then, you’d catch Eddie looking your way.
Sometimes he’d smile. Other times, he’d simply lift his bottle ever so slightly in your direction before absentmindedly dragging his tongue across his bottom lip and returning to whatever conversation he’d been pulled into.
And every single time, your stomach betrayed you over the smallest breadcrumb of attention he offered.
The relentless July sun eventually began to lose some of its bite, giving way to a softer warmth that settled over the neighbourhood, while the sky above slowly traded its bright afternoon blue for streaks of peach and pale gold stretching lazily between the telephone poles.
The water that had felt heavenly just an hour earlier had cooled enough for goosebumps to creep across your arms. With a quiet sigh, you climbed out of the pool and reached for the towel draped over one of the lawn chairs.
As you dragged it over your arms, your gaze wandered across the backyard.
People were sitting instead of standing now. The grill had long since been turned off, paper plates were stacked in uneven piles on the folding tables, and the softer evening light settled gently across everyone’s faces.
This was exactly what you’d missed; not the fireworks, or even the stupid holiday, just this. People lingering without watching the clock. Conversations drifting from one topic to the next. Nobody in a hurry to leave.
After drying your feet just enough to slip your sandals back on without worrying about eating shit in front of half the neighbourhood, you made a beeline for the house.
You had barely let go of the screen door behind you when it was pulled open again from the other side. The damp strands clinging to the back of your neck barely shifted as you glanced over your shoulder.
Eddie.
“…Toilet,” he mumbled, though the word lost some of its conviction when his eyes betrayed him and briefly flickered to your hard nipples peeking from underneath the bikini before snapping back to your face.
“Right.” The corners of your mouth twitched as you turned around and continued walking. “You know where that is or do you want me to show you that too?”
The screen door slammed shut behind him.
“Funny,” he muttered, falling into step a few paces behind you.
Resting you hand against the banister, you paused just long enough to watch Eddie reach for the downstairs bathroom door, only to find it occupied.
“Be out in a minute,” your dad’s muffled voice called from the other side.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you watched Eddie pull a face.
“There’s one upstairs you can use,” you offered softly before turning towards the staircase without waiting for an answer.
The heavy footsteps against the old wooden steps were enough, anyway.
Once upstairs, you silently pointed towards the door next to yours before disappearing inside your own room.
Pretending to have forgotten to close the door behind you wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?
Biting your thumb, you waited for a moment until the loud flush from the bathroom next door slipped through the cracked bedroom door, followed shortly by the brief hiss of the sink before throwing the bikini on the wooden floor with a wet slap!
A content sigh escaped you at the freeing feeling of finally peeling it off, the towel quickly finding its way across your chest before you leaned over your bed in search of the first oversized shirt you could find in your bags.
While pulling the shirt out of your bag, the familiar stick-covered door creaked further open again.
“Interesting interior design.”
You glanced over your shoulder just enough to Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes slowly wandering across the pale green walls before landing on you.
“One Direction and Black Veil Brides posters weren’t exactly what I was expecting.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme today, huh?” you replied with a small smile before turning back and throwing the towel onto the bed before pulling the shirt over your head.
It took him longer than expected to find a reply.
“You keep surprising me.”
Behind you, Eddie wandered farther into the room with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, taking his time looking over the bookshelves and framed photographs scattered between rows of well-loved fantasy books.
You’d long since stopped feeling embarrassed every time someone looked at your old pictures. If anything, they only made you feel strangely nostalgic now.
“How old were you here?” he asked quietly, his attention fixed on a framed picture of you and your dad and a sea of strangers behind you.
You followed his gaze, landing on the picture your mom had taken at your very first concert.
Mark Knopfler — not exactly your first choice, but after your parents had failed to find someone willing to babysit, you’d ended up having to tag along anyway. Looking back, it had eventually become one of your favourite childhood memories.
“Twelve, I think.”
Taking advantage of Eddie’s attention remaining glued to the picture, you stepped out of your damp bikini bottoms before pulling on a pair cotton shorts you’d fished from your bag.
The quiet rustle of fabric followed by the metallic clink of a small tin opening finally pulled his attention away from the picture. His eyes settled on the weathered little metal box resting in your hands, the dents and scratches along its surface giving away years of previous owners.
“You smoke?” you asked, holding up the small resealable bag tucked.
A crooked smile slowly spread across his face.
“I used to deal when I was your age,” he admitted with an almost sheepish shrug. “Obviously I don’t anymore but…” His eyes flickered briefly towards the bag before finding yours again. “Yeah. I still smoke on occasion.”
Your eyes wandered over him almost absentmindedly, taking in the faded band shirt, the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric, the rings decorating his fingers and the curls brushing his shoulders before one corner of your mouth tugged upwards.
“Yeah, I can see that.” One teasing eyebrow lifted. “I bet you had the whole bad-boy thing going on.”
A warm laugh rumbled from his chest.
The silence that followed settled comfortably between the two of you as you returned to the task at hand — grinding the buds, laying a thin layer of tobacco onto the rolling paper, and tucking a paper filter into one end.
Heavy footsteps echoed softly against the walls as Eddie wandered farther into your room before eventually settling onto the edge of your bed beside your begs.
“Not bad,” he murmured, watching your fingers roll the paper back and forth before your tongue swept across the adhesive strip to seal it shut.
The brief glance at your mouth hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Many years of experience,” you chuckled.
“You say that like you’ve been smoking for a decade.”
“Eh.” You shrugged. “Half of one.”
You tapped the finished joint against the little metal tin a few times to pack the contents before pushing yourself off the bed and making your way over to the window seat.
Eddie’s eyes drifted towards the open bedroom door.
“Your parents don’t mind?”
A laugh escaped you as you accepted the lighter he held out before patting the empty cushion beside you.
“My dad doesn’t care as long as I’m not doing coke,” you replied with a shrug. “And my mom will probably ask for a hit later.”
The old wooden window seat creaked beneath the added weight as Eddie settled beside you. It was just wide enough for the two of you, provided you both kept your legs on the ground or close to your chests.
The excess paper burned away beneath the warm flame of his lighter, and before long the room filled with the familiar earthy scent you only let yourself indulge in every now and then.
The first drag hit the back of your throat in a sharpness that almost made you cough — though, thankfully, not quite to embarrass yourself — and left behind the grassy, slightly citrusy taste you’d always associated with summer evenings.
Just like that, the joint began making its way back and forth between the two of you while the muffled sounds of laughter, music and clinking bottled drifted up from the party downstairs.
“So…” Eddie finally spoke after another drag, exhaling the smoke slowly through his nose. “Art therapy.”
You looked over at him.
“What do you actually do?”
“It’s pretty much in the name,” you smiled, handing him the lighter when you noticed one side of the joint had started burning unevenly. “Traditional therapy doesn’t work for anyone.”
Eddie took another drag while he waited you to continue. When you didn’t, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“Tell me more.”
“You sure?” A small smile tugged at your lips as you accepted the joint back from him. “Because once I get started, I tend not to shut up.”
“I enjoy flirting with you,” he admitted with a quiet smile, “but I’d like to get to know you better, too.”
The warmth that spread across your cheeks had absolutely nothing to do with the weed of the last few remaining streaks of golden sunlight.
Your eyes dropped briefly to the lighter turning absentmindedly between his fingers before you took another drag and handed the joint back.
“We guide clients through different themes and encourage them to express themselves through art,” you began, speaking a little slower than before as the familiar fogginess settled comfortably over your thoughts. “Afterwards, we reflect on what the creative process might be communicating rather than focusing on whether the artwork is actually… good.”
Eddie nodded quietly, never once interrupting or taking his eyes off of you.
Encouraged by the genuine interest in his expression, you found yourself explaining how different materials could encourage different forms of expression, why the finished piece almost never mattered, and how every client inevitably communicated something unique through whatever they created.
Only when you heard yourself wandering into the four levels of expression did you finally stop.
“Sorry,” you mumbled with a sheepish smile, scrunching your nose.
“What are you apologising for?” Eddie asked gently, tilting his head before offering the joint back to you.
“I tend to…” you shrugged, lighting the uneven edge again before taking another drag. “Ramble.”
“You shouldn’t apologise for being passionate about something.”
His words settled over the room almost as softly as the evening sunlight pouring through the open window.
“You’ve got this look on your face when you talk about it, you know.”
“What look?” You frowned.
“The same one people get when they’ve found the thing they’re supposed to do.”
It took a few long seconds for his words to truly settle while all you could do was look at him.
No teacher, no classmate, not even your parents had ever described it that way.
And somehow, hearing it from a man you’d only met that morning made something warm settle quietly in your chest.
The grip you had on the joint faltered ever so slightly as your lips slowly parted.
Before you could think twice about it, you pushed yourself away form the wall and reached up to cradle his face between both hands, gently pulling him into a kiss.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Eddie’s lips were every bit as soft as they looked.
It took him the briefest moment to realise what was happening before his eyes fluttered shut and his head instinctively tilted, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.
One of his ringed hands, warm and calloused, settled naturally against your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the fabric of your shirt before you slowly pulled away again.
“…Sorry,” you breathed, slightly out of breath.
Hazy brown eyes searched yours for a quiet moment while his free hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You really gotta stop apologising, sweetheart,” he murmured with a chuckle, his gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“Sor–”
The word died somewhere behind a bashful laugh as your eyes darted anywhere but his face. When you finally looked back at him, he still hadn’t moved.
This close, you could make out the crow’s feet fanning gently from the corners of his eyes and the faint smile lines that years of laughter, cigarettes and sunshine had carved into his face. Even the way he smelled was somewhat different now that there was hardly any space left between you — a clean, woodsy scent with something faintly minty lingering beneath the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
Almost distractedly, your tongue swept across your bottom lip before you leaned forwards once more, pressing a lingering peck against his lips.
“Why tattooing?” you asked quietly as you settled back against your side of the window seat.
Eddie’s hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before reluctantly slipping away.
“That’s one hell of a subject change.” He replied with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you realised you were about to apologise again before stopping yourself.
“I know.”
He reached for the joint absentmindedly, brushing his fingers against yours for a moment longer than necessary,
“Because it isn’t only about tattooing.” His eyes found yours again after he lit the joint. “It’s about making people feel heard for a couple of hours.”
He shrugged lightly and took a drag before continuing.
“The ink’s just the excuse they give themselves for walking through the door.”
“That sounds familiar,” you murmured, gently taking the joint from his fingers.
Eddie’s eyes drifted briefly toward your bent legs before he wrapped a hand around your shins and effortlessly pulled them across his lap.
“I guess that’s another thing we have in common, huh?” you added with a small smile.
Somewhere across town, the first proper fireworks of the evening split the sky open, their heavy booms rolling across Hawkins until they drifted through the open bedroom window.
You’d been too distracted by the bursts of colour blooming against the deepening purple sky to notice that Eddie hadn’t looked away once.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the evening?”
An easy laugh escaped you.
“It would, yes,” you admitted, slowly catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you turned back toward him. “But you’d also be right.”
“Good.”
The smile that spread across his face was slow and unhurried.
He looked at you through his lashes for a quiet moment before his lips pulled into a smile.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to invite myself over to your place?”
Your attention barely lingered on the dying joint as you stubbed what remained of it against the brick windowsill outside before looking back at him.
“I was actually hoping you’d say that.”
His thumb, heavy silver ring catching the last of the evening light, traced slow, absentminded circles just above your ankle while the fireworks continued blooming somewhere beyond the open window.
Your eyes drifted past him and landed on the open bedroom door, where the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking bottles still floated up from the backyard.
“We should probably head back down,” you suggested quietly.
Eddie let out a thoughtful hum.
“Probably.”
Neither of you made any move to leave just yet. His thumb continued tracing slow circles against your ankle while your eyes slowly found his again.
“…Definitely.”
Another few seconds passed before the two of you finally laughed and pushed yourselves off the window seat.
You slipped your sandals back on before turning around to find Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What?”
“Just admiring the view,” he answered lowly.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you shook your head.
“You definitely don’t know how to flirt.”
“And somehow I still got you to kiss me, hm?”
Uncrossing his arms, he reached out and gently pulled you toward him by your waist.
Under the warm glow spilling in from the hallway, his eyes looked closer to amber than the deep brown you’d grown used to over the course of the afternoon.
His gaze wandered painfully slowly down your face before settling on your lips, his tongue absentmindedly sweeping across his own.
Then he leaned down until his lips found yours again.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly against your waist as a quiet, involuntary sound escaped you when his tongue brushed softly against your bottom lip, and for one brief moment the rest of the house disappeared entirely.
“Now we can go downstairs,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
Eddie stepped back as though he hadn’t just turned your already hazy mind into complete mush, only sparing you a grin over his shoulder before making his way toward the staircase.
“You comin’, sweetheart?”
The conversations in the backyard hadn’t even faltered when the two of you stepped outside again.
Well… Almost.
Your mom looked up from her folding chair, her slightly bloodshot eyes moving from you to Eddie and back again while one eyebrow slowly lifted.
The smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth was barely contained before she decided to let whatever she’d noticed slide.
“Did you seriously smoke without offering your own mother a hit?” she asked instead, narrowing her eyes at you before finally giving in to the grin.
“You were busy,” you shrugged, reaching for her beer and stealing a quick sip.
“Was I now?”
“There’s more than enough upstairs if you want to roll yourself one.”
By the time your mother had finally worked up the motivation to leave her chair and roll herself a joint, and the first few proper firework bloomed overhead, most of the neighbours had settled into folding chairs scattered across the backyard.
The conversations had quieted, drifting lazily beneath the warm July night while bursts of colour painted the sky overhead every few minutes. Somewhere between the booming fireworks and the shrieks of the neighbourhood children slowly fading as midnight approached, the backyard gradually began to thin out as people responsibly decided they’d had enough to drink and wandered back home.
It hadn’t taken long for your mom to return with a slightly wonky-looking joint between her fingers before settling back into the chair beside your dad, while he and Eddie effortlessly fell back into conversation.
You had quietly started making your way around the backyard, gathering abandoned paper plates in one hand and empty beer bottles in the other.
“Leave it, Pigeon,” your mom called softly from her chair. “We can do it tomorrow.”
“It’ll rain tomorrow,” you replied absentmindedly as you dropped another stack of paper plates into a garbage bag. “Besides, I don’t mind.”
Somewhere between politely turning down the joint your mom offered him and your dad deciding to get up and help you, Eddie quietly slipped inside to use the bathroom.
While you held the garbage bag open, your dad tossed in whatever disposable cups, napkins and paper plates he’d come across, the two of you working together in an easy silence that only came from having done this after every barbecue for as long as you could remember.
“You know, Pigeon,” he started quietly after a while, glancing up at you before pointing toward his nearly white hair, “as you can probably tell… I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You merely blinked at him before reaching for another abandoned plate.
“And I’m not blind either.”
“Dad—”
“I’d be a hypocrite to, I don’t know…” He vaguely gestured over his shoulder. “…tell you not to see him.”
“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief moment as warmth crept steadily up your neck. “I really don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Me neither,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “Glad we got that sorted.”
His attention drifted toward the screen door just as the faint sound of the downstairs bathroom door opening echoed through the house, followed by the familiar weight of heavy footsteps making their way back outside.
“Listen, I’m just saying…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you wanna go with—”
“Dad.”
“Yep. I’m done talking.”
He clapped his hands together once before plucking the garbage bag from your grip. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the large bin just outside the fence gate, leaving you standing in the middle of the backyard with burning cheeks and absolutely no desire to think about the conversation you’d just had.
The backyard had grown quiet by the time the very last neighbours wandered — more like stumbled — home, offering lazy waves and promises to see one another before the next barbecue.
Your mom stretched with a content groan as she pushed herself out of her folding chair, gathering the last few empty bottles with her joint carefully balanced between two fingers, while your dad carried the final cooler back towards the garage.
Eddie stepped back into the backyard and held the screen door open for your mom before making his way over to where you stood.
“So…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You still serious about inviting yourself over?”
The way he stood awkwardly in front of you — absentmindedly rubbing at his neck while looking at you with an expression that betrayed far more nerves than he’d probably care to admit — pulled a small smile onto your lips.
It was surprisingly easy to forget the age difference when he looked at you like that.
“If I’m still allowed to be presumptuous.”
“Always.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you while your eyes drifted somewhere over his shoulder.
Your dad had apparently taken the long route back inside through the front door and now stood in the kitchen beside your mom, and had his back turned towards the backyard.
Mostly.
Every now ant then, he’d steal a quick glance over his shoulder while pretending to be far more invested in the conversation he was supposedly having with your mom.
A quiet sigh escaped you.
“Can we get out of here before my dad tries to talk to me again?”
Eddie followed your gaze towards the open kitchen windows.
“Did he say something?”
The question came so casually that you almost answered it. But instead, your eyes squeezed shut for the briefest moment.
“Please don’t ask.”
“That bad?” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, but now I’m invested.”
Before you had the chance to explain that no, he really didn’t, your mom reappeared in the screen doorway and leaned casually against the frame behind it. Her eyes wandered from you to Eddie and back again while she absentmindedly patted her pockets in search of her lighter.
“Take your keys,” she mumbled around the joint tucked between her lips before finally lighting it and taking a slow drag. “You’re too old to be sneaking in.”
A horrified groan escaped you.
“Mom.”
“You’re complaining like I’m not a cool mom or something,” she laughed, completely unfazed by the look you shot her as you brushed past.
“Right now?” you muttered while disappearing into the kitchen. “You damn straight you aren’t.”
Your keys were still sitting exactly where you had dropped them that morning.
By the time you stepped back outside, Eddie had pressed his lips together so tightly they had almost disappeared, and the warning finger you pointed at him did absolutely nothing to help.
“Don’t.”
His shoulder bounced ever so slightly, while a reluctant laugh escaped you despite your best efforts as you guided him towards the fence gate. By the time the two of you stepped out into the quiet street, your parents had already disappeared upstairs for the night, leaving only the warm porch light glowing beside the screen door.
The walk to Eddie’s truck passed in an easy silence — the kind that settled naturally after spending an entire day talking.
He unlocked the passenger door for you before making his way around to the driver’s side, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled away from the curb that the two of you finally looked at each other.
Neither of you said a word for a moment. Then, almost simultaneously, the memory of your mother’s comment caught up with you. The first laugh escaped Eddie, while yours followed a heartbeat later.
Within seconds, the cab of the old Ford filled with the kind of helpless giggles that only came after an exhausting — but undeniably wonderful — day.
“She’s unbelievable sometimes.”
“Your mom really doesn’t have a filter, huh?”
He glanced over at you, his grin softening as he brought the truck to an easy stop at a red light.
Your own smile lingered with the familiar streets of Hawkins rolled quietly past outside, the last few fireworks still blooming overhead as Eddie shifted the gears once the light turned green and turned onto the road leading towards downtown.
There was little movement left at that hour and even less sound, save for the occasional firework rumbling somewhere in the distance.
The warm glow spilling from inside one of the storefronts caught your attention long before Eddie slowed the truck to a stop. The neon sign above the tattoo studio had been switched off for the day, but a lamp somewhere inside still cast a welcoming light through the front windows. Through the glass, you could make out framed flash sheets and posters covering the walls, the familiar outlines of tattoo chairs sitting further back in the room.
Eddie switched off the ignition before turning towards you.
“This is me,” he said quietly, gesturing towards the apartment above the studio.
“Must be nice,” a small smile tugged at your lips as you followed his finger, “never being late to work.”
A laugh rumbled from his chest as the click of your seatbelt echoed through the cab. “You’d be surprised how often I’m late.”
“Eddie.” Your eyebrows lifted as you turned towards him.
“How would they know I wasn’t upstairs finishing someone’s design?” he replied with a grin as he pushed open his door.
