pairing: uni/roommate/best friend! Harry Styles x inexperienced fem! reader
summary: Your period is worse than any other month, and Harry is here to make everything better
word count: 4.5K
contains: mentions of period and pain, fluff, Harry being a ladies’ man (I suppose I should’ve added this warning sooner), a bit of lying, kissing, boob and nipple play, multimedia
CH.1 KISS | MASTERPOST ⋆˚ ౨ৎ ⋆.˚ | TAGLIST
ALL MY LOVE & TPWK, E
It was the time of the month when everything hurt a little too much. Your breasts were sore and the pain in your lower tummy made every mundane task sound like a nightmare, acne decorated your skin to the point where you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror and your emotions were like on a rollercoaster, making you cry over everything.
When you opened your eyes in the morning, you already knew the day wouldn’t be any good. An unbearable pain in your abdomen brought you to tears when you tried to turn on your other side, wanting to sleep for a bit longer since your first class wasn’t starting until 11 AM, but your body had other plans. Kicking the comforter away from your legs, you got up from your bed with a quiet whine that quickly turned into a huff full of frustration when you noticed a patch of blood on the bedsheets. Not even looking behind, you slowly shuffled into the bathroom and locked yourself in there.
Just when you sat down on the toilet and looked down between your legs at the ruined pair of underwear, the knob on the door wiggled a few times. Harry tried to get inside. “Sweetheart? Why did you lock the door?”
You’ve never really used the lock. Harry saw you already naked, sort of, and so you did him. It left you with no need to lock yourself there.
“Oh- sorry, didn’t mean to. Do you need something?” You lied. You didn’t want Harry to know that you got your period. Not that it was something you were ashamed of, you two were very open about this, but Harry sometimes got in the ‘mother hen’ role when he saw you in this state, and that was the last thing you wanted today. All you needed was some alone time, lots of ice cream and a good cry.
“Just brush my teeth, but I can wait. Take your time,” Harry said, leaving without any questions or suspicions, probably back in his bedroom, and you let out a relieved sigh.
You opted for a quick shower. It was the easiest way to get rid of the blood and the uncomfortable feeling lingering in your muscles and relieve cramping.
Sitting back at the toilet, ready to take care of the business, you noticed you were running out of tampons. I can stop in the shop later, you thought, there were still a few tampons left in the box. But the cramps contracting your muscles made you rethink your plans completely. Maybe not.
“You can go,” You called out from the kitchen after you were done. With sleepwear discarded in the hamper and switched for a pink fuzzy bathrobe and brushed teeth, you were making yourself a cup of chamomile tea. This mix of herbs was from Anne, a thoughtful gift you got from her one time when your period came unexpectedly while you were visiting. And even though it’s been ages since that happened, somehow you never ran out of it no matter how many times you made that tea.
Harry took a shower as well, not as quickly as he should have, his class was starting in half an hour, but coming late didn’t faze him. With a quick makeout and a touch of his abs in the teacher's office after class, everything was forgiven and forgotten.
“I’ll try to come on time next week, but I cannot promise you anything,” He always told them after he kissed them goodbye, but he never made good on his empty promises. No wonder Harry’s teachers tolerated his high absence. You would too.
A quiet hum of the falling water echoed through the apartment from the bathroom, where Harry didn’t even bother to close the door, and it mixed with quiet whistles of a kettle you put on the stove that signalled your water was boiling. An idyllic sound of morning.
“You good? I don’t like this frown,” Harry’s brows furrowed in concern when he noticed the deathly glare you were giving your tea. He always noticed everything. Taking a step closer, shirtless and with unbuttoned jeans, he gently cradled your face in his palm and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
The simple affectionate gesture made the corners of your mouth turn slightly upwards, and Harry grinned in triumph, kissing you one more time to make the smile appear. “There she is.”
“You’re gonna be late, Harry,” You reluctantly pulled away from the kiss when Harry tried to prolong it, and ran your fingers through his hair instead in an attempt to give the wet strands some shape.
“I don’t care- Hey! That is my mug!” Harry looked over your shoulder at the white ceramics adorned with his mother’s handwriting in red colour. She made it for him at a ceramics class she attended with her friends.
“And now my tea’s in it,” You shrugged.
“Baby, it says mommy’s boy. Why are you drinking from it? You are not-“
“Oh, so are you mommy’s boy?” You raised your eyebrow at him with a teasing grin before you took a sip of the calming chamomile.
“I’m not,” He sulked but didn’t argue any further, he knew he lost this argument. He finished dressing up and reached for a chocolate-filled croissant that you bought the day before in your favourite bakery. At least his start of the day tasted sweet.
“I'd better be going. Pick you up after class?” Harry pressed the last kiss to your lips, leaving a smear of chocolate in the corner of your mouth after the first bite he took of the pastry.
“Uh not today. I’m probably gonna go grocery shopping,” You shook your head, dismissing his offer quickly with another lie. You already knew that after you sat down on a couch, you wouldn’t move from the spot.
“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t enjoy that,” And with that, he was out the door.
You thought about going to at least one of your classes. You weren’t exactly the type who’d skip school even with a fever, but after the two painkillers you took didn’t seem to help, you were more than content to stay cuddled up in blankets and watch a sad movie on the couch.
You ate the last croissant that was left and drank the rest of the tea, which was cold by the time you finished it. With sore muscles, you moved back into your bedroom to change into a pair of shorts and a hoodie, took off the dirty sheets from your bed and put them in the washing machine. The cramps started being even more unbearable the more you moved, and by the time you made it back into the living room, you completely gave up on the plans of changing your sheets and snuggled on the couch instead.
You wrapped yourself in the fluffiest blanket you owned and squeezed a big pillow to your chest to comfort yourself during sad scenes in the romantic movie you had on. The kind you saw a million times already, a few times with Harry too, but watched it over and over again because it felt safe to cry to it.
Everything reminded you of you and Harry, but you couldn't make yourself stop watching and turn the TV off. The sweet moments the main characters shared, the sleepless nights spent talking till the early morning, the intimate sex, the kisses full of love that were serious - you wanted it all with Harry. And that quiet realisation hit you hard, maybe more than the cramps that have been torturing you the whole morning. You didn’t know what name to give these feelings, nor what Harry carried in his heart, and whether it was close to the love the movie characters had. It all scared you so much you cried yourself to sleep.
“Baby? You’re already back home from the shop?” Harry's surprised tone brought you back from your dreams. You slowly blinked your eyes open. There was a share of romantic movie recommendations on the TV screen because the movie you were watching ended while you were asleep and Netflix wanted to lure you into seeing one more, and Harry stood next to the couch, observing you with a confused expression that was utterly characteristic of him.
“I didn’t go,” You mumbled, your voice still hoarse from your nap, but when you tried to stretch your stiff muscles, a sharp pain hit your abdomen, and you let out a quiet sob.
“Jesus, love. Are you okay?” Harry leaned down and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead to check if you didn’t have a fever. “What hurts?”
“Ugh I got my period.” You huffed and wrapped your arms tightly around your middle.
“Oh baby,” Harry cooed sympathetically and sat down next to you on the couch. He pulled you into his chest, wrapped one arm around your shoulders and pressed his free hand over your abdomen to ease the pain. He knew how uncomfortable your period cramps could get, and he always tried his hardest to make that time of the month as easy as it was possible for you.
“It hurts so bad,” You sniffled.
“I know, baby, I know. I wish I could take all the pain away,” He whispered as he started to rock you from side to side, pressing soft comforting kisses in your hair.
You were so exhausted from the pain and crying, and despite how much you wanted to be alone at first, being held by Harry soothed every tremor your body and heart have been going through. You didn’t even notice Harry typing on his phone behind your back until he set his device on the coffee table.
“Cuddle me?” You pouted and snuggled closer to his side.
“Sweetheart, I wish I could but- I have already plans with Maeve,” Harry admitted the name of his fling quietly. Maeve was one of the girls Harry had seen more than once or twice. She was his go-to contact when he needed a good fuck. A tall redhead with curls that fell in the middle of her back, with a lean body but prominent curves in the front and back and adorable freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks. Ever since you went on a date with the Jacob guy, Harry seemed to search her bed more often.
He cupped your cheek to make you look up at him and kissed your forehead when your eyes found his. You’ve never been able to point out what was swimming in the greenery of his eyes, not even now, and it frustrated you so much. “I’ll get you a heating pad and more painkillers, yeah?”
You sniffled but nodded at his offer and lay back in your pillow nest. You watched Harry go for your heating pad, pink with a plush cover so it wouldn’t burn your skin, and put it in a microwave for three minutes so it would be warm enough to help with your cramping. He came back a moment later, heating pad in one hand and a box of painkillers in the other one, and tugged your hoodie under your breasts so he could put the pad on your abdomen. “Here. It should help with the cramping, I promise.”
“Will you be back soon?” You whispered, suddenly feeling so small. You wanted Harry to stay, to hold you in his lap, kiss your lips or forehead, whatever he wanted, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until all the pain would go away and remain just love.
“I will try,” He smiled at you softly and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Watch something nice hm? I think there should be a bit of vanilla ice cream left in the freezer too.”
And he was gone again. You couldn’t really blame him, if he had plans already, it would be selfish of you to want him to stay and cancel everything, but deep down you wished for it anyway.
You put on ‘The Big Bang Theory’, it was cosy enough, and with the rest of the ice cream you ate straight out of the box, there wasn’t any need for bowls and fancy utensils, you tried to relax. But even while watching Sheldon annoy everyone and Leonard be hopelessly in love with Penny, you caught yourself thinking about Harry with Maeve.
How he would kiss her, make her moan, watch her writhe in his grasp while he would finger her or eat her out, how he would pound into her in many different positions until she was a mess. You imagined it lively, his fingers tangled in her red hair and his hips pressed against hers, moans mixing in the space of her place. It brought you to tears again.
You curled on the couch, pulled the blanket up to your chin and squeezed the pillow a little tighter. The heating pad started to help with the cramps but you still could feel the pain linger in your muscles.
“I’m back!” Harry called from the hallways brightly. You were close to finishing the third episode of the series when a sound of the front door reached your ears.
“What?” You sat up quickly, not understanding what was happening. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Maeve?”
“Called it off. Someone has to take care of you,” Harry shrugged, “So I stopped in the shop since you didn’t.”
Harry appeared in the living room with two overflowing bags and a bouquet of flowers squeezed between his bicep and ribs. His hair was a little wet, the London weather was acting up again, but he was smiling nonetheless.
He set the bags down on the coffee table with a soft thud, making the content spill on the wooden surface, and handed you the bouquet of tulips. “Got you your favourite,”
“Harry,…” You whispered, not really sure what to say, and took the flowers with shaking hands. You were so confused, yet your heartbeat was closer to a cardiac arrest than to a normal pace. He chose you over Maeve.
“Got new ice cream,” Harry pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream from your favourite fancy brand that you bought only for special occasions from the bag.
“Some chocolates and candy. I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for so I bought a bit of everything,” He set down a bag of caramels, sour candy, dark and milk chocolate as well as some cookies.
“Harry,” You whispered again, “You didn’t have to cancel your date just because of me.”
“Shhh, baby, I didn’t finish,” Harry tutted in disapproval at your protest and pulled a bag of oranges, mango and a pack of strawberries next before he topped it with four boxes of tampons.
“I noticed we were running out of tampons, so I got some of these too,” He waved in the air with one box of tampons for regular flow. “I know you like to use these, but I thought since it’s your first day, these ones could be better for the bigger flow. Oh and I noticed we ran out of pads too, so I bought some just in case you’d prefer that right now.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks again, but this time it wasn’t from longing or sadness. You were overwhelmed by love. You would never expect yourself to cry over a haul of period products, but here you were.
“What’s wrong baby? What did I do wrong? You didn’t want these? Fuck, I knew I was supposed to take the ones with the wings,” Harry’s smile dropped at the sight of your tears and he rushed to your side to soothe you.
“No, Har- No-“ All that was leaving past your lips were quiet hiccups and you couldn’t form words nor put a proper sentence together.
“Shhhhh, it’s okay. Just take a deep breath. You’re gonna tell me in a minute whatever’s bothering this pretty mind, but now just breathe,” Harry pulled you in his lap, just how you wanted, and you let out a shuddered breath against his steadily heaving chest.
“That’s it, good girl. One more for me? There she is, that’s much better. Is it hormones? Or what brought my girl to tears?”
“You’re perfect,”
“Me? I don’t think so,” Harry grinned, trying to bring a smile on your lips as well.
“You- You hate shopping but you cancelled your plans and went shopping for me-“
“I bought myself some beer, don’t worry.”
“Harry you really didn’t have to,” You shook your head when you looked at everything Harry bought.
“I wanted to. And I bought you some face masks too.”
It were the little things that meant the most. The smallest details that no one paid attention to but Harry did. He always did. He knew how you liked your tea, what kind of shampoo was best for your hair, that you preferred showers in the morning rather than bubble baths in the evening, and that a good skincare product during your period was a key to your heart.
Before you could break down, though your eyes were already turning glassy, Harry started to press kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. “Oh the hormones,” He cooed, “Troubling my sweet love.”
You smiled a little when Harry reached your lips and started nibbling on your bottom lip, covering it in more kisses and playful bites.
“Can we order takeout please?” You asked shyly when Harry’s assault of kisses calmed down.
“You want to tell me I didn’t buy enough?” Harry gasped, feigning offence.
“No- No you did, I just-“
“I’m just messing with you, baby. Of course we can order takeout. Pick whatever you want for us, I’ll go put away the groceries,” Harry handed you his phone with the food delivery app already open and got up from the couch.
You were scrolling through the endless options, trying to decide between Thai and Chinese, before a notification of a new message stopped your thumb from moving.
Your brows furrowed when her name popped up on the screen. What were they texting? When did he text her? What was she reacting to? There were so many questions you wanted to know the answers to.
“What did you get me?” Harry came back with a can of beer and a cup of hot chamomile for you before he took a place next to you and pulled you gently in his side, careful not to jostle you too much.
“Uh… Thai?”
“Sounds good. Let me order it,” He took his phone back and paid for the food with his card before he switched it off, not even checking the new notifications that were now gnawing at your mind and threw it on the cushions next to him. “Are you comfy, sweetheart?”
“Mhm,”
“Don’t need more pillows? Reheat the pad? Painkillers?”
“I’m good like this.”
“That’s all I need to hear. The food should be here in half an hour,” Harry murmured in your ear. He tightened his arm around your shoulders and gave you a soft squeeze, before he slid his hand down to your lower back and started rubbing soothing circles over the fabric of your hoodie to ease some tension that found its home there.
You finished another episode of the series when the food arrived. You ate your dishes curled up on a couch in comfortable silence, cuddled under one blanket, enjoying the movie night in a changed up concept.
The food was gone, as well as one bag of candy, in no time. After a day of crying and napping, something more fulfilling than one croissant was just what you needed. Your body still ached, there was the uncomfortable feeling that never really left your body during these days, but Harry’s presence made everything feel less intense.
You lay back down, letting your body melt into the pillows, and Harry followed you quickly after, making himself a human blanket, and lay atop of you.
“Ouch, Harry-“ You whined when he set the full weight of his body down on yours, he was really heavy from all the working out, and pushed at his chest weakly to get him off you.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, love. Where does it hurt?” Harry sat up, now straddling your hips, and gently ran his hands up and down your arms and shoulders.
“My boobs. They’re really sore,” You whimpered and covered your chest with a sniffle.
“More than usual, hm? Lemme check? Maybe I can help,” He squeezed your hand gently and with one more look at your face to be sure you were okay with it, he moved the fabric hoodie gently above your breasts.
It was the first time he saw your upper half completely bare. And you looked just like he imagined. Angelic. Soft breasts big just enough to cup in his palm with perky nipples framed by areolae in a darker shade of skin. Harry had to snap himself from staring. You were hurting and needed comfort, not him drooling over you.
“I know it’s not the best moment to say it, but you’re so beautiful,” Harry murmured in awe and slid his palms to your ribs. “So fucking pretty.”
Your cheeks turned a warmer shade of red at his compliment, and you had to bite your bottom lip to tame the wide smile that was spreading on your lips.
“This looks a bit red,” He hummed when he inspected from afar your reddened buds. Running his fingers over the underside of your breasts, he looked up and smiled. “Can I touch you?”
“Mhm yeah but- be careful please.”
“I always am with you, baby.”
Harry ran his thumb over your nipple, gauging your reaction. Every change in breathing, faster heartbeat, goosebumps rising on your skin, he noticed everything.
“Sensitive?” He murmured.
You nodded. That single touch made you arch your back away from the couch, chasing more than just a tip of his finger. It was something so simple, yet it left you craving more. “Harry, please, just, can you do something? It’s really achy.”
“Umhm we can try something sweetheart, if you would be up to it.”
“Please.”
“Okay, lemme just get more comfy for it, okay?”
Harry found his place between your legs and spread them just enough so he could lie down on his stomach between your thighs and hover his head above your chest. You felt his breath fanning your skin and your nipples perked even more at the new sensation.
“Tell me if you want to stop, or just take a break.”
Finally, Harry put his hands back on you. His left hand palmed your right breast, massaging the warm skin gently, while he focused on your left breast with his mouth. With an experimental flick of his tongue against the sensitive skin, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, making you let out a long sigh. Harry didn’t do much, or tried not to, feeling how fragile your whole body felt, but he accompanied the soft caresses with light sucks at least, earning a few quiet moans from you.
“This- this feels good.”
“Does it?” Harry let go of your nipple with a quiet ‘pop’ sound and circled it with his thumb to let his saliva soak in.
He pressed more kisses around the soft flesh, covering it with bites that you barely felt, it rather just scratched your skin.
“Can I give you a soft bite here? Just a tiny mark? For no one but me to see?” You felt Harry nuzzle his nose against the side of your boob, peppering it with kisses before you even responded.
“Please,” You bobbed your head up and down quickly and pressed your hand over his that was still kneading your other boob.
You were feeling a plethora of things. Need, relief, love, a bit of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. Harry was taking care of you in such a special way how no one else could, and you really didn’t even want anyone else. Harry was enough for you. Sure, he had flaws and more imperfections than you had fingers on your hands, but his heart was made of gold. For you. To anyone else it was less valuable metal.
Harry dug his teeth in your flesh and sucked until the skin beneath his lips started to bloom in every shade of red, purple and yellow. A mark of ownership, love, care. And only his. It was on the place where no one would see it and your bra would press on it, making the reminder of him more alive.
“Mhm perfect. And I can’t forget about the other tit, that would be a shame. Such a pretty little thing, big just enough for my hand. And these perky nipples… You were made for me sweetheart, weren’t you?”
“I’m yours,” You pouted. His words, dirty yet from the bottom of his heart, were messing with your hormones.
“Yes you are. All mine. My sweet sweet precious girl,” Harry wrapped his lips around your other nipple, giving it a few gentle sucks.
“Harry-“
“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay. I’m here, and all yours. I’m only yours to have.”
You reached blindly after Harry’s hand, the need to hold onto something twitching with your fingers, and he immediately gave your hand a squeeze. You felt more tears tethering to fall. His words, his lips, it overwhelmed you.
“I’m gonna make it all better,” He murmured against your skin.
You were completely lost in him. You weren’t sure how long he spent worshipping your chest, but when he pulled away with swollen lips and drool dripping down his chin, it must’ve been tens of minutes.
“Kiss me?” You whispered with a pout.
“Of course. Baby, come here,” A wide smile spread on his lips. You were adorable. He raised himself up on his forearms, just enough to hover above your chest so he wouldn't squish you or pressed on your tender breasts, and leaned in.
“Are the cramps better? And the boobs?” He mumbled between kisses. His voice was soft, honey-like, filled with care and something deeper. It was the tone that only you got to hear.
“Mhm,”
“It’s good it’s Saturday tomorrow. Means I can take care of you for the whole weekend. You won’t have to lift a finger,”
“Harry, the cramps will be better tomorrow. Just the first day always sucks,”
“Uhuh no discussion, I’m taking care of you.”
“Thank you,” Your hands find their way to his hair and you wrap unruly strands around your fingers, pulling him down to kiss you.
“Always. Do you want to get in bed?”
“No I uh-“ You bit on your bottom lip, suddenly feeling embarrassed you really didn’t got much done, and looked down at his cross pendant dangling between you. “I haven’t put new bedsheets on. I took off the dirty ones but didn’t really finish changing the bed.”