The heavy door of the old Ford creaked far louder than either of you would’ve liked as he walked around to open yours, though neither of you paid it much mind — compared to the occasional boom of fireworks still echoing somewhere over Hawkins, it barely made any sound at all.
Eddie pushed the passenger door shut behind you with one hand while digging through the front pocket of his short for his keys.
The warmth of his palm settled against the small of your back as he guided you towards the unassuming door tucked beside the storefront window, its surface covered in layers of old stickers and faded spray painted tags.
The lock gave way with a quiet click before he nudged the door open with his foot and gently tugged you inside by your wrist. After pushing it shut behind the two of you, he shot you a quick glance over his shoulder as he led you up the steep staircase.
Neither of you made any attempt to fill the comfortable silence by the time you reached the top. The moment Eddie stepped into the narrow hallway leading towards the living room, he crouched down to loosen up the laces of his boots before straightening again and flicking on the lights.
And suddenly, the apartment was there — like it had been ripped straight out metalhead magazine.
The polished wooden floors carried a dark lacquer that caught the warm light overhead, while the walls had been painted a deep shade of grey that border on charcoal and decorated with framed vintage band posters. It wasn’t overly tidy, but it wasn’t messy either.
Just… extremely Eddie.
Your eyes wandered curiously around the living room as you stepped farther inside.
Eddie lingered in the doorway leading to what looked like the kitchen, his lips pursed slightly as his gaze quietly followed you taking everything in.
“You, uh…” He scratched at his beard. “You want something to drink?”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you slowly approached the leather couch, your fingertips trailing absentmindedly along the backrest.
“Are you nervous?” you asked gently instead of answering.
A quiet, awkward chuckle escaped him.
“Kinda, yeah,” he admitted with a bashful smile. “It’s, uh… been a while.”
Your gaze lingered on his face for another moment.
The thin silver hoop through his nostril caught the warm light overhead, and his salt-and-pepper curls had become just frizzy enough throughout the day that they felt impossibly soft beneath your fingers as your hand found the back of his neck.
Had it not been for the genuine uncertainty and awkwardness swimming in his brown eyes, it would’ve been impossible to believe what he’d just said.
Not when he looked like that. Like he had just stepped out of a fucking Lana Del Rey music video.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, your nails lightly scratching at the curls near the nape of his neck. “It’s been a while for me too.”
The nervous glimmer in his eyes slowly melted into something closer to disbelief as his hands settled more firmly against your hips, gently drawing you closer.
“Bullshit,” he snorted, fingertips pressing playfully into your sides. “You’re way too smart and ridiculously beautiful.” His eyes wandered across your face. “No way you don’t have an entire fucking queue of men begging for your attention.”
A bashful laugh escaped you.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged lightly. “New York’s full of douchebags who think playing Hey There Delilah on an acoustic guitar is the secret to get girls to hop on their dicks.”
“Hey There Delilah?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Seriously?”
“Either that or Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.” You rolled your eyes. “And believe me, neither of them sound particularly romantic in that annoying Dave Mustaine kind of twang.”
“Hey, now,” he said, lowering his voice. “No Dave Mustaine slander in my home.”
A grin slowly tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Or what?”
The faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the apartment settled between the two of you while Eddie simply looked at you.
Long enough for three cars to pass somewhere out on the street below.
Of all the shit you’d thrown his way throughout the day, surely this wasn’t going to be the thing that finally made him reconsider inviting you over.
A startled shriek escaped you when he suddenly swept you off your feet and effortlessly threw you over one shoulder.
“I’m getting real tired of that fucking mouth of yours,” he muttered, unable to hide the laugh threatening to break through his voice as he carried you out of the living room and back towards the hallway.
While the view of his ass was admittedly nice, it also meant you had absolutely no idea where he was taking you.
The dull thud of his foot against a door echoed through the apartment before old hinges creaked in protest, followed by the faint rustling of fabric somewhere in the darkness as Eddie stepped inside the pitch-black room.
Finally pulling you off his shoulder, another wave of shriek-induced giggles escaped you when your back met a surprisingly soft mattress, the old springs dipping beneath your weight.
For a brief moment, all you could make out was Eddie’s silhouette standing over you, tall frame and broad shoulders, barely outlined by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtain.
Your heart stumbled over itself when the faint outline of his body disappeared around the other side of the bed before he reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
There was something inherently unfair about the way the warm amber light settled across his face when he looked back at you, turning his eyes into something closer to honey than brown.
You couldn’t remember who moved first. One second you were still leaning back on your elbows, and the next Eddie was straddling your lap, both hands buried in your hair while your mouth instinctively parted for his.
He kissed you slowly at first, like he wasn’t feeling the same desperate drop in his stomach that had just swept through yours. Then, the moment your barely contained sigh reached his ears, the kiss deepened.
He tasted faintly of the last beer he’d had hours earlier, and it only made your head spin faster when his familiar, comforting scent settled around you. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the heavy silver rings scratching lightly against your scalp while the other cradled your cheek as though you were something impossibly delicate.
This wasn’t anything like the kiss you’d shared back in your childhood bedroom — not even close.
He kissed you like a starving man. Teeth brushed against teeth, his tongue met yours with an urgency that stole the air from your lungs, and his fingers tightened gently around the strands of your hair before giving them an experimental hard tug.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice rough as he slowly pulled back just enough to look at you.
A dry lump settled in your throat beneath the weight of his gaze, and swallowing around it became nearly impossible when his hands drifted from the back of your neck to the curve of your waist.
“I mean… That fucking bikini?” A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he pushed a few loose curls away from his face, holding them back for a moment while he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Teasing me like that all day was fucking unfair.”
The slightly nervous, awkward man from just minutes ago had disappeared, his voice lowering into something quieter, more confident — and just a little condescending.
Eddie was the first to lose his shirt, tugging the dark fabric over his head and making his curls bounce free in the process.
“Fuck.”
The word slipped from your mouth before you had the chance to stop it.
The loose-fitting shirt he’d worn all day hadn’t done his body any justice. He was built in that particular way that wasn’t overly muscular, but just enough for the ink stretched across his skin to move with every shift of his shoulders and every steady breath he took.
Your eyes couldn’t decide where to settle — on the large neo-traditional Saint George slaying the dragon spread across his stomach, on the mirrored goats framing the saint, or on the blacked-out star that had replaced his left nipple.
Warm fingertips gently harshly into your cheeks finally pulled your gaze away from the artwork scattered across his chest and back, forcing your eyes to meet Eddie’s once again.
A knowing smile had already settled across his lips by the time you looked up.
“If you could only see yourself right now, sweetheart,” he chuckled, giving your cheek a couple of light, teasing taps. “Looking all dumb and drunk…” His grin widened ever so slightly. “…And I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Eddie’s expression softened just enough as he lowered his voice.
“You tell me if I start doing something you don’t like, yeah?”
You merely blinked up at him for a few long seconds, your mind too busy trying to catch up with everything he was making you feel to form a coherent thought. Eventually, you gave him a small, stiff nod, his fingers still gently pressing into your cheeks.
“Words, sweetheart.”
A quiet groan escaped you.
“Yes, Eddie.”
His eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly searching for any signs of hesitation or discomfort before he finally let go of your cheeks when he found none. The bed creaked beneath the two of you as Eddie pushed himself off your lap and stepped to the foot of the bed instead.
The loss of his weight and the overwhelming warmth of his presence was immediate. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed the way your eyebrows had drawn together ever so slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he slowly peeled off his shorts, his eyes never once leaving your face.
You couldn’t help the way your gaze wandered lower with every new inch he revealed.
He really was a walking piece of art. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, different tattoo styles stretched across his legs, and scattered freckles and little moles interrupted the ink here and there, making him feel all the more real beneath the artwork.
And then your eyes trailed back up, stopping right at the ridiculous volume he’d been packing underneath his clothes.
The heavy denim hit the floor with a dull thud before Eddie made his way around the bed once more. He gave your cheek another three gentle taps before helping you to sit up, only to step in behind you a moment later. The mattress dipped softly beneath his weight as he settled against the headboard, drawing you back with him until his bare chest rested flush against your back.
“The first thing I’m gonna do,” he murmured absentmindedly, his hands settling around your thighs as his thumbs alternated between slow strokes and gentle squeezes, “is take a good, long look at whatever you’ve been hiding from me underneath that shirt.”
His fingertips gradually wandered higher until they found the hem of the oversized fabric.
“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping another notch as he slowly began gathering the fabric in his hand, “when I’m done teasing you…” The shirt slid painfully slowly up your frame. “I’m gonna do what I’ve been wanting to do all fucking day.”
One hand left your waist and slowly travelled upwards until it settled against your cheek, gently turning your face towards the full-length mirror standing against the opposite wall.
It had been hidden behind his frame when he’d stood at the foot of the bed, but now there was nothing shielding your reflection from view.
Eddie rested his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing featherlight kisses along your skin while the hand curled around the hem of your shirt continued slowly pulling the fabric higher. Only when the fabric reached your shoulders did he finally have to lean back from you, lifting it the rest of the way over your head. The oversized shirt fell to the ground without either of you paying much attention to it.
His warm hands trailed your arms as the two of you looked at your reflections in the mirror.
Your breath, already quick and shallow, hitched as Eddie leaned to kiss the crook of your neck. His lips left intense and tingling kisses in their trail, and it felt like his dark eyes, transfixed on the way your ribs expanded as you fought for air, bore holes in you.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your neck. He propped his chin on your shoulder, leaning forwards and flickered his gaze down to your breasts, warm fingers trailing to meet the spot where his gaze had been fixed. “They’re even better than I’d imagined.”
Your fingers were tearing all the loose skin around your nails and your throat went dry when Eddie’s hands cupped your breasts. Four of his ringed fingers found the underside of your boobs, while his thumb traced soft circles right above your nipples.
When Eddie felt your face angling to meet his eyes, he immediately curled his thumb and forefinger around your nipples, tugging hard to get your attention.
“Eyes on the mirror.”
The hard squeezes he gave you only made your back arch away from his chest, which was apparently something else he wasn’t satisfied with; he put more pressure on your breasts, not only on the fingers around your nipples, but to pull you back flush against his chest.
“F-fuck.”
You blinked, taken aback by the way Eddie was playing with your chest. The warmth of his fingers and the harsh tugs sent a thrill down your spine. The world narrowed to the press of his chest against your back, the way he touched you, the slide of his lips against your neck.
Eddie’s fingers rolled your nipples, relishing the way you kept arching away from him only for him to pull you back twice as hard. His dark eyes found the mirror again, and the reflection showed him everything – the parted sheen of your lips, the feverish glaze of arousal in your eyes. It was dizzying, intoxicating even, and he’d decided then and there that he could watch you come undone like this forever.
“M-more,” you whimpered. “Please.”
A condescending chuckle escaped Eddie at your request. He increased the pressure, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples until you’re choking on your own breath and writhing against him.
He kept drinking in the sight of you, desperate for more. Reverently, he covered you with his hands once more, thumbs circling your nipples before he ducked to suck the spot right beneath your ear. The hot suction made you cry out, fingers reaching out to tangle in his greying curls to hold him closer. Teeth grazed lightly before soothing with flicks of his tongue.
The way you’d started to rock your hips against the bed hadn’t gone unnoticed by him — not when the small of your back hit his erection every time you ground back and forth.
“You’re so responsive,” he praised huskily, trailing biting kisses across your neck and shoulder. “Gonna make you fall apart.”
The wicked promise sent a fresh wave of heat flooding your veins. You could only nod frantically, surrendering yourself to whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you.
When a broken whimper escaped you, Eddie gentled his touch, caressing your trembling form with soothing strokes. He let go of one of your breasts and cradled your face in his hand. He pressed tender kisses to your temple, to your cheekbone, to the corner of your mouth. He traced the delicate line of your jaw, the graceful column of your throat, marvelling at the power he wielded over you.
He let go of your face, not without turning you back towards the mirror, and trailed his hand down your abdomen, dipping just below the waistband of your shorts—
Only to immediately retreat with a teasing nip at your belly.
You feel his lips, still resting against the side of your cheek, pull into a smirk when another broken whimper escaped you.
Eddie flickered his eyes up to meet your through the mirror. He drank in the sight of you drunk and desperate in his hold. With deliberate slowness, he hooked his free hand in your waistband, dragging the elastic just low enough for him to find a thin lined tattoo that had been hidden under your bikini all day — he couldn’t read what it said from where he sat, but he’d find out soon enough.
“P-please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” he purred, trailing his hand lower until his fingers were met your drenched folds. He slowly circled your aching clit, watching your body bow off the mattress with dark eyes. “This?”
“E-Eddie—”
“Or maybe this?”
Without warning, he plunged two thick digits inside you, pumping steadily as his palm ground against your swollen clit. Your shattered moan was music to his ears, spurring him on. He worked you mercilessly, curling and stroking your inner walls until you’re writhing mindlessly, chasing the feeling.
Eddie abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you bereft and whimpering. He caught your pleading gaze through the mirror, a wicked glimmer dancing in his dark eyes.
“I’m not done teasing you, sweetheart.” He sucked harshly at your throat, sinking his teeth in the skin before smoothing it out with his tongue.
His calloused hand mapped the contours of your body, cupping and teasing until you were all but a puddle on his bed. Deft fingers plucked at your nipples, rolling and tugging until the sting blended into electric pleasure.
And then his touch is nowhere to be felt — not his hands on your breasts, his plush lips against your neck, or even his warm chest against your back.
Standing up from behind you, he guided you until you were perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the mattress. He knelt before you, the heat of his gaze searing as he slowly pulled your shorts down your thighs, inch by torturous inch until you were bare in front of his eyes. Your breath came even shallower and faster, skin prickling with anticipation.
Eddie froze at the sight of your tattoo, his eyes darkening and his lips pulling slowly into a smirk.
“Valentine, huh?”
He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his tousled hair. His gaze darted between your face and the ink marring your skin. Slowly, he reached out to trace the still-healing letters with the tip of his finger, watching your skin jump and quiver under his touch.
When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, the look in them is dizzying. His ringed fingers danced higher, teasing the creases of your thighs. He parted your legs with a practiced touch, exposing you fully to him.
The first swipe of his tongue is electric, drawing a broken moan from your lips. He growled low in approval, doubling his effort until you were trembling and whimpering helplessly.
It was one thing when boys eat you out, but this?
Eddie acting like he was hungry, making out with your pussy?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Dark grey curls tickled the insides of your thighs as pressed his face harder against your slick folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit and tongue circling your leaking slit.
With one final, devastating lick, Eddie pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate. His dark eyes bores into yours through his lashes as he issues a husky directive.
“Keep those pretty eyes on yourself.”
He hooked one trembling leg over his broad shoulder, spreading you wider. Cool air met your dripping core, followed by the hot rasp of Eddie’s tongue painting your slit. Your reflection was debauched perfection – hair mussed, the thinnest layer of sweat covering your forehead, lips parted on breathy cries.
Just as you crested the peak, teetering on the knife’s edge, Eddie retreated once again. Denial clawed viciously at your insides. He grinned at your anguished whimper, clearly relishing in the control he held over your pleasure. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with need. Eddie drank in the sight, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he prepared to drive you wild once more.
Then, without taking his rings off, he pushed two fingers in your dripping pussy, pumping steadily as he leaned back down to suck at your clit. He maintained his punishing pace, alternating between deep, probing thrusts and fluttering licks that made you see stars.
“F-fuck. Ed-Eddie!”
The coil wound tighter with each pass of his tongue, with each hard, curling thrust of his fingers, until you writhed shamelessly, reduced to garbled curses and pleading whimpers of something that vaguely resembled his name.
Ecstasy crashed over you in dizzying waves, every nerve ending alight with bliss. Eddie worked you through it, wringing out every last shudder and aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.
You watched through hooded eyes as he rose, stalking towards you with a shiny lips pulled into a knowing, cocky smirk and a glint in his eyes.
His knees made a faint cracking sound as he climbed up the bed. With tender care, Eddie gently pulled you upright, gathering your limp form into his arms. He claimed your mouth in a deep, searing kiss, swallowing your dazed whimpers at the taste of your own release.
You clung to him, moulding your arms around his neck as his tongue brushed against yours. He guided you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. The solid heat of him grounded you even as residual tremors wracked your frame. Calloused fingers trailed reverently over your sweat-slick skin, mapping every dip and swell.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered when he pulled away from your lips, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Just breathe.”
Eddie continued cradling you close, murmuring soft reassurances. His wandering hand slipped lower, deft fingers pushing his boxers down just enough to free his straining length. You felt the swollen tip notch against your slit, poised to claim you fully.
“Gonna fill you up now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravelly with need.
His other hand still held the back of your head, pushing you down to keep you in the crook of his neck while he pushed himself deeper and deeper, until he sheathed himself to the hilt.
“Ed– Mhmm!” Your cry is muffled against his sweat-dampened skin as he started to move, rolling and grinding until you were a boneless, pliant thing in his arms. His hand roamed restlessly, mapping every hidden place that made you gasp and writhe until reaching your ass, pulling you harder against him.
“Keep looking in the mirror f’me, weetheart.”
The filthy visual drove you wild — tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and tattooed back, the depraved picture the two of you painted together. Eddie’s murmured command urged you on, hips moving in filthy counterpoint to his steady thrusts.
“F-fuck. Just like that,” he groaned approvingly, fingers digging bruises into the globe of your ass.
He moved faster, harder, grinding deep until you were sobbing wordlessly. Distantly, you registered the crude slap of skin on skin, the lewd squelch of his cock working in your sopping cunt. Tension coiled tight and taut, winding higher with each precise hit against that delicious, hidden spot. You were so close again, watered eyes staring back at the ridiculous way Eddie had your eyebrows pulled together and your teeth sunk in his shoulder.
You convulsed in his arms, wailing your release to the ceiling. He worked you through it ruthlessly, wringing every last drop until you collapsed limply against his tattooed chest, utterly spent.
Eddie, not being a complete monster, gave you a brief moment to catch your breath before gently pushing you onto your back. He positioned himself between your spread thighs, looping one leg high up over his hip. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, stretching you deliciously.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned out as he gave you a hard thrust. “Crying as I fuck you stupid.”
His intense gaze locked with yours, dark with hunger and devotion. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew until just his tip remained nestled inside your slick walls. Gripping your thigh, he rolled his hips in a slow, sensual grind, until he had you arching into his touch.
“P-please, Eddie,” you whimpered.
Eddie’s eyes gleamed with delight at your breathy plea. He maintained his torturously slow rhythm, leaning down to capture your nipple in his teeth, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. He soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue before switching to the neglected nipple, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.
“Hm? You want more?” Eddie rumbled, voice dripping in sin. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”
He straightened up, hands gripping your raised thigh as he powered into you with deep, jarring strokes. The change in pace had you seeing stars, inner walls clamping down desperately. Eddie set a brutal pace, grunting with effort, determined to unravel you one more time before he even considered letting himself come.
Eddie’s calloused finger found your swollen clit, circling maddeningly as he pounded into you. Electric shocks of pleasure radiated outward as he varied his technique — brushing feather-light, flicking firmly, rubbing in maddening figure-eights until you’re writhing beneath him, incoherent with need.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned out, eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the salty tears rolling down the sides of your face. “Just one more, that’s it.”
Another finger joined the fray, plunging deep in tandem with his thrusts. The dual stimulation proved too much, and your orgasm barrelled through you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Eddie’s eyes widened as your release gushed forth, wetting the base of his cock and the lowest part of his stomach.
“F-fuck,” he groaned, momentarily stunned by the sight of you squirting over him. “So beautiful when you let go f’me.”
He didn’t relent, continuing to pump into your spasming heat. Overstimulation warred with reluctant pleasure, keeping you suspended on a razor’s edge. Eddie’s grip tightened, anchoring you as he ground deeper, working you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm.