“It’s okay. We will sleep in mine tonight.”
“Are you gonna cuddle me?”
“Oh I’m definitely gonna cuddle you.”
“And kiss?”
“You’re gonna be sick of me by the morning.” Harry grinned, and to prove his point, he pressed a big smooch on your lips.
CH.4 DRESS FROM WE CAN TRY SERIES
✶ pairing: Uni/Roommate/Best Friend!Harry x Inexperienced Fem!reader
✶ summary: After a weekend spent in Harry’s hometown, Harry grows completely feral and teaches you a new thing
✶ word count: 7.1K
✶ contains: fluff, kissing, oral (f & m receiving), praise, dirty talk
✶ a/n: A little more backstory and a little more exploring. Idk if I’m fully happy with it but here you go anyway!
✶ click here for ➵ CH.1 KISS
✶ click here for ➵ MASTERPOST ⋆˚ ౨ৎ ⋆.˚
ALL MY LOVE AND TPWK, E
You weren’t sure who got more obsessed. Because apparently Harry was out of his mind.
You were reading in your bed. Half dressed, with messy hair and comforter thrown over your body when Harry came into your room, insisting on his important presence, and claimed his usual spot in your bedsheets. But after watching your braless chest rise and fall slowly with every breath you took and your eyebrows furrow occasionally when the plot of your romance novel twisted, he grew bored.
With not so much innocence he thought he had, Harry crawled under the covers and snugged between your parted thighs, looking comical with his socked feet sticking past the edge of the mattress in the air.
“What the fuck Harry?!” Lapping after air, you smacked his head with the sturdy back of your book through the fabric of the comforter, making him groan in pain and bury his face only deeper in your core.
You heard a muffled inhale from him, busking in the scent of your musk and wetness. It was early afternoon, you didn’t take a shower yet, and you were sure he could smell it. His nose bumped into your clit hidden under the thin fabric of your panties and soon his tongue joined the ministration and licked a long flat strip right where a bit of arousal already made an appearance on the crotch.
“Are you seriously- jesus Harry,” You huffed out a laugh before your mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape when he stuck his tongue into your entrance through your underwear.
It was the fifth time that week Harry accommodated himself between your thighs and it was only Thursday! He made you his new hobby, an obsession, a sugary candy he could munch on, and even with your ongoing confusion about his excitement, you were over the moon too.
He didn’t leave the comfort of your apartment. He stayed close, within reach, watching you like a hawk with lustful eyes and prominent need, ready to dive into the waters of your core whenever you’d start craving his touch. At night, in daylight, before dinner, for breakfast, it didn’t matter.
“I’m reading!” You cried out and lifted the hem of the comforter to take in the sight of your best friend between your legs. His eyes were closed as he made out with your core like a man starved. Quiet hums escaped past his lips, making your body buzz, and his arms were tightly wrapped around your thighs to hold you in place.
“You were reading, love,” He reached out and snatched the book from your hand, throwing it carelessly somewhere on the mattress beside him, all without sparing you a single look.
You wanted to react, say something like ‘i hate you!’ or ‘fuck off!’ but all that came out was a loud moan after he pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and pressed a lingering kiss to your clit, already covered in your arousal. Your hips buckled in his face at the rhythmical flickers of his tongue and your fingers tangled in his long strands, pulling him as close as possible.
He had you coming on his tongue in no time, already knowing all your sweet spots that made you roll your eyes back in your head and lungs craving air. He lapped at your juice carefully, not wanting a single drop to go to waste, and moaned into your core until you had to force him away.
“So sweet,” Harry hummed softly and rested his head against your hip, letting you calm down at your own pace. He learned you needed at least five minutes to calm down to get your bearings and his gentle touch soothed you in a way you couldn’t explain.
Your breath was laboured, your body shook slightly under Harry’s weight, and your cheeks were wet from the few tears that fell down in the process as Harry rubbed your side soothingly, whispering soft praises into the silence of your bedroom.
“You’re crazy,” You breathed out finally when your heart beat got back to normal pace and rested your head back against the pillows, watching him nuzzle even closer.
“And you love it,” Harry murmured in a raspy voice, as if he was the one who was moaning and screaming a few minutes ago, and crawled up from underneath the comforter to lay atop of you, burying his face in your neck.
“We have to pack,” You let out a quiet sigh when you noticed the alarm clock on your bedside table.
You were planning on visiting Harry’s mom for the weekend. It’s been a while since Harry has been home and as usual, he wanted to take you with him. You were a part of the family at this point. You spent more holidays than you could count in his hometown, hung out with his sister back in high school maybe too much for his liking, even his extended family knew about you.
Harry decided to drive there. It wasn't a long drive, just about an hour, and his car was back from the service, ready for the roads after his little mishap the other week.
“Ugh I don’t want to!” He whined like a little child and buried his face deeper into your skin. “‘M just gonna wear my old clothes.”
“It won't fit you, Harry!” You laughed loudly at his solution and dug your fingers into his messy curls, scratching his scalp gently. Harry would purr if he could, it was his most favourite thing in the world. Right after you.
“Ever since high school you’re like three times bigger…” You added as you wiggled underneath him to get more comfortable. Your thighs were still sticky and your skin was covered in a light layer of sweat, but what you didn’t expect was Harry’s bulge pressing against your inner thigh through his basketball shorts. “Umh everywhere.”
“You like it?” That comment made Harry look up at you with a wide boyish grin and his hand sneakily slid down to your bottom to give it a firm squeeze.
“Shut up! We really have to pack! And I need to clean myself after your uh… visit,” You muttered with rosy cheeks, hating how easily he could get under your skin. You tried to get from underneath him, pushed at his broad shoulders and chest, but Harry was strong and didn’t even budge.
“Just admit it. You love the fact I get hard on from eating your sweet pussy,” Harry murmured in a low suggestive tone that he knew worked on you like a charm. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before he stole a proper kiss from your lips.
“I don’t,” The frustration was palpable in your voice but neither of you believed your blunt lie.
“Whatever you say, baby,”
Harry only smiled softly at your innocence, those damn dimples popping up, and pulled you in another kiss. His lips worked against yours in a slow pace but gradually grew deeper and messier.
“Harry! I’m serious! We have to pack! The sooner the better! You hate driving at night!” With all the strength you had in your spent body, you rolled him off you on the free side of the bed and got up on your shaky legs.
“You’re like a Bambi,” He propped himself up on his elbow, the comforter over body hiding his boner, and watched you move around your bedroom in just a pair of wet underwear and his old shirt. The sight always made a hint of possessiveness flare up in him.
“Two pairs of pants, two sweaters, three shirts…”
The hangers in your wardrobe left quiet screeching sounds behind as you moved them from the left to the right and back, picking clothes for your trip and throwing chosen articles on the armchair.
“Are five pairs of panties gonna be enough?” You turned around on your heel to face Harry with your bottom lip bitten and 5 pieces of flimsy fabric hanging off your finger.
“If you keep coming on my tongue like that, you’re gonna need at least twenty,” Harry grinned widely. You threw a pair of pink lacy thongs at him in reaction but he caught it expertly without moving his eyes away from you, only supporting your already growing annoyance at him.
The drive to Harry’s mom was smooth. Harry navigated through the heavy traffic in the bigger cities easily and handled the tight turns in the countryside with grace. An old playlist you haven't updated for years with songs from 80s to early 2000s played on repeat and Harry occasionally joined you in your private concert when he recognised the lyrics.
You arrived just before sunset. Anne was already standing on the porch when Harry pulled into the driveway. She looked so nice and put together as usual. With just a hint of makeup, hair lightly curled, wide smile adoring her lips and arms open.
“Hello! Come in, come in, it’s cold out here!” Anne was ushering you inside quickly before Harry could even pull two bags out of the trunk of the car. After a lot of persuading from your side, he reluctantly packed some clothes of his own.
“Hi Anne!” You smiled brightly at her and immediately snuggled in her arms, returning her big hug.
“How are my babies? How are you? Is Harry giving you lots of trouble?” She kissed both of your cheeks with a big ‘mwuah’ sound and rubbed your warm skin softly with her thumbs.
Here was the thing. Anne thought you and Harry were dating. For ages, probably ever since your second year in high school. And neither of you really tried to talk her out of it.
Your two were very close, affectionate, and Harry’s soft kisses to your forehead were hard to mistake for something else than a sign of a romantic relationship.
And Harry liked it this way. Lying to his mother wasn’t indeed something nice, but there wasn’t any harm in doing so. They knew you, they loved you, you were with him all the time anyway.
“I like the idea of dating you better than listening to my mom and sister talking me up to some weird girls I barely know,” Harry admitted one night when you were sleeping in his childhood bedroom, bodies pressed tight together given the small bed, but neither of you minded.
Around Anne and his family, you just had to act more lovey dovey. That task wasn't hard for either of you. Holding hands on or under the table, side hugs and snuggles, sitting in Harry’s lap, kisses to your forehead, cheeks or wherever else his lips could reach. And with the newly explored intimacy between the two of you, this weekend it seemed even easier. Because all you had to do for Anne’s eyes was now what you were doing regularly.
“I’m okay! It’s great to see you again Anne!”
You looked over your shoulder at Harry that was pulling your things out of the car and sent a wink your way when he noticed you were watching him. “Just the regular trouble, nothing I cannot handle.”
Anne cooked a grand dinner for you. It was always like this when you were around. Vegetable soup for the starters, then chicken and roasted potatoes, different types of salads and brownies for dessert. All of it was laid on the dining table, steam curled from the hot dishes and everything looked overly fancy with the porcelain dinnerware set you bought her last Christmas.
“Gemma’s gonna be here for the weekend too,” Harry’s mom announced excitedly as she plated your food. “I’m gonna pick her up tomorrow morning at the train station.”
“Good! Haven’t seen her in ages!” Harry mumbled with a mouthful of potatoes, happy about seeing his old sister, and threw his arm around the back of your chair to support his act. His fingers tickled the back of your neck lightly at first, just an innocent touch, before he slid his arm down and wrapped it around your shoulders.
“And how are your studies? What are you doing all the time? Harry’s not texting me much,” Anne encouraged you with a light move of her fork in the air.
Harry was bad at texting. Messages from one night stands usually stayed unnoticed for days, no matter the situation going on in his pants. The only person he was able to answer within minutes was you.
Dinner was long forgotten as you started describing Anne what you were up to. The essays you wrote and the exams you took, books you bought in the new bookshop by your campus that Harry stole from your desk immediately after he saw them, the new part-time job you found, or the plans you had for the summer with your family. Your life wasn't as exciting as Harry's so you had to spark up some stories a little bit.
But the whole time, his eyes remained on you, listening intently to not miss a single word and giggling under his breath when you mentioned him.
“You look so perfect together,” Anne shook her head fondly at the sight in front of her. “Just how Harry looks at you! My boy is so in love!”
“Mom!” Harry huffed. His cheeks grew warmer under the soft lamp light in embarrassment and he leaned closer to you to hide his face in your shoulder, only supporting his mom’s statement.
“What? I’m just stating the obvious,” She laughed and got up from the table to clean up after the dinner. You offered to help but she dismissed it quickly and ushered you and Harry to go rest after the long day.
The weekend flew by quickly. You spent the whole Saturday gossiping with Gemma, catching up on each other’s lives and walking around Holmes Chapel while Harry stayed with his mom to help her get some jobs around the house done.
“Can’t believe you're still together. How long has it been? Four years now?” Gemma stuck a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in her mouth while laughing. After walking through every corner of the town, you ended up sitting in a park, sun was melting your ice creams slowly and wind was messing with your hair.
You hummed around your own spoon, stopping for a moment to do a quick maths in your head. “Yeah, something like that,”
“I’m happy for you. He’s still a little immature sometimes, a boy, but… you make him better,”
You could see the love and care she had for her younger brother just in the way she spoke about him. He got on her nerves a lot but at the same time he was the one she went to cry, especially when they were still living together back then.
When her first boyfriend broke up with her for some other girl he liked better, that 13 year old lanky boy went to beat him up. Harry ended with more bruises than he was hoping for (zero) but in the end it did the job. Made his sister laugh and put her a tiny bit more at ease.
“I’m happy he didn’t end up like the frat boys back in my college that slept with every single girl on the campus,” She let out a gagging sound at the end of her sentence, her eyes rolling just at the imaginary.
Her words made you stop your hand in the air, the ice cream dripped over the edge of your plastic spoon down on the sandy path. “Umh yeah he’s- he’s great,” You nodded finally and swallowed the melted chocolate.
“He sent me this photo of you guys the other day. Had to send it to mom, couldn’t help myself. I bet she has it printed and hung on the wall already.” Gemma grinned, already fishing for her phone in the pocket. She scrolled through the thread of messages with her brother before she clicked on a photo she was talking about and turned the screen towards you.
You noticed the messages above it first. Plain, easy, nothing extra odd.
But then there was the photo attached. A photo you didn’t even know existed.
You were sprawled on Harry’s bare chest, snuggled underneath his arm that held you tightly in an almost protective gesture, your face buried in his neck and hair messy from his fingers running through it too many times. You were laying on your new lounger you bought for the balcony after your last plastic one had broken. This one was much more sturdy from oak wood and even came with a set of cushions!
On Harry’s stomach, just under his butterfly tattoo, laid the book you’ve told Anne about at the dinner. Spread open, just a few pages in, the dark colour of its cover contrasting with Harry’s pale skin. He just set it down to snap a photo, you assumed, because your pink bookmark was lazily thrown on the cement floor, peeking from underneath the lounger.
You remembered the moment perfectly. You found yourselves like this the other weekend after lunch. The sun was shining brightly and bathed your exposed skin in its warmth. You wanted to just lay down and rest but Harry insisted on starting the new book, in other words, he wanted to read to you. His voice lulled you to sleep before he finished the first chapter, though maybe the steady thump-thump of his heart under your ear and his soft strokes on your back had some effect too.
His face wasn’t fully in the frame, but a wide bright smile was peeking at the top, showing off his bunny teeth. He looked happy. He was happy. And so you were with him.
“I didn’t know he took this photo,” You breathed out in awe before a shy smile appeared on your face. Your grip tightened on Gemma’s phone and you pulled it closer to take a better look.
“You look good together,” Gemma hummed around her spoon as if her words were just a passing by and after a moment took her phone from your hand back and tucked it again in her pocket.
Sunday you spent all together. Harry, Gemma, Anne, and her cats of course. It was the typical lazy day as Sunday should be. Anne made her famous cherry pie for which Harry barely touched his lunch and was whining afterwards because he ate too much of the sweet pastry. Gemma was curled in the armchair by the fireplace, writing something in the laptop on her lap.
“It’ll be quick!” She mumbled when Anne scolded her for working while she should be enjoying the time with you and her brother instead.
But you didn’t mind. Your focus was mostly on Harry anyway because ever since you’ve joined him at the table for breakfast, he’s been acting weird. And not the typical ‘Harry Styles weird’ but weird WEIRD. He was restless in his seat, his hands fidgeted with everything nearby, and he didn’t talk as much as he usually did. Anywhere you moved, whatever you did, his eyes were on you.
You were sitting on the couch with him, snuggled under his arm with legs tugged under your bum and your head on his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of your head and sighed, a quiet, happy sound, just because you were close. He didn’t need more. There was some comedy playing on the TV, but Harry didn’t pay much attention to it and rather studied you. The way you hummed when he squeezed you and melted when he dived his fingers in your hair.
You felt his hand move slowly. Tracing your curves, from your waist down over your hip and to your thigh, before his fingers sneaked under the hem of your flowy dress’s skirt to trace your bare skin.
“Harry,” You murmured under your breath in a warning and covered his hand with yours to prevent him from starting something inappropriate.
“Hey! I’m just appreciating your beauty,” Harry pouted and gave your thigh a hard squeeze, making you whimper at the sudden pressure around your skin. He ducked his head to your neck and nuzzled closer, pressing lingering kisses over your throat.
“Too expressively,” You pinched the skin of his biceps between your thumb and your forefinger, just enough to leave the marks of your nails behind.
“Ouch! Sweetheart!“ He whined. His free hand immediately moved to caress his ‘wounded’ arm, examining the two little half-moons among his tattoos.
Anne joined you all in the living room not so long after, claiming her usual spot on the opposite side of the couch, and accommodated one of her cats immediately in her lap. The purring of the happy cat was so loud even you could hear it.
The conversation flew easily. Gemma set her laptop away and you turned in Harry’s arms, as much as his grip allowed it, to face Anne better as you talked. And Harry? He remained quiet. He listened to your exchange of words with watchfulness and nothing to add, his eyes focused on your face only as if you were the most mesmerising thing in the whole world.
Later that day, you packed your bags and put them in the trunk of Harry’s car also with a few containers of food from Anne so you didn’t have to worry about cooking for a day or two. She watched how you and Harry acted and communicated with each other and couldn’t help herself but smile at the sight widely. Mother always knows.
“Please drive safe. And be good to her,” She hugged Harry tightly, disappearing in his arms for a moment just like you usually did thanks to his height, before she turned to you, “Text me when you get home. And anytime you need, yeah?”
“Will do,” You nodded.
Soon you pulled out of her driveway and with a wave out of the window disappeared behind the first corner. The ride back home felt much longer, even though it was the same kilometres and time. You were curled deep in the passenger seat in a position that many people would see as a dangerous one, but your sleepy state didn’t really play by the rules.
Harry’s hand found your thigh about 20 minutes in the drive and gave it a gentle squeeze, something he’s never done before. He was a reckless driver, but never touched more than your hand during the drive, and only on the occasions when you were upset and teary eyed.
His thumb drew shapeless lines in your skin while he drove, though his eyes were fixed on the road unraveling behind the windshield in the dark, as if he wasn’t even realising what he was doing.
“Don’t fight the sleep, baby. You can nap. I’ll wake you up when we get home,” He murmured softly. He could see your head dropping and pulling back up when you drove through a pothole, desperately trying to stay awake.
“No I’m good,” You let out a soft mumble into the fabric of the passenger seat and snuggled up even more in it, pulling your legs up, your knees in your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut again and your lips parted, you didn’t even realise you were starting to drool.
“Of course you are. Perfect actually,” He hummed to himself and looked from the road down at you quickly. His heart ached at the sight. So pretty and small.
You slept through the rest of the car ride. When you blinked your eyes open, the sky turned dark, making stars scattered above your heads appear, and the houses passing behind the window signalled you were a minute away from the warmth of your apartment.
“We’re home, love,” Harry whispered when he parked the car in front of the apartment building and unbuckled himself before he turned in his seat to face you. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb running over the soft skin under your eye.
You nuzzled into his big warm palm immediately and pressed a kiss wherever your lips could reach. Something so innocent your brain didn’t even catch up with.
Harry used the quiet moment to watch you, take the sight of your warm cheeks and tousled hair in. You looked so beautiful his heart could combust.
There was something dark in his eyes, you weren’t sure what, but it lured you in. It reminded you of the looks he gave you before he ended up between your legs or you atop his lap. Hungry. Waiting. Calm.
“Have I told you how pretty you are today?”
“No,” You shook your head, not really sure what to do with his compliment.
“You’re so pretty. So much it hurts, sweetheart.” He used his hand on your cheek to pull your face closer to his before he dived right in. His mouth moved against yours slowly at first, warming you up, tasting how much you were willing to do after the long ride. No matter what, he would never push you into things you didn’t want to do or crossed your boundaries.
You answered with a quiet whimper and licked into his mouth, making him groan at the sudden bold move. Your tongues danced together passionately and noses bumped into each other.
“Let’s get inside, hm?” He whispered in your mouth. His forehead rested against yours as he tried to catch his breath, low on oxygen all because of you.
“Mhm,” You nodded and unbuckled yourself.
Harry threw your bags on the floor in the hallway without any care when you got inside your apartment and clumsily toed off his sneakers, almost falling over in the process. There was the watchfulness in his eyes again, love curled around his orbs and want lingered in the puffs of breath he let out past his lip.
You were putting the containers with leftovers from lunch, spaghetti and some creamy vegetable soup from Anne, in the fridge when Harry found you in the kitchen. He crowded your space, his big palms cradled your hips gently yet with a firm grip and his chin rested atop of your head. Wrapped in his arms again.