“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the side of your neck as he quickened his pace, desperate for his own release. “I– Fuckfuckfuck.”
Your spasming walls milked his cock mercilessly. With a guttural groan, he hilted deep, painting the insides of your pussy in thick, milky ropes of cum.
Wave after wave crashed over the both of you, seemingly endless. Through it all, he kept your trembling form anchored, murmuring praises into the sweaty crook of your neck.
“Good girl, took me so well.” Eddie placed a lingering kiss against your throat.
Eddie held himself up, gazing down at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with satisfaction, damp grey curls clinging to his eyebrow. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his sculpted torso, highlighting every ridge, valley and detail of his tattoos.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered.
“I’ve never–” You gulped down, licking your lips as your eyes trailed down to the base of his cock. “Not with somebody else, I mean.”
Eddie followed your gaze to the few translucent beads decorating his happy trail, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached down, swiping a finger through the slick trail, bringing it to your lips for a taste.
The gesture made a whole new wave of heat spread across your face. Hazy with the aftermath, your lips instinctively parted further, while Eddie hummed at the sight of you sucking his finger.
A broken moan spilled from your lips as Eddie slowly pulled out. The loss of the fullness left you aching, empty in a way that bordered on painful with your muscles fluttering weakly in protest, seeking to draw him back in.
Eddie pressed soothing kisses to your dampened temple. Carefully, he arranged you atop the tangled sheets, cradling your spent body flush against his larger frame. One hand drifted low to gently clean his leaking cum while your fingertips traced the bold lines on his stomach.
“Didn’t take you–” You cut yourself off with a broken hiss when Eddie’s fingers thrusted back into your pussy. “F-for the rel-religious type.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled — whether it was at your comment or on the way you’d reacted at the intrusion, you didn’t know. “Just have a thing for dragons.”
His deft fingers continued their shallow thrusts, coaxing forth fresh waves of sensations.
“What about that Valentine tattoo of yours?” he urged, voice low and enticing as he ignored the strangled whimpers spilling from your lips. The pad of his thumb found your swollen clit, circling with maddening slowness. “Tell me about it.”
“J-just thought it’d be hot.” You gulped down at the sight of Eddie’s lips stretching into a grin. “Someone reading it if they went—”
Eddie’s grin widened at the confession. His free hand traced idle patterns across your skin, while the other continued abusing your overly sensitive pussy.
“P-please, Eddie,” you begged. “I c-can’t.”
“Just one more?” he whispered back, biting his bottom lip. “Please, sweetheart.”
His eyes had softened at the broken sounds spilling from your lips, but there was no mercy in them. The answer you gave him, another broken whimper, was punctuated with a curl of calloused fingers, grazing that deep spot.
Your spine arched helplessly, mouth falling open on a silent scream as new tears rolled down the sides of your face. Through the haze of overstimulation, Eddie’s face came into focus above you, awash with smug satisfaction.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just one more, that’s it.”
“Eddie!”
He gathered you tenderly into his arms as you shuddered through the aftershocks, ragged breaths mingling with your whispered name.
“Atta girl,” he murmured approvingly, stroking damp strands of hair from your eyebrow. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”
You felt absolutely boneless in his embrace, barely incapable of pushing his hand away when he gave your clit one last, teasing, flick. Eddie’s fingers mapped soothing circles across your back, gentling you from the high.
“I could really use that drink now,” you mumbled tiredly against his chest.
A quiet chuckle rumbled beneath your cheek. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Eddie shifted carefully beneath you before easing you back onto the mattress. The bed dipped as he climbed off, pausing only long enough to brush a few strands away from your face before disappearing through the bedroom door.
The room fell strangely quiet without his presence. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the old floorboards creak beneath his footsteps somewhere down the hall while the occasional boom of another firework echoed faintly through the open bedroom window.
The corner of your mouth tugged upwards before you could stop it.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You’d left New York that morning convinced you were coming home for nothing more than a quiet summer with your parents. Instead, you’d somehow ended up in the apartment of the ridiculously handsome tattoo artist you’d met at ten-something in the morning.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway carrying two empty glasses in one hand, a bottle of water tucked underneath his arm and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
“There she is,” he smiled when he found you exactly where he’d left you. “Didn’t know which one you’d want.”
“Water, please.”
He crossed the room and handed you the bottle before settling back onto the mattress beside you, balancing a on one thigh while he poured himself a generous splash.
The water was almost painfully cold against your dry throat. You hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until nearly half the bottle disappeared in one go.
“Damn,” Eddie chuckled, watching you lower the bottle. “You weren’t kidding.”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.
The room settled into another comfortable silence. Outside, another firework bloomed over Hawkins, briefly washing the bedroom in flashes of red and gold before fading back into the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Eddie rested against the headboard, his shoulders brushing yours as he lazily turned the whiskey around in his glass.
“So…” he said after a while.
“So...”
A teasing smile spread across his face. “I think your mom likes me.”
That pulled a laugh from you loud enough to echo around the bedroom.
“Obviously. You’re her friend.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tilted his head.
“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, taking another sip of water. “She’s probably thinking you’ll tattoo her for free now, since you fucked her daughters brains out and all that.”
Eddie barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his whiskey.
“I knew there was a catch.”
“There always is.”
He looked at you for a moment, the grin lingering on his face. He swirled the amber liquid around his glass for another second before speaking again.
“What’s yours?”
“My what?” You frowned. “My catch?”
“There’s gotta be one, right?” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the nightstand. “Because a girl your age, pretty and smart and funny, doesn’t just sleep with someone my age after meeting, what? Fifteen, sixteen hours ago?”
You looked at him for a long moment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening the longer you held his gaze.
“That’s not fair.” You ignored the confusion that flickered across his face, and turned to set your water bottle on the nightstand before reaching for your discarded shirt. “Not to me, and not to you either.”
“Sweetheart, wait.” His voice lost every trace of teasing. Before you could pull the shirt over your head, his hand found your wrist, not enough to stop you by force, only to make you pause. “I didn’t mean…”
He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I wasn’t trying to put words in your mouth.” His eyes searched for yours as he let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “I guess I still have a hard time believing someone like you would look at someone like me and think, Yeah that’ll do.”
“I didn’t come home with you because you’re some hot, older tattoo artist.”
He stayed quiet, and you could almost see him trying to work out what you were going to say next.
Your eyes drifted away for a moment, replaying the day in your head. The beers he’d quietly kept replacing before you’d even realised yours was empty. The way he’d helped your dad with the grill without being asked. The way he’d sat beside you in your childhood bedroom, genuinely listening while you rambled his ear off about art therapy.
“You looked at me all day like I was someone worth getting to know.” A small smile found your lips, and you slipped your fingers around his. “You actually listened when I started rambling.”
A soft scoff escaped you, followed by easy chuckles as your eyes trailed him up and down.
“The tattoos are nice, and the curls definitely helped too.” Your expression softened. “But I came home with the man who made me feel like the most interesting person in every room we walked into today.”
Your eyes drifted down to the floor, finding his black shirt lying forgotten close to where yours had been. Without saying a word, you tossed yours back down next to it and reached for his instead.
Neither of you felt any need to fill the silence while you slipped your arms through the sleeves, the fabric hanging far too large on your frame and carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and mint, cigarettes and whatever laundry detergent he used.
When you turned back around, you found Eddie staring at nothing in particular, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Hey.”
His dark brown eyes lifted immediately.
“C’mere,” you whispered.
You eased yourself back onto the mattress before shuffling closer and gently tugging at his arm until he followed, settling onto his side to face you.
His hand found your waist almost instinctively while yours came to cradle his jaw, your thumb lazily tracing circles along the stubble covering his cheek.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Studio’s closed on Sundays.”
“Good.” A small smile found your lips. “I want a private tour. After you make me breakfast.”
“Oh, wow.” The grin that spread across his face was slow enough to make your own grow wider. “Demanding, are we?”
summary: Your shitty boyfriend's left you stranded. Again. This time, at the recording studio where his band has been working on their new song. It's fine though, because Eddie has something you can help him with.
content: 18+ mdni!!!!, rockstar!eddie au, no use of y/n, CHEATING—r is cheating on her shitty bf (plz don't do this irl; don't like don't read), porn w/o plot really, afab genitalia r (pinv), spit kink, exhibitionism (audio recording sex to sample in a song), eating it from the back but like over the back of a couch AKA oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), kinda condescension, pet names (sweet girl, baby, sweetheart, etc.), pussy pronouns, missionary on a couch, dirty talk
note: loosely inspired by that part of guns ‘n roses’ “rocket queen.” on that same note, title is from "rocket queen." edited at 2AM with stale eyes so sorry for any typos/grammatical errors :*)
word count: 6,874
It was close to midnight when you came to the startling realization that Jax was not coming back to get you.
You replayed Jax’s parting words. “Baby, it’s–it’s my sister. She, uh, needs a ride. Went out drinking tonight, you know how that is.” He was already halfway out the door of the studio.
“Oh, okay, let me just grab my—” You sat up quickly when suddenly he appeared in front of you, ushering you back onto the couch.
“Oh, no, no. She’s, like, got her friends with her, so there won’t be any room, but I’ll come back and get you, okay?” He guided you back to the couch with a kiss on your forehead.
“Oh…well, could you just drop me off at home first?” You didn’t really have a purpose for being in the studio without your boyfriend there.
He grimaced like it pained him to even say it. “I mean, I would, but I really need to—” He jutted a thumb to the door. “Don’t wanna keep her waiting, y’know?”
You didn’t know. “I can’t just stay here, Jaxon—”
“The guys are here, it’s fine. I’ll be back in an hour tops!” He didn’t give you any time to react before disappearing out into the night.
Slowly, Gareth and Jeff trickled from the studio, leaving only you and Eddie.
When you’d grown tired of just twiddling your thumbs, you finally called Jaxon’s sister, Suze. The phone rang for nearly a full minute before you heard, “...Hello?” She sounded groggy.
“Hey, Suze, just making sure you made it in.”
“Wh—Huh?”
“Jax told me about coming to pick you up, so I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“He told you what? Sorry, I’m still half asleep—I haven’t seen Jax today.”
You sighed. Honestly, you should’ve known.
You muttered off apologies to Suze—Sorry, I think I got mixed up, goodnight—before hanging the phone back on the hook so aggressively it rang out in the quiet studio.
Peeking through the glass into the booth, you watched Eddie, the frontman of the band, pick at his guitar. You couldn’t hear him, but you could tell by the papers crumpled up at his feet and the way he seemed to be singing softly to himself that the new song wasn’t coming along as smoothly as the band had been hoping for.
You heard Gareth and Jeff grumbling about the track as they left earlier. It seemed they were at a stalemate.
You flopped back onto the sofa, snatching the Rolling Stone magazine from the coffee table. Of course, it was Corroded Coffin’s 1989 issue. You had this exact issue in your apartment, sitting on your coffee table too, actually, but you couldn’t help but drink in the cover like it was the first time you’d seen it.
Eddie stood in the middle, looking down at the camera. His chest was bare, showing the expanse of his pale skin littered with black ink. His guitar rested against his lower half, partially blocking his pants, but the shine of the leather was still noticeable. His fingers, adorned with rings, of course, gripped the neck of the guitar. One eyebrow was quirked slightly beneath his bangs; his lips were parted gently. You could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.
Jax, Jeff, and Gareth were around him, posed similarly, albeit more clothed—almost every rock band of the era was going for this look—but there was something about Eddie that kept drawing your eyes back to him. He oozed charisma and sex appeal, even through the glossy pages.
You guessed that was why he was the frontman.
You flicked through the magazine, attempting to read the stories but inevitably skimming through them. You’d just read it too many times.
Not long after, the door clicked open and Eddie emerged.
His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it (he probably had been). Despite it being just a studio day with no planned public appearances, he still wore a studded belt and rings on nearly every finger.
He blinked at you, stuttering out your name. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Jax said you had to go pick up Susan—”
“He,” you corrected, flopping the magazine back atop the table. “He went to get Suze.” You put airquotes around the latter part of your statement. Jax’s behavior wasn’t exactly a secret, so what was the point in even pretending?
Eddie’s forehead wrinkled like he was holding back a wince. “Shit, I’m sorry—and he just what? Left you here?”
“Said he was coming back to get me, but I guess he got too lost in whatever groupie’s pussy—” You sighed, scrubbing your eye with a fist as heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shot you a small smile. It was laced with something close to pity. “I mean you have every right to be mad, sweetheart; he—” He raised a ringed hand to scratch above his eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought you were done after the Layna incident.”
Layna was a well-known Corroded Coffin groupie. Around a year ago, she’d totally disappeared from the scene, then reappeared three months ago with a baby, claiming Jax was the father. Too bad Jax admitted to fucking her before the paternity test came back negative.
You don’t think you could ever forget the way his face fell when he heard the news—like he’d wanted to be the father. You’d left for around three weeks before coming back that time.
It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for Jax. It’d be impossible for that at this point. It was more so just routine, and sure, maybe it was selfish, but you enjoyed hanging around with the band.
Drinking and hanging out with Jeff’s girlfriend, Livie, at concerts; dinner with Gareth and his wife, Aleah, on Sundays. Sure, you could’ve still hung out with Livie and Aleah without being Jax’s girlfriend, but you wouldn’t have had an excuse to see Eddie anymore. It’d dwindle to only seeing him on paper or grainy television screens.
You couldn’t imagine he’d hang out with his bassist’s ex-girlfriend.
“Yeah. Me too, to be honest.” You sighed. “How’s the song coming? It sounded good earlier.”
Eddie sighed back, moving to plop next to you. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed. “It’s, hah, I dunno.” He turned to look at you. “Missin’ something, I guess.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You wrung your hands together in your lap, giving him a small smile.
Sitting on the couch like this, your faces were close. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on his nose and above—no glancing down any further.
But Eddie didn’t abide by this rule. His eyes darted down to your lips. He must’ve not meant to do it because he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and successfully hiding his face from you. He cleared his throat.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.
You raised your eyebrows, but before you could answer, he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions again. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I dunno why I—” He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I asked you that. ‘M being unfair.”
“It’s—You’re fine.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite the confusion that was rising within you.
“Can I ask you something?” He was looking at you again.
“Sure.”
“Why are you still with him?”
You blinked. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been asking yourself that same question.
“Guess I just got used to it. It’s my routine…” You shook your head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He treats me like shit. Left me to go ‘pick up his sister.’ I called her, and she hadn’t even talked to him. I mean, I already knew he was lying…Well, I figured he was. Still, it–it fucking sucks that he sucks.” You laughed a little, self-pityingly.
You sighed again. You mumbled, “Dick’s good, I guess.” An afterthought to yourself, really. You weren’t sure why you said it to Eddie Munson of all people. It wasn’t like it made you look any less pathetic—only made it worse, if anything. You dropped your head in shame the moment the words left your mouth.
Why would you bring up your sex life with your shitty boyfriend to his very attractive bandmate—
“Yeah right.”
Your head snapped up and over to Eddie. For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Wh—huh?”
Eddie, who any other time was the opposite of nonchalant, was suddenly cool and composed. He shook his head as one shoulder rose. “Just find that hard to believe, ‘s all.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from retorting,“You some kind of sex expert or something?” Oh God, why did you say that, why did you say that, he’s going to think you’re a total freak—
“Maybe. Never heard that one before, but I haven’t heard any complaints either.”
Heat rose up your neck.
Haven’t heard any complaints.
Suddenly you were plagued with the images of the girls you’d seen leaving Corroded Coffin’s shared apartment. Girls with makeup smeared across their faces, their hair a mess—even then you’d known just sleeping didn’t make you look like that, but you’d forced the thought from your head.
“Know I’m better than your shithead boyfriend, that’s for sure.”
You couldn’t stop your brows from shooting high on your forehead. Eddie was talking about Jax like they weren’t bandmates—weren’t friends. Your thoughts must’ve been clear on your face because Eddie added, huffing out a laugh, “You ever see me get along with him?”
Your gut instinct was to say yes, but the more you mulled it over…had you?
You thought back to last week at the bar. Had you seen Jax and Eddie speak? You could only remember Eddie addressing you. Then, a few weeks earlier, at their apartment for dinner…again, only you.
Your face flushed. You’d been so caught up in your own interactions with Eddie, you hadn’t even noticed the tension between the two.
“I could be better than him.” Eddie was so close, you could see specks of gold in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.
“What are you saying?” you asked, eyes trailing from the curve of his lips up to where his eyes seemed to be boring into you.
“I think you know what I’m saying.”
“Are you really playing games right—mmph—”
A flash of brown hair was the only warning you received before his lips met your own. Your eyes were wide and you were taken with how soft his lips were. Frozen, you couldn’t get your body to react.
Eddie was kissing you. He was kissing you, and it wasn’t weird. He was kissing you, and he tasted like cherry chapstick and tobacco.
He slowly pulled away, and you realized you hadn’t kissed him back—you’d just sat there, unmoving. His eyes darted away from you. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry I–I don’t know wh—mmph—”
You rushed forward, meeting his lips again. For a moment, like you had been, he was frozen in place, but he quickly relaxed into it. His hand met your hair, and you easily let his tongue into your mouth as his grip tightened on you.
You brought your own hands up to his chest as his hand shifted from your hair to your neck, tugging you closer to him. You moved together, the only sound in the empty room the slick clicks of your mouths.
Eddie pulled back, rubbing his nose against yours. “Can I ask you something?” His thumb was running up and down the side of your throat, and you worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Ye—” You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”
His eyes left yours. “Feel free to smack the shit out of me if you want—”
“I’m not gonna do that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He didn’t look convinced, so you added, “I’m not gonna hit you, okay? Just ask.”
“Well,” he started. “I had this idea for the record—”
Okay. Maybe you would smack the shit out of him. “Is now really the time for that?”
“Yeah, actually.” He glanced from you to the recording booth. “The record—What it’s missing—” He sighed before starting again. “I think you can help me.”
You leaned back in his grip to laugh. “Me? I can’t sing, let alone play an instrument. I can’t even play the triangle.”
“I think you can do the kinda singing I need.” His eyes darted down across your body, and it felt like they’d shot lasers at you.
“Wh—I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”
“I don’t mean to make assumptions here, sweetheart, but if we, ahem, keep goin’...” He nodded his head as he spoke, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Could we move it to the booth?”
“You mean—” You blinked and gestured a finger at the both of you.
“Yes.” He quickly added, “But only if you want to.”
“But…everybody’ll hear me.”
“Nobody has to know it’s you. I won’t say anything.” A small smile peeked at his lips. “It can be our secret.”
Your secret. Your secret with Eddie. It made you giddy like a schoolgirl to think about. You could be on the song. More specifically, you and Eddie having sex could be on the song. You didn’t want to dwell on why that made your stomach flip and your neck hot.
Everyone who bought the record would hear you and Eddie. Even before that, the band would hear you and Eddie. The band, including Jaxon, would hear you and Eddie—
“Oh my god Jaxon.” Your stomach flipped again but this time, soured. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about Jaxon—He’ll hear and–and he’ll know—”
“I thought you said you didn’t know why you were still with him?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“This’ll show him he can’t get away with just treating you like this. He’s always blowing you off and treating you like shit. Somebody needs to show him what happens when you take a pretty girl—a good girl—who has always done right by you and you treat her like garbage.” Eddie’s chest was nearly heaving, and he looked down at himself slightly, like he wasn’t sure where all that had come from. “But—I mean—only if you want to. Of course.”
You swallowed. He had a point. I mean, where was Jaxon now? Definitely not with his sister, that was for sure. You thought back to the number of times he’d ditched you and were embarrassed to realize it was easily in the double digits just this month.