“You’re dangerous,” He murmured after a moment in your hair before giving your hips a squeeze.
“Why?” You giggled and turned around to face him.
“This dress, ugh, this damn dress is doing things to me. Your waist, your boobs, your ass…” Harry growled lowly as his eyes took you in for a millionth time that day, holding you at arms length to see everything. “It fits you perfectly,”
The dress wasn’t something breathtaking like Harry interpreted it. You bought it on sale the other year just for casual wear. It was made from a soft black fabric, with a V cleavage and skirt long mid your shins.
“Just… I have no words, sweetheart. You have me speechless,” He groaned as if the sight of you pained him, which kind of did, and leaned down to kiss you hungrily, communicating this way everything words couldn’t.
You laughed into the kiss, finding him absolutely hilarious, but when he caged you between the kitchen counter and himself and his forming bulge pressed against your lower tummy, the laugh died in your throat.
“Harry,” You whimpered into his open mouth quietly, giving him free access to the depths of yours. His tongue swept against yours easily, the taste of cherry pie still lingering somewhere in between your exchange of saliva.
“Mhm? What is it?” He pulled away from the kiss. He lifted his right hand towards your face and ran the back of his knuckles against your cheek, making you lean into his touch.
“I don’t know,” The breath that left your lips was shallow, holding you on your own very edge from Harry’s presence, before a quiet laugh fought its way out too.
“ ‘m so hard, baby,” Harry cried out.
You have noticed, no, felt, the prominent outline of his hardening dick against the seam of the zipper on his jeans. It looked painful. You maybe had no experience, but you were sure he was bigger than average.
“Do you want me to help you?” You blurted out before you could think it through. You haven’t even seen him naked yet and suddenly you were offering to strip him down.
“Help me?” He chuckled at your proposition, his smile turning into something much more softer. “Oh my dirty girl. You can help me, yeah… We can try something new,”
“Yeah?” You whispered.
“Mhm,” Harry started slowly walking backwards in the living room, your small hand enveloped in his big one, leading you to the couch. “You could blow me. Or just touch me with this pretty hand, that’s gonna feel good too,”
“But what if it won't feel good? You know I haven't done it before,”
There were the insecurities of not being enough again. Of only embarrassing yourself in something so mundane, not fitting into the same boxes like the girls that touched him before.
“It’s gonna feel amazing, I already know it,” He sank down on the couch and spread his legs wide, welcoming you to stand in between them.
You squirmed on the spot under the heaviness of his gaze and bit your lip nervously, not sure what to do with yourself. You felt so awkward, unnatural, unsure of yourself. Nothing a guy would want in a girl. But Harry wasn’t just some guy.
He reached for a fluffy pillow you changed just a few days ago into a flowery cover and set it on the floor in front of your bare feet.
“C’mon, on your knees, baby, want you comfortable,” Harry murmured lowly, his voice getting just a bit darker, and offered you his hands to hold onto so you could kneel.
“This is so weird,” You cringed at the position you’ve found yourself in and rested your hands on his knees. Your skirt rid up slightly, the material bunched under your bum and your cleavage fell a little lower, giving Harry an even better view on your breasts.
“We don’t have to do this, it’s alright. You know I won't be mad,”
“No, no, no, I- I want to try this,” You shook your head quickly, so sure about your decision, and slid your hands up his thighs to prove your point.
“Alright, sweets. But you tell me if something doesn’t feel good, yes?” He waited for a nod before continuing, “Why won’t you help me out of the pants first, hm? It’s getting quite tight in them,”
With another determined nod, you started unbuckling his belt. Your hand shook slightly but you managed to pull the leather from around his waist with less awkwardness than you’d expected. Discarding the belt on the floor next to you, you moved to pop the button of his jeans open. Your hand brushed against his hard dick beneath the denim fabric and you heard him sigh just at the briefest touch. The sound of the zipper filled up the silence in the living room space neither of you really minded and Harry lifted his hips immediately, helping you tug the pants down.
Soon Harry was sitting in front of you in just his boxers and plain black shirt. You played with the hair on his thighs, tracing the outline of the tiger with your pointer finger, doing anything to keep yourself busy from thinking too hard about what was about to come.
“Let’s start easy. Touch me through the fabric, give me a squeeze, or you can kiss it if you’re feeling brave enough. Anything. Just want you comfortable,” Harry took your hand from his thigh and slowly moved it over his bulge, holding himself with your hand.
“Woah,” You whimpered. Touching him like this felt so monumental. You didn’t expect he’s gonna feel this hard and big, you couldn’t even imagine how he’s gonna look bare. It didn’t feel like anything you’ve ever felt before.
“Hard, innit? Told you, feels good already,”
With a spur of adrenaline or excitement, you weren’t really sure what exact emotions were bubbling in your belly, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss over his length, just next to your hands, leaving a smear of saliva behind on the cotton.
“Ugh good girl. My bravest girl. So good for me,”
Harry ran his fingers through your hair, messing with the strands a bit, cradling your head in the gentlest manner, not that he could do otherwise, and held you close.
You smiled shyly at his praise and looked up at him from underneath your lashes. With warm cheeks, doe eyes and tousled hair, the dress pooling around you and soft light from the lamp hitting your skin just right, you looked like an angel to Harry.
Testing the waters, you pressed there another kiss, this time a bit higher, close to the hidden tip. Hearing Harry react quite vocally was mesmerising to see, how his jaw dropped and eyes darkened. His hand slid from your head to your cheek and he ran his thumb over the warm skin, encouraging you to press more kisses over his clothed cock.
“Wanna kiss the real thing, sweetheart? Are you still brave for me?” He moved your hand to the waistband of his boxers and curled your fingers inside. You nodded at his questions, agreeing with both, and with his help started slowly tugging the cotton down.
His cock sprung up immediately when it had enough space, the bulbous head hitting your cheek in the process given how close you were, and you whimpered softly in shock.
Clumsily Harry tugged his boxers down his thighs and let them fall around his ankles, kicking them hastily away.
“Are you still doing good?” Harry murmured and wrapped his hand around his cock, giving himself a few lazy tugs to release some tension.
“Mhm,” You hummed but your eyes were focused only on his crotch. You were mesmerised.
He was big. Wide in girth you weren’t even sure you’d be able to wrap your fingers around him, with a prominent vein on the side and long so much his tip hit his belly button.
“What uh- what should I do now?”
Harry couldn’t help himself but smile at the sight in front of him. You were so cute and innocent, completely at his mercy. Trusting. His.
“Wrap your hand around me,” He guided your hand to his hard cock gently, wrapping his fingers around yours before ever so slowly started stroking his cock with your connected hands. “Feels so good baby. You’re doing great, just follow my lead,”
“You’re so hard, Harry,” You observed out loud, feeling the heaviness of him right in your palm. With each stroke, you felt his cock getting harder and the tip turned into a more angrier shade of red.
“Because of you. You’ve got me so hard, sweetheart. See? I’m already leaking,” He got your thumb swipe over the head and collected the forming bead of pre-cum. You watched wide eyed, with parted lips, doing as he told you to. “That’s a good girl, doing so good for me,”
You pumped him slowly for a bit. With his guiding hand at first before you took the matter in your own hands and tried on your own, and quite successfully, because you had Harry whimpering quietly in no time. He tried to keep his face straight, but your hand felt so good on him!
“Wanna take me in your mouth?” Harry offered gently between breathy moans and reached after your hand to stop you. If you’d keep going like this, he would come in no time and he wanted to savour this moment.
You stared at his hard length, too deep in thoughts, stuck somewhere between awe and fear. Finally you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, the taste of him hitting your tastebuds immediately.
You flicked your tongue against his slit mindlessly, testing the waters, tasting him, which ended with Harry moaning loudly in response. You pulled away from him immediately, your hands flying back on his thighs, scared you did something wrong.
“Come back, baby. Sorry I scared you. I just couldn’t help myself, your mouth feels heavenly.”
Hesitantly you shuffled back and took him in your mouth again, just the few inches of many, and the rest you stroked gently with your hand.
It wasn’t long ago since you watched porn. Just for science reasons. You knew there was probably more about to happen with Harry and you didn’t want to look stupid or reckless. You knew he would never judge you, but the thoughts still lingered in your mind.
You looked up everything. A classic intercourse, something more hardcore that made you both cringe from the fake moans and sad at the sight of perfect bodies on the screen, girls receiving oral, and especially blowjobs. That was the main part of your ‘study session’.
Remembering what you saw in one video, after bobbing your head for a bit and hearing Harry enjoying it very loudly, you hollowed your cheeks and pushed him further in your mouth.
“Oh god yes!”
Trembling slightly, Harry pulled away some of the loose strands from your face and tugged them behind your ear, wanting to see your whole face while you made him feel good. Your eyes were tightly shut in concentration and drool dripped past your lips.
Ever so slowly you started taking more and more of him deeper in your mouth until his tip hit the back of your throat. You tried to relax and get used to the heaviness of him on your tongue, but instead you started gagging. You wanted to push past the feeling in determination to make Harry feel good, even when tears started falling down your cheeks, but Harry didn’t like it.
“Baby, no! Stop!” He pulled you away from his cock with a firm grip on your cheek. Not bruising, but enough to make you listen to him. “You’re hurting yourself,”
You’ve never seen him like this. In a dominant role, dark eyed with slack jaw and a disapproving frown on his lips. His voice was stern, not the sweet soft tone he used a minute before.
“I- I thought you’re gonna like it. Saw it in porn guys like it,” You hiccuped.
“Oh sweetheart,” Harry cooed at your confession, immediately loosening his grip on you, and started stroking your cheek, catching rolling tears with his thumb. “I do like it. But not if my girl is hurting,”
“No deep throating tonight, we’ll take it easy, yeah? Use just your hand now, let’s give your mouth some rest,” He ordered softly.
Still with teary eyes, you obediently nodded and wrapped your fingers around his cock. You stroked him slowly, only occasionally squeezed him or ran your thumb over his slit to collect more of his pre-cum. Nuzzling your cheek in his thigh, Harry ran his fingers through your hair in a reassuring gesture. He noticed you got scared after your unsuccessful attempt to make him feel as good as the guys in porn and wanted to calm you down.
“That’s my sweet girl. Making me feel so so so good with your little hand,”
“You’re gonna make me come soon,”
“Ah just like that,”
His praise got your heart beat faster and heat pooling in your tummy. It encouraged you to be even better for him.
“Do you want my cum, baby? I’ll allow you to use your mouth again. But you have to be good, mhm? No deep throating again,”
“Yes, can I?” You sat up straighter at his offer, your face lightening up. You’ve been wondering about how his cum would taste.
“Of course you can. Suck on me, I’m so close, love,” Harry brought your head back to his cock and ran his thumb over your bottom lip before slipping it in your mouth to press at your tongue. You sucked at his digit with focused precision, drooling around him, humming happily. He exchanged his thumb for his cock soon, pushing the tip past your plump lips, and slowly started fucking in your mouth, not too much to hurt you but enough to reach his approaching orgasm.
In no time Harry started coming. He was moaning loudly and his hips shook, a few drops of sweat were running down his forehead. His salty cum filled up your mouth, making you moan just as loudly at the taste and you tried to swallow everything, even though a bit got out and dripped down your chin.
“Fuck, yes. Such a good girl for me!” His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. You surely sucked the soul out of his body. His grip on your face loosened and he moved his hand to yours that rested on his thigh, intertwining your fingers tightly.
You kept sucking on him even after he came, knowing it could prolong the orgasm, and squeezed on his base to get more of his cum. He tasted salty, a little bitter, but oh god it made you drool.
“Uh enough, baby,” He whined at the overstimulation and pulled his cock out of your mouth, feeling it slowly softening against his tummy. “Come here, come up here,”
Quickly you got up from your knees and sat next to him on the couch. Every move was cautious and gentle, not wanting to startle him. You watched his expression, noticing every subtle change in his mimic, every flutter of his eyelashes and puffs of breath. He was so handsome it hurt.
“Was it okay? Did you like it?” You whispered, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere full of something you couldn’t quite name.
Your unsure questions made him blink his eyes open. “Did I like it? I loved it, sweetheart. The best blowie I ever got, I swear.”
Harry sneaked his arms around your waist and tucked you in his side until there was no space left between your bodies. You nuzzled your head under his chin, feeling suddenly shy. He was still sitting there half naked, without a single care in the world and cuddling you as if he just didn’t come hard.
“My sweet girl. Did her first blowie and did such a good job.”
“Ugh don’t talk about it like that!” You huffed in embarrassment.
“Oh I will. C’mon gimme a kiss,” He made a kissing sound as he nosed at your cheek, peppering your skin with kisses until he reached your lips and claimed your mouth in a deep passionate kiss. “My girl,”
𐃘 harry's lover all the time, writer occasionally
𐃘 saw harry five times; ᥣot vιᥱᥒᥒᥲ 2023; ttt 2026 ᥲmstᥱrdᥲm oρᥱᥒιᥒg show ᥒ1; ttt 2026 ᥣoᥒdoᥒ ᥒ10, ᥒ11 & fιᥒᥲᥣ show ᥒ12
⋆.۶ৎ ̊ this is a safe space for everyone, a place to chat about everything and there are some yaps and fics of mine too!
⋆.۶ৎ ̊ requests are open! feel free to send me your ideas!
ALL MY LOVE & TPWK, E
⟢ TAGLIST ⟢ RECENT WORK!
MASTERLISTS:
⤷ ONE SHOTS ⋆˚꩜｡
𑣲 ROOMMATES
summary: you and Harry are good friends who live together, but with the huge amount of responsibilites you're lately carrying, he starts missing you (maybe more than he should)
contains: FLUFF, kissing, teeny tiny bit of angst, roommates and best friends trope
𑣲 LOVE ME BET BLURB
summary: Harry got a bet to make you fall in love with him, but somewhere on the way he fell first
contains: uni!Harry
𑣲 DATING FOR TWO
summary: Harry grows a delicate relationship with you alongside maintaining his family situation
contains: fluff, angst, smut if you squint, mentions of sex, Harry is sappy and in love
𑣲 ROYAL COURT CONFESSIONS
summary: On Brittany Broski’s Royal Court, Harry shares more than his marathon achievements and details about his upcoming album
contains: fluff, reader has mild anxiety
𑣲 CURRENT BOYFRIEND
summary: You did the 'current boyfriend' tiktok trend with your older boyfriend to see his reaction
contains: age gap (10 years), fluff, tiktok trend, multimedia
𑣲 LISTENING PARTY
summary: Harry tries out something he read about in a baby book
contains: fluff, pregnant reader, 2025
𑣲 EXAM STRESS
summary: you're feeling burned out from your upcoming exam, Harry takes care of you
contains: anxiety, self-doubt, burnout, age gap, comfort and reassurance
𑣲 TO LOVE TO LET GO
summary: At your friend’s wedding, you and Harry come to a conclusion that your relationship maybe can’t work the way you want it to
contains: age gap (Harry is 32 & reader is 23), angst, sad emotional stuff, fluff, smut → soft dom! Harry, kissing, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected and rough-ish? sex (wrap it before you tap it!!!), size kink if you squint, aftercare, praise, talks about marriage and kids
⤷ SERIES ⋆˚꩜｡
WE CAN TRY
summary: Harry is the ladies man of the university, a charming gentleman with bohemistic life, your best friend and also a roommate. You on the other hand are the complete opposite. Inexperienced, quiet, study type. But watching him, living in the shared bubble of sex, makes you crave everything too. And you try it, with him. Step by step.
𑣲 CH.1 KISS
summary: All the frustration of never being kissed finally snaps and Harry is here to help you
contains: fluff, description of sex, feelings, kissing
𑣲 CH.2 TIGER
summary: Harry helps you wind down with his little friend when uni becomes too much to handle
contains: fluff, smut, thigh riding, description of sex??, feelings, kissing
𑣲 CH.3 BARE
summary: Harry wants to do more with you but your insecurities get in the way. Luckily, he helps you overcome them and makes you cum again (with his mouth)
contains: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering if you squint, kissing, shaving, lots of insecurities, pet names, praise
𑣲 CH.4 DRESS
summary: After a weekend spent in Harry’s hometown, Harry grows completely feral and teaches you a new thing
contains: fluff, kissing, oral (f & m receiving), praise, dirty talk
𑣲 CH.5 JEALOUSY
summary: You meet someone new and Harry starts getting jealous
contains: MDNI, 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, kissing, jealousy, dirty talk, more new backstory, multimedia
𑣲 CH.6 PAINFULLY SWEET
summary: Your period is worse than any other month, and Harry is here to make everything better
contains: mentions of period and pain, fluff, Harry being a ladies’ man (I suppose I should’ve added this warning sooner), a bit of lying, kissing, boob and nipple play, multimedia
EXTRAS:
𑣲 WCT! HARRY HEADCANONS
summary: Headcanons from WCT! Harry (& you) universe
contains: fluff, university settings, mentions of sex, thigh riding
See my problem is I want a 30 chapter bryce from love island season 8 fanfic to appear out of nowhere. Why is nobody writing for himmmm he’s literally a grade A yearner and hot asf. Everyone is obsessed with caleb (rightfully so) but give my boy bryce some love too.
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.”
description: you’ve always been sweet. too sweet, probably. then, eddie starts taking you on dates, putting cigarettes to your lips, and looking at you like he wants to ruin you just a little bit.
pairing: eddie x henderson!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x henderson!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, soft corruption, "good girl" energy, sweethearts you to DEATH, firsts, mutual pining, praise kink undertones, protective eddie, eddie not knowing what to do with all of this softness, "jesus christ" 24/7, shy affection, "there she is", "that's my girl", horny but sweet
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, smoking
WC: 9.9k
A/N: requested by @ihaveaspoon i hope you enjoy!!!! reblog for ya girl, if you don't mind ;) why do i lowkey love a corruption fic🫣 *proofread as best as i could, my brain hurts, sorry
People always say the same things about you.
Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.
The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.
It’s almost strange, really.
Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.
And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.
Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”
Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”
Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”
The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.
Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.
Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.
But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.
The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.
“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.
And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
You blink at him softly. “What?”
“Nothin’, sweetheart.”
The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.
Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.
Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping.
It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.
Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.
“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”
That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.
Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.
Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”
Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”
You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.
The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.
At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.
Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.
“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.
Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”
“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”
And Christ.
That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.
About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.
“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.
Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.
Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.
The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.
You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.
“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”
Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”
You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.
By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.
“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.
Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”
That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”
Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast.
Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”
“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”
And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.
Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.
Which is exactly what he’s been doing.
You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.
And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.
Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.
You smile anyway.
“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.
“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”
Eddie actually laughs at that.
“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”
Your brows pull together a little. “What?”
“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”
“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.
The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.
Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”
“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”
And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.
Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath.
“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.
Eddie stills. “Okay?”
You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.
Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.
You laugh softly. “What?”
“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.
He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.
Then, naturally, you go find Robin.
She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.
“What happened?”
You blink. “Nothing happened.”
“That is not a nothing face.”
Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”
Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”
Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”
“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”
“What? No!”
Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”
You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”
Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”
Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.
“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.
Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.
Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”
Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.
You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”
“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”
You blink. “I don’t know yet.”
Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”
You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”
“It is not serious,” you protest immediately.
Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”
You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.
“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”
Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”
You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.
Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”
You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”
Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”
You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”
Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”
By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.
Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.
"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."
Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.
Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.
Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.
His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”
You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”
“You look pretty.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.
“You really think so?”
“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”
“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”
You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”
“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”
That makes you blink. “He does?”
“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”
Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.
Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.
“Oh, I’m answering it.”
“Dustin—”
Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.
Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them.
He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.
Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.
“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”
Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”
“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.
Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.
Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”
“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.
You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”
“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”
Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”
“And wiser than both of you combined.”
You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow.
“Goodbye, Dustin.”
“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.
The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.
“Your brother is insane.”
“You encourage him.”
“Because he’s funny.”
“He’s awful.”
Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy.
Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.
It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.
The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.
You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”
Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales.
You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.
“Can I try one?”
Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”
You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”
For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”
It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”
Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.
And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”
Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.
“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”
Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”
You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.
“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”
You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”
“Just bein’ honest.”
Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.
You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.
Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”
“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.
“I did warn you.”
You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.
The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod once.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.
His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”
Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”
Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.
Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.
“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.
That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”
You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”
Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.
And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.
Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.
Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.
“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.
The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.
Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.
“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”
Your breath catches quietly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”
The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.
“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”
Your face burns. “Eddie…”
“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”
You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”
Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”
“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”
The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.
Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head once.
“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”
His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.
“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”
Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.
Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.
“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.
He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush.
Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.
You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.
He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.
You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.
Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”
You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”
Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.
“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.
His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.
“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.
“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”
He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.
“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”
You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.
“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”
You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.
He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”
You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”
He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”
When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.
“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”
He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.
“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”
You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.
“Shit—baby, do that again.”
You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.
He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.
“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”
You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.
Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”
Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.
Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.
You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.
“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.
The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.
You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You promise?”
A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”
“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”
Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”
“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”
Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.
There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”
You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”
Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.
“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.
You nod against him. “Yeah.”
Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”
Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”
You blink innocently. “Yeah.”
A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.
“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”
Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”
The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.
Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.
Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.
The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.
“Hello?”
A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”
Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.
“How’re you feelin’ today?”
Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Another tiny pause. “Good.”
From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”
You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”
“He’s nosy.”
“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.
You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.
“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”
“The bar?”
“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”
Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”
“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”
You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”
“I know.”
And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things.
“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”
You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”
“Okay.”
There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”
Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”
A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”
“What sound?”
“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”
You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”
The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.
It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.
His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”
Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”
“A little.”
“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”
You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places.
The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”
“Hey, Frank.”
Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.
Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”
Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”
Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”
Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.
“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”
You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”
Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”
The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.
Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”
Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”
Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.
“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.
“A little.”
“About bein’ here?”
You shrug slightly. “I guess.”
Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”
The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.
Or maybe it’s just Eddie.
“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.
Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”
His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.
“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”
The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.
Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.
And that completely derails him.
He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.
“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.
Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”
Your face warms immediately.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.
Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed.
His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”
And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”
The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.
One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.
He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.
By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.
“You want somethin’ to drink?”
You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.
“…Can I try another one?”
Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”
You smile innocently. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”
This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.
“C’mere then, sweetheart.”
The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.
You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.
This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”
You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.
Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.
Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible.
“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.
You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”
His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”
Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.
You blink. “What’s that?”
“A bong.”
Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”
“I know what weed is.”
“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”
You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.
“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.
You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”
Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”
Heat floods your face again.
A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”
You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.
Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”
“You make everything sound embarrassing.”
“That’s because everything you do is cute.”
Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.
By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.
You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.
Which he keeps doing, constantly.
“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.
You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”
That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”
You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”
“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”
“They are pretty.”
That only makes him laugh harder.
You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.
“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”
You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.
A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.
“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.
“What’s weird?”
“The moon.”
Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”
“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”
“It does.”
“Mhm.”
You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”
Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”
“And your hair is soft.”
“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”
“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”
That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”
You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”
“Bedtime.”
The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.
Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.
“You’re comfy.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”
Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.
The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.
“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”
You make a face. “No.”
“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”
You nod immediately. That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.
So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.
“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm. It’s stressful.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”
“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”
He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.
“What?”
“Nothin’, baby.”
By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.
“Stay.”
Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”
By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.
Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.
You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.
“Oh, my god.”
You blink. “What?”
Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”
Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”
You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”
“And he let you keep it?”
The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”
Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”
You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.
“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.
“I do not like him bad.”
“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”
Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.
You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.
Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”
And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.
Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression.
At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.
You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.
“Barely.”
“Yeah? Tragic.”
You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.
A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”
You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”
This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.
He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.
Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.
“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.
Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.
But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.
His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.
When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.
Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.
“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”
Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.
You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”
Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” you ask innocently.
Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.
“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.
Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”
Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.
Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.
And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.
badda bing badda boom.
anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, dom/sub stuff, bondage, roleplay(ish), big dick spencer things
authors note : things heat up!! im a hardcore switch!spencer truther but for the sake of this fic he's domming it up rn
★
You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation.
Spencer made some choices yesterday.
Choices that make you want to throttle him.
Calling you sweetheart.
Kissing you.
Whispering so sweetly to you.
Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever.
The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found.
The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.
You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them.
You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you.
Of course they’ll find you.
Hopefully.
When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday.
“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken.
When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile.
“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep.
“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.
“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”
“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn.
”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say.
“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?
Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you.
He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed.
“I’m fine.”
”Are you absolutely sure?”
”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them.
“Promise you feel fine?”
”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.
“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side.
“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath.
After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement.
“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament.
”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying.
Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile.
“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.
“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless.
“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction.
”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.
”I mean physically.”
”Sore.” Just a little.
”I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario.
”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”
”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent.
“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you.
“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.
When did he get so close to you?
“What you had to do.” You correct him.
He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight.
“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.”
Gross.
“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.”
Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on?
“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find.
There’s nothing.
No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor.
“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”
You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check.
“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.”
You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer.
“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig.
You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing.
“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well.
You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out.
You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry.
Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing.
The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours.
Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties.
When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground.
“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards.
“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle.
You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.
When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk.
“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.”
“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks.
“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”
You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after.
“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.
“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his.
“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.
“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy.
“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?”
He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?
“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”
“Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought.
“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”
“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself.
“You wish?”
“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.
That’s not what he wants to say.
”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.”
“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”
”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”
”Definietly not healthy.”
”Do you have a better idea?”
”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head.
“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face.
”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”
You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.
”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes.
“It’s not funny.”
“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.”
He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric.
”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion.
”I know Reid.”
”Spencer.”
”What?”
”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.”
“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.
“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.
”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back.
“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down.
“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow.
“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
God you’re sick.
“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight.
“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare.
“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”
”Well that’s not fair-”
”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?”
“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.
”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job.
And all you want to do right now is call him Reid.
Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest.
At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.
”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”
”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”
God, yes.
“No.”
“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.”
He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script.
“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.
”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.”
He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else.
“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you.
At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug.
Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur.
You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too.
You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole.
“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.
”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game.
You’ve never beat him.
But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty.
You chew on your lip, frowning in the process.
“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him.
“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.
“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?”
The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.
Almost.
“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees.
Asked for it, wanted it, needed it.
He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.
He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable.
And then you wait.
His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly.
Son of a bitch.
He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse.
“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”
Oh, you could kill him.
Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly.
You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan.
“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?”
Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.
And his eyes just light up.
You’re never gonna live this down.
With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you.
Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you?
He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you.
And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this.
Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this.
So you give him one.
Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth.
His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open.
You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear.
“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.
And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself.
Oh he’s got a perfect dick.
You’re gonna need so much therapy after this.
You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn.
He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’
Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.
You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth.
You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan.
All you want to hear is make him make that sound.
You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.
”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip.
He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.
”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence.
When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned.
“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.
”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you.
You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face.
“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning.
The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip.
“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears.
You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans.
“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.”
Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.
One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke.
The look on his face makes it worth it.
Intoxicated.
Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time.
“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.
As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.
You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm.
Not that you mind all that much.
When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though.
“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.”
Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs.
His eyes practically sparkle.
Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs.
“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself.
He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.
”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it.
“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan.
”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head.
“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass.
“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him.
“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less.
“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head.
“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much.
Almost as much as you do.
”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place.
“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head.
“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop.
Probably.
”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips.
What do you want?
What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real.
You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.
You want to know what he thinks about all of this.
You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.
You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.
You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this.
”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.
There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.
“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet.
You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this.
“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock.
You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious.
You feel a sense of pride.
You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows.
“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now.
And all you can do is nod.
When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him.
He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision.
You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up.
He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach.
“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.
“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you.
“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full.
“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch.
Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix.
And then he fucking whimpers your name.
Out of breath and desperate.
“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”
And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?
With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.
“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose.
Closer, and closer, and closer.
Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back.
His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty.
“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue.
God, you’re a goner.
He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips.
“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.
“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.
You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.
“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck
“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.”
Does he want you to state the obvious?
“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there.
“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.”
He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him.
“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles.
“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.
”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.”
“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on.
“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration.
“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns.
It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you.
You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth.
“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention.
There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion.
“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you.
“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting.
You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there.
You’re definitely going to be sore for a while.
You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror.
Yikes.
No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out.
“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay.
Are you okay?
Sort of.
You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that.
If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship.
You’re okay, mostly.
You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay.
You just have to hope he’s okay too.
When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey.
That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.
He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever.
Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept.
It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.
You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks.
“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.
That’s it?
That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it.
“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes.
“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.
“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through.
He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush.
Tell him.
Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong.
“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.
“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.
a/n : probs one more chapter after this, maybe a short epilouge after that
this is part two, click here for series masterlist
description: it's the summer leading into your senior year, and you decide to spend summer break with your best friend and roommate, violet munson. and of course, her dad. what starts as harmless flirting turns into something a little more...interesting.
pairing: dilf!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: dilf!eddie, 21 y/o reader, no y/n, best friend's dad, age gap romance, eddie being jealous, girl dad eddie, eddie and violet are literally twins, single dad eddie, shameless flirting, metalhead x metalhead, emo/goth reader, domestic fluff (like fr), violet munson being an instigator, steve has a wife and daughter?, summer vibe
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, age difference, mentions of toxic family dynamics
WC: 6.5k
A/N: AGH part two is finally here!!! sorry fics have been coming out slower than usual, between summer classes and work i've been BUSSYYYYY!! buuut, i'm so excited to hear what you guys think<3
reblogs are always appreciated :))
The annual start-of-summer lake day was apparently sacred in Hawkins. You discovered this at exactly eight-thirteen in the morning when a bikini top smacked you directly in the face. You jolted awake with a startled noise, immediately sitting upright as Violet stood in your doorway looking entirely too awake for a college student on summer break.
"Rise and shine."
You squinted at her through messy hair. "What time is it?"
"Lake day time."
"That's not a real time."
"It is in this house."
You groaned and flopped backward into the mattress. Unfortunately for you, Violet Munson had never been known for mercy. An hour later, you were sitting cross-legged on a kitchen stool nursing a cup of coffee while Violet packed enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse.
The house was quiet in Eddie's absence. He'd left for work before either of you woke up, disappearing sometime around six in the morning after leaving a note on the counter reminding Violet, "be there around four. please try not to drown anybody."
You'd stared at that note for far longer than necessary. Not because his handwriting was attractive, that would be ridiculous.
The front door opened dramatically, snapping you out of your lovestruck focus on Eddie’s chicken scratch. A blonde girl walked inside without knocking, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, and a set of car keys dangling from one finger.
"Please tell me somebody made coffee."
"Kitchen," Violet called.
The girl immediately rounded the corner before stopping when she saw you. For a second, she simply stared, then she looked at Violet. Then back at you.
"Huh."
"What?" Violet asked.
The girl pointed. "This is the roommate?"
"Yep."
"Huh."
"What does that mean?"
The girl shrugged. "Nothing. Just expected someone different."
She extended a hand toward you. "Harper Harrington."
You shook it. "The Harrington?"
She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."
The rest of the group filtered in over the next half hour, the same way Harper had; no knocking, no warning, just casually wandering into the Munson house like they owned part of it. By the time everyone finally piled into their respective cars, you'd met enough people to completely lose track of who belonged to who.
Apparently, that was another Hawkins thing. Everybody's parents knew everybody else's parents, everyone had grown up together, and somehow half the town seemed related through friendship if not blood. It was oddly comforting in a way you weren't used to, a kind of community that only seemed possible in places where people stayed.
The lake itself ended up being far prettier than you'd expected. Hawkins might've been small, but the water stretched wide beneath the summer sun, sparkling between the trees while boats drifted lazily across the surface.
The group immediately claimed a familiar patch of shoreline, unloading coolers and folding chairs with the efficiency of people who'd been doing this every summer since birth.
Before you'd even finished laying your towel out, somebody had already started music, somebody else had started a volleyball game, and Harper was loudly accusing one of the others of cheating at something.
Hours slipped by surprisingly fast after that. You swam, floated on your back in the lake, got dragged into a game of beach volleyball despite repeatedly insisting you sucked at sports, and somehow ended up sharing a giant bag of chips with Harper while she filled you in on years of Hawkins gossip.
By mid-afternoon, your skin was warm from the sun, your hair was damp from swimming, and for the first time since arriving in Indiana, you weren't really thinking about anything at all. Well, almost anything.
"Your eyes keep going to the parking lot."
You looked over at Harper. "What?"
She smirked. "Nothing."
Immediately suspicious, you narrowed your eyes. "Harper."
Before she could answer, a familiar roar of an engine echoed through the trees. And suddenly, half the group perked up. "Oh, they're here."
You turned instinctively toward the parking area, a big mistake. Huge mistake, actually. Because there, climbing out of the old van with a cooler balanced against one hip, was Eddie.
For a second, your brain didn't quite process what it was seeing. Then it did, and unfortunately, that made things significantly worse. Gone was the grease-stained work shirt you'd seen him leave in every morning.
Instead, he'd changed into a pair of faded black swim trunks hanging low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His curls had been pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, exposing the tattoos crawling across his shoulders and chest, and the late afternoon sunlight caught against every silver ring still decorating his fingers.
Sweet fucking Jesus. You suddenly understood every poor decision women had ever made throughout history.
"Wow." The word escaped before you could stop it.
Harper followed your line of sight, then she looked at you, then back at Eddie. Then at you again. "Oh."
Your stomach dropped. "Oh no."
"Oh," Harper repeated, sounding somewhere between inquiry and suspicion.
Across the beach, Steve appeared from the passenger side, carrying enough bags to feed a football team. Beside him was a woman with dark hair and oversized sunglasses, effortlessly beautiful in the way that made you immediately understand why Steve Harrington had spent years getting himself into trouble.
"That's my mom," Harper informed you.
"She's gorgeous."
"I know. It's annoying."
Steve immediately spotted the group and lifted a hand. "Alright, move. Important people are here."
"Nobody asked you to come!" one of the kids yelled back.
Steve looked genuinely offended. "That's a terrible thing to say to the guy carrying burgers."
The entire group immediately changed sides.
"Welcome, Steve."
"Great to see you, Steve."
"We love you, Steve."
His wife snorted. "You people are shameless."
Meanwhile, you were doing your absolute best not to stare at Eddie. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't making that particularly easy.
He'd abandoned the cooler near the picnic tables and was helping Steve unload supplies, muscles flexing every time he lifted something. The man wasn't even showing off. He looked completely unaware of the fact that he was walking around looking like every romance novel cover come to life.
Or maybe he was aware, because halfway through carrying a folding table, he glanced up. And immediately caught you staring. Fuck.
His eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, the bastard winked. You nearly swallowed your own tongue.
You snapped your head back to the lake, Harper immediately tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you replied on impulse. She hummed in response, but it didn’t quite sound convinced.
Before you could formulate a solid response to her lack of one, Eddie finally started walking toward the group. The closer he got, the worse the situation became.
Up close, you could see the faint tan lines across his shoulders, the tattoos wrapping around his arms, the way a few escaped curls had fallen loose around his face despite the bun. It should've been illegal for a forty-year-old father to look like that.
Thirty-nine. Not that you knew that, or thought about it. Or remembered constantly.
"Hey, sweetheart." His voice alone was enough to make your stomach flip.
You looked up and immediately regretted it. Because now he was standing directly in front of you, still shirtless, still damp from whatever shower he'd apparently taken after work, and still looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Hey."
Eddie's eyes drifted over you slowly, taking in your swimsuit, your sun-kissed skin, and your damp hair. The look lingered just long enough to make heat crawl up your neck before he finally grinned.
"Looks like you're surviving Hawkins."
"Barely."
"Mhm."
Eventually, Steve decided he'd had enough of everyone picking at chips and snacks.
"Alright, listen up!" he shouted from beside the grills. "Food's done, and if you little gremlins don't come eat now, I'm not reheating anything later."
A chorus of complaints immediately followed.
"We're literally walking over!"
"Relax, dad!"
"You're not my dad!"
Steve pointed a spatula threateningly. "I could've been."
His wife rolled her eyes from where she was arranging burger toppings. "Ignore him. Everybody grab a plate."
The entire group migrated toward the picnic tables in a noisy mass of towels, sunscreen, half-finished conversations, and dripping lake water. Harper immediately stole a burger before Steve could finish serving everyone, earning a dramatic gasp from her father that she completely ignored.
You found yourself settling onto the end of one of the benches while everyone else naturally fell into conversations that had clearly been going on for years.
Maya and the twins were arguing about something that happened last summer. Harper was making fun of a guy she'd apparently gone to school with. Logan was telling some story that required absolutely zero context for everybody except you.
You smiled when appropriate and laughed when everyone else laughed. But after a while, you started feeling it, that subtle little distance.
Nobody was being unkind. Quite the opposite, actually. Everyone had gone out of their way to include you throughout the day. But there was still a difference between being welcomed into a group and having years of inside jokes and memories with them.
You were still catching up. Still learning names, stories, histories...still the new person.
For a moment, your thoughts drifted back home. To being the odd one out at family dinners. To sitting quietly while everyone else talked around you. To feeling like there wasn't really a place carved out for you anywhere, so you picked at your food.
The feeling only lasted a minute, maybe less. Because suddenly a shadow fell across the table, then Eddie slid onto the bench beside you.
"Hey."
You glanced over. "Hey."
He balanced a paper plate on one knee and took a bite of his burger before speaking again.
"You look like you're plotting something."
You snorted. "I promise I'm not."
"Mhm."
"What?"
Eddie tilted his head slightly. "You got quiet."
"I'm okay."
"I know."
His voice was soft enough that nobody else would've heard it over the surrounding conversations.
Then he nodded toward the group, "They can be a lot."
You laughed quietly. "That's one way to put it."
"Trust me, sweetheart. I've known most of these idiots since before they could drive."
"Feels like everybody here has known each other forever."
"Pretty much."
Eddie picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Harper was born when Vi was little. Maya's parents live three streets over. Logan practically grew up at my garage. Steve's wife still makes fun of me for a haircut I got in nineteen ninety-three."
You laughed. "What was wrong with the haircut?"
"Oh, it was terrible."
"Really?"
"It was magnificent."
"Those are two different answers."
"Both can be true." His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and you couldn't help smiling.
The conversations around you continued, but somehow they felt less overwhelming now. Maybe because Eddie wasn't trying to force you into them. He wasn't doing the awkward introduction thing or drawing attention to the fact that you were newer than everyone else.
"You know," he said after a minute, looking out toward the water, "when I first moved into Wayne's, I barely spoke for an entire summer."
You blinked. "You?"
"Hard to believe, I know."
"Impossible, actually."
Eddie grinned. "Seriously. I was awkward as hell."
"No way."
"Way."
You studied him skeptically. Just before this, the man had an entire picnic table laughing at half of what he said. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You expect me to believe you were shy?"
His grin softened slightly. "Not shy."
He looked down at his beer. "Just didn't think people wanted me around."
The admission surprised you enough that you didn't answer right away. Because for a second, you caught a glimpse of something underneath all the confidence and sarcasm; something younger.
Eddie glanced over and immediately noticed your expression. "Hey."
"Hm?"
"Don't get all sad on me."
You laughed. "I'm not sad."
"Good."
Then he reached over and stole one of your fries, again.
"Hey!"
"Occupational hazard. Gotta make sure it’s not poison."
"That's not what that means."
"It does if I say it does."
The Hideout was somehow even more charming now than it had been in all the stories Violet told. Maybe it was the nostalgia baked into the place. The old wooden bar, the dim lighting, the neon beer signs buzzing softly against the walls.
Maybe it was because half the people inside seemed to know Eddie by name. Or maybe it was because every few minutes someone would stop by your table to greet either Steve, Eddie, or both, and you'd get to watch them slip so naturally into the lives they'd built here.
You, Harper, and Violet had claimed a booth near the back while Steve and Eddie wandered over toward the dart boards with beers in hand. A local band was setting up in the corner, tuning guitars and testing microphones while conversations drifted through the crowded room.
Meanwhile, across the room, Steve lined up a shot at the dart board while Eddie leaned against the wall beside him. The dart landed with a satisfying thunk.
"Ha."
"Congratulations," Eddie deadpanned. "You're winning against a mechanic."
Steve ignored him. For a minute, they stood there in comfortable silence, watching the girls at the booth. Harper was talking animatedly about something while Violet argued with her. You sat between them, laughing at whatever ridiculous story was being told.
Then Steve glanced sideways. "So."
Eddie sighed immediately. "No."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to."
Steve threw another dart. "You gonna tell me what's going on there?"
Eddie looked offended. "Nothing's going on."
"Bullshit."
"Steve."
"Eddie."
The older man took a sip of his beer, and Steve pointed subtly toward your booth.
"You talked to her almost the entire barbecue."
"We were talking."
"You were talking."
"That's what I said."
Steve stared, and Eddie stared back. Neither moved, then finally Steve sighed.
"I feel like I'm watching a train derail in slow motion."
"Jesus Christ."
"Eddie."
"What?"
"That's your daughter's best friend."
"I know who she is."
Steve rubbed his face. "I liked you better when your bad decisions only affected you."
Eddie barked out a laugh despite himself. "Nothing's happening."
Steve looked like he wanted to believe him, then his expression changed when his eyes drifted toward the bar. Eddie followed his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.
Because sometime during the conversation, Violet and Harper had wandered over to grab another round of drinks. You'd stayed behind at the booth, scrolling through the jukebox selections alone.
Unfortunately, somebody else had noticed. A guy. Young, mid-twenties maybe. Definitely closer to your age than Eddie's. The guy leaned casually against the edge of your booth and said something.
You smiled politely, and the guy smiled wider. Eddie's jaw tightened instantly. Steve saw it happen in real time.
"Oh no."
"I'm fine."
"You are absolutely not fine."
"I'm completely fine."
The guy sat down at your booth, across from you, knee brushing yours slightly under the table. Steve physically winced.
"Oh, that's bad."
"I'm gonna go say hi."
"You don't know him."
"I know enough."
"Eddie."
But Eddie was already moving. Across the room, you were only half paying attention to whatever the guy was saying.
Something about being from Indianapolis. Something about visiting family. Something about your tattoos. Honestly, he seemed perfectly nice.
Then suddenly his expression changed, and you frowned.
"What?"
The guy glanced up and immediately looked nervous. A familiar tattooed arm draped itself across the back of your booth, then another appeared on the opposite side, boxing you in completely.
"Oh," Eddie said pleasantly. "There you are, sweetheart."
The guy looked between the two of you. "Oh."
Eddie smiled, but not his real smile. The dangerous one. The one you'd already learned meant trouble. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize somebody was sitting here."
The guy stood up so fast he nearly knocked his drink over. "No, no, you're good."
"Mhm." Eddie never stopped smiling.
The guy made a very quick decision. "Well. Nice meeting you." Then he practically disappeared into the crowd.
The second he was gone, you looked up at Eddie.
"Eddie."
"What?"
"What was that?"
He looked genuinely confused. "I came to say hi."
You stared, and he stared back, for approximately three seconds. Then you started laughing, because somehow that was even less convincing than whatever excuse he'd intended to use.
"You are ridiculous."
"Maybe." His grin softened, then he brushed his fingers briefly against your shoulder. "Just checking on you."
The warmth in his voice immediately ruined any chance of staying annoyed.
"You're impossible."
"Been told that."
A few minutes later, after you'd disappeared toward the restroom, Eddie eventually wandered back to the dart boards, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Steve was waiting with a beer in hand and a flat expression.
Eddie immediately knew. "No."
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"Seriously?"
Eddie grabbed another dart while Steve pointed toward the booth.
"The kid practically evacuated."
"He left."
"You ran him off."
"I didn't run him off."
"Eddie."
"He made his own choices."
Steve laughed in disbelief. "You are forty years old."
"Thirty-nine."
"That somehow makes this worse."
Eddie threw his dart. Bullseye. "Don't."
Steve stared at him for a second, then looked toward the bathroom where you'd disappeared, then back toward Eddie. Then finally sighed. "You're screwed."
The second you came back from the bathroom, Eddie was waiting. Not in an obvious way, not standing outside the door like some lovesick teenager. Just leaning casually against the dart board wall with a beer in one hand and entirely too much amusement in his eyes.
The second he spotted you weaving through the crowd, his face brightened ever so slightly. A tiny thing, small enough that most people wouldn't notice it.
"Sweetheart."
You rolled your eyes as you approached. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Whatever this is."
Eddie grinned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar."
"Prove it."
You opened your mouth, then closed it, because annoyingly enough, you couldn't. Which only made his smile wider.
"That's what I thought."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet."
"And yet nothing."
"And yet you're still standing here." You hated when he had a point, especially when he looked so pleased about it.
The dart board behind him sat abandoned now, Steve having wandered off to join his wife and Harper near the booths. A few empty lanes sat open, and before you could stop him, Eddie was already pulling a set of darts from the board.
"You ever play?"
You eyed them suspiciously. "Not really."
"Oh."
The grin returned, the dangerous one. "Perfect."
Immediately, you groaned. "No."
"Yes."
"Eddie."
"C'mon."
The next thing you knew, a dart had been pressed into your hand. Five minutes later, you were learning very quickly that Eddie Munson was the most distracting teacher alive. Because at first, he genuinely tried, for all of about thirty seconds.
"You wanna hold it like this."
His hand settled over yours; warm, calloused, and large enough to completely engulf your grip. Your stomach betrayed you immediately, then he stepped behind you, which was somehow worse.
"Oh, my god."
"What?"
"You know exactly what."
"I am literally teaching you darts."
His voice was directly beside your ear, maybe lower, and definitely rougher. You hated him.
"You stand like this."
His hands settled briefly on your hips, “adjusting”, supposedly. The problem was that neither of you seemed particularly focused on darts anymore.
Your heart was pounding loud enough that you were worried somebody else would hear it while Eddie leaned slightly closer.
"Relax."
"I am relaxed."
"You just missed the board entirely."
You looked, and the dart was currently embedded in the wall. "...Okay."
Eddie barked out a laugh, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. "See?"
"Shut up."
"Can't."
His hand slid down your arm, adjusting your grip again. You were beginning to suspect the lesson wasn't real.
Across the room, Steve looked up from his booth and immediately regretted it. "Oh, for the love of God." His wife followed his gaze, then immediately started laughing.
Meanwhile, Harper and Violet were sitting across from one another sharing fries. Harper watched the dart situation unfold for approximately thirty seconds, then another thirty. Then finally turned toward her friend.
"Can I ask you something?"
Violet didn't even look up from her food. "You already are."
"Does this not bother you?"
For the first time all night, Violet's attention shifted toward the dart boards. Toward you. Toward her father. You were laughing at something Eddie had said. Head tipped back, smile huge, the kind of laugh that made your entire face light up.
Violet's expression softened immediately, and the sarcasm disappeared for a second. "Honestly?"
Harper nodded. Violet watched you for another moment before speaking. "No."
Harper looked surprised. "Really?"
"Nope."
Her fingers traced the rim of her drink absentmindedly. "That's probably the happiest she's looked in years."
Something in her tone made Harper pause. "What do you mean?"
Violet was quiet for a second. "Freshman year."
Harper waited.
"There was this guy."
Immediately Harper winced. "Oh."
"Yeah."
The response alone said enough. "Bad?"
"Not physically." Violet sighed. "But he spent two years making her feel like everything about her was too much."
Her eyes drifted back toward you, toward the smile currently plastered across your face.
"He hated her music,” she laughed softly. "Hated her clothes. Hated her tattoos. Thought she was dramatic every time she had feelings."
Harper frowned. "What a dick."
"Exactly."
The relationship had ended almost two years ago now, yet Harper noticed something sad in Violet's expression anyway.
"She hasn't dated since."
Across the room, Eddie was currently saying something that had you doubled over laughing. Whatever it was made him grin too. The look on his face wasn't subtle, not even a little.
And for some reason, instead of making Violet uncomfortable, it made her chest feel warm.
Because she remembered crying with you in your dorm room, remembered helping you pick up the pieces afterward. Remembered all the nights you'd insisted nobody would ever actually want all of you.
Not the loud parts. Not the messy parts. Not the emotional parts. All of it. Yet there you were, laughing, flirting, happy, for the first time in forever.
Harper followed her gaze, then smiled. "Oh."
"Yeah."
Violet grinned into her drink. "Besides."
"What?"
She looked back toward her father, then toward you and smirked that usual Munson smirk. "My dad's obsessed with her."
Across the room, Eddie's hand settled briefly against the small of your back as he helped you line up another throw.
Harper burst out laughing. "Obsessed is an understatement."
A couple hours later, the Hideout had gotten significantly louder.
The local band had long since started playing, conversations were being shouted over music, and somehow your group had managed to push three tables together into one giant mess of empty baskets, beer bottles, and half-finished stories. Steve's wife had eventually given up trying to keep everyone organized, settling instead into laughing at the chaos from a safe distance.
You, unfortunately, were drunk. Not blackout drunk, not Violet-at-the-lake drunk, but definitely drunk enough that everything felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.
Unfortunately, Eddie seemed to be in exactly the same boat, which was proving dangerous for everyone involved, especially you. Because sober Eddie at least attempted restraint. Drunk Eddie apparently thought personal space was a government conspiracy.
By ten-thirty, his arm had somehow become permanently draped across the back of your chair. Every time he laughed, he leaned into you. Every time he told a story, his hand found your shoulder, your arm, the small of your back. The man seemed physically incapable of existing more than six inches away from you.
And the worst part? You weren't exactly discouraging it.
"You are so full of shit."
Eddie pressed a hand dramatically over his heart. "That hurts, sweetheart."
"You're lying."
"I'm embellishing."
"That's just lying with confidence."
Steve nearly choked on his drink. "Jesus Christ, she's got your number."
"I don't like this," Eddie muttered.
"You love it."
"Maybe."
The answer came so fast that the entire table immediately started laughing. Harper physically dropped her head onto the table. "Oh, my god."
"What?" Eddie asked.
"Nothing."
"It was definitely something."
Across from you, Violet was grinning into her drink like this was the greatest show she'd ever witnessed. "He's not even trying anymore."
"I'm sitting right here."
"I know." The grin only got bigger.
By eleven-thirty, Steve had finally announced that he was taking his wife home before Harper somehow got herself banned from the establishment.
"I've done nothing wrong."
Steve pointed. "You started three separate arguments."
"I won all three."
"Goodnight, Harper."
The group slowly began breaking apart after that. Goodbyes were exchanged. Tabs were closed. Chairs scraped across the floor as people gathered their things. You stood up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted slightly.
"Oh."
Eddie looked over. "Oh no."
"I'm fine."
"You almost walked into a table."
"The table moved."
"The table did not move."
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the furniture, and Eddie started laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. Ten minutes later, you were outside in the warm summer air waiting while Steve finished saying goodbye to someone.
The night was quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Crickets chirped in the distance while streetlights cast soft yellow pools across the pavement. You were halfway through explaining a very important theory about why raccoons probably conversed through telekinesis when Eddie suddenly crouched in front of you.
"What're you doing?"
He pointed at your shoes. "You can't walk."
"I can absolutely walk."
To prove your point, you immediately stumbled. Eddie looked at Violet, and Violet looked at Eddie. The two of them started laughing.
"I hate everybody."
"No, you don't."
Then, before you could argue, Eddie hooked an arm behind your knees. You squeaked as the ground beneath you disappeared. "Oh, my god."
"There we go."
"Eddie!"
Suddenly you were being carried like it was nothing. One arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back. You stared at him, and he stared back.
"What?"
"You picked me up."
"Congratulations."
"You're carrying me."
"Mhm."
"Why?"
"Because you're drunk."
You considered this. "Fair."
Violet made a choking noise behind you. When you looked over, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"You look insane."
She pointed. "No, you look insane."
The walk home wasn't particularly long, but apparently that didn't matter. Because every time you suggested being put down, Eddie refused, every single time.
At one point, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder. The man practically preened.
"Look at him," Violet whispered.
"Oh my god," Harper whispered back.
"He loves this."
"He absolutely loves this."
Eddie ignored both of them, or pretended to. The smile he was trying to hide said otherwise. By the time the Munson house came into view, you'd gone completely boneless against him, warm and sleepy from the alcohol and the summer air.
"Comfortable?"
"Mhm."
"Good."
You hummed contentedly. Behind you, Violet immediately gagged.
"Dad."
"What?"
"You're gross."
"Am not."
"Are so. You carried her two miles."
"It was half a mile."
"You know that's not the point."
Eddie just laughed, then adjusted his grip slightly and carried you up the front steps anyway. By the time you got inside, Harper was heading toward her own car parked down the street. She paused halfway down the driveway, pointing between you and Eddie.
"I'm not saying anything."
"Good," Eddie called.
"But I'm thinking a lot."
"Harper."
She grinned. "Night, lovebirds."
Then she disappeared before either of you could throw something at her. The second the front door opened, Violet immediately announced, "I am going to bed before one of you says or does something that permanently changes my brain chemistry."
You barked out a laugh. "You are so dramatic."
Violet looked toward the ceiling as if she were asking God for patience. "Goodnight." Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, and a few seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.
Eddie finally set you down on the couch like you were something fragile, which was ridiculous. You immediately sank into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.
"Oh."
His mouth twitched. "What?"
"This couch is amazing."
"It's literally a couch."
"It's a really good couch."
"You're drunk."
You pointed at him. "So are you."
"Yeah." At least he was honest.
Eddie snorted softly and dropped down onto the floor in front of you, resting his arms across his knees. The position put him directly between your legs. Not touching, but close enough that your foot bumped his shoulder.
The soft yellow kitchen light caught the amber in his eyes while he looked up at you. God, the man was unfair. His curls had mostly fallen out of the bun by now, loose strands hanging around his face. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and laughter, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.
You were in trouble.
"So."
You narrowed your eyes. "So."
Eddie grinned. "You're drunk."
You gasped dramatically. "The audacity."
Eddie laughed, head tipping back slightly, and suddenly you understood why everybody in Hawkins liked him so much.
It wasn't just that he was funny. It was that he laughed with his entire body, like he genuinely enjoyed existing, like he enjoyed being around you. The thought made your stomach flutter.
"You know," you said after a moment.
"Oh boy."
"You scared that guy away."
Eddie immediately looked innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar."
"I'm serious."
"You practically chased him out of the Hideout."
His grin widened. "He left on his own accord."
"Mmhm."
"He did."
"Eddie."
The man actually had the nerve to shrug. "He seemed like a smart kid."
You laughed. "Oh, my god."
"What?"
"You were jealous."
His eyebrows shot upward. "Jealous?"
"Very."
"Of a twenty-something wearing boat shoes?"
You burst out laughing since the immediate answer told you everything. "Aha."
"No."
"That's not a denial."
"It is."
"It was a terrible denial."
Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You are exhausting."
"Because I'm right."
"You're not."
"You totally are."
The two of you stared at each other, then Eddie sighed dramatically. "Maybe I didn't love him talking to you."
Victory. You pointed immediately. "I knew it."
"Oh, don't look so proud of yourself."
"I am."
"You shouldn't be."
But he was smiling again, the soft kind this time, the one that made your chest feel warm. His eyes drifted across your face for a second before he spoke again.
"You know what my problem is?"
"What?"
Eddie leaned back slightly against the couch. "I forget how old you are."
You blinked. "What?"
"I spend all day talking to you and hanging out with you, and it feels normal." His voice had gotten quieter. "Then some guy your age walks over, and suddenly I remember you're twenty-one."
You stared at him, because there wasn't really a joke hidden inside that one. Eddie looked away first, shaking his head. "Forget I said that."
"No."
His eyes returned to yours. "No?"
"No."
"I like talking to you." The confession left your mouth before you could stop it.
Eddie's expression softened instantly. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
Something warm flashed across his face, like you'd handed him something precious.
"Good." The word came out almost embarrassingly gentle.
For a second neither of you spoke, neither of you seemed particularly interested in breaking whatever this was. Then Eddie glanced upward, down the hall towards Violet’s room. And a mischievous grin slowly appeared.
"Oh."
You immediately recognized that look. "What?"
"I just realized something."
"Eddie."
"If you become my girlfriend—"
"Oh, my god."
"—Vi is gonna be so annoying about it."
You laughed so hard you nearly fell sideways off the couch.
You were still smiling when you looked down at Eddie. He was resting his arms on the couch cushion beside your legs now, chin tilted upward as he watched you.
"You know," you said quietly, "I think Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."
Eddie snorted. "Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."
"Fair."
"Steve definitely is."
"Oh, absolutely."
The thought made you laugh again, and Eddie smiled immediately at the sound. God. There it was; that damn look again. The one he'd been giving you all summer. The one that always felt like he was seeing something in you that nobody else quite did.
Neither of you spoke, just slowly drifted closer until the distance between you felt ridiculous. Then Eddie's hand settled lightly against your knee. A question, not a demand, just an invitation.
You answered by leaning forward first. The kiss was soft, almost embarrassingly sweet compared to the way you'd started things the first night. Just Eddie smiling against your mouth halfway through it because apparently he couldn't help himself.
"Hi," he murmured.
You laughed. "Hi."
"Thought about doing that all night."
"You're impossible."
"Been told."
His thumb traced absentminded circles against your leg while he looked up at you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then the thought slipped out before you could stop it.
"Would you actually want that?"
Eddie's brows knit together slightly. "What?"
You suddenly felt nervous, which was stupid, but there it was anyway. "The girlfriend thing."
"What?"
You shrugged awkwardly. "Earlier."
When realization dawned, something softened in his face. "Sweetheart."
The nickname came out quieter than usual. You looked away first, which only made him smile.
"Yeah."
Your eyes snapped back to his. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." There wasn't even a second of hesitation.
His hand slid over yours. "I wouldn't joke about that."
Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
You laughed softly, and Eddie squeezed your hand once. "So?"
"So?"
He grinned. "Would you?"
You immediately narrowed your eyes. "Oh, now who's asking questions?"
"Me."
"You can't just reverse it."
"I absolutely can."
You laughed despite yourself, then looked down at your intertwined fingers. At the rings on his hand. At the way he was watching you.
"I'd think about it."
Eddie barked out a laugh. "You'd think about it?"
"I would."
"That's cold."
You nudged his shoulder with your foot. "Shut up."
"I'm serious."
"You should be grateful I'm considering it at all."
His grin widened. "Considering it."
"Mhm."
"Well."
The look that crossed his face immediately made you suspicious. "What?"
Eddie stood slowly, still holding your hand, still smiling. "I might have a way to improve my chances."
"Oh, do you?"
"Mhm." Eddie’s grin turns wicked as he tugs you up from the couch by your hand, pulling you flush against his chest.
“You’ve been teasing me all damn night in this little skirt,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Then some college prick thinks he can talk to you at the bar? Nah. I think it’s time I remind you exactly who this pussy belongs to.”
He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he walks you backward down the hallway, kissing you hard, tongue claiming your mouth while his hands slide under your skirt and grab two handfuls of your ass. The second his bedroom door shuts, the switch flips completely.
“Clothes off. Now.”
You move fast, but apparently not fast enough. Eddie spins you around, bends you over the edge of his bed, and yanks your skirt and panties down in one rough motion. He kicks your legs wider, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your cunt from behind without warning.
“Fuck— Eddie!”
He eats you like a man starved. Messy, loud, and filthy. Long drags of his tongue, sucking hard on your clit, then fucking his tongue into you while his grip on your hips keeps you pinned exactly where he wants you. You’re already shaking by the time he pulls back, lips shiny.
“Think that little boy at the bar could eat this pussy like that?” he growls, standing up and shoving two thick fingers into you. “You think any of those college boys could make you drip down their chin the way you do for me?”
You moan helplessly, pushing back on his fingers. He curls them perfectly, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle. He flips you onto your back on the bed, strips his shirt off, then yanks his belt open. His cock springs out, hard and leaking, but he doesn’t fuck you yet.
Instead, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out the black vibrator.
“Eddie—”
“Yeah, baby?” His smile is dark, predatory. “Gonna make you so fucking sensitive you forget any other man exists.”
He clicks it on and presses the buzzing head directly against your swollen clit. At the same time, he pushes his cock into you in one slow, deep thrust. You cry out, back arching hard.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, bottoming out. “So goddamn tight. This pussy was made for me.”
He starts fucking you in hard, steady strokes while the vibrator stays glued to your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming — his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against your walls, and the relentless buzz making your thighs tremble violently.
“Look at you,” he taunts, voice rough as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other keeping the vibrator exactly where he wants it. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You’d never go back to some twenty-one-year-old loser after this, would you?”
You shake your head frantically, moaning loudly.
“Say it.”
“I—I wouldn’t,” you gasp. “Never— fuck, Eddie—”
He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and your eyes roll back.