You frowned. When had you decided you were fine with being treated like a doormat? When had you decided that this was what you were worth—
Eddie must’ve interpreted your silence as rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to bash you or–or something. I just—You deserve better.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this with me. Or–Or you can, but we don’t have to—” He shot a thumb back towards the recording booth. “You can forget I asked. I can figure something out. It’s, uh, not a big deal.”
You wondered what ‘figuring something out’ looked like. Dropping the idea all together and trying something else for the record? Or asking someone else?
Your stomach rolled at the idea of Eddie asking another woman. You knew he wouldn’t have any issues doing so either. Part of you knew it was unfair to be jealous about it, but that didn’t matter.
You stood from the couch abruptly. You had made your mind up—honestly, you had made your mind up the moment he asked you.
“We can just forget this happened—” he started, but instead of moving towards the exit, you moved towards the door to the booth.
“Are you coming or what?” you asked, narrowly biting back a smirk.
You’d never seen him move so fast.
You tried to maintain your confidence, but something about Eddie melted it down to mush. “B-But is it—”
“It’s recording, sweetheart; don’t worry.”
You were both seated on a couch in the recording booth. You hadn’t ever thought of Eddie as muscular per se, but he’d pulled the couch from the studio into the booth effortlessly.
He cradled your neck as he planted kisses along your throat.
“Oh—Okay.” You were nodding, and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you were from just a few kisses.
Eddie sure didn’t seem to mind. His cool rings pressed against your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, quickly moving them to caress up and down his shoulders in an attempt to mask the fact you were truly gripping him for dear life.
Getting impatient at the attention your neck was getting, you grabbed his hand from your waist, moving it to your center. You felt his teeth as he smiled against you.
He pulled the button from your pants with one deft hand, and you bit back the jealousy that was stewing. How many women had he practiced on to get that just right? Not that you had any room to talk considering you had a boyfriend, albeit a shitty one, but—
You didn’t have time to overthink when Eddie immediately tucked your panties to the side to run agile fingers up and down your folds. You instantly noticed the calloused pads of his fingertips—that of a guitarist.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned back to rub his nose along your cheekbone. “You get this wet for him, or is this just for me?”
For a moment, a stab of guilt ran up your spine, making you sit up straighter, but it quickly morphed to arousal when you felt the tip of his finger dip into you.
“Eddie, I—mmph—” He trailed his finger back up to dance around your clit, never quite giving you the pressure you needed.
“Yeah? Tell me something, baby.” He was still nosing across your face.
“D-Don’t wanna talk about him.”
“Hm, that’s right. You don’t need him when I’m here, huh?”
You shook your head shamelessly—the wetness between your legs had already given your desperation away.
Eddie smiled. “Sweet girl.”
You leaned into him at the nickname, making him chuckle.
Suddenly, he took a step back, pulling his hand from your pants, leaving you suddenly cold without the warm touch of his fingers.
Your lower lip jutted out into a pout, and he chuckled at you again. “I know. Here.” He tapped his fingers that had just been at your cunt across your lips. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”
You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your lips around the digits. Overcome with the desire to be good for him—to even remotely wreck him the way he already had you—you bobbed your head, taking his fingers down to the glittering silver along his knuckles.
He was watching you, his lips slightly parted as you gagged around his fingers. “Knew you’d have a sweet fuckin’ mouth.”
You gagged around him, the sound wet and humiliating, but you couldn’t be embarrassed—not when his mouth lolled open while he watched. You went to bob your head again, but he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty and waiting.
Without hesitation, he gripped your cheek, four digits on one side, his thumb on the other, as he pulled your mouth to his. He spread your saliva across your cheek with his fingers.
With your chest heaving, you could only peer at him through your lashes.
Eddie paused, drinking in your features. “Is–Is this okay?” He moved like he was going to retract his hand from your face.
You nodded eagerly, grabbing his hand to keep it there. You nuzzled your face towards his hand as best you could with his grip on you. “I—” Your face was warm, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy. “I like it dirty.”
For a split second, you couldn’t read his expression. But then, you noticed the sparkle in his eye. “Yeah? Sweet girl likes it dirty? I should’ve known.” He tilted your chin back. He planted a surprisingly chaste peck on your lips before murmuring, “Open your mouth.”
You blinked up at him, and God, all he could think about was painting your pretty fucking face with his load. Especially when your lips parted so obediently.
He didn’t hesitate to spit directly into your waiting mouth, not missing the way your thighs pressed together. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed his warm spit, shamelessly removing his wet hand from your face to adjust himself in his jeans.
“You like that, baby?”
You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.
“Yeah.” Your voice came out breathy and high. “Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”
“Fuck,” he practically groaned. “I need to see you.”
You didn’t need to hear anything else, instantly moving to pull your pants down, stumbling about in your attempts to be swift. You felt your face heat, but when you looked over at Eddie, he was too busy pulling his own belt from its loops and shucking his pants down to his ankles, just as desperate.
As if he felt you staring, he suddenly looked up. His hair was unruly against his forehead, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. His eyes darted from yours, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted pink, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.
You lifted your hips to finish pulling your bottoms over the swell of your ass, and Eddie quickly jumped into action. His jeans rustled as he kicked them off his legs. One foot got caught at the bottom, causing him to jump and flail until it flew onto the floor with a thump.
You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.
Here was Eddie Munson—rock band frontman, guy you’d seen smash paparazzi cameras for getting too close—dancing around, trying to get his pants down his legs.
Somehow, he made it not dorky, though. Okay, maybe it was dorky, but he managed to make it charming.
“Whatcha laughing at?” He approached you again.
You would’ve thought Eddie was the type of guy to wear tight black briefs. In your head, he was in a perpetual state of chains and leather. But instead, he wore a pair of loose blue checkered boxers, clearly choosing comfort over his typical garb.
He put his hands against your pants at your knees, looking up at you from beneath his bangs. He raised his eyebrows at you. “Is this okay?” He suddenly sounded worlds smaller.
You nodded incessantly, helping him tug your pants the rest of the way down your calves. He balled them up and threw them in the general direction of where his own pants were.
You pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he quickly got the hint, pulling it over his head.
You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. There was the Rolling Stone cover (along with countless other magazines), outdoor Corroded Coffin shows where he’d inevitably end up shirtless, even days when he’d invite the band over to his fancy rooftop apartment to lounge by the pool in the summertime. But you’d never been this close.
Close enough to see the spot on his chest beneath his collarbone where the one of the legs on his spider tattoo was a shade more faded than the rest.
Your gaze shifted down his torso to the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Suddenly struck with the fact you’d been blatantly ogling him for the past few minutes, you looked back up to his face quickly, expecting to find him already staring at you.
He was staring at you, just not at your face like you’d expected.
You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where his gaze was, but it was without a doubt far below your neck.
You were naked, sure, but something about the way he was so openly peering at you made you feel even a step past naked. It was like he’d stripped a layer of you back, and was looking at you completely. It made your skin prick with something beyond arousal.
For a moment, you wanted to sink in on yourself—you couldn’t name a time you’d felt more exposed. But the way his boxers were tented replaced any mortification with something hot injected straight into your veins.
He finally looked up at your face, shameless about being caught, and leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met and his moved against yours like second nature.
His tongue licked into your mouth like he was trying to map it. You suckled at the warmth of his tongue as he began to pull at the hem of your shirt. You parted long enough for your shift to join the pile of the rest of your clothes.
Eddie’s hand met your face and caressed you gently, a stark contrast for the way his tongue was ravaging your mouth. Your chest heaved as you moved impossibly closer to him, centimeters from being entirely in his lap.
“Here,” he mumbled against your lips before softly turning you around until you were over the back of the couch.
Your breasts pressed against the top of the couch, your nipples pebbled on the rough fabric, as your knees sunk into the cushions of the seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully push your ass out, presenting yourself to him.
The wet spot in your underwear was growing uncomfortable and you were painfully aware of it as you pressed your thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the incessant throbbing in your core.
You sat up on your elbows to peer over your shoulder. Eddie was running his tongue over his bottom lip, and when you noticed the slight jerk of his arm, your gaze trailed lower to watch him tug on his cock slowly. You couldn’t help the way you arched your back further.
He’d dropped his boxers just enough to free his cock and for a moment, you (embarrassingly) hated you missed the exact moment he’d pulled it out—hated you missed the way it surely had bobbed up towards his stomach from the sheer weight of it once he’d pulled his underwear down.
He paused at the base to squeeze tightly, and God, it gave you the opportunity to truly admire it.
You knew he would be big. I mean, come on. It was clear by the way he acted that he would be packing. But shit, your imagination really had nothing on the real thing.
Thick and long—you were sure your hand wouldn’t be able to fit around its girth. Against his hand it seemed even bigger. A pronounced vein ran up the side to the rosy tip.
Eddie gave it another slow stroke, a smirk on his face. “Big enough for you, sweetheart?”
Your only response was the slight shift of your shoulder and chin.
He squeezed his cock, mumbling under his breath, “Too fuckin’ sweet.”
You didn’t have any time to react before Eddie was diving down onto his knees, his mouth latching onto your glistening pussy.
“Oh!” You jumped, and Eddie wrapped his arms beneath your thighs to keep your cunt held tightly against his hungry mouth.
He licked a stripe from your clit to the edge of your tightest hole. For a moment you thought his tongue was going to keep going right across, and you weren’t sure if you liked the way the mere idea of it made heat crawl up your neck, but he stopped to pull back.
“Sweet girl, even sweeter cunt.”
Cunt.
“Eddie,” you whined, feeling your heartbeat in your ears.
He sucked two fingers into his mouth before you felt them run along your slit.
“Yeah, baby?” He rested his cheek right below the swell of your ass. “Talk to me.”
Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the recording equipment surrounding you and picking up every word, sound, and rustle. You dropped your face to the top of the couch, rubbing your nose against it.
“Hey,” Eddie mumbled. His hand shifted and ran across the globe of your ass. “I can delete it if you don’t like it.” His other hand came up, then he was caressing the expanse of your ass broad with both his wide palms. “I’m still enjoying myself, okay? I’m not just doing this for the record, I…” You heard him swallow. “I think you’re gorgeous—fuckin’ perfect, really—and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you before…like this.”
Leave it to Eddie to make you blush when he just had his entire face in your cunt.
You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at him. “No, no—I, uh. I wanna keep going. And I want you to use it for the record. I just—” You sighed. “I don’t wanna sound stupid.”
He immediately bristled. “You’re not gonna sound stupid.” He brought his hand down a few times on your cheek, not quite a spank. “Here, turn this way.” He helped you maneuver until your back was against the couch cushions. “Help me out, baby.” He pressed your legs up from beneath your knees, and you tucked your arms there, holding yourself open for him.
He made a low sound in his chest, and you realized how exposed you were. You didn’t get bashful though. You managed to keep yourself the way he wanted, even with the way you felt heat rising up beneath your skin.
“Don’t think so hard about it, okay?” Eddie said as he lowered himself back down to you. “It’s just you ‘n me.
And the recording, you thought, but his words eased you nonetheless.
You were suddenly thankful he had you holding your legs as his nose prodded your hole as he moved to suckle at your clit.
“Oh, th–that—yeah,” was all you managed to spit out.
“Mhm?” he hummed against you, and you swore you felt it down to your toes.
“Yeah,” you sighed.
A hand reached down to swipe his thumb across your clit as his tongue finally dipped into you.
You whined. “Please.”
“Hm? Talk to me, sweet girl, d’you want it?”
“Mhm, I’wan’it.” Your words all slurred into one another.
When you felt his middle finger prod at your hole, you couldn’t help the desperate sound that left you.
“Yeah? That what you need?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Ah…c’mon. Tell me.”
“That’s what I need, Eddie,” you quickly breathed out. In that moment, you would’ve done anything he asked you.
“There we go,” he said, more to himself, as he finally sunk a finger into you.
You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore with the sounds that left you. You were so wet, you could hear the slick sucking sound everytime he fucked his finger into you, and he quickly added another.
“So wet. She’s sucking me in.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers and down his wrist, his rings now coated with milky white. Your clit was puffy and swollen, peeking out with every thrust of his hand.
You raised your hips as he continued, following him as he curled his fingers up into you, hitting that spot. You hadn’t even realized your mouth had been wide open, sounds falling out freely.
“Ed—oh.” You bit your lip harshly. “Your mouth.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, never one stopping his ministrations. “Huh, baby? She want a kiss?”
You nodded eagerly, hands slipping along your thighs that had become balmy with sweat. “Yeah, yeah, please.”
“I’ll give her a kiss, baby.” The last thing you saw before he lowered his head again was the flash of his smile.
When his lips met you, you gasped. He closed them firmly around your clit and the wet sound was so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. You didn’t care anymore—you couldn’t care, not if it felt this good.
His tongue on your swollen bud paired with his fingers inside you—curling so perfectly you swore your vision whited out every time he did it—brought you barreling towards your release. You could barely pant out, “I’m–I’m gonna—” before you were cumming loud and unabashedly. He worked you through it, finally stopping when your whines got especially pitchy.
The moment he raised up from your core, you dropped your legs, now boneless. Your heartbeat was still a steady pulse in your clit. You caught your breath, swiping the sweat from your face.
“Good?” Eddie asked, looking a little too smug (though you guessed it was earned).
“Better than good,” you said, your voice already halfway ruined.
You sat up properly on the couch as Eddie maneuvered back over to his pants, pulling something from his pocket. He turned back around and now had a condom pulled over the length of his dick, making you sit up even straighter.
Once your legs had stopped feeling like jelly, you had had every intention of returning the favor. You started, “Y’don’t want me to—”
“No, no.” You heard the smack of his hand against his dick. “Fuck. I mean, yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I do, but I need to be inside you, like, now.”
“Next time, then,” you said, narrowly biting back a smirk.
He quirked a brow at you, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “Next time?”
“Yeah.” You spread your legs, making room for him. “If you don’t kill me first.”
He fit perfectly between your legs, crowding you against the couch. His gaze was glued to your slippery cunt as he tapped the spongy tip of his cock against your clit. He raised his eyes long enough to say, “Could say the same for you.”
He slid his length up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. You tried to be patient, you really did, but when he tapped his head against your clit again with a wet squelch, you couldn’t help the whine that left you.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He said it so gently and lovingly, you swore your pussy spit out another half gallon. “I’ll put it in, now you just gotta sing for me. You’ll do that for me, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” You were nodding eagerly. “Please, please, please just put it in. I need it. I—oh—”
He sunk in easily, you more than prepared after your first orgasm, but his size still made your breath catch in your throat. He groaned like he wasn’t doing much better.
“She’s choking me, baby, fuck.” He sounded pained, the veins in his arm flexing where he was holding himself up over you.
It was a stretch, and you could feel every inch of him in you, yet you still clawed at his arms, wanting—no, needing more.
“More, come on, I need it all—” No quicker than the words left your mouth, Eddie pushed all the way in with a loud groan.
Now, it was you that sounded pained, but you’d never felt better in your life. It felt like he’d sunk completely up through your stomach and into your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Your head flew back against cushions and you gripped his bicep as you looked down where you were taking him.
He had been staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide open, but when he saw where your gaze was locked, he lowered his own, and you watched as his neck all the way down to his chest grew red.
“Fuck, I’m, fuck—” He pulled out maybe an inch before sinking back in, like he couldn’t bear to pull out. He couldn’t. “She’s sucking me right in.”
Finally, he began to shallowly thrust into you and the grip you had on his bicep tightened as your mouth fell open. His heavy cock was splitting you right open and felt like it was hitting every spot, if that was even possible.
Eddie raised one hand to cup your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “C’mere, baby,” he said lowly.
He lowered his face to yours and spat right into your waiting mouth. As he did, he pulled all the way out, leaving his tip kissing your hole, before plunging back in completely. You didn't recognize the strangled, pornographic sound that left you.
His spit was warm in your mouth and you could feel your slick gushing from between your legs with every thrust of his fat cock. You were easily gripping him for dear life—both with your hands and your cunt.
He shifted until his dick was kissing that spot that he’d so easily found with his fingers. The sounds—your whining, his moans, the slick sound of your bodies meeting—seemed to bounce off the walls, and the recording equipment couldn’t have been further from your mind. All you could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
It seemed to be the same for him, the way your name left his lips in desperate puffs. “Touch yourself, please, I’m so—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but never once stopped his eager pace.
You dropped your hand between your legs immediately, your fingers slippery as they scrubbed across your clit.
“Right—right there.” You had squeezed your eyes shut. You were right at the edge of your release, you just needed— “Right there, right there, right—ohmygod—”
“Yeah? Yeah, baby? I got you, I fuckin’ got you—”
You clung to him, your vision spotty and your chest heaving, as you came with a loud whine of his name. He buried himself to the hilt with a shout of your name, the hair at the base of him borderline overstimulating your sensitive clit.
He dropped down against you, his cock softening inside you. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt he was trembling. You weren’t in much better shape.
“Are you—” He stopped to inhale shakily. “Jesus, you okay?”
You hummed. Your bodies were both slimy with sweat and other juices, which sounded more than uncomfortable, but you found the warm weight of him comforting.
He peered at you, petting your hair away from your face. “You sure?”
“‘M good,” you finally croaked. “You—I—” You paused to laugh, shaking your head. “I think you fucked my brains out."
He laughed, strands of his damp hair shaking with the force of it.
“Yeah, well, if that’s the case then you sucked out my soul.” He ran a finger along the length of your face. “You know, through your puss—”
“I get it,” you cut in, laughing. You glanced over to the window to the production room. “Think we got anything good?”
Eddie looked at you like you’d grown three heads before his lip curled, a devious smile on his face. “I dunno…might better do it one more time. Just to be safe.”
Six months later.
“Eddie, you gotta tell us, man.” The interviewer leaned over his desk towards him. “Everybody’s dying to know about…that part on the new record.”
“What part, Howard?” Eddie shot a knowing glance at the audience, which got a few cheers. “I know Gareth killed the drums on the bridge.”
The crowd laughed.
“You know the part,” Howard insisted, laughing. “I think everybody knows the part.”
“I think it speaks for itself,” Eddie said. “Don’t really have much to say on that.”
“Well, your fans have had a lot to say about it,” Howard continued.
“No denyin’ that, that’s for sure.” Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt, making the crowd laugh.
“I think one of the biggest questions has been…well.” Howard shrugged. “I don’t know how else to ask it—but well, was it real?”
Eddie looked from Howard to the audience. Right before he opened his mouth to speak, the television flickered off.
“Hey!” you called. “I was watching that.”
Eddie sat the remote down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you. “You’ve watched it at least ten times since it aired.”
“Maybe I was trying to make it eleven.”
He hummed, his arm coming around your shoulders. You melted into his side easily.
“How’s the new guy?” you asked, rubbing your cheek against his chest.
“Good. He’s a great fit for the band.” He dropped his cheek and rested it on top of your head. “Jaxon hasn’t tried to reach out anymore. Or showed up at the studio wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried.” It was true—you weren’t. You knew Eddie would handle everything. He always did.
“Good.” He planted a kiss on your head.
You sat up and grabbed the remote from the table. He groaned as you turned it back on.
“You could probably recite this word-for-word by now.” He shook his head.
You pressed back against him, pushing your tongue to your teeth to prevent a smile.
“Everyone’s dying to know who it is,” Howard was urging. “At least give us a hint.”
On the screen, Eddie shrugged, clearly trying and failing to seem nonchalant. You couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words along with him as he said, “Well, it’s my girl.”
summary: your boyfriend andy is on the basketball team, too preoccupied with his own pleasure to truly give you what you need. so who cares if you go searching for it elsewhere.
pairing: eddie munson x reader
word count: idk i lost count after 8k
warnings: MDNI! swearing, drinking, smoking (cigs n weed), cheating (ik gross but andy is a dick so forgive me), mild physical abuse, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, minor breeding kink, aftercare (ew)
notes: lizzy possessed me with this one. originally was gunna have jason be her boyfriend but then i remembered how andy was so much worse to my girl erica so it made me less guilty writing infidelity. i dont condone cheating ya'll!! anyways enjoy more feral 2am writings of mine!!
His grip on your waist hurts way too much, his touch too hard, too soft like he could never figure out how to grab you. You wiggle slightly away from him, but he catches it. "You alright?" He tugs you back down the bed trying to continue whatever he was doing even though none of it felt good. Music plays too loudly from the floor below as another one of his dumb high school winning basketball game parties rages on.
"Yeah, yeah just can you..." You move his hand off your breast trying to relax the knuckle to form it properly. You try to force his thumb over your nipple.
He snatches his hand back, "Do it yourself then." You frown in the dark as he leans back to peel his own shirt off. You let him dip down to kiss your neck the roughness of his tongue sopping down the skin of your throat. He lets out a small laugh, and you know why as he grows hard between his legs. You cringe internally as he fumbles a palm across his crotch.
Something shatters downstairs. "Fuck." He's backing off of you and you hold in the small relief you feel that he'll leave you alone tonight. "One sec," Then he's rushing downstairs yelling, but you're quick to get up moving to close the door already cutting off most of the noise.
You take a deep breath behind a closed door then slowly make your way over to the window gazing out at the full white moon wondering if this was to be your life forever, your future with the 'perfect' boy. The pretty housewife who's addicted to Vicodin and has to lay down early at get togethers. You press your forehead to glass wondering if you'd successfully be able to climb down his house to sneak off but think better of it. You crawl into his bed, well at least maybe at those parties, with three pills and a bottle of wine you could truly escape reality before he punches you in the face for embarrassing him. You're not even sure why you're doing this, you don't even like Andy, you both just drifted in the same circle of everyone dating everyone. It had been to scratch an itch, but now it just festered into a wound as everyone just assumes you're dating him, even Andy. You close your eyes, picture something else, another room, another bed.
The door smashes open and Andy stumbles over to you. He doesn't even apologize for leaving and appearing so suddenly. You're just aware of how disgustingly unattracted you are to him. He connects his mouth to yours, sloppily moving his hand to your pants. Okay you could do this, try again. You had to start trying to do this; instead of actually doing that. He's already got his hand under your shirt and your pants halfway down.
"Go lie down."
You indulge him. You empty your thoughts as his tongue glides along yours trying to put your body somewhere else, with someone else. You finally kiss him back feeling that strange pretend hair tickling your face, you run your hand down a chest that didn't belong to Andy. You squeeze your eyes tight letting the fantasy consume you until when you open your eyes to look up at him warm brown eyes stare back. This time, you do squeeze your own breast, you do slide fingers around your nipple pulling them taut heavy gasp falling from your lips. Your legs hook against his sides, back arching into him. You needed more, for him to touch you where you needed most. You picture his hand sliding down your body rubbing small circles into your clit with the lightest pressure that makes you whine.
"Damn baby." You ignore that voice.
You press in a little harder, moving your fingers a little faster wishing he would just put something inside of you, fucking anything. You hear the soft clink of a belt hitting floor and you think maybe, just maybe, you could get relief if you squeeze your eyes tight enough. You try guiding his hand towards your center, tried to find pleasure in all of this pretend, maybe you could finally teach him the ways you wanted it instead of doing all the leg work yourself.
He's shaking you off instead, "Not now, me first."
It breaks your concentration Andy coming back into view. "What?" You blink, "You first?"
What was the point of this if you always just ended up jacking him off. You shove him off. "Oh, come on now babe."
"You first?" You lift your hips to pull your pants back up as his sad cock sits in his useless hands. "As if you ever follow through with that empty promise." You sit up letting your cream sweater fall back into place, "I'm starting to truly believe you don't have what it takes to make a woman cum since you never have."
He slaps you. "Get the fuck out." You hold your stinging cheek as his hand reels back again, "Go! Walk home I don't give a fuck just get out!" You scramble off of his bed and hurry from the room barely righting your clothes by the time your bare feet hit concrete.
You look down, "Fuck." You forgot your shoes. You just kept walking, he'd get over it, so would you and in a few weeks, you won't bring it up. You realized you were crying after a few blocks furiously wiping at the angry water coming out of your eyes hissing at the slight pain in your cheek. You hate that he made you cry, you hate that he feels like he's allowed to slap you. It has you wound up, your insides twisting with anger. You're not even sure where you are or where to go, you're just so upset that this was your life, and you could only blame yourself. Your feet take you where they want, following a familiar path of their own, making their way to the trailer park a few blocks over.
You know where you are, where you're going now, a drag path towards the only place you found comfort.
"It's dangerous for a pretty girl to be walking alone in the dark." Your eyes shoot to the voice, to the young man leaning against his van smoking a cigarette, watching you. "Never know what kinda freak is lurking out there."
Eddie. Andy hated him more than anyone, and for some reason that made you like him.
You sniffed wrapping your arms around yourself. "Can I have one of those?"
He smirked, "You can have whatever you want pretty girl." You watched him dig in his jacket for the pack of cigarettes. He held one out for you before looking down at your dirty bare feet, "Oh shit." He moved towards you, so you didn't have to walk, then he's handing you the cigarette and bringing the lighter to your face. You watched him watch you, the orange flame illuminating your tear-streaked face, the red handprint across your cheek, until it winked out with a click and you inhaled deep. "Where's your shoes?"
You let the smoke sit in your lungs, burning the answers away. "I'll get them back tomorrow."
"Did he ever find out you smoke?" You shook your head as you tapped away ash.
The words betray you, "I only smoke with you."
"I'm honored." You shivered, early spring still making the nights chilly, and he was quick to tug his jacket off to throw over your shoulders. It smells like him, the scent engulfing you washing away any traces of Andy, "So you gunna tell me why you're here smoking with me instead of..." His eyes glance over your face, "Doing whatever with him?"
You took another deep drag, face burning, "The music was too loud."
He snorted, "Oh please like you care about that." You glance away the lies you woven stretched far too thin, "Never bothered you before."
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
You're hiding behind walls and people, watching as he fiddles with his guitar, tuning and testing the strings. They'd been playing all night and after every song he'd sit there and mess with the guitar. He's got a pick between teeth concentrating on making sure it was perfect. You know he can't see you, you know he's not even looking but you tuck yourself away into a corner that leads to the bathrooms. You should just leave. You don't even know why you came, mainly you were just pissed off at Andy and didn't want him able to find you.
He takes the guitar pick, brushes hair off of his face, and slowly picks at the string finding the chords he's looking for. Then he's off, loud, heavy music echoing around the dive bar. The room thuds with it as people begin jumping around again putting too much stress on the worn floorboards. It reminds you of the music your dad listened to in the garage when he was piss drunk and he thought no one could hear him.
Dark sweaty hair clings to his skin, down over his shoulders, as he plays like no one is watching, like everyone was just here for his benefit. Its ethereal, to watch him like this, in the strange red overhead light. It draws you in, a strange, memorized movement. Closer, just a bit closer. He wouldn't see you, and you needed to get near the stage, maybe let his sweat hit you in the face when he flings his head back and forth. Bodies close in on you, like a current pulling you and pushing you as heavy bass is all around you. You're being crushed, lungs yanked upwards and you're almost relieved you could finally escape. At least it would piss Andy off if they found your body here. You lose track of everything, of Eddie
An arm wraps around your bicep yanking you sideways back towards that dinky hallway that reeked of too many substances. "Hey! Hey." He's got his hands around your face forcing you to stare up at his shining face. "You can't go in there." You weren't sure what he was talking about. "Come on you need some air." He drags you further down the hall, a couple tucked between corners trying to crawl within one another, you watch them as he throws the metal door open to lead you outside jealous of the noises you heard.
The cool air refills your lungs clearing away a deoxygenated fog, "Aren't you supposed to be playing?"
He shrugged, "They'll cover my parts. I saw you getting crushed in the pit and figured it was best to get you out." You furrowed your brows, "Mosh pits? They're fairly new, but these assholes love em, haven't figured them out just yet." You nodded, then you stared at each other for a while figuring he would just go back inside now that you were fine. He doesn't, "What are you doing here pretty girl?"
The blush creeps into your face. "I-..."
"Is you boyfriend here?" You can't respond, can't even remember who he is talking about. He laughs to himself digging into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, "Want one?" He asks sliding one between teeth.
"I don't..." You pause. "Sure."
"Look at you." He jokes passing you one. "First mosh pit, first cigarette, what else will you lose tonight." You stand there expectantly, waiting for him to light the end of the cigarette up for you. He comes in close, hands cupping around it to bring the flame against it. Your lashes flutter, an amber haze surrounding you as you stare up at his face. "Inhale it." He whispers as the light clinks shut. He's beautiful, you always knew that, way more attractive then-! You cough furiously, sputtering out spit as the nicotine sits in your throat, burning deep into your lungs. He's laughing at you, not rudely, just laughing and then he rubs a hand down your arm. "I'll go get you something."
He leaves you alone for a minute every choice you made to land you here suddenly unspooling like weak thread. This was stupid and wrong. You should stomp this out and go home, never burn your lungs again. Your feet stay rooted and he's back before you could really decide anything thrusting a cup into your hand, "Thanks."
You bring it to your mouth the strong scent hitting your nose first. You raise a brow at him recognizing the smell, "It's vodka with a little cranberry." You take a tentative sip, "Figured you needed it if you're here."
"What do you mean?" You wince as it settles in your stomach.
He raised his eyebrow now, "Well I know you didn't come here to get smushed to heavy metal."
You took another drink letting it warm you, letting it hide you in its bitter taste. "I saw the flyer."
"Hmm." He takes a drag watching your cigarette burn away into the asphalt. "Does your boyfriend at least know you're here?" You glare at him draining the little cup as he chuckles to himself. "Right, I'll get you another." He takes your cup from you disappearing back into the building. You try smoking again and the second time is easier, you inhale slow, let it sit in your chest, let the nicotine swirl in your brain. You'd leave once the cigarette, and second drink were gone setting an imaginary limit of time on yourself. "There you go." He hands you the cup with a soft touch to your shoulder, goosebumps erupting in its wake, "You're a natural now."
"What are you doing?" You let it sit between fingers as you take another drink. You could feel your organs hating you.
"You're obviously upset about something," He takes a step closer studying your face. "Or running from something. Either way you look like you needed some relief." He eyed the drink and almost nub of a cigarette in your hands as if he was suddenly aware of your made-up bad decision clock.
You nodded drinking slow and deep deliberating if you should spill your rotten guts to him. It would be crossing some invisible line neither of you drew, and Andy would be horrified if he knew you were divulging issues to Eddie. It makes the words easier to say, "He uh...He gets a little needy." Eddie just stares at your eyes, lazy, giving you space to elaborate; you suck in the last dregs of the cigarette and stomp it under your feet. "He wants things from me in a selfish way."
"He wants to fuck you." Eddie finishes for you.
"It's not just that." You feel heat stinging your cheeks. "It just...None of it feels good or right."
Eddie watches you drink, "Has he ever touched you?"
"Yes." You say through teeth vodka searing its way down your body. He moves his hand indicating you needed to continue, "But he doesn't...He won't..."
"He won't make you cum." He smirks at you, "And so every-time he tries to fuck you you're reminded of the one thing he won't ever allow you to have." You nodded, "Why?"
You wave it off, "He says it waste time."
Eddie grabs you by the shoulders, "Is he crazy! It's the best part."
You find a small laugh in your throat, but it dies off quickly. "He's a dick."
"Want another drink?" He asks.
No. You need to say no, go back home, and forget you ever came here. Go back to your imagination, go back to pretending to look out the window of your history class just so you can steal glances at him.
"Sure." You hold up one finger. "A soda," and he just smiles as he guides you away from the bar, "They don't card me here because I play, but they'll definitely know you're not supposed to be there. I'm surprised you got in there in the first place." He opens the door of a beaten down van helping you climb inside. "Did you flash them your tits or something?" He slams the door shut hiding your giggle in the silence of his car. No, you didn't, but you did flirt a little to get inside promising to not even go to the bar. The air beats down on you realizing what you were doing, it was one thing to admire the ire of Andy's being, it was another to be with him...alone.
He's in the car the next second, turning the key and speeding off with you. "Wasn't there a game today?" He moves his hand around like he's playing with pom-poms, "That you are dearly needed at."
You chew on your lip as you nod, "It was over early." You're lying, you faked a stomachache after your fight with Andy, changed into something that wasn't your uniform, and came here to watch him.
He nods like he doesn't believe you, "What was the score?"
You scoffed, "Why do you care?"
"Can't a man be curious about his favorite team?"
"28-20" He'll know you made it up once he gets back to school on Monday when he finds out the real score. "You should come sometime, watch a game if you're that curious about your favorite team." That would go over so swimmingly with all your friends, and your friends' boyfriends.
He shrugs, rolling his hand around the steering wheel. You watch the movement, watch his rings stretch around knuckles. "Will you be there?"
You tear your eyes away to meet his, "I'm always there."
"Will you be wearing that cute little skirt?" He smirks turning back to the road. You swallow; you can't even answer. "I love when you have that on." You blush furiously as you stare out of the window, feeling him watching you every now and then as the small little town passes you by.
"Wait here." He instructs as his van sits parked in the lot of a liquor store. He returns laughing with one brown paper bag and a bottle of grape soda. Then the car is rumbling again down the road to finally stay rested in an empty parking lot.
"Grape?" You ask as he sits you down on the harsh metal of the vans open trunk. You tug the sleeves of your sweater around your knuckles to ward away the crisp beginning of fall.
"Figured you liked the sweet stuff." He tells you opening the top and handing it to you. "So, why don't you ditch him?"
He stays standing as you watch him over the drink in your mouth, "You had a whole car ride to ask me that and yet you focused on my silly little skirts."
He smirked taking a drink, "I liked watching the gears turning in your head wondering how you ended up here, drinking with your boyfriends arch nemesis."
"You give yourself too much credit." You roll your eyes.
"Well then, what are you doing here pretty girl?" He asks again. You don't answer again. "Huh well it seems to me he pissed you off because he doesn't know how to fuck you properly so you come to my show because in that fucked up pretty head of yours you think fucking me will really stick it to him."
"That-That is not...I'm not..."
He takes small steps forward, taking the soda bottle in your hands and setting it down next to his own drink. His cool hands come around you face making you crane your neck to look up at him. "Would you tell him?" Your forehead creases as he came in closer your chin now pressing into his chest. "Would you rub it in his face that I made you cum?" It's a sharp inhale as want coursed through you, as it throbbed between your legs. "You know that right? That I would until you couldn't stop shaking. I'd walk you right back into his arms boneless."
"He wouldn't care," You whisper. "That you could."
"Oh? Maybe not but he would care that it's me at all." He's right, and so he's quick to toss you on to your back, the cold plastic of his van's trunk digging into your shoulders. He hovers over you waiting for a beat for you to stop him, for you to push him off.
You don't.
It's not pretty, it's not sweet. Its heady and out of control the way his hands dig into your pants, into your soaked heat, two fingers curling up inside of you. You gasp onto his cheek searching for some sort of wrongness as he pries your legs apart to curl into you deeper. It should be wrong, you were letting another man touch you, but for some reason it just felt...good. His mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, your chest as he pumps his hand in and out of you.
Your nails dig into his arms as your hips buck up to meet his hand feeling the pressure yanking behind your stomach. "Feel good?" You nodded making his hand slow down at your nonverbal response, "Now come on tell me it feels good pretty girl."
"Feels...fuck...so good. I-!" You moaned into his hair as his tongue lolls against skin, sucking and biting. You don't care that it will leave a mark as he digs into you harder his other hand brushing hair off of your face. "Don't...please don't stop."
"Uh-huh that's right. Aren't I being so nice letting you finally cum." He says against your chest as he fights to pull more of your pants down to shove his hand in deeper. You squeezed your eyes, the heat incessantly felt as his palm pressed down into your clit. Sweaty hair tickles your skin, and fingers suddenly lace to it to hold on to something. "That's it pretty girl." It throws you off a cliff as you cum around his hand a strange noise coming out of your throat. It's amazing and breathless and everything you had always begged for.
It takes you a moment to register the cool breeze against bare skin when his hand finally abandons you. You're naked from the waist down and his van doors are still wide open. "Eddie." You hiss trying to sit up but he just puts his finger to his lips.
"I told you I make you cum." He says like it's so simple.
"You did."
He rolled his eyes taking your pants and underwear the rest of the way off in a nonchalant movement. He's hooking his arms under your thighs. "Yeah, but now I wanna make you cum this way." Again, he waits a beat for you to deny him. Again, you don't. Soon enough his tongue caresses your clit.
You feel air ripped from you, "Oh god." Andy never went down on you, and you doubted he would even be good at it. Not like Eddie, you realize, as his tongue draws circles into your clit, as he paints a picture with his mouth letting the whine fall to easily out of your mouth. Two fingers push back into you causing your right foot to shoot out, your back arches as he feasts on everything you had. He's got a shoulder on your thigh to hold it still as he pulls it all from you, as the van's ceiling begins to blur. It opened up, you think, to reveal stars, or maybe you're just squeezing your eyes to tight. Was this why you had lied your way to his show, was he right in his assumption? Probably. In some sick and twisted way that only he would understand, you had wanted this.
You dare to open them, to glance down where he ravages your cunt. His dark eyes burn into yours and the world tilts slightly in that moment when neither one of you turn away. He sneaks a hand up your shirt toying with hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between ringed fingers. You cum just like that, with his mouth buried into you pussy, and his eyes seared into your face. You clench around him head finally falling back in ecstasy as you fall apart around him. He's lapping you up, drinking up every sip you'll give him until it blurs into pain and you push him away slightly.
He backs off instantly not even bothering to wipe away his mouth as he crawls over your body to kiss you. Your mouth slacks as you whimper into his own letting his tongue slide against yours. You taste yourself; you taste bad beer and menthol and galaxies in his mouth. He's pulls away and you're chasing his mouth letting the smile crawl onto his puffy lips, "Mhm so sweet."
His hand trails up your hip, under fabric, over bare skin, thumb brushing underneath your breast. You wonder what else he'll do to you in the back of this van while Andy seethed at home, cum still dripping off his soft cock in his hands. "Are you gunna close the doors?" He takes you in; wide legs still keeping him between you, breaths still stuttering out of you. "Are you gunna fuck me properly?"
He's quick to climb backwards slamming the doors shut and shoving down his pants. You need to tell him something; something important, you know you should but instead you widen your legs more to help line him up. "Tell me...you want me to...tell me..."
"Eddie, please..." You scooch down trying to push him into yourself. "I need you to fuck me." He slides into you, and it strings, and you bite down on the only thing you can find: his shoulder.
"Fuck." He groans, "You're so fucking tight." You're dizzy, feeling his cock splitting you open to nestle deep within you. You can't breathe as he fills your whole body up and you try to give way to that tiny feel of good within the fullness. It does feel good, but it also fucking hurt. You taste copper his blood flying into your mouth from the wound of your teeth. You loosen, open mouth resting on indents, trying to lay back more, but it makes your hips tilt, and he slides against something delicious. You moan, air finally settling into your lungs, and then he begins to pull back to slam himself back inside you. Some odd noise leaves you with every thrust coming from the base of your chest as the van fills with the heavy scent of sex, windows fogging with every huff of air.
You try to remember how to speak when the dull ache fades away into bliss, as his cock hits something you never could reach. "Good." You struggle out.