“That’s right. Because no college boy is ever gonna fuck you like I do. None of them are gonna make you come so many times you can’t even speak. None of them know how to ruin this pretty cunt the way I do.”
He fucks you harder, hips snapping, the wet sound of you obscene in the room. The vibrator never leaves your clit, and you come the first time with a broken cry, clenching around his cock so hard he curses.
But he doesn’t stop. He keeps the vibrator pressed tight, keeps thrusting deep, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.
“Too much— Eddie, please—”
“You can take it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your neck. “You’re gonna come again. Gonna soak my cock while you’re crying for me.”
He angles his hips just right and turns the vibrator even higher, and the overstimulation hits like a freight train. You’re sobbing his name, nails raking down his back, legs shaking uncontrollably as another brutal orgasm rips through you.
Only then does he pull the vibrator away, toss it aside, and fuck you like he’s trying to claim you completely. Deep, punishing strokes. His hand wraps around your throat tight, and high enough to hold you there while he stares into your eyes.
“Say you’re mine,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Say you’ll be mine. Let me take care of you all fucking summer. Hell, however long you’ll let me.”
“I’m yours,” you moan, voice hoarse. “I’ll be your girlfriend, whatever you want—fuck, I’m yours, Eddie—”
He kisses you filthy and deep, then buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, groaning your name against your mouth as he fills you. For a minute, the only sounds are your ragged breathing.
Eddie pulls out gently, then collapses beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms. His hands are soft now, stroking down your back, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle again.
You nod, still trembling. “Yeah… Jesus Christ.”
He chuckles lowly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Good. Because I meant every word. I want you to be mine, not just for the summer.”
You smile against his chest, pressing a kiss over one of his tattoos.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I want that too.”
Eddie’s arms tighten around you, and for the first time all night, his smile is soft.
description: it's the summer leading into your senior year, and you decide to spend summer break with your best friend and roommate, violet munson. and of course, her dad. what starts as harmless flirting turns into something a little more...interesting.
pairing: dilf!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: dilf!eddie, 21 y/o reader, no y/n, best friend's dad, age gap romance, girl dad eddie, eddie and violet are literally twins, single dad eddie, shameless flirting, metalhead x metalhead, emo/goth reader, domestic fluff (like fr), gruncle wayne, violet munson being an instigator, stepmom jokes get too real, friends to lovers (?)
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, age difference, mentions of toxic family dynamics
WC: 5.9k
A/N: this one goes out to my dearest @bitterestwillow... hope you love it bestie🥰 i could actually make one-million parts to this, dilf eddie is my obsession bruh omgomgomg. reblogs are always appreciated <3
a slight note: going forward with requests, i will be replying a few at a time to pace myself and not lose track/forget. i see you in my inbox and i'm not ignoring you! just trying to balance requests, series, and my own fic ideas. i appreciate you all so much for trusting me with your ideas!! much love<33
“You’re going to absolutely hate it here.” Your roommate, Violet, says, nodding towards the Welcome to Hawkins Hell sign.
“You’re such a delight, y’know that?” You retort, taking a puff of your cigarette.
“I’m just saying! Why you agreed to spend the summer with my dad and I is beyond me. Hawkins is literally the most boring town on the entire planet.”
“‘On the entire planet’ is a stretch, Vi. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, it so is. I mean, look at that,” she motions towards the line of storefronts. “This town is stuck in the 70’s, terminally. We have to drive 20 minutes to get decent coffee. It’s deplorable.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, exhaling a plume of smoke out of the window. Was spending your entire summer break in small town Indiana your idea of a perfect summer? No, not by a long shot.
But it was by all means better than going back to your house, dealing with your dad, and that witch of a step-mom. So, summer break in Hawkins with Violet and her dad seemed like the lesser of two evils.
Besides, Violet was your best friend. You two met eachother freshman year due to random roommate assignments, and clicked off the jump. The second she started hanging Dio and Iron Maiden posters up, you knew you’d be thick as thieves.
Not just because of the music, either. Violet looked like she’d crawled straight out of a metal magazine and into your dorm room. Dark curly hair always messy in an intentional sort of way, tattoos peeking out from under shredded band tees and leather jackets, no matter the weather.
And somehow, you matched her freak perfectly.
The two of you moved through campus like a matched set; all dark clothes, tattoos, cigarette smoke, chunky silver jewelry, and enough attitude to make frat boys cross the street.
People always assumed you’d known each other forever. Maybe because you looked like alternate universe versions of the same girl.
Or maybe because Violet Munson was so painfully, undeniably her father’s daughter. And here you are, the summer into your senior year, and you’re closer than ever, living together for all four years.
“Alright, here we are. Home sweet shithole,” she mutters, pulling into her driveway.
Her house was not a shithole by any standard. It was a quaint, brick bi-level house with a dark blue door and bushes lining the sides. Sure, the lawn was a little overgrown, but that’s to be expected of a single dad who works long hours as a mechanic.
The driveway’s littered with evidence of him, too. A toolbox near the garage. Empty beer bottles sitting on the porch railing. A faded Corroded Coffin bumper sticker slapped crookedly onto an old cooler.
You snort softly as you climb out of the passenger seat. “Yeah, this is devastatingly awful, Vi. I may never recover.”
“Shut up,” she laughs, popping the trunk.
The summer air is thick and humid, wrapping around your skin instantly. Cicadas scream somewhere in the trees while Violet digs through her bag before triumphantly holding up a joint between two black-painted nails.
“Oh, thank God,” you sigh dramatically.
“Priorities.”
You lean against the hood while she lights it, the flame briefly illuminating the silver hoop through her nose. She takes the first hit before passing it over to you without a word.
It was easy with Violet, always had been.
You inhale slowly, letting your shoulders finally relax for what feels like the first time in months.
“Y’know,” Violet says, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “my dad’s gonna love you.”
You bark out a laugh. “You say that now.”
“No, seriously. You’re literally his exact type.”
You nearly choke. “Vi?”
“What?” she grins. “Hot goth women with emotional issues and nicotine addictions. That’s basically his demographic.”
“Ew, Vi!”
“I’m just being honest!”
Before you can respond, the low growl of an engine cuts through the quiet, and Violet immediately glances toward the street. A black-and-white van pulls into the driveway beside you both. Older model, and loud as hell.
“Speaking of the devil,” Violet mutters.
Your eyes widen slightly. “Shit, should we put this out?”
Violet looks genuinely confused. “Why?”
The driver’s side door swings open before you can answer. And oh, okay.
You expected an older guy, maybe tired-looking. Greasy coveralls. Generic middle-aged dad energy.
Not…him.
Not Eddie stepping out of the van in a black sleeveless Metallica shirt, grease smeared along his tattooed forearms, dark curls sticking to his forehead from the heat.
Late thirties, maybe early forties, sure. Still, unfairly hot.
“Hey, hon,” he calls toward Violet before his eyes land on you. They pause, just for a second too long.
Violet smirks immediately, clocking it. “Dad, this is the roommate I’ve been telling you about. Y’know, the one with functioning brain cells?”
“Mm.” His gaze flicks over you again, amused. “Heard a lot about you.”
You open your mouth to respond, suddenly very aware of the joint between your fingers.
Eddie notices too. Without missing a beat, he steps forward, plucks it right from your hand, and takes a drag like it belongs to him.
“Gotta make sure it’s not poison,” he says casually, smoke curling from his grin.
Up close, he smells faintly like motor oil, cigarette smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. Cologne, maybe. Or just him. Unfortunately for you, it works.
“So,” he says, handing the joint back to you this time instead of Violet, “you’re the famous roommate.”
You snort softly. “Famous feels generous.”
“Nah, trust me. I’ve heard plenty.” He points toward Violet with his chin. “This one calls me every other day bitching about classes, professors, existential crises—”
“Okay, wow.”
“—and somehow your name always comes up.”
Violet flips him off immediately. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“You’re my kid. Kinda legally obligated.”
He grins when she groans dramatically, and for a second, it clicks so clearly it’s almost stupid.
The resemblance. Not necessarily in exact features, though they definitely share the same eyes and dark curls. It’s the energy. The sarcasm. The loud personality packed into black clothes and silver jewelry.
Violet really is just a female version of him, which suddenly explains a lot.
Eddie turns his attention back toward you.
“But seriously.” He gestures vaguely around the neighborhood. “Why the hell’d you agree to spend your summer in Hawkins? If Vi didn’t already mention, sweetheart, this town sucks.”
You take another drag to buy yourself a second.
Because going home meant screaming matches and slammed doors. Because your dad somehow always found a way to make you feel seventeen again in the worst possible sense. Because your stepmother looked at you like something inconvenient she accidentally stepped in.
Instead, you shrug one shoulder casually. “Figured I’d switch it up this summer.”
“Mm.” That’s all Eddie says, just that soft little hum.
But his eyes linger on you for a second too long, like he hears the thing you’re not saying anyway.
Thankfully, Violet cuts in before the moment can settle too heavily. “Dad, tell her who’s coming over later.”
“Oh, right.” Eddie pushes off the van slightly. “Gruncle Wayne’s coming for dinner.”
You blink. “...Gruncle?”
Eddie immediately looks offended. “You never heard of a gruncle?”
“No sane person says gruncle.”
“It’s efficient!”
Violet laughs around her next hit before explaining, “Wayne’s technically my great uncle, but he’s basically my grandpa, so. Gruncle.”
“And he practically raised me,” Eddie adds, softer this time. “My uncle Wayne’s a good guy.”
There’s something fond in his expression when he says it.
You smile slightly. “Okay, gruncle’s actually kinda cute with context.”
“Thank you,” Eddie says dramatically, pointing at you. “See? She gets it.”
“Oh my god,” Violet mutters. “You found one person willing to entertain you, and now you’re never gonna shut up.”
“Correct.”
Eddie takes the joint from your fingers again before you can protest, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own as he does it. Still enough to make your stomach do something embarrassingly stupid.
“C’mon,” Violet says eventually, nudging off the van. “Before my dad starts his old man routine and lectures us about unloading the car.”
“I heard that,” Eddie calls behind you both.
“Good.”
You laugh quietly, grabbing one of your bags from the trunk while Eddie takes the heavier suitcase before you can argue. “Oh, I can—”
“Nope.” He shuts the trunk with one hand. “Guest privilege.”
“You say that now.”
“Sweetheart, I survived raising her.” He jerks his head toward Violet. “Nothing scares me anymore.”
“Wow.” Violet dramatically places a hand over her heart. “And in front of company.”
The inside of the house feels exactly like you expected, somehow. Warm lighting. Faint smell of coffee and cigarettes lingering in the air. Records stacked beside the stereo. Band posters framed on the walls like actual art pieces.
The kind of house where people actually exist in it instead of just passing through. Which weirdly makes something in your chest ache a little.
Violet leads you down the hallway while Eddie disappears toward the kitchen, already calling out something about beer and Wayne coming over “starving as usual.”
Then Violet swings open a door dramatically. “And here,” she announces, “is your luxurious guest suite.”
You step inside and immediately laugh. The “guest room” is really just a room someone shoved a bed into and hoped for the best.
There’s a full-length mirror leaning against the wall, an old wooden chair covered in clothes, and approximately six guitars scattered around the room alongside amps and tangled cords. Cases were shoved beneath the bed, and picks littered the nightstand.
You turn slowly. “...Jesus Christ.”
“I told you,” Violet grins. “My dad has a guitar hoarding problem.”
A voice pipes up from behind you instantly. “They are lovingly curated.”
You glance back to find Eddie leaning against the doorway now, beer bottle in hand. His eyes flick toward the guitar case slung over your shoulder, then back to you.
“Wait,” he says, straightening slightly. “You play?”
Something about how immediately excited he sounds makes you smile. “A little.”
“A little,” Violet repeats mockingly. “She’s being humble. She’s good.”
“Oh shit.” Eddie points at you like this is groundbreaking information. “You didn't tell me that!”
“You literally met me twenty minutes ago.”
“And you decided to withhold that valuable piece of information.”
Violet gestures vaguely around the room. “Unfortunately, there’s no space left for your guitar because my father and I are addicts.”
“Hey,” Eddie says defensively. “Half this stuff is yours.”
“Yeah, because you fed into my addiction.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Violet snorts while Eddie grins into his beer bottle, and again, that warmth settles over the entire house so naturally that it almost catches you off guard. Like this is just what they’re like.
Loud, sarcastic, comfortable with each other; a real family. It makes your chest feel weird in a way you don’t want to unpack right now.
“Well,” Eddie says after another second, pushing off the doorway. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart. Wayne’ll be here in an hour, and if Vi didn’t warn you already, he’s gonna interrogate you lovingly.”
“I’ll prepare myself emotionally.”
“Good plan.”
His eyes flick toward you one last time before he disappears down the hallway. And the second he’s gone, Violet whips and pulls you toward her room so fast it’s genuinely alarming.
“Oh my god.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“You think my dad’s hot.”
“I do not—”
“You absolutely do.”
“Violet.”
“He stole the joint from you, and you let him.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” She throws herself dramatically onto her bed. “Honestly? Respect.”
You scoff, sitting beside her. “Your father is like forty.”
“Thirty-nine.”
“That does not help your case.”
“It kinda does.”
You grab one of her throw pillows and smack her with it immediately while she cackles. “You’re insane.”
“And you wanna fuck my dad.”
“Oh, my god.”
“I’m just saying—”
“It’s all fun and games until I become your stepmom or something.” The words leave your mouth entirely on instinct.
Then Violet sits bolt upright so fast it’s horrifying, and her eyes widen. Then slowly, slowly, a grin spreads across her face so evil it should honestly be studied professionally.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, this summer is about to be so interesting.”
“You’re a sick individual, y'know that?”
About forty-five minutes later, the house smells like takeout pizza, cigarette smoke drifting in from the open kitchen window, and whatever cologne Eddie sprayed on himself after his shower.
Not that you noticed, at all. Heh.
You’re perched on the counter beside Violet, nursing a beer while she digs through the fridge for ranch. Eddie’s leaning against the opposite counter in a fresh shirt now, curls still damp at the ends from his shower, tattoos on full display beneath pushed-up sleeves.
Which feels targeted, honestly.
Then the front door swings open. “Hellooo!” a voice calls.
“Kitchen!” Violet yells back instantly.
Heavy footsteps echo through the house before an older man appears around the corner carrying a twelve-pack under one arm.
Wayne looks exactly how you imagined he would, somehow. Weathered Carhartt jacket despite the heat, graying beard, tired kind eyes. The sort of face that looks permanently worn in from years of hard work and little sleep.
The second Violet sees him, she hops off the counter. “Gruncle!”
“There’s my girl.” Wayne smiles immediately, opening one arm for her to hug him. “Missed me already?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Brat.”
He presses a kiss to the top of her head anyway before finally noticing you standing there beside Eddie.
Wayne pauses, looks between you and Violet once, then twice.
“What are you two, siamese twins?”
You burst out laughing instantly. Because honestly? Fair.
You and Violet are both standing there in shorts and oversized band tees, tattoos exposed, silver jewelry glinting beneath the kitchen lights like matching warning labels.
“Basically,” Violet says proudly.
Wayne shakes his head fondly before stepping toward you. “Wayne Munson.” He offers his hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Heard about you for years now.”
You shake his hand, smiling. “That bad, huh?”
“Nah.” He jerks a thumb toward Violet. “If she keeps somebody around longer than a semester, they’re usually alright.”
“Wow,” Violet says flatly. “Love the faith in me.”
“You ate glue in second grade.”
“That was one time.”
Wayne ignores her completely, attention turning back toward you. “Where you from, sweetheart?”
“Chicago.”
“Oh, big city girl,” he nods knowingly. “What’d Hawkins ever do to deserve that?”
“She lost a bet,” Eddie says from beside you.
You snort into your beer. “I’m starting to think everyone in this town’s contractually obligated to insult Hawkins at least once an hour.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Eddie says seriously. “It’s tradition.”
The kitchen settles into easy conversation after that. Wayne telling stories about Eddie as a teenager while Violet heckles both of them relentlessly from the counter.
Eddie threatening to expose childhood stories in retaliation. Beer bottles clinking against countertops while some old metal album plays low through the speakers in the living room.
And it’s strange how quickly you settle into it. Like you’ve been in this kitchen before. Like, there’s already a place carved out for you between all their sarcasm and noise.
At one point, Wayne glances toward you while Eddie and Violet argue over music in the other room.
Then he leans slightly closer. Quietly, conspiratorially, he says, “Good luck surviving those two.”
You grin into your beer. “Think I’ll manage.”
By midnight, Violet is fully unconscious. Not dead, despite Eddie checking twice. Just absolutely obliterated by the combination of beer, pizza, and insisting she could “totally outdrink” both you and her father.
Which apparently she could not.
“She gets that from you, by the way,” you whisper as Eddie throws a blanket over her sleeping form, sprawled diagonally across the bed.
“Absolutely not.”
“She literally fell asleep holding a breadstick.”
“That’s called efficiency.”
You laugh quietly while Eddie shakes his head fondly at his daughter before shutting her bedroom door most of the way behind you both.
Wayne headed home an hour ago after dramatically claiming he was “too old for this shit.” The TV’s off. The kitchen cleaned up except for a couple of empty beer bottles sitting beside the sink.
You linger awkwardly for a second in the hallway, then reach into your pocket for your cigarettes.
“I’m gonna go outside for a minute.”
Eddie glances toward the pack in your hand and nods knowingly. “Yeah, me too.”
Of course he is.
The night air is cooler now, wrapping around your bare arms and legs as you step out onto the front porch. Crickets hum loudly in the grass while somewhere down the street, a dog barks once before going quiet again.
Small town silence, the kind you’re still not used to.
You sit on the porch steps while Eddie leans against the railing beside you, flicking his lighter open. The flame briefly catches across his rings and tattoos before he cups it toward your cigarette first.
A gentleman, unfortunately.
“You know,” he says after a second, smoke curling from his mouth, “you’re handling Hawkins suspiciously well so far.”
“I’ve only been here like six hours.”
“And yet you haven’t tried to flee.”
“Maybe I’m waiting until tomorrow.”
“Smart.”
You grin faintly, staring out toward the dark street ahead of you. For a minute, neither of you says anything. Just smoke quietly beside each other while the porch light buzzes overhead.
“So what’s the real reason you came here?”
You glance toward him automatically. “Hm?”
“The real reason.” He gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “Because no offense, sweetheart, but no twenty-one-year-old voluntarily spends their summer in Hawkins unless they’re hiding from something or recovering from something.”
You try to cover it with a laugh. “You always interrogate your daughter’s friends like this?”
“Nah.” His eyes meet yours then. “Just you.”
Your stomach does something deeply irritating. You look away first, exhaling smoke slowly. “My family’s just… a lot.”
Eddie stays quiet, not the impatient kind of silence either. The kind that waits.
You shrug one shoulder eventually. “My dad remarried a couple of years ago. She hates me, I hate her, my dad pretends none of it’s happening.”
“That sucks.”
You glance toward him again. “Yeah. It does.”
He nods once like he understands something you didn’t fully say out loud. Then, because apparently he can sense when you’re getting too vulnerable, the corner of his mouth tugs upward.
“Well.” He takes another drag. “Good news is you’re safe here.”
Your brows lift slightly. “Safe?”
“Yeah.” He gestures toward the house behind you. “Vi likes you, Wayne likes you, and I already decided you’re tolerable.”
You laugh softly. “That so?”
“Mhm.”
“You decide that before or after stealing my joint?”
“That was actually the deciding factor.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Eddie watches you for another second before speaking again.
“Plus,” he adds casually, “you’re pretty.”
You cough once, glaring immediately while Eddie grins outright now.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You flirt like a divorced dad.”
“I am a divorced dad.”
“Were you ever even married?”
“Details.”
You laugh again before you can stop yourself, and Eddie’s expression shifts slightly when he hears it. Like he enjoys making you laugh a little too much already.
Which feels dangerously good. Especially when he looks at you like that beneath the dim porch light, cigarette between his fingers, curls falling into his face while the entire town sleeps around you both.
“For real, though,” he says quietly. “Thanks for being good to my kid.”
The sincerity catches you off guard enough that you blink at him.
Eddie shrugs one shoulder, eyes drifting toward the house behind you. “Vi acts tough, but she’s always had a hard time letting people in. Most people don’t really… stick around.”
“She’s my best friend,” you say simply. “I don’t know where I’d be without her.”