Eddie's over you then, devouring your mouth with his own, tongue lashing against yours as he thrust roughly into you, skin slapping against skin. His hand comes around your shoulder blades, fingers gripping the base of your skull as he pants into your open mouth, "I'm gunna make you cum like this." He tells you and you wrap your legs around him holding him inside you tighter, "God, fuck. I saw you across the bar staring at me begging me to come fuck you." He pulls up digging into the flesh of your hips slamming his cock into you, you claw at his chest mewling for him as deft fingers find your clit. Your hips buck, "So fucking desperate for it, does your boyfriend know what a fucking slut you are." He presses down harder, faster, driving you out of your own skin you can't even think clearly. "Come on," He grits his teeth, chasing your own high for you. "Give me what I want."
You cry out as your body contracts around him, nails digging into his forearms to put it all somewhere, legs collapsing on either side of his body. He wraps his arms around your body, the little guitar pick around his neck slapping you in the face with every squelching thrust. He fucks you with earnest, as you slide too easily along his cock until you clench too tight and he's spilling inside of you. He thrust a few more times before collapsing on top of you his body caging you underneath him letting every drop of sweat sizzle into your skin.
You slowly unfurl your legs trying to find reality in shallow breaths. His hair tickles your face, and you want to feel guilty you find it so comforting, you should feel guilty about a lot of things. He peers up at you shaking his shaggy mane away from his face; he looked like he had in the bar, sweaty and drunk on you. You tear a piece away from his mouth staring too long at his lips wondering if he'll kiss you again. "Did you actually see me?"
His lips press gently onto yours then he leans down to your ear. "You're hard to not notice." He pulls out of you, and you scramble to hide the red drying between your thighs. He doesn't notice that at least; he'd figure it out when he washed your blood off of his cock. It's not like you wanted to wait, you had tried to fuck Andy, but he'd either be too soft or you weren't turned on enough to let him in.
"You okay?" He asks finally opening up the van doors again letting steam roll out into the cool night sky. You nod, still a little dazed by the turn of events shaking from the waist down, throbbing in every muscle...
His cum leaks out of you as you watch him search around for the two lone bottles before handing you your soda, "Thanks." He throws his jacket over you before he sits on the edge beside you. "For that too."
"Happy to oblige." He clinks the lip of his bottle to yours.
You watch him take a drink, a small trail of beer slipping past the corner of his mouth. He's hot, and just because you can, knowing that come sunrise you probably would never allow yourself to search him out again. You set your bottle down and climb over to him. A look of surprise flashes over his features before he masks it, "I got 45 minutes before I need to get home." You sling your legs over his lap nudging his nose with your own, "What else can you do to me?"
He cups your face, "My pretty girl, what will we ever do with you."
Then, he's kissing you
You tap away ash, "Yes it did; I just was preoccupied."
"Hmm with what?" He smirked down at you, like the wolf catching its prey. His soft fingers begin their trail along your hip, hiking up your shirt to touch skin.
"Eddie," You breath. "I can't keep doing this with you."
He only chuckled coming in closer until his hair makes a curtain around you as his knuckle tugged your chin up, "You said that before." A basketball game plays in the distance, but Eddie's got you pinned up on the wall, hand clamped over your mouth as he fucks you before your coach noticed you were gone. "And that other time." He's sneaking through your window rutting into you on the floor because your bed was too loud using a pillow to swallow moans. "Oh, and the bleacher incident." You sucked his cock beneath a stand of student cheering for some dumb game until finally he yanked out of you cum splattering across your face. You had to explain it away as it refused to come out of your lashes. "It's the last time until the next time, right?"
Yes because last time felt too different, too close to something you refused to name. Your nostrils flared as you stomped out the cigarette, "Is that so?"
"You know at first I figured it was just a quick fuck, an easy release, and I was ready to be used because you had some vendetta." His head dips and his nose brushes yours, "But then it happened again and again and again." He lets out a condescending laugh, "I mean does the bastard even know you're not a virgin anymore?" His breath is on your lips, intoxicating you. "Answer me this, and I'll drop it, has he made you cum yet?"
You grit your teeth, "No."
He pulls back, "But you have cum right? Besides all the time you're with me." You slowly nod, "Whose face are you picturing when he's fumbling with my pussy?"
It's pathetic how desperate you were when it came to him, you wanted peace and yet you always wanted his chaos, instead you were drenched between your thighs. "You."
He's hoisting you up and carrying you back into his trailer tossing you on the couch like some maiden stole away from her prince. He sits down and doesn't even pause; he just undoes his pants letting his hard cock spring free for you to slide down on. It's wrong in all the right ways as your ride him on that beer-stained couch, scratchy fabric digging into your knees with every rock forward. He tugs your hair back, yanking up your shirt to run his tongue onto your nipples, nipping them gently as you moan into the smoke-stained ceiling of his home. "Just like that...my pretty girl," His hand is already moving where you need it most. "Gods you're perfect. Look at you." It gentler than he usually is refraining from calling you some debauched name, "Fuckin' made for me, always so good to me." He's muttering into your chest thumb putting pressure on your clit as his cock hits an angel that rubs on such a sweet spot.
"For you Eddie," You have to use the back of the couch to keep moving, to keep chasing that cliffside. You don't even realize what you're saying, what promises and vows you're letting slip out of your subconscious. "For you."
His fingers grab onto supple flesh, squeezing into your ass as you ride him as you glide against his cock feeling those odd, strange feelings breaking free of your brain. That was why you needed to stop, things were getting too blurry, to convoluted. But then he would smile at you, touch some exposed part of you like a raw nerve, and you were his all over again. "I make you feel so good." He coos into you sweating neck as your teeth dig into your bottom lip, as your forehead rest against his head, bodies destined to be conjoined eternally.
"You do." You nod letting him feel it, letting him feel as your pussy clenches around him the burning incessant behind your eyes. "Only you."
He groans too quickly and then he's spilling inside of you. "Keep going." He urges you trying to fling you over by working your clit again, by taking the time to make sure you finished too, and you do, and it's beautiful as you wrap around him feeling him everywhere you needed. He's kissing you then, sweetly, gently with no purpose and languid movement. "Leave him." He mutters into your mouth; words that held more weight than either of you intended. You frown, and he wants to rattle off every shallow excuse you've ever given him, your friends, your reputation, Andy would kill him, but he refrains because at the end of the day, despite every lame reason, you still always ended up with him inside of you. He pushes hair out of his face running his hands over it. "Can you just...stop letting him touch you. I hate when you show up here with some new bruise."
He's quiet and you climb off of him with a quiet hiss plopping down on the couch next to him. "This isn't...it's just physical, stop making it something it isn't." A lie you both had been toying with for far too long as the hollowness of him echoes around your empty body.
He swears, "I can't keep up with you." You chew on your bottom lip. "You know I was okay with you using me to get off, to 'stick it to the man.' I thought sure I'll indulge it, you're hot, your boyfriend is a dick, then I could wipe my hands clean." He turns his body towards you, hooking his hands under your legs to bring you closer. "But I couldn't. I kept coming back to you too, instigating you to let me in."
"It's just sex Eddie." You whisper. Another lie.
"No, it wasn't and you know that." He narrows his eyes at you. "If it was sex you wouldn't lay in my bed for hours afterwards talking to me. If it was sex you'd ask me to drop you off after I fucked you in my van instead of making me go buy you a Slurpee and pull into one of the drive-ins halfway through the movie so we didn't have to pay." He grabs you by the chin, "I kept coming back, but you stayed."
He's slow, ever since you started up this affair with him it was all fast and slick skin to get to a shared goal, debilitating fevered touches to lay each other bare. But he's slow as he leans in, slow as he brushes his lips against yours, like he's begging you to feel it all. It's soft, delicate the way his mouth slates against yours, his lips caressing the small whimper out of you. The world forgets you, it dissipates like smoke, leaving you behind with him. It just you and him. Hands meet cheeks, fingers meet hair as his tongue slips into your mouth. A soft swirl around your mouth, gliding along your tongue as an arm wraps around your back to pull you tighter against him. You'd give him everything in the moment.
It was shit like this that had you always coming back, that took a pickaxe to your frozen heart.
"Let me clean your feet off." He whispers to your lips leaving another small peck to them. He helps you stand, legs wobbling as he walks you to the bathroom to sit you on the lip of the tub. He runs the water while he searches for a wash rag. "It's warm enough now." He helps guide your legs over, dirt and blood turning the water a light brown. He frowns at it as he wipes it all off the sole of your foot. You expect him to say something, to berate you for your bad choices, but he just cleans your other foot. "Open your legs." Your brows furrow, but he pokes your thighs apart. He takes the wash rag there too washing away all of his cum that leaked out of you.
Then the rag slaps into the tub as he discards it, the water shuts off and he releases a big sigh, "I hate him."
"I hate him too." You nod as he kneads out tense muscles in your calf. "I don't want him to touch me anymore either."
He peeks up at you through dark hair, eyes so resigned to this life you've forced upon both of you if it meant you got to hold each other one more time. "Come on," He squeezes your shoulder as he stands up, and you're not sure if he means to take you home or to his bed. You should go home.
You don't move, just white knuckle the tub as your throat burns. "Can I stay?"
He's silent, then a sharp relieved inhale. "Whatever you want pretty girl."
You try to go back to pretending you like Andy and using Eddie to make you forget your 'boyfriend' exists. You want to hate yourself for lying to everyone, to your friends, your parents, yourself, but then Andy would shove some freshman into a locker for no reason other than to laugh, usually one of Eddie's younger friends, and you made peace with your choices. No harm, no foul.
If 'last time' was bad, this current last time was so much worse. Your world begins to tilt on its axis as you try to force normalcy into your life; try to regain everything he was capable to dragging up from just kissing you softly. Your chest aches at the thought of him, some strange feeling working its way up your throat. You figured you shoved it down deep to avoid anyone getting hurt; it's not like anything would come from either of you having feelings for each other, so what was the point in addressing them, feeling them. They clawed in your stomach, your ribs, demanding to be felt. It's like every time you hooked up it got longer, softer, dipping you in your well of feeling too steep until your cup overflowed with...Eddie.
You doodle away into your notebook as your teacher drones on about the economy and capitalism you don't even realize you're drawing Es inside all your hearts. You glance at where he sits, up a row and to the right. You made him move there to force him to pay attention so he wouldn't fail again, but now you couldn't focus at all. You'd picture graduating together, going to college together, maybe take a gap year to travel around in his dirty van. You pictured apartments and homes and cats and children with dark curly hair whose dad would always sing them to sleep. You were a goner. You scratch them away as the bell dings snatching up your things and curving up the aisle of desks.
Your friends walk ahead of you, all chattering about the game later as you brush past his shoulder. Like clockwork, his fingers graze bare thighs, the hem of your uniformed skirt, and letting it go. You glance behind at him, at dark eyes, and you bite your lip letting the flush creep through your blood knowing 'last time' had no chance of being the last time.
You make some excuse to leave lunch, to walk across fields and through trees to find him sitting on that lone wooden bench fingers toying with a metal box. "Capitalism, eh?" He says to you.
You shake your head laughing. "That's what you came up with?"
He leans forward, his chin resting on his knuckles. "Hey, it means I was listening."
"That's a first." You're around the table in seconds, climbing onto his lap hands bringing his mouth to your own.
"And you said last weekend was the last time." He mutters into your mouth. His hands rub and down your bare legs, fingers disappearing under the lip of your skirt then retreating, "Speaking of listening." You kiss his lips. "No come on...I need to ask you something pretty girl." You roll your hips against him breathless as you slip your tongue into his mouth.
"Ask me after." You whisper.
"Yes, but you agree more before." You chuckle into his mouth because it's so true. You'd do anything if it got him to touch you, you grind down on him again feeling the soft twitch of his cock stirring up to meet you. "You're horrible." He takes your face and kisses you harder forgoing the conversation. He tsked, "What would you precious boyfriend say it he saw you right now?" I don't care. He kisses down your jaw, teeth bared against skin as his fingers dip between your legs slipping under underwear to dive into you. "Fucking such a slut for it." He curls inside of you dipping in and out of you as your hips roll against his palm to chase a cure only he could give you to this decrepit illness. He looks up at you as your head falls back, as you ride his hand with reckless abandon. "Look at you, can't even help it, had to chase me all the way out here to get it. What if I was meeting someone out here?"
You're too lost to even pay attention to someone coming upon you fucking his fingers so hopelessly. "Eddie," You just moan into the air squeezing your eyes tight, feeling everything burn up within you.
"Scream it pretty girl," He grits his teeth. "Scream it for the whole goddamn school to hear what you let me do to you." Gosh you do, you scream his name so loud as you cum the birds fly out of the trees. You clamp down around his hand, gushing over him hoping anyone outside stops and wonders what the noise was. "That's it, such a good girl." He nuzzles his face into your neck sucking softly on the skin letting his teeth calm your erratic pulse.
"W-What did you need to ask?" You ask dizzily as his hand slide out of you.
He smirks, "Oh no we're not done yet." He wraps a hand around your body making you stand before he shoves you around the table to lay your chest down on the wooden picnic table. The chipped pieces poke at your hands as you try to turn back and watch him. "You wanted it so bad you're gunna get it." He flips your skirt up, yanks your underwear down your legs to shove his cock into you.
"Fuck," Your nails curl into wood, shaving getting caught beneath them as he hits you hard and deep. He's got his hands on your hips squeezing roughly as he pounds into you relentlessly. You arch for him letting him slide along something so good it has you mewling for him in all the disgusting ways you wanted him. You don't know how to stop, you don't know how you could ever not let him get to you even though you know you need to before things go too far. You fear they already have.
He reaches forward grabbing the base of your ponytail to fold your body more for him as the tip of him bruises your cervix.
"I'm gunna cum right there." He groans at you. "I hope it drips out of you all fucking game. I hope your stupid boyfriend slips on it after halftime." He chuckles to himself, "Maybe make him raise my baby huh? You'd like that wouldn't you? Letting me knock you up, and he'll wonder the rest of his life why his kids look like me."
And because it's so pathetic of you, you beg him for it. "Please Eddie." He drops your hair to shove his hand under you, to press into your clit, to make your body squirm under him. You're moving your hips back to meet his thrust letting his fingers work the orgasm out of you until finally you're clenching around him, cumming hard into the wooden table.
"Fuck I-Ugh." He thrust deep as he cums pushing it far and back so it can stay in there as long as possible. He leans down onto your back pressing a kiss to the back of your head. You lean into it with a soft noise letting him kiss your shoulder, the nape of your neck, finally a gentle kiss against your mouth as he pulls out of you. He stares at you, brushing hair out of your face as the little smile lays lazily on your lips. "You're...you're so beautiful."
"Like this?" You look down at your bottom half, skirt still flipped up, underwear gone with his spend tucked inside of you.
He shakes his head. "Always."
It hurts. It seizes your chest making you push off the table to fix yourself already feeling gravity yanking his cum out of you, reality trying to rid the evidence of your entanglement. "You're not so bad yourself Munson." You smooth down your skirt one last time. "What did you need to ask?"
He studies your face, and you can hear the words; things are weird between us, and last time felt different, and I have all these feelings, and I don't know where to put them. Instead, he says, "Patrick sent one of the little juniors to ask if I'd bring some weed by Jason's party later. Are you going to be there?"
"Yes." You nod forgetting everything punching its way out of your sternum. "Unfortunately."
He fiddles with the lid of the metal box the distance stretching like a rift between you, "Okay...okay."
You want to reach out, to grab his hands, his face, to tell him you'll forget the stupid party for him. I want you, only you. You want to say, but your reputation clings to you like a ball and chain. Your friend group would disown you; you'd be cast out. It was pure selfishness that made you cling to the shadows with him, your cursed pride.
EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER
You're deep in the library searching down a silly book for a paper you were writing, some lame history assignment you had no clue where to start on. You peruse the shelves hoping something will catch your eye, spark an idea. You sigh reaching up to grab a book giving it a small tug brown eyes staring back through the empty slot.
"Hey." He accuses you. "I was gunna grab that."
You stared down at the book, "Oh um," You didn't necessarily want it you were just collecting the ones that stood out to you. "I don't think I want it. You can have it back."
He's around the shelf in seconds. You take him in as he prowls towards you, long, messy dark hair, some strange black band t-shirt and black pants to match. "You sure?"
You nodded handing it back over to him, "I think I'm gunna lean more into colonial times."
"Colonial times?" He raises an eyebrow at you leaning his shoulder against the shelf, he looks you up and down taking you in cheer uniform and all.
"You know, like the founding of America and all that."
He chuckled, "Yeah I know, but why?"
You shrugged the corners of your lips curling up. "I don't know it interest me."
"Fair enough." He tugs on your arm leading you through bookshelves. "They're over here." You should shake him off; he shouldn't be touching you. You always hear what people say about him, the way the whole basketball team berates him, your friends would laugh, but you never could. It was never funny; it was just mean. It seemed tucked away deep between bookshelves their words didn't seem to matter to you. And ever since this summer thing with Andy started up, and you realized you had no care for the rude boy except to appease your squad, you paid more attention to things he disliked, as if trying to put as much distance between you and that sexist idiot.
"Thanks." You scan the title snatching up a few that seemed to bring a thesis to mind you could easily work around.
"Eddie." He says suddenly and you realize he's still standing there smiling at you.
You smile back, "I know." You hold up the book, "We have history together."
"That we do." He smirks as he takes a step towards you, a line crossed into your space. "Well, if you wanna maybe we could work on this paper thing together; read each other's work and all that."
"Are you just going to plagiarize me?" You smirk.
"No no of course not!" He's feigning shock, a hand to his chest. "Plus, colonial times bore me I'm focusing on the gorier shit."
You roll your eyes playfully, "Of course you are."
"So, what do you say pretty girl, help a man out." The heat flares in your cheeks, "And hey company is always nice."
"What's in it for me?"
His eyes darken and his hand rest on the shelf above you, "Am I not enough?"
You swallow and words grow heavy; you need to tell him you're technically seeing someone but then you would be assuming he's flirting with you. You need to say something back, but you hear the loud call of your name. "Hey, what are you-Is this freak bothering you?"
Andy is quick to stride towards you giving Eddie a shove backwards into the bookshelves a few falling off with the impact, "He was helping me find a book." You say unable to even look at him, instead all you could focus on was Eddie, and the way he still watched you.
"Like he can read," Andy scoffs arm around your bicep bruising your skin; you grimace. "Go on now."
"Let me know if wanna take me up on my offer again pretty girl." You wince at the sound his body makes as Andy shoved him harder more books tumbling down.
Andy shakes him furiously, "What's that supposed to mean?" Andy digs his hand into where your shoulder meets your necks, "I said get the fuck out of here." Eddie grits his jaw and finds the strength to push Andy away as you slowly back up. "If you ever come near-!"
You drown it out as you walk away from them.
The air feels too thick with triumphant as your friends usher you back into the locker room after the game was won. You feel strange around them. You should feel giddy as you and your friends change into better clothes, as you all apply gloss and eyeshadow to prepare for the party later. You should feel like you're missing out not chiming in, you had been so close to all of them before...well before Eddie. You find the pictures hanging around your locker more interesting as they talk about all the cute guys that would be there. Their friendships felt hallow now, so surfaced level that your excuse of their loss seems trivial now. Their voices trail off as you stare at all the fake photos taped along the inside of your locker, pictures of you and them, your whole squad, the whole basketball team, Andy.
He had been so kind in the beginning, offering you his jacket while you all huddled around the fire on the beach. Your friends egged it on, and since you probably wouldn't find anyone else outside of the tight circle of jocks, you gave in to it. It had been downhill since then. Now, looking at a picture of you two you can't help but feel like the girl in the photos had never been you.
Your hand reached forward, digging under the pile of spare clothes, new socks, and strown about beauty products to the back of the locker where you had hidden it. Your fingers grasp metal as you tug it from secrecy letting it dangle in front of you. He had given it to you a while back ago, both too high to realize it's possession of your neck meant something too serious. You hid it away, he never asked after it, or wondered why you never kept it on.
Another trivial concern.
You slide it around your neck tucking it inside your cheer uniform like it always should have been.
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
"So, I'm thinking horror movie?"
You chuckle to yourself, "We can just fuck in your car." That's usually how these things started, but in a way, you did always end up back in his bedroom watching an old movie of his anyways.
"Excuse me if I'm just trying to save my back," He smirks over at you, "Fucking you is no easy work especially in my van."
You glance over your shoulder at the messy back of his van. You scoop up his leather jacket to tug on when your eyes narrow on white lace, "Is that my bra?" He looks so amused, "You're a kleptomaniac."
He eyes his jacket now around your shoulders, "Takes one to know one baby," He pats your thigh, leaving his hand on warm skin. On cue, your heart pounds two extra beats as he drives off towards the movie store. You whack him so hard to ignore it making the car swerve, his cackle floating out of the window.
Thirty minutes later your legs are tangled as Indiana Jones tries to outrun a boulder. You're not really watching, which he knew you wouldn't be, which you remind him it was his idea to get a movie. He's drawing shapes into the skin of the thigh that drapes over him just below the lip of your skirt. You glance up at him, at the TV light reflecting in his dark eyes before he looks down at you. "Pause the movie, Eddie."
"This was a good pick." He tells you.
You press up on your hands, "Pause the movie." You didn't want to ogle Harrison Ford, you wanted Eddie to make you forget Harrison Ford, forget yourself.
"No." He only laughs slightly not even looking at you.
Fine. Your fingers toy with his belt, his zipper, lightly ghosting your touch over his cock. He twitches to meet the movement and he's trying to act cool, but you feel the inhale he takes. "Turn the movie off." You tell him again as you undo his belt, as you unbutton his jeans, pull his zipper down. You trail the waistband of his underwear before slipping underneath it to place your warm hand around his now hard cock. You blink innocently up at him, "Please."
"No." He breaths, but he isn't even watching it. He's watching you. You smile against his hip as you try to pull his underwear down to free him from them. You shift down the bed, straddling his left leg to press the tip of him to your lips. You glance up at him, yeah, he's not watching the fucking movie.
You wrap your mouth around his cock sliding him back until he hits the back of your throat. You take a breath through your nose, the scent of him igniting that eternal flame in your core, then you're pulling off to swallow him down once more. Your hand goes to the shaft as you bob along his cock, sucking in your cheeks to seal him in, curling your lips over teeth.
"Fuck." He hisses hips bucking into your face hitting your throat hard you gag slightly spit cascading down your wrist as it prickles behind your eyes. "Who taught you how to do all that?"
You laugh against him as your hand swirls around his cock. Cocky bastard, "You." You murmur, taking him slow and deep letting him feel every flick of your tongue, every caress of it against the head of his dick.
"You're a fucking whore." He groans his hand going to the back of your head using it to make you move faster letting your hand make up the rest as water wells in your eyes from choking him down.
You pop off of him, licking a lone stripe up his cock. "You gunna turn the TV off now Eddie?"
He stares down at you wildly, "No I won't be able to see you."
You pout as you sit back on your knees. "That's too bad." You climb over him, over his glistening cock. You've been dripping since you climbed into his van, had been since he grabbed your ass in the middle of the movie store, you've been trying to rut against his leg with every slow movement of his fingers tracing your skin. You had been bursting for him to flip you over, pin you down, and fuck you in his bed like he meant to. But now he was playing games with you.
You shift your legs moving around until you back is to him. You pull your top off laughing to yourself hearing him whine about it, "That's not fair." You barely give him a moment to think as you slowly slide down onto his cock, inch by inch he fills and stretches you until you're fully seated onto him claws digging into his jean-clad thighs. "This isn't fair." He whines again as you bring your hips up and glide back down trying to find a pace in this position, it's new as it hits everything the opposite way, his dick curving along new angles and your head falls back with a moan.
His hands are on your ass as every down motion makes it bounce off his own skin. He's kneading into your flesh trying to bunch your skirt up more to fully take in the sight in front of him; your bare back, ass on full display going up and down his cock. He's bucking his hips up into you, trying to fuck you harder, the way he knows you like it, but you move at your own rhythm letting his cock drag against the spongy good part deep in your cunt. You arch your back, rocking your hips, letting a hand fall back into his chest. You probably could cum like this, but you need to really piss him off. "You're right this is a really good movie."
"Yeah?" You hear the threat in his voice, and you feel yourself clenching around him as the mere thought of what he would do to you next. Take the bait. You're expecting him to, but you're not expecting him to grab onto your hips to force you to move faster. He's thrusting up every time you thrust down and forward as his hands try to crawl towards your clit. You don't need it, don't need it as something burns through you at every delicious groove of his cock deep inside you.
You're clamping down around him as you cum, nails scratching down his chest some stuttered version of his name fumbling out of your mouth. You're in a daze, trying to blink the stars out of your eyes, and when you open them, the room is still spinning.
No, it's you that's spinning until you tumble face first into the end of his bed his grip still firm on your hips. He's flipped you over, hitched you up, and pressed your chest into the mattress as his cock shoved down into you in one long stroke.
You're open-mouthed gasping into the bed, still reeling from an orgasm, trying to catch your breath, but every thrust knocks it out of you. Your hand grabs onto the mattress twisting the sheets between fingers as he pile-drives into you. You tilt your neck taking in the television screen one last time before he stills, reaching across the bed for his remote while staying inside of you.
The TV flicks off, "Fuck Harrison Ford." He grits his teeth resuming his pace like nothing happened
You smirk up at him from where you lay, "Yeah he sucks."
He raised an eyebrow hand going to the zipper holding your skirt on, then he yanks it down fabric falling away like nothing. He gives your ass a hard slap then grabs you by your hair arching your back up, "Was it worth it huh? Getting me all worked up so I could fuck you the way you need hmm?"
"Yes," It's strained for air.
"Won't let me treat you all nice, nah that isn't you. You're just my little slut who wants me to fuck her in the back of my dirty van." He lets go of your hair. He leans back and you hear the noise of his shirt hitting carpet. Then his hand wraps around your body fingers pressing into your throbbing clit. You mewl into the bed sheets trying to push back into him as his cock hits your cervix with every punishing thrust. "I shouldn't even let you cum you've been so fuckin' rude to me."
Your eyes fly open scrambling to look at him. "Please Eddie please I'm sorry." You're whining now. He's still moving his fingers, drawing new shapes and stars into that bundle of nerves shooting shockwaves up your spine. "Please I'll be good."
"Pretty words from my pretty girl." And maybe it's the way he says it, maybe its the need to cum so bad.
You whisper back, "Your pretty girl."
He's feral, he's rabid as he fucks you rubbing your clit with purposful motions to draw everything out from you. His cock is hitting something beautiful over and over and over again the loud slapping echoing around the room. It yanks you through your pleasure. You cry out as you cum around him, clenching tight as your toes curl in on themselves. It's ravaging, sending jolts down your bones as your ears ring. You hear Eddie speaking, saying something, there's a rip in his voice and you yearn to hear it. But then he groans out, hips stuttering as he spills inside of you.
Neither of you move, your cunt throbbing around his cock softly pushing everything deeper, hands still white knuckling his sheets. He's stroking your back, massaging the supple flesh of your ass the feel of his cock softening inside of you. Then slowly, your fingers unfurl and your body relaxes, the only noise coming from the wet sound his cock makes as it pulls out of you. He tugs you by the shoulder to flip you onto your back to stare down at you his pick necklace swaying back and forth.
He leans down slow, steady, sure. "My pretty girl," He whispers onto your lips before kissing you softly like he hadn't just wrecked your body. You curl tentative fingers around his jaw as he cups your face. Kissing you, just leaving his lips on you, no tongue, no biting or sucking, just a kiss. He pulls back, eyes flickering between your own like he's searching for something. Then he's pushing away from you, "I need a joint."
He leaves you alone, naked, dripping with him. You slowly sit up, a lone siren in his tussled bed. You throw your skirt by your top on the floor and stand up finding his discarded shirt and tugging it over your head. You should leave; things were shifting into a territory you were afraid you'd never come back from. You should leave while you're ahead, while nothing has been said neither could take back. But you smell him all around you, engrossing on your heart like a black plague, so when he comes back in, shirtless, the lit joint stuck between teeth, bright eyes taking you in, logic flees.
"Stay."
"Sure."
And that was that. He passed you the joint letting you take a deep inhale as you sat on top of his dresser. "Do you know how to play any ABBA?" You point your hand, joint still clutched between knuckles, at his guitar.
He looked at you like you were crazy and it's sends the both of you into a fit of laughter. He rips the joint from you and taking a long drag, "Do you know any heavy metal?"
You give him a cheeky grin, "Yeah actually I'm really into this one band." He raises a brow passing you the joint back, "Yeah you probably don't know about them; Corroded Coffin." You take a hit letting it sit in your lungs as you speak. "Yeah, they're super good they like invented the mosh pit."
"You're an idiot." He's shaking his head beaming at you as you finally exhale the smoke. "An absolute idiot." He's in your space now hands wrapping around you, pulling you close. You look up at him through lazy eyes, he's so beautiful in this light, hair still drying from sweat, the room a yellow-brown hue, his eyes only on you.
"Takes one to know one." You reach your hand down to twine around his hair, running your fingers along the silver chain, tracing the shape of the guitar pick.
"Take it." He whispers and again you look up at him, the content look on his features. Your brows crease, "Here." He tugs it over his head and lets it dangle between bodies like an offering. "I want you to have it."
It felt too sentimental to take as it tiptoes along the lines of a claiming. "What did you say to me during sex, right before you came." His eye twitched. "I couldn't hear anything..."
"It wasn't important." He slides his chain over your head to let it rest against your chest, an anchor centering your heart. He ticks your chin up, "And you called me a kleptomaniac. You're robbing me blind pretty girl." He's right; his shirt, his chain, his...his...
"Come on." Your friends urge you with a laugh in their voice. You follow them out of the locker room to this stupid party you had a feeling was going to be horrible.
Two guys are already fighting as you lean against a banister with a cup of something strong in your hand. You wish you were anywhere but here, as your friends' voices grate you, as Andy gropes you harshly. The music sucks, your friends suck, Andy sucks. You drain the rest of your drink beginning to walk towards the kitchen to get another when Andy grabs you by the wrist, "Don't go far."
You raise your empty cup at him, and his grubby fingers slide off of you. You go to the kitchen filling your cup with the sweet punch of miscellaneous alcohol and juice. You peer up at Andy to see if he's watching you so you could slip away to anywhere, maybe wait out front until Eddie got here just for the chance of a glimpse. Andy's not looking at you, he's whispering with Patrick as they point to the door.
Your palms begin to sweat as your heart picks up. You wait until they begin to move towards the door where you know he's waiting. You follow them like a tether being pulled in his direction without control until warm spring air brushes your hair away from your face.
He's there, leaning against the door of his van, smirking as Andy walks towards him. God, the fucker is so smug, and he had every right to be as he held them in his pocket where the weed they so desperately wanted sat. You're walking over there, reckless and too drunk on this punch, on him to think twice. You just need to hear his voice, smell him once and then you'll leave him alone, hatch an escape plan to end up in his bed tonight.
"$50 for an ounce that's way too fucking much." You hear Andy grit out as you near them. "Last time it was only $25"
"Inflation." He shrugged. "Also, I had to include travel cost ya know." His grin is evil, "Actually its now $55 because I don't like you Harper."
Andy digs in his pocket anyways for the money knowing he'd end up paying whatever to get the weed. "Fuck you Munson." In the time it takes him to fish out his wallet Eddie's eyes had looked up to meet yours just over the shoulders in front of him, your knees wobble.
He smiles, "Hi pretty girl."
Andy looks quickly back at you. "Get back in the fucking house." He tells you now digging through his wallet for bills. "And don't fucking talk to her, freak."
Eddie doesn't even think to listen; he just fishes in his front pocket of his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. He slips one into his mouth and stares at you expectantly. "Want one?"
I only smoke with you.
You forget to care, to pretend. It's like your eyes glaze over; feet pulled to him. "She doesn't smoke." Andy finally begins to pull out money. "Fuck, Patrick go see if Jason has $5." Patrick eyes the scene in front of him; Andy looking for money, you are staring at Eddie, and Eddie just smirking so deeply at you as he lights up his cigarette. He's right in wanting to leave.
"Oh, come on, I'll give ya a discount." Andy looks between the two of you but is resigned to say nothing as he nods curtly. Eddie takes the smoke out of his own mouth to pass to you. It's wicked, the lines he's crossing, and you're even worse for letting him in this moment of weakness. "How's the party?" He asks watching you inhale deep, letting it cloud everything your brain was trying to piece together.
You shrugged, "Music could be better."
He shakes his head at you laughing slightly as you hand him back the cigarette, you bite back your own smile. "Okay go back in." Andy points at the house behind you. "You've had your fun freak you're lucky I don't kick your ass."
Eddie cackles, "You're lucky I like your girlfriend, or I'd charge you double." Eddie holds out his fingers, the cigarette between knuckles. "You want more? Yeah," He pouts. "I bet you do pretty girl." He motions with two fingers the very same two fingers that were making you come earlier, "Well come on then." It's blatant disrespect as your foot takes a single step towards him. "Just one more, can't let our dear ole' Andy get ripped off now." Andy cracks his knuckles together glaring as Eddie takes his single step towards you, sliding a hand down your back and pushing the cigarette past your lips. "Thatta girl." You can't even look away as you suck it all in, as you hear Andy begin to tell you off, to go back inside. You lean your head back exhaling into the open air; the silver chain reflecting off of the exterior house lights all inhibitions floating off into space. The air shifts; becoming too tense and you forget to regret putting it on. He can't take his eyes off of it around your neck. He wants to kiss you; you can tell by the way he watches your mouth, and you need to back away. You need to leave before it gets out of control.
Andy grabs you by the bicep yanking you harshly away from Eddie, you stumble over feet just barely staying up by the fabric of Andy's letterman jacket. "Enough freak. I am getting this for free for letting you near her."
Eddie eyes Andy's harsh grip on you turning into something vengeful. "Oh, you can get it for free Harper." Eddie stomps out the cigarette, slowly walking towards him, getting in his space while looking at you. "If you let me have her the rest of the night."
Andy fucking considers it which makes the whole thing ten times worse. If you didn't know Eddie, you'd call him gross for the comment, but you had a feeling he was just looking for an excuse to get you to leave. "Get the fuck out of here." Andy shoves Eddie away.
Eddie laughs menacingly. "Come on, just one little night. I bet she'd make the most beautiful sounds when she cums." Andy glowers at him unable to even find a retort, and Eddie is prepared to blow it all up. He's livid, he's done letting this guy manhandle you.
You find enough clarity to whisper, "Don't."
"Wait...that's right. You can't make her cum." You wince. And because he needs to drive the point home he sneers at Andy, "Ask her, ask her what memory of me will she dreg up while you're trying to fuck her, what image of me is the one that makes her cum when she's underneath you?" He taps his chin feigning he was genuinely thinking on it, "I bet it's the first time I fucked her in the back of my van."
"Eddie stop." You growl.
He doesn't stop; he makes it worse. "Gods she was so fucking wet I didn't even know what to do with myself." He slaps Andy on the shoulder, "And gosh she tasted divine, like sweet nectar. I could stay down there forever, and she'd let me." He drops his hand, "Oh wait no she did let me, begged me to keep making her cum." He laughs again, a heartless, cruel sound. "I mean how could I say no to all that pretty begging."
Andy slowly turns to you, and finally, finally he takes you in. He notes the flush in your cheeks, wide eyes, the fading hickies running down your neck. "Did you-..." And very slowly he reaches to the small silver chain around your throat, digging it out from under clothes. Eddie's guitar pick crashes down onto your chest. "You're such a fucking whore." Andy back hands you, it throws you off balance and you're falling into concrete.
Your hands scrape gravel as you narrow your eyes up at him, as he reels his fist up coming closer to you. "I hate you. I'm glad I never let you fuck me." You watch his leg pull back to kick you, but he never gets the chance to.
There's a blur in front of you as Eddie tackles him to the ground, "Don't ever touch her again!" He punches Andy, one, two, three times before his moment of glory is over and Andy flips them around.
"Eddie!" You cry out, but Andy is beating him under his fist.
"You forced her!" BAM! "You probably drugged her!" BAM! He starts laughing then as Andy bunches up his shirt to pull him up into his face. "What's so funny freak? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
The smile carves into Eddie's face. Your heart sinks as he spits blood at Andy then bares his bloody teeth, "I bet if you shoved your hand deep enough up there, you'd still feel my cum inside of her." He knees Andy in the groin flopping back onto concrete as Andy drops beside him.
He's on his feet in seconds helping you to your own, tugging off his jacket to throw it over your shaking body. "Come on pretty girl."
You just stare at him in shock, tears welling, before you blink up at him. "Are you fucking serious?"
"I told you I didn't want him touching you." Eddie stares at you incredulously.
"You egged him on!" You shoved him. "You-you..."
Andy groans from the ground trying to climb to his feet. "I'm gunna kill you." He spits out blood and saliva as Eddie tries to push you back to his car to make a quick escape. You just shove him away and walk in the opposite direction, "Yeah scurry away Munson." Andy shouts after you. "Have fun being a washed up druggie whore the rest of your life!"
You don't care. You don't care as he yells, as Eddie joins in from the window of his van the engine roaring to life. You don't even care that Andy knows, that he'll go inside and tell everyone you were fucking Eddie Munson. You don't care about the fallout. You should have known better than to let it get this far, to let him have control over you like this to the point you couldn't even stay in the house. You just had to see him. You just had to put on his stupid necklace.
You had used him to get to Andy back then, and he let you, knowing the consequences. He had used you to get to Andy now, and you let him, knowing the consequences. It was too heavy. You couldn't breathe his necklace choking the air out of your lungs.
"Pretty girl." He called from his van driving next to the curb. "Let me at least drive you home." You keep walking fighting every urge to run to his passenger side. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said it. I shouldn't have even..."
"What a dumb thing to do." You shake your head still walking down the sidewalk. "He could have killed you, Eddie."
He blows a stop sign to keep up with you. "I never would have...If I would have known, he would have hurt you because of me I never-!"
"I don't care about what he did to me!" You shout at him.
"I do! I care." You stop, the brakes squeal as he does too. You turn to look at him, in the quiet the faint sound of music floats from the van window. You recognize it, the soft lull of it, the familiar vocals. A tear slips over your eye as you watch him taste the words in his mouth before he adds them to the air, "I love you."
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
You're lying naked on your back in the back of his van passing a joint back and forth as he mindlessly toys with your hair. "Oh, shoot I forgot." You shoot up digging around for his shirt, throwing it over your bare body and stumbling towards the front of the car where your bag sat in the front seat. "I made you a mixtape." You smirk over your shoulder at him as you wave it around, "I'm here to indoctrinate you, Eddie Munson." He groans reaching a long arm forward to grab you by your ass to stop. You pop open the cassette tape, ignoring him, fumbling with the tape before shoving it into his radio. You eye the paper inside listing the tracks before skipping to song number five, Maniac.
It's off rather quick, synth-pop music floating around his car that already has you wiggling back the way you came, you're on your knees bouncing to and fro. "Come on," Your hips are trying to keep pace with the beat, struggling to stay in tune as the words pour out. He slowly sits up, watching you. "Try not to dance."
His face cracks when the corner of his mouth quirks up, "You look ridiculous."
"That's not the point!" Metal digs into your knees you move your hands to the same beat above your head letting them brush against the ceiling of his car.