Eddie looks back at you then, and whatever he sees makes something warm settle into his expression.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I can tell.”
Then Eddie clears his throat slightly, the teasing glint returning to his eyes before the moment can get too heavy.
“Still think you’re trouble, though.”
You scoff immediately. “Me?”
“Mhm.” He points at you with his cigarette. “You walked into my house lookin’ like… And now my daughter’s already smoking weed and passed out drunk.”
“She was smoking weed before I got here.”
“Yeah, but now she has an audience.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Eddie says, stepping closer just enough for his shoulder to brush yours lightly again, “you’re still out here talking to me.”
Your stomach flips in the most humiliating way imaginable, especially when he smiles afterward.
You should probably move away; that feels like the smart thing to do here.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are, cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers while Eddie sits close enough now that you can feel the heat coming off him in the cool night air.
Which is maybe a problem. A huge one, actually.
Because he’s your best friend’s dad. Because you’re living in his house all summer. Because Violet would absolutely lose her mind if she knew the way her father was currently looking at you.
And worst of all, because you really, really want him to keep doing it. You exhale slowly, trying to gather at least one coherent thought.
“I dunno if we should do this,” you admit quietly.
Eddie’s brows lift slightly. “Do what?”
“You know what.”
His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Sweetheart, all I’ve done is compliment you and steal your weed.”
“You’re flirting with me.”
“Guilty.”
You groan softly, rubbing a hand over your face. “Eddie.”
The way his name sounds coming out of your mouth makes his expression shift for half a second.
Then, casually, as anything, he says: “What, you worried about becoming Vi’s stepmom?”
Your eyes widen so fast it’s honestly embarrassing. Eddie immediately breaks into a grin.
“Oh my god,” you whisper. “She told you?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you—”
“The walls in this house are paper-thin, sweetheart.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, clearly enjoying your horror. “And you two were not exactly quiet.”
You physically cover your face with both hands. “Oh my fucking god.”
From somewhere behind your palms, you hear Eddie laugh. Entirely too pretty sounding for a man his age, honestly.
“I’m gonna die,” you mumble.
“Nah.”
“I need Violet to actually kill me with her bare hands immediately.”
“She’d probably just ask if she needed to leave the house for us.”
You lower your hands just enough to glare at him. “That is not helping.”
“Sorry,” Eddie says, still visibly amused. “Just tryin’ to make you feel better.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“A little.”
The porch light catches the silver in his rings when he reaches over and gently pulls your cigarette from your fingers before it burns too close to your skin.
The gesture is so absentmindedly caring that it almost does you in completely. Then he hands his back, and your fingers brush his.
And suddenly neither of you are smiling quite as much anymore. Eddie looks at you for a long second before speaking again, quieter this time.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”
You shake your head immediately. “You’re not.”
That answer comes out a little too fast. His eyes flick down to your mouth for the briefest second before back up again.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Your heart stumbles over itself. Because there’s something almost unfair about the way he looks at you right now. Like he’s trying very hard to behave himself, and failing a little.
“You’re trouble,” you whisper.
Eddie smiles slowly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you walked into my house looking like that. We’re way past figuring out who the trouble is.”
The porch conversation lingers for a couple more minutes. Eddie’s looking at you like he’s already decided how the rest of the night is going to go, and you’re pretending your thighs aren’t pressed together under the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.
You don’t remember who moved first. Just that one second you’re both standing there, the next his mouth is on yours; slow at first, like he’s giving you an out, then deeper when you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer.
He tastes like smoke and mint and something that makes your head spin. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, rings cool against your flushed skin.
“Inside,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Before I bend you over these steps like a fucking animal.”
You laugh breathlessly, but your pulse is hammering. He walks you backward through the quiet house, one hand on your waist, the other pushing open the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall.
The second it clicks shut behind you, the restraint snaps.
Eddie kisses you like he’s starving; tongue, teeth, hands everywhere. He peels your tank top off, groans low when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. His mouth is on your tits immediately, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, one hand kneading the other while he backs you toward his bed.
“Been thinking about this since you stepped out of that car,” he admits, voice gravelly. He pushes you down onto the mattress and drops to his knees between your spread thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Look at you. Fuck.”
He doesn’t tease. He yanks your shorts and panties down in one rough tug, spreads your legs wider, and buries his face in your center like a man on a mission.
You choke on a moan.
He eats you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, long, filthy licks from your entrance to your clit, sucking your clit into his mouth with obscene wet sounds, tongue fucking into you while his hands pin your hips down.
His curls tickle your thighs, nails digging into your skin, and when he groans against you, the vibration shoots straight up your spine.
“Eddie...fuck—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark. “Taste so fucking good, sweetheart. College boys ever eat this pretty pussy like this?”
He dives back in before you can answer, two thick fingers sliding into you, curling just right.
You swear under your breath, hips grinding against his face. He doesn’t let up. Not when your thighs start shaking. Not when you’re whimpering his name like a prayer.
He sucks your clit hard and curls his fingers again, and you come so suddenly it punches the air out of your lungs, back arching off the bed.
He keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. He wipes it with the back of his hand like it’s nothing, then stands up and strips his shirt off. The sight of him, tattoos, scars, that happy trail leading down into his jeans, makes your mouth water.
He grabs something from the nightstand drawer. A sleek black vibrator. Your eyebrows shoot up.
Eddie smirks, climbing over you. “Not competition, baby. Just gonna make you feel even better.” He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, while he works his jeans open. His cock is thick, flushed, and beyond what you had imagined. He strokes himself once, twice, watching your face.
“You sure?” he asks, suddenly serious for half a second.
You nod, pulling him down. “Yes. Please.”
He lines himself up, then presses the vibrator against your clit on the lowest setting, the buzz making you jolt.
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt, stretching you open in the best way.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “So fucking wet for me.”
He starts moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that make your toes curl. The vibrator stays pressed to your center the whole time, buzzing steadily while he fucks you.
Every stroke grinds it harder against you. You’re moaning loud enough that you’re glad Violet’s passed out cold down the hall.
Eddie’s experienced; there’s no other way to say it. He knows exactly how to angle his hips, when to speed up, and when to grind deep. He watches your face the entire time, drinking in every reaction.
“Nobodies fucked you like this, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked as he snaps his hips harder. “Don’t eat you like this? Don’t make this pretty pussy cream all over their cock?”
You shake your head, nails digging into his back. “N-no, Eddie, fuck—”
He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and you nearly scream. The combination is devastating; his thick cock dragging against your walls, the relentless buzz on your clit, the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.
He leans down, mouth against your ear. “Gonna make you come again. Want to feel you squeezing me when you do.”
You do, hard. The orgasm crashes over you so intensely that your vision whites out for a second. Eddie fucks you through it, cursing under his breath, pace turning punishing.
He pulls the vibrator away only when you’re whimpering, then flips you over onto your stomach like you weigh nothing. He pulls your hips up and sinks back into you in one smooth thrust, hand reaching around to circle your oversensitive clit with his fingers.
“Again,” he growls. “One more, sweetheart. Give it to me.”
You’re a mess. Face buried in his pillow, ass up, drooling and moaning while he rails you from behind. The wet slap of skin, his low groans, the way he keeps telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, it all sends you spiraling again.
When you come the third time, clenching around him like a vice, Eddie finally lets go. He buries himself deep and comes with a broken groan of your name, hips stuttering, body shuddering against yours.
For a long minute, the only sounds are both of you trying to catch your breath.
Eddie pulls out carefully, then collapses beside you and pulls you into his chest. His hand strokes down your back, lazy and soothing.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “You’re gonna kill me this summer.”
You laugh weakly, still floating. “Good thing you’re experienced.”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Damn right.”
You wake slowly to warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes. For a second, you’re disoriented. Heavy blankets. Morning light spilling gold through half-open blinds. A tattooed arm wrapped loosely around your waist.
Then everything from last night comes rushing back at once.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
Before you can spiral too hard, lips press softly against your shoulder, then your neck.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice is rough with sleep.
You turn your head slightly to find him propped up on one elbow beside you, curls an absolute disaster, dark tattoos disappearing beneath the sheets pooled low on his hips. It’s deeply unfair that he still looks this good at six in the morning.
“You have work,” you mumble sleepily.
“I know.” He kisses you once more, quick and lazy this time. “Tryin’ very hard to be responsible about it.”
“Mm. Don’t.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath like he can’t help it. “Dangerous thing to say to a man already running late.”
You grin against the pillow while he leans down to kiss you properly this time. Slow enough to make your stomach flip all over again. When he pulls back, he brushes his thumb along your cheek once before sighing dramatically.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “car engines wait for no man.”
“Tragic.”
“I know. I’m devastated too.”
You watch him drag himself out of bed, immediately mourning the loss of warmth while he pulls on jeans and a black work shirt.
He catches you staring when he turns around. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were checking me out.”
“I absolutely was not.”
“Sweetheart, I’m forty, not blind.”
“Thirty-nine,” you correct automatically.
Eddie points at you immediately. “See? You know the number now. That’s intimacy.”
Eventually, you force yourself out of bed too, tugging your pajamas back on while Eddie disappears into the kitchen. By the time you walk out there, he’s pouring coffee into two mugs.
The domesticity of it hits you like a truck.
Eddie, standing in his kitchen in work boots and rolled sleeves, making you coffee like this is normal. Like this happens all the time.
He glances over when he hears you, then visibly pauses.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
His mouth twitches. “Nothin’.”
“Eddie.”
“You put your shirt on inside out.”
You look down immediately. Fuck.
“You could’ve told me sooner!”
“Nah.” He slides a mug toward you, smirking into his own coffee. “This is way funnier.”
You flip him off while fixing it properly, and Eddie just laughs again before checking the clock.
“Shit. Okay, I really gotta go.”
He downs the rest of his coffee, grabs his keys off the counter, then pauses beside you on his way to the door. For a second, he just looks at you.
Then he leans down and kisses you once, quick but warm enough to make your face heat immediately afterward.
“Behave while I’m gone,” he says.
“You first.”
Eddie grins. “Impossible.”
Then he’s gone.
You linger in the kitchen for a while after, nursing your coffee and trying very hard not to think too deeply about the fact that you just spent the night in your best friend’s dad’s bed. Which works for approximately twelve minutes.
An hour later, Violet finally shuffles into the kitchen looking half-dead.
“Morning,” she rasps.
“Morning.”
She grabs orange juice from the fridge before narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously over the carton.
You immediately tense. “What?”
“…Nothin’.”
“Violet.”
She squints harder, then her eyes slowly widen. “Oh, my god.”
Your stomach drops instantly. “What?”
“You fucked my dad.”
You nearly choke on your coffee. “I did not—”
“Your shirt’s on backwards, genius.”
You look down. Again?!
“Oh my fucking god.”
Violet bursts out laughing so hard she physically has to lean against the counter.
“You’re an idiot,” she wheezes.
“I hate this house.”
“No, you don’t.”
You bury your face in your hands while Violet continues cackling like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to her.
Finally, muffled through your fingers, you groan: “Why are you being so weirdly okay about this?”
Violet shrugs, still grinning. “Because I genuinely don’t care.”
“You should care!”
“Why?”
“Because that’s your father!”
“And you’re my best friend.” She takes a casual sip of juice. “Honestly, this is kinda ideal. Now, if you marry him, you legally can’t move out of my life.”
You stare at her in horror.
Violet points at you immediately. “Also, to be clear? I called this the second he stole your joint.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…Probably not.”
“Exactly.” She grins wickedly. “Besides, this is funny as hell for me personally.”
“You are a sick individual, Violet Munson!”
“Yeah, yeah. Take a number.”
personally? i am HERE for this fic. lawd knows i love me a good older man, and an older eddie? phew.
context: The year is 2026. You’re back from college for the summer, slipping right back into the same barista job you’ve had since you were sixteen. Same early mornings, same regulars, same hum of the espresso machine, but the place isn’t exactly the same anymore.
Eddie Munson took the kitchen job. You didn't know until your first day back. Because the last time you saw Eddie Munson, you were eleven years old. He used to ruffle your hair when you walked by, call you “kid,” give you just enough attention to make your chest ache in that quiet, confusing way only first crushes do.
You were just the little sister. Round cheeks, awkward limbs, hovering in doorways, hoping he’d notice you a second longer than he had to. But that was years ago. Now you’re twenty-one. Sharper. Edgier. Not soft in the same ways you used to be.
TW: NSFW (18+) smoking, drinking
Your alarm blares at 5:30, ripping you out of sleep so fast you jolt upright.
God, you hate this job.
The early mornings, the bitter customers already pissed off before the sun’s even up, all of them desperate for their caffeine fix like it’s life or death. But it’s the only job you’ve ever really had. It’s easy. Muscle memory at this point. You could make a latte half-asleep—and most mornings, you basically are.
You drag yourself into the bathroom, brushing out your hair before parting it down the middle and braiding it into two long Dutch braids. A quick swipe of mascara. Good enough.
The dress code’s chill—always has been. Just the logo shirt and you’re fine. You grab one of the many black Java Blue tees from your drawer and pull it on with a pair of flared leggings.
Keys. Phone. Shoes.
You rush out the door, the early morning air biting just enough to wake you up as you make a beeline for your car. The key barely makes it into the ignition before you’re turning it.
If you don’t leave now, you’re definitely going to be late.
You speed down the main road, barely slipping through a yellow light just as it snaps to red behind you.
You pull onto the street, park a little too fast, lock your car, and hurry inside.
The second you step through the door, your mood lifts.
Melanie’s already behind the counter, warming up the espresso machine, sleeves pushed up like she’s been here for hours.
“Hey! You made it—on time, too,” she grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “When did you get back?”
“Last night,” you say, hopping up onto the counter like you’ve done a hundred times before. “New York to Hawkins is easily the worst drive on the planet.”
She laughs under her breath, testing the steamer as it hisses to life. “I don’t doubt that.”
Sydney and Ava rush in from upstairs, giggling to themselves like they’re trying—and failing—to keep a secret.
“What’s up with you two?” you ask, eyeing them.
They exchange a look, both smirking.
“One of the new chefs is exceptionally hot,” Sydney says, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.
Those two are still relatively new—hired last summer as hostesses—and apparently very easily impressed.
“Oh yeah?” you grin, sliding off the counter. “What’s he like?” you ask, crossing your arms.
Ava lets out a little giggle. “Tall, dark, tattooed, mysterious. And insanely handsome.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Tattoos? So he’s at least eighteen,” you deadpan. “Meaning way too old for you heathens.”
They roll their eyes at you, exchanging one last look before slipping out from behind the counter and into the dining room, already fixing menus like nothing happened.
You glance upstairs, then back at Melanie. “Have you seen him yet?”
She nods, not even looking up as she wipes down the counter. “Yeah. He’s alright. Not really my type, but he’s nice. Funny, too.”
“Well,” you shrug, “no one’s your type. You’re basically married.”
Melanie huffs out a quiet laugh.
She’s been with the same girl since eighth grade. Honestly, they were made for each other.
The morning rush starts to creep in, slow at first—just a couple regulars, the bell above the door chiming every few minutes. You fall into rhythm easily. Taking orders, calling drinks, moving without thinking.
Melanie’s beside you, already two steps ahead like always.
You’re reaching for a lid, half-listening to a customer ramble about oat milk when you hear it.
Footsteps on the stairs.
Heavy. Slow. Not rushed like Sydney and Ava.
You don’t look up. You’re too busy, too focused, scribbling on a cup, sliding it down the counter.
“Can I get a—”
“Behind.”
The voice cuts in low and familiar.
Your hand stills.
Not all the way—just enough to throw you off.
You turn.
And it’s like your brain short-circuits for a second.
He’s standing right there, a tray of fresh scones balanced in one hand, the other steadying it. Taller than you remember. Broader. Tattoos crawling down his forearms, rings catching the light as he adjusts his grip.
But it’s his face that hits you.
Older. Sharper. Still him.
Eddie Munson.
He freezes just as fast as you do.
The tray dips slightly before he catches it, straightening up like he didn’t just almost drop the whole thing.
“…Hey,” he says, like he’s not entirely sure it’s actually you.
He almost didn’t come down.
Early shift, new job, new kitchen—he’d been trying to keep his head down, focus, not screw anything up. The last thing he expected was—
You.
It doesn’t register at first.
Just another barista. Someone behind the counter, moving fast, hair in braids, voice sharper than the others.
And then you turn.
And it hits him all at once.
No way.
His brain scrambles to place it—because there’s no way the girl in front of him is the same kid who used to hover in the hallway, peeking into the living room while he and your brother played guitar too loud.
But it is. It’s you. Just… not the same, not even close.
He straightens without thinking, like he’s suddenly aware of himself—how he’s standing, what he looks like, the fact that he’s been staring a second too long.
“…Hey.”
Real smooth, Munson.
You blink, still trying to catch up.
“…Eddie?”
There’s a beat.
And then he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little.
“Yeah. Uh—yeah, it’s me.”
There’s a brief pause, not awkward, just charged.
You glance down at the tray, then back up at him, like you’re piecing it together.
“Didn’t peg you for a chef,” you say, tone light, but curious. “Last time I saw you, you were threatening to drop out and join a metal band.”
His mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to grin.
“Hey, that was a solid plan,” he says. “Still is, actually. This is just… slightly more sustainable.”
You hum softly, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing.
“Right. The rockstar-to-pastry-chef pipeline.”
“Exactly,” he nods, dead serious. “Very common. You’d be surprised.”
Your lips press together, holding back a smile.
He notices. And it does something to him, something small but immediate.
He clears his throat, nodding toward you. “You, uh… you work here now?”
You raise a brow.
“Have since I was sixteen.”
“Oh.” He winces slightly. “Right. Yeah. That tracks.”
He studies you for half a second too long before catching himself, shifting his weight.
“You look…” he starts, then stops.
Not smooth. Not smooth at all.
Your head tilts, just slightly. Waiting.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Different,” he finishes, a little more carefully.
There’s a flicker of something in your expression, amusement, maybe.
“Yeah,” you say. “That tends to happen over ten years.”
He lets out a breath through his nose, nodding like, fair enough.
“Still,” he adds, a little quieter, “it’s good, though.”
That lands.
Not heavy. Not overwhelming.
Just enough.
You glance away for a second, like you’re deciding what to do with that, before pushing off the counter.
“Well,” you say, brushing past him just slightly, close enough to notice, not close enough to be obvious. “Don’t burn the place down, Munson. I just got back.”
His head turns immediately as you move past, watching you for a second longer than he should.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he calls after you.
Then, under his breath, “…Holy shit.”
The rest of the morning settles into something unfamiliar.
Not chaotic, not really, but different enough that you notice it.
You keep moving, same as always. Calling orders, steaming milk, sliding drinks across the counter with practiced ease. But now there’s a new rhythm layered into it. One you’re not used to yet.
Footsteps on the stairs.
The sound of trays being set down.
His voice, closer now, more frequent, weaving in and out of the space behind you.
“Behind.”
You shift without thinking, bodies just barely missing each other as he passes. It happens again. And again. Each time a little closer, a little less accidental.
By mid-morning, you’ve mapped him out without meaning to.
He hums when he’s focused. Low, absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Taps his rings against the counter when he’s waiting. Runs a hand through his hair when an order backs up.
And he talks.
Not constantly, but enough. Little comments under his breath, half-jokes to Melanie, quick remarks to customers that make them laugh without trying too hard.
It’s easy. Annoyingly easy.
You’re reaching for a stack of lids when he steps up beside you again, closer this time, setting down another tray.
“Busy for a Tuesday,” he says, glancing out at the line.
“Summer,” you shrug. “People get bored.”
He huffs a quiet laugh at that, nodding like he gets it.
There’s a pause, but not an empty one.
“Mel said you just got back,” he adds, a little more casual than it probably is.
You glance at him briefly, then back to your hands. “Yeah.”
“From New York, right?”
“Mhm.”
He leans back against the counter slightly, crossing his arms. “College?”
You nod, popping a lid onto a cup. “Yeah. Just finished my third year.”
“Damn,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Look at you.”
It’s not teasing. Not really. You feel it anyway.
“Try not to sound so surprised,” you reply, sliding the drink down the counter.
“I’m not,” he says quickly, then catches himself, smirking a little. “Okay, maybe a little.”