Your hips swivel in an out-of-rhythm circle until he's on his knees in front of you. He's moving his head to the insane music he always swore to hate. He's trying to mimic some of your moves; shimmying chests back and forth of each other. You're trying to do some version of a twist but the car is too dense with smoke and little room. You both look so stupid, half naked, laughing way too hard to be good dancers. You're both shaking hair out, shouting the words; well, he's just shouting. He makes a quick move, wrapping arms around you to pull you onto him, bodies hitting the van floor.
Music still plays, chaotic sounds ebbing away as you stare down at him. The air shifts, that feeling creeping back up on you as the space closes in on you. You're too high to fight it. Your boundaries are shattered as every picket fence you placed around your heart gets ripped out by Eddie Munson. He's found a way to weasel in, to cause destruction inside out.
He stokes a hand down your face before kissing you. Maybe it's the weed but your head feels cloudy except thoughts of him. You forgot that this was supposed to be the last time you hooked up with him, that you need to stop kissing him, smoking with him. But then again you said that last time. Yeah, it was the weed making you constantly climb into the back of his van, making you make him a mixtape, making you need him.
The song changes, "Oh." You breathe into his mouth. "It's my favorite." You close your eyes listening to the sweet sound playing beyond you. You lay your head on his chest gently singing the song against him. He doesn't complain as it continues on, just resumes running a hand down your hair, over the neckline of his shirt on your back.
"I like when you wear my clothes." He says. You did too, liked wearing them home to sleep surrounded by his smell. He doesn't need to know that.
"Me too." You whisper anyway.
I'm your music. I'm your song.
He sighs, "Okay fine this is a good one."
Play me time and time again and make me strong.
You pick your head up to beam at him as something flashes over his eyes when he stares up at you. In his van, the world couldn't remind you of everything you ever did wrong. You shift to move to go stop the music before words pour out of your mouth you can't take back. "Keep it in." He tells you, his hand on your rapid pulse. You need to retort, you need to retort, you need-! "That way you have music in here too now."
"Klepto..." It's all breath, no conviction because as he steals your mixtape, he's stolen something else too.
His voice comes back into focus. "I was okay with you being with him because deep down I knew you were always mine. I mean come on, who were we fooling." You're barely breathing. "I love you and you love me and that's all we need, so just please get in car, we can figure out the rest later."
In the streetlight you can take in the ugly black eye forming on his face, can see the split lip. "What a stupid thing to say." You whisper, hugging your arms around yourself and walking away from him.
Your name is a heartbroken sound on his lips, then he's yelling it after you, begging you to let him drive your home. You couldn't. You couldn't turn around and face everything you've been hiding from yourself, everything you've been running from.
TWO WEEKS LATER
"I promise." You hold your pinkies together with the old man standing outside the bar. "I kept my promise last time." He nods and lets you pass into the dirty old dive bar that reeked of liquor, some motor oil, and strange men. In the middle of the floor people are jumping up and down, swinging their arms at each other, pushing and shoving into one another shouting to the heavy metal the band plays.
You watch them play from the corner of the bar, from behind corners and walls and people hoping it would hide you away. Unfortunately, you do break your promise and go to the bar, but as you slide into the seat and the bartender comes over. "A grape soda," you order with a nice smile.
The song is over by the time he's back with an open bottle, the chill sneaking up the neck as you cup it into your hands. You turn to face the band again watching as the man walks up to the mic, pushing sweaty hair out of his face. "We're gunna do something different." The crowd groans, "Oh shut up it's just one song and then we're done for the night." He messes with the guitar, tuning it to fit his needs, adjusting the strap. "I never even knew this song existed until a couple of weeks ago."
"Just play already!" A man shouts from the crowd.
He keeps talking anyways as everyone gets set. "I learned it on the quiet nights; the slow days, and I had this whole plan to play it for my...for a pretty girl." He sighs heavily into the mic, "But sometimes planning has a way of jinxing things, so here we are, and I'm playing it for a bunch of dirtbags instead of my-! Her."
"Boo!"
Eddie glares, "Anyways... I'm gunna play it because I have a habit of falling for things I shouldn't, with things that don't belong to me. But uh...It's become my favorite song now too."
The soft notes of a song you were all too familiar with begin to play. Your favorite song, an ABBA song. You can hear the echoes of both of your laughter when you asked him if he knew any of their songs. You can hear the soft whispered way you sang it against his chest. You can hear it drifting from his van window as he begged you to get in. Here he was standing on the stage of some shitty dive bar strumming out the melody, quietly beginning the soft hum of lyrics. You set the bottle down, turning your body in the stool to watch him. Theres no jumping bodies, or threats of being crushed to death as everyone stands still around the stage.
Please don't talk, go on, play.
Some wasted patrons wrap their arms around each other swaying to the sweet noise coming from the song. The bar disappears though, and it feels like you're alone in the world with him as he plays your favorite song.
Andante, Andante. And let me float away.
You watch him play the whole thing with a smile on your face clapping loudly when he was finished followed by a few stray clapping from people wanting to move on. Music starts to blare from a jukebox somewhere else in the bar as Eddie tugs his guitar off of himself to set it down gently in the stand. Then he's hopping off the stage moving towards the bar.
He leans against it ordering a beer while you continue you watch him. You're hard to not notice. He taps his fingers against the little plastic mat against the bar, "You came." Is the only thing out of his mouth.
Slowly he looks of at you, and it knocks the wind out from you. His sweaty hair, the red in his cheeks, his big brown eyes staring at you, "Yeah." You move a stool closer to him. "Well, I heard my favorite band was playing my favorite song, so I had to stop by."
His grin begins to grow as he shakes his head, "You're ridiculous."
"How'd you know?" You motion to the stage behind him while the bartender slides him a beer.
"That night, but also, you hearted it on that mixtape." He looks off into the distance, out towards the back where you knew your mixtape sat in his van's stereo still. He slides into the seat next to you finally, "I came by your house."
You nodded toying with the silver chain of his necklace you still wore. "I know." You remembered him starting with the pebbles against your window, then finally showing up at your door asking for you. You refused to come down. "I-I was upset for a while, mad at you, Andy, mostly myself for everything that happened this past year. Then I was scared what would happen to you if let myself have you." Andy did tell everyone, and most of the people you considered friends no longer spoke to you; half of them were upset you were sleeping with someone else behind Andy's back, the other half were mad it was Eddie Munson. A few of them didn't care, remained by your side remembering how awful Andy could be to you when he thought no one was watching. At the end of the day, school would be done soon, and you'd move on to college and meet real friends. "I was scared they would hurt you if we were together just to get revenge or something." You took a drink of your soda. "Mostly I was just scared you wouldn't want me without all the sneaking around." You couldn't admit that you were scared of the same, but as the time stretched on and the yearning remained you couldn't stand to stay away anymore.
He seems to mimic you with the slow pull of beer eyeing you over the glass. "Did you quit cheer?"
You shook your head. "The season is over so it didn't really matter."
He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank god. I loved fucking you in that thing."
"You pervert." You whacked his arm. There's no force behind it as fingers trail down his arm to land next to his own hand. "I'm sorry." He raises an eyebrow at you, "For hiding, for lying, for taking too long to figure out what to do about us. You were right the whole time, about all of it, and I couldn't accept that because of selfish reasons." Your hand slides away from him, "Even in the end I couldn't handle what you were saying to me. I was a coward."
He takes another drink, "I saw you a while back ago, months before we met in the library. It was winter of last school year, and I was hanging up a poster for Hellfire and there's this beautiful sound coming from the open doors. It was you. You were laughing with your friends, coming into school surrounded by them. Your nose was beat red, and you had snow in your hair with the biggest smile on your face. You were the prettiest girl I ever saw. I went home to write you into my D&D campaign." He toys with the rim of his glass bottle. "So that night of my show I was okay with the attention even just for that little blip of time and I figured maybe-just maybe I could get you addicted to me, get you to believe you wanted me too, even if it just was for an orgasm." His confession spills out. "I know I fucked up instigating a fight. I just-I couldn't keep letting him hurt you."
"Who?" You whisper. His forehead creases, "Who did you write me as?"
"The Goddess one of my clerics served," His fingers trail down the bottle to find their way to your hand, tracing your fingernail.
You smile, "If it makes you feel better; I used to pretend I was interested in the weather just so I could look back at you in class."
He peeks at you sideways, smirking. "Thank god I failed, who would you have ogled at?"
You think of the words you so badly needed to speak, last week, last year. "I need you. I need you more than I need air." You look down at your twined hands playing with each other fingers to calm nerves. "I-I... That night I should have run to your car and let you take me away and I'm a dirty liar for never telling you sooner."
"Pretty girl."
"You don't have to say anything, don't even acknowledge it. I-I was horrible and shallow and-!" You feel the flush in your cheeks, but you peek up at him, at the grin crawling onto his features. "What?"
"Will you just confess your mad undying love for me already?"
You shove him away, "Don't act so smug, of course I love you. It was your evil plan all along remember?"
"I do." He's so full of himself as he grabs you by his necklace around your neck to pull you closer. "Also, that's not the only thing you lied about." Your heart drops as you scramble to think of all your twisted lies, but most of them had just been about Eddie. "The night of my show, the Tigers lost like 23-36."
You're blankly staring at him. "What? Who cares about that? You knew I was lying anyways."
"Yes." He states. "But I almost got into basketball."
"You filthy liar, you just wanted to see me in my little skirt." You rolled your eyes.
"Then I guess we're both horrible people who deserve each other then." He kisses you gently.
It yanks up every memory, every laugh, every moment of bliss, every shred of happiness that only ever came from him and the way he made you feel about yourself. Pretending to be with Andy, your friends; it was the stable choice. But you had wanted something deeper, something chaotic and alive. "Well, are you gunna say it back?"
He chuckles into your mouth, "Gotta keep em on their toes."
"Hey Eddie!" Some regular, an older lady with a biker jacket on and a tight bun of dark hair sitting on the back of her head shouted across the bar. "Screw that girl from the song." She held up her beer towards you. "You got you a pretty girl right there!"
Eddie smiles down at you, "I sure do."
notes: AHH this was so fun! i had just finished alchemised when i started this so i loved using flashbacks to tell their descent into madness. lowkey hate feelings, but alas they got the better of me in this one. you'll never get an admission out of me again! (thats probably a lie) hope ya'll enjoyed! i love reading all your comments on my previous fic they make me giggle n kick my feet.
summary: Eddie’s battle against an odd foe: busting early
warnings: Smut, use of y/n, abuse of 2nd POV, unedited
wordcount: 735
a/n: This is short and I’m terrified to post this but I hope yall like it. Please please please 18+ ONLY.
Eddie wasn’t a virgin in any facet of the word. He’d tried things he’d hate to admit. He’d slept with men, women, on top, on bottom, anywhere and everywhere. Hell, he’d scored in a public bathroom before. But no place beat his van. Not his bed, not the shower, not couches or countertops.
Until he met you. You with your shorts that showed the crease where thigh met ass. You with ripped fishnets underneath skirts and cropped band tees that made his breath short. He liked everything about you, too. Not just that you dressed like a whore sometimes or that you owned your body weight in cassettes that you’d let him borrow. But you were sweet.
The kind of sweet that’d sit with him in the medical tent after he got clothes lined in a mosh pit and hit the ground a bit too hard. The kind of sweet that kissed bandaids and sewed patches in place when they peeled. And you were funny. Maybe you didn’t tell the best jokes but your timing was unbeatable. His face hurt each and every time he sat within your reach. Not to mention how talented you were, scribbling doodles across his arms that rivaled his ‘professional’ ink.
The euphoria he got off the simple smell of you put van sex to shame. He could sound, sandwich and fuck himself into oblivion and it wouldn’t be half as good as resting his head on your shoulder.
So when he folded your legs up to your chest in that van of his, jeans tugged into the ditches of your knees and watched how the length of him slid in and out of you steadily? He had to do anything but focus on it. He groaned, doubled over you as he shook, his cock jumping and swelling inside of you with each rolling thrust.
He thought of English class and how the teacher smelled of dust and scrapped knees and how Dustin blew a snot bubble laughing last week but nothing helped the way you squeezed him like a vice and moaned his name. It was heaven. But he burned with hellfire trying not to cum. He’d only just slipped in and he was whining into your neck, your legs thrown over his shoulders now. “Fuck,” he moaned and you responded with a shudder that nearly undid him.
“Wait,” he begged, his hips shuddering to fuck desperately into you when you rolls into him. His pace was sloppy, needy and fueled by mindless pleasure. “God, how are you this good?” It was a rhetorical question, but your breathless laugh and the clench it caused made his chest heave.
He pulled out suddenly, gasping for air as pleasure washed over him, a choked moan on his lips. You whined, pressing your hips in chase to no avail. “Hang on,” he replied, exhaustively as he rolled you from your back to your belly.
His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade as he parted your thighs and slid himself smoothly into your wet heat once more, clenching his jaw.
His hand circled your body to sweep between your thighs. You jolted when his fingers found your clit, running loose strokes over it. Your shaky cry spurred him on, his hips slapping forward. His opposite hand cupped your breast, kneading a pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer. “Come on,” he huffed, more to himself than you, trying to bring you to the edge like he knew you deserved. “Come on, sweet girl, come for me.” The words were filthy and desperate, torn raw from a hoarse throat.
The sound alone could make you come, but he buldged your belly as he fucked into you- hitting that spot inside that made you see stars over and over until you fell apart completely.
Sitting in the front seat of his van would never be the same, he knew that. He’d never settle in this seat and neglect to remember the crease in your brow when you cried his name, shaking around the length of him. His hands were burned with memories of touching you, pleasing you, fucking you. Most of all he wouldn’t dare forget how you held his hands when you kissed him that first time.
May the fates help him, he’d never recover from this one high, he’d never recover from you.
summary: You deal with your imposter syndrome and try your best to communicate your hurt feelings to a slightly clueless Eddie.
warnings: Very tiny hurt/comfort, use of pet names, no use of y/n, no editing
word count: 1.1k+
a/n: I’m very shy, this is my first time doing this and I hope whoever sees this likes it!
Eddie wasn’t mean to you. He wasn’t your best friend but sometimes he’d forget you were a girl, and that sometimes girl’s were more sensitive than boys. Which wasn’t his fault. You didn’t always dress like a girl, didn’t talk or act or behave in a way that was inherently girly. And hell your hobbies weren’t girly. Comic’s. Metal music, fantasy, horror movies, the list went on. You could blend seamlessly into a group of guys without the bat of an eye, speaking in that humor ridden voice and making no effort to conceal your peculiar natures. Your stutter, how you cursed in ways that’d make sailors blush or how quick you were to clap back when someone poked at you. A push you could meet with a shove, the tumbles sewn into your being.
But despite it all, in too many ways you were raw and insecure. Hesitated to touch where others would do so thoughtlessly. A hug, a pat on the shoulder. The contact made you burn- not with discomfort but guilt. That you’d somehow inconvenienced them with your touch as though you were poison. You’d overthink every conversation, every interaction. You were red all over all the time- so woefully yourself and yet so aware how odd you were. It burned to be perceived.
It was little things that hurt. Shot right through your defenses and stabbed into you. Gale would shove you- all playful but rough- and you’d burst into laughter. You’d fumble when passing a blunt to Eddie and he’d snap out a thoughtless: “Hey, watch it, dumbass!” Suddenly you couldn’t take the heat.
Dumbass.
You couldn’t have gone more quiet as you dipped to collect the dropped blunt and pass it too carefully to him, your opposite hand ghosting over your mouth as if to overtly smother yourself.
It was just a passing comment.
Tommy belted out the finishing line of some joke he’d been midway through telling when the cataclysm set fire to your nervous system. Your chuckle was dry, muffled into your palm, which now cradled over your mouth. Your lips pressed into a thin line, trying to overcome the cold sweat that took hold of you, but it persisted.
Gale shook your shoulder, drawing you back into the conversation with an unknowing smile and a casual tease. “Earth to butter fingers, welcome back!” Your smile came shakily.
Eddie wasn’t mean to you. He was just a guy- one whose head floated among the clouds too often and whose priorities likely needed better sorting. He wasn’t cruel, at least you didn’t think he meant to be. Because when he tried, in times like these, he made you feel like the center of the universe. Again, he wasn’t your best friend. But he didn’t need to be.
You and Eddie didn’t have the most in common. But you liked him. He liked you. It was obvious. As obvious it could be when you were alone. Without the crowd of friends, without the preamble.
His mouth ghosted over your neck- skipping your lips entirely to wrap his around a sensitive dip and suck a bruise into your skin. His hands swept you backwards into the worn seat of his couch, pressing you from the edge into the cushion as his hips parted your knees. “Ow-“ you complained, he listened.
He kissed the fresh bloom of color, trailing down toward your collarbones. It sends tingles scattering through your pulse, the room spinning on a horrible axis around you. “Eddie-“ you sighed, breathless and unsure if you wanted his attention or more of his touch. Your hands clasped his wrists, which rested at your waist, and urged him to let go.
He leaned away from you, eyes flickering up to meet yours with pinched brows. “Are you ok?” He asked first, “Sorry- sorry- did I-?” You chuckled dryly, stroking the soft underside of his wrist with your thumb.
You shook your head. “Yeh, no- I’m- uh- I’m good. Just..” Before you could find the words, he sat back on his heels, guiding you upright again with a gentle pull. He stood, nudging you to one side of the couch to join you on the creaky, springy thing as he tugged the crotch of his jeans a bit lower. He nodded, encouraging you to finish.
You chewed the inside of your cheek instead, hesitating. His eyes watched you, expectant. He cradled a pillow in his lap, looking torn between asking another question or cracking a joke to ease the tension.
“Earlier you said-“ You sucked in a breath. “This is stupid.” He shook his head then, springing forward to place his hands over yours. You’d only noticed then you’d been wringing them.
“It’s not stupid,” he pressed, squeezing your hand softly. “Come on, killer, you’ve got me in suspense.” His hand moved to part yours, his fingers finding their way between your own to hold them.
You stared at him, eyes welled with nerves and hesitation. You found a spot on the carpet to stare at in front of you. “You hurt my feelings earlier.” You admitted finally, braving a glance his way. His expression was one of surprise, his eyebrows quirking. “It’s dumb-“ you looked away again just as quickly.
He withheld his chuckle- one of nerves, not amusement- and cleared his throat. “I did?” He asked, his hand loosening in your as if to pull away, or to allow you to do so.
It was your turn to squeeze his hand, a sad puff of a laugh escaping your lips. “The ‘dumbass’ comment.” You offered and recognition struck him.
His head tilted back before his mouth popped open in an aborted attempt to speak, his expression animated in an odd mix of anxiety, guilt and the blurred edges of his high. His lips pressed into a thin line as he mulled over what to say now- to apologize? To explain himself? You were quick to fill the silence.
“It’s not that big of a deal- I didn’t think you meant it the way I took it- it’s stupid, really- I’m just being sensitive.” Your hand retreated from his to rub the back of your neck. He scooted closer, parting his knees at your side to allow himself the space to lean into you.
His arms, long enough to be slung around you, gathered you into his chest for a tight hug, squeezing you hard enough to make you exhale a shaky laugh. “Sorry for hurtin’ your feelings, lovebug, I didn’t mean nothing by it.” He shook your shoulder, patting your back. He pulled back only enough to allow you to tilt your head and look at him. “Guess I got carried away.”
For a second you didn’t know what to say, staring up into those dirt brown eyes. Your lips parted around words you didn’t yet know. “It’s alright..” he held your stare, a silence passing between you.
He leaned in slow, his forehead meeting yours, then his cheek. Your noses bumped and you couldn’t find yourself able to suppress your laughter. He rubbed into your face with his own, his own chuckles falling between your mouths.