You glance at him again, this time holding it for a second longer. “Didn’t think I’d make it out?” you ask, tone light but pointed.
He shakes his head immediately. “No, no, it’s not that. I just…” He trails off, searching for it, then lets out a breath. “You were, like, what, eleven the last time I saw you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“And now you’re—” he gestures vaguely, like he doesn’t have the words, or maybe just shouldn’t say them out loud.
You raise a brow.
“Now I’m what?”
He hesitates. Then grins, a little crooked. “Different.”
There it is again.
You let it sit this time, not giving him anything back right away. Just turning, grabbing the next cup, continuing like it didn’t land exactly how it did.
“Yeah,” you say after a second. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
You shake your head slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at your mouth. He notices that, too.
Another order gets called. Another drink made. The moment slips, but not really. It lingers.
By the time the rush starts to die down, it feels like you’ve been doing this, working around him, moving with him, for a lot longer than a few hours.
And every time he brushes past you, every quiet “behind,” every glance that lasts just a second too long. Just enough to keep you aware of him. All damn day.
It doesn’t happen all at once.
There’s no big moment where things shift, no clear line between then and now. It just settles into place.
By the end of the week, you don’t flinch when you hear his footsteps on the stairs anymore.
You expect them.
Mornings start earlier now, not because you have to, but because you’ve found yourself showing up ten minutes before your shift without really thinking about it.
The first time it happens, you tell yourself it’s a fluke. The second time, you stop questioning it. By the third, it’s just routine.
You push through the front door, the bell barely chiming before the smell hits you, warm, savory, something fresh off the stove. Stronger than the usual burnt espresso and sugar.
“Don’t get used to this,” Eddie calls from behind the counter, not even looking up. You glance over, dropping your bag in its usual spot.
He’s already plating something, moving like he’s been awake for hours, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little messy like he didn’t bother fixing it all the way.
Melanie leans against the counter beside him, watching like this is the highlight of her morning.
“Too late,” she says easily. “We are.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite to it. Two plates slide onto the counter. One gets nudged toward Melanie, no hesitation, no second thought. The other follows, stopping just in front of you.
You glance down. Turkey sausage. Not the regular kind. You look back up at him. “…You remembered?”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t clock it three days ago when you made a face at the menu.
“Yeah, well,” he says, busying himself with wiping down the counter, “someone’s gotta save you from eating that rubber they call sausage.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you pick up the plate.
“Hero.”
“Exactly,” he mutters.
Across from you, Melanie is already halfway through hers, completely unfazed.
“You’re setting a dangerous precedent,” she says, pointing her fork at him. “We’re gonna start expecting this.”
“Don’t,” he warns. “Seriously. Don’t.”
You catch the small smile he tries to hide when he turns away.
It evens out after that. He makes breakfast. You bring coffee. Not in a formal way, not something you ever talk about—it just happens.
You start grabbing an extra cup on your way in, making it without thinking. Dark roast, no sugar, just a splash of milk—because you’ve noticed that’s how he drinks it. Because of course you have.
The first time you hand it to him, he looks at you like you’ve caught him off guard.
The second time, he just takes it. By the fourth, he’s already reaching for it when you walk in.
“Timing’s impressive,” he says one morning, taking a sip. “You stalking me or something?”
“Relax,” you reply, tying your apron. “You’re not that interesting.” He snorts into his cup. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Working together gets easier, quieter, in a way. You don’t have to think about where he is anymore; you just know.
You move around each other without colliding, hands brushing occasionally, shoulders just barely grazing when space gets tight. It’s nothing. It’s something.
“Behind,” he says, softer now, like it’s meant just for you. You shift before he even finishes the word. And sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t move right away. Just to see if he notices. He does.
It’s small things. The way he lingers a second longer than he needs to. The way you don’t look away as quickly anymore. The way neither of you mentions it.
By the time a week has passed, it feels like this has always been the way it is. Like he’s always been there in the mornings. Like you’ve always known how he takes his coffee. Like this, whatever this is, has been building for longer than it actually has.
And maybe that’s the part that gets you. How easy it is. How natural. How dangerous that feels.
It’s subtle at first. Or at least—you think it is.
But Melanie’s been watching you longer than anyone else has.
She notices the way you grab an extra cup without asking. The way Eddie already has your plate set aside before you even walk in. The way the two of you move around each other like you’ve been doing it for years.
next set: Not until you’re restocking lids one afternoon, the rush finally dying down, the shop settling into that quiet lull between waves.
“You’re doing it again,” she says casually.
You don’t look up. “Doing what?”
“That thing,” she replies, leaning against the counter, watching you. “Where you pretend you’re not paying attention, but you very obviously are.”
You pause, just for a second, before stacking the lids a little too neatly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She hums, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And the extra coffee every morning? That just magically appears in your hand?”
“He works ten-hour shifts,” you shrug. “It’s called being nice.”
“Right,” she says. “And the sandwiches?” You glance at her, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“He makes you vegetarian ones every day, don’t start.”
“That’s different,” she says immediately.
“How?” She opens her mouth, then stops. Because she knows exactly how
And so do you. There’s a beat. Then she smirks, just a little. “You like him.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you grab the next stack. “Relax, Mel.”
“Mm,” she hums, pushing off the counter. “I’ll circle back in a week.”
The shift that day is off. Not bad. Just, Different. It starts small.
A group of girls comes in mid-afternoon, loud and giggly, the kind that linger too long at the counter. Sydney and Ava perk up immediately, but they’re not the ones the girls are looking at.
It’s him. You don’t mean to notice, but you do.
The way one of them leans a little too far over the counter. The way Eddie laughs, easy, polite, that same charm he uses on everyone, but it lingers just a second longer than it needs to.
“Anything else for you?” he asks, handing over a plate.
The girl smiles like she’s just been handed something more than food.
You press a lid onto a cup a little harder than necessary. Melanie doesn’t say anything this time. She just glances at you. That’s worse.
You busy yourself with the next order, not looking over, not paying attention. Except you are. It’s stupid. You don’t care. You don’t.
“Behind,” he says, stepping in close. You move quick this time, no hesitation.
“Careful,” he adds quietly, like he noticed something in the way you snapped back into place.
You don’t respond. He lingers for half a second. Then moves on.
By closing time, the café is quiet.
Chairs flipped, lights dimmed, and the last of the dishes were stacked in the back. Melanie clocks out first, tossing you a look on her way out. We will be talking about this later, written all over her face.
You ignore it. You’re wiping down the counter when he comes back down from upstairs, slower this time. No tray, no rush. Just him.
He drops into one of the chairs, leaning back with a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“Long day,” he mutters.
You glance over, still moving.
“Welcome to food service.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving you off slightly.
You finish wiping the counter, tossing the rag into the sink before finally sitting across from him, one leg tucked under you without thinking.
For a second, neither of you says anything. It’s not awkward. Just different.
He looks at you again, really looks this time, like he’s been meaning to all week and just hasn’t had the chance.
“So,” he starts, resting his arms on the table. “You and your brother still talk?”
You nod. “Yeah. Not as much as we should, but… yeah.”
He smiles faintly at that, something softer settling in his expression.
“Miss that guy,” he says. “We used to be inseparable.”
“I remember,” you reply, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “You practically lived in our house.”
“Hey,” he points at you slightly, “your mom made the best food. I had my priorities straight.”
You laugh quietly. “You mean you were a freeloader.”
“Woah,” he leans back, mock offended. “I was a guest.”
“A guest who never left.”
“Details.” Then he glances at you again, something more thoughtful this time.
“You were always around, too,” he adds. “Just… quieter.”
You raise a brow. “I was eleven.”
“Yeah, but still,” he shrugs. “Always hovering. Thought you were slick about it, too.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I was not slick.”
“Not even a little,” he grins.
You sit with that for a second, the memory settling between you.
Then, “I had a crush on you,” you say, like it’s nothing.
It lands anyway. He blinks. “…Yeah?” he asks, a little slower.
You nod, completely unfazed. “Huge one.”
There’s a pause. And then he laughs, soft, a little surprised, rubbing the back of his neck again.
“Damn,” he says. “Missed my shot, I guess.”
You tilt your head slightly, watching him.
“Guess so.”
That does something. You can see it. The way he shifts, just slightly, like the ground moved a little under him. The way his eyes flick back to yours, holding there for a second longer than before.
The café is quiet. No machines, no customers, no distractions.
Just the two of you. And something that wasn’t there a week ago. Now, very much is.
After that night, something shifts. Not all at once. Not enough to name it. But it’s there.
Eddie starts lingering more. At first, it’s small and easy to brush off.
“Behind,” he says one morning, voice low like always. But this time, his hand finds your back as he passes. Just for a second. Warm, steady, guiding.
Gone before you can react. You freeze for half a beat. Then keep moving. It happens again the next day. And the day after that. Like it’s nothing.
He starts greeting you differently, too. Not words, never anything too obvious.
But when you walk in, he taps his knuckles lightly against yours in passing. A quick, casual fist bump.
You raise a brow the first time. “Really?” you say.
“What?” he shrugs. “Morale boost.”
“Right.”
But you don’t pull away the next time. Or the time after that.
Then there’s the bread. You come in one morning, earlier than usual, and it’s already sitting there. Wrapped loosely in parchment, still warm.
You glance around. Melanie’s not in yet. Eddie is, of course, moving around the kitchen like he’s been up for hours. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands.
“…This for customers?” you call out.
“Nope,” he answers from behind you.
You turn slightly. “For you.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “Tried a new recipe. Figured you’d appreciate it more than the morning crowd.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Sure. That’s definitely why.”
He smirks, but doesn’t argue.
On his days off, he still shows up. Which is… weird.
You notice it the second time it happens. He walks in like any other customer, hands shoved in his pockets, hair messier than usual, rings catching the light as he leans on the counter.
“Coffee,” he says simply. You narrow your eyes at him.
“You know how to make it yourself.”
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to judge yours,” he shoots back.
You roll your eyes, already turning to the machine. "You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he says, softer this time, watching you, “you keep making it.” You don’t respond to that. You don’t look at him, either. Because if you did, you’d have to acknowledge the way he’s looking at you. And you’re not doing that.
It builds like that.
Small things. Repeated enough to matter. Anyone else would see it. Melanie definitely does. But you? You don’t let yourself.
Because you’ve been here before. Not like this, not exactly, but close enough. And your brain has already decided what it means. Nothing. It has to mean nothing.
You remember being ten. Standing in the hallway, just out of sight, listening. Eddie’s voice carries easily, loud and careless, the way it always was back then. Your brother’s laughing at something.
“You’re such an idiot,” he says.
“Hey, I’ve got options, man,” Eddie replies, like he’s proving a point. “There’s, like, three girls in my math class alone that would kill to go out with me.”
“Yeah, okay,” your brother scoffs. “Name one.”
Eddie hesitates just for a second. Then laughs it off. “Alright, maybe not kill. But, y’know—close enough.”
More laughter. And then, “What about my sister?” your brother throws out, joking.
There’s a pause. Not long. But long enough.
Your brother nudges him lightly with his foot. “C’mon, man. You know she likes you. She follows you around like a lost puppy.”
Your stomach drops.
Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s, like, a kid.”
Your brother shrugs. “Still.”
“Alright, what am I supposed to do with that?” Eddie shoots back, grinning. “Start planning our wedding or something?”
They both laugh. And that’s it.
You remember the way your stomach dropped. The way you stood there, suddenly too aware of yourself, your voice, your body, the way you existed in a space you weren’t meant to be in yet.
You hadn’t gone into the room after that.
Now, years later, you stand behind the counter, watching him lean a little too casually against it, watching him take a sip of the coffee you made like it’s something he’s used to.
Like you’re something he’s used to. It doesn’t line up. The version of him in your head, the one who barely saw you, who wrote you off without thinking. And this. This doesn’t make sense.
So it must not mean anything. Right?
“Careful,” he murmurs, stepping in close again, hand briefly at your back as you reach for something.
You don’t react. Not outwardly. But your grip tightens just slightly.
“Got it,” you say, a little too quickly. He lingers. Just for a second. Like he wants to say something else. Then he pulls back.
From across the counter, Melanie watches the whole thing. And this time, she doesn’t wait a week.
It gets harder to ignore. Not because anything changes drastically, but because it doesn’t.
Eddie keeps showing up on his days off. Not every day. Just enough to become a pattern. Just enough that you start expecting it.
The bell chimes, and before you even look up, you already know.
And sure enough, “There he is,” Melanie mutters under her breath one morning. You don’t respond. You don’t need to.
He walks in like he belongs there, like he didn’t just choose to spend his morning at the same place he works, on his day off, for no real reason.
Except, “Coffee,” he says, leaning on the counter, eyes flicking to you immediately.
Melanie lets out a quiet hum beside you. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says.
You nudge her with your elbow, harder than necessary. “Shut up.”
Eddie glances between the two of you, catching just enough to be suspicious. “…What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, already turning to the machine.
Melanie doesn’t move. She just watches him. And then, “Crazy how you only come in when she’s working,” she says, completely casual.
You freeze for half a second. Eddie doesn’t. He just smirks.
“Crazy how you’re paying attention,” he shoots back.
Melanie grins. You refuse to turn around.
The bread doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets worse. Different kinds, now. Wrapped, labeled sometimes like he’s testing recipes, but always set aside before you get there. Always for you. You stop asking about it. Because you already know the answer.
Then come the cinnamon rolls. It starts as a special.
“New item,” he says one morning, sliding a tray onto the counter, the smell immediately filling the entire café. Warm, sweet, ridiculous.
They sell out in under an hour. Sydney and Ava won’t shut up about them. Customers ask if they’ll be back tomorrow. Eddie just shrugs.
“Maybe,” he says.
The next day, they’re not on the menu. But there’s a small plate waiting for you when you walk in.
One cinnamon roll. Still warm. You stare at it for a second.
“…You’re kidding.”
He doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing.
“Didn’t make enough for everyone,” he says. “Had to prioritize.”
You cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “Right. Very fair system you’ve got going.”
“Thank you,” he nods. “I try.”
Melanie makes a noise behind you, something between a laugh and a choke. You don’t look at her. Because if you do, you’ll have to acknowledge it. And you’re still not doing that. But Melanie is.
She waits until the rush dies down, until you’re both tucked into the back, restocking, out of earshot. Then she turns to you fully. “Okay,” she says.
You sigh immediately. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
She crosses her arms. “He is so into you.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you grab another sleeve of cups. “No, he’s not.”
“Oh my god,” she says, almost offended. “Are we working in the same building?”
“Mel—”
“He comes in on his days off. He brings you food. He makes you private cinnamon rolls like you’re some kind of VIP customer—”
“It’s not like that,” you cut in, sharper than you meant to.
She pauses. Watches you. “…Then what is it like?”
You hesitate, just for a second. Then shrug. “He’s just being nice.”
Melanie stares at you like you just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.
“Yeah,” she says slowly. “Men are famously known for doing all of that for women they’re not interested in.” You don’t respond.
Because you don’t have one. Because there’s a part of you that knows she’s right, and a bigger part that won’t let you believe it.
It happens later that week. You’re wiping down the counter, the afternoon lull settling in, when Eddie walks up, closer than usual, but not in passing this time. He stays.
“Hey,” he says.
You glance up. “Hey.”
He shifts his weight, like he’s working something out in his head. Then, “You, uh… doing anything this weekend?”
Your hand stills slightly on the rag. Not obvious. But he notices.
“Why?” you ask, tone light.
He shrugs, but there’s something more behind it now. Less casual.
“My band’s playing,” he says. “Friday night. Nothing huge, just some local gig.”
You blink. Your brain catches on the word band immediately. “Band,” you repeat.
He grins a little. “Yeah. Still holding onto the dream.”
You huff out a quiet laugh. “Thought that was just talk.”
“Hey,” he points at you lightly, “I follow through sometimes.”
There’s a pause. Then, a little softer, “You could come. If you want.”
There it is. Clear enough. Not overwhelming. But not nothing.
You open your mouth, and before you can say anything— “Oh, she’ll be there.” Melanie’s voice cuts in from behind you.
You whip around. “Mel—”
“What?” she shrugs, completely unfazed. “She loves live music.”
You narrow your eyes at her. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Eddie looks between the two of you, something amused flickering in his expression. But there’s something else, too. Something hopeful.
He looks back at you. “Friday,” he says, a little more certain now. “8 p.m.”
You hesitate. Just for a second. Then nod. “Yeah,” you say, quieter. “Okay.”
His smile is small. But real. “Cool.”
He lingers for a second longer, then steps back.
“Don’t bail,” he adds.
You roll your eyes slightly. “Relax.” But your stomach twists anyway.
From across the counter, Melanie just grins. “Just being nice,” she mutters. You shove her lightly. But you’re smiling. Just a little.
You found his Instagram by accident. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
It’s late, you’re half-scrolling, half-thinking about Friday, and his name just… comes up. Tagged in something. One of the café posts, maybe. You don’t even really register how you got there.
Just that suddenly, it’s him.
A little grainier than real life, a little more curated, but still very Eddie. Guitar slung low, messy hair, captions that read like he typed them at 2 a.m. without thinking twice. Old flyers, random clips from gigs, the occasional blurry group photo.
You stare at it longer than you should. Then follow him.
Immediately regret it. Then, followed back. You blink at your screen.
“…Okay.” Your heart does something stupid.
Friday comes quicker than you expect.
Melanie’s been insufferable about it all day.
“You’re wearing that?” she asks, leaning against your doorframe.
You glance down at yourself: black tank, low-rise jeans, boots.
“…Yes?”
She smirks. “Just checking.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re fixing your hair for the third time.”
You stop mid-motion. “…Shut up.”
The venue is small. Loud, packed, dim lighting that makes everything feel a little closer, a little more intense. The air smells like sweat, cheap beer, and something vaguely metallic.
Melanie drags you toward the front before you can second-guess it. “Trust me,” she says. “We’re not standing in the back like losers.”
You roll your eyes, but let her. And then, he walks on stage.
It hits differently.
Not the same Eddie from behind the counter, not the one leaning casually against it, asking about your weekend. This one’s louder. Looser. Confident in a way that feels natural.
Like this is where he’s supposed to be.
He doesn’t see you at first. Too busy adjusting his guitar, saying something to one of his bandmates that makes them laugh. Then he looks up. And finds you immediately. Like he knew exactly where you’d be.
There’s a flicker of something, surprise, maybe. Then recognition. Then, a grin. Not subtle. Not casual. Just for a second before he looks away again, like it didn’t just happen.
You swallow. Melanie elbows you. “Yeah,” she says. “He’s definitely not into you.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it.
The set is loud. Good, too. Better than you expected, if you’re being honest. He’s good. Annoyingly good.
You find yourself watching him more than you should, the way he moves, the way he plays, the way he leans into it like nothing else exists when he’s up there. At one point, he glances over again.
Longer this time. You don’t look away.
After the set, everything blurs a little. People crowd around them, talking, laughing, shouting over the noise. Melanie pulls you toward the side, waiting it out.
And then he’s there. A little sweaty, hair even messier, a different kind of energy clinging to him now.
“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless.
“Hey,” you reply.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“Yeah,” he huffs a quiet laugh. “Good point.” He looks like he wants to say more, but someone calls his name from behind him.
“Hold on,” he says, glancing back. “Don’t disappear.” You raise a brow. “I might.”
“Don’t,” he repeats, already stepping away
You end up near the bar.
Melanie’s talking to someone, you don’t really register who, while you scroll absentmindedly through your phone.
You post a quick story. A photo you snapped of yourself before you left, a slight flirty pout in the mirror. You put "Beware" by Deftones over it.
You don’t think about it. Not until your phone buzzes.
Eddie Munson replied to your story: "hell yeah"
You stare at it. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. Of course, that’s what he says.
You type back before you overthink it: figured you’d approve
Three dots appear almost immediately. Then disappear. Then: they're a good band.
Your stomach flips. You lock your phone. You’re not doing this right now.
“You’re smiling at your phone.”
You look up. One of his bandmates, tall, easy smile, leaning a little too casually against the bar.
“I’m not,” you say automatically.
“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “You’re with Eddie, right?”
You pause. “Work with him.”
“Same difference,” he shrugs. “I’m Gareth.”
You nod slightly, giving your name. He smiles, easy and a little charming. “You staying after?” he asks. “We’re probably heading back, hanging out.”
Before you can answer, “There you are.”
Eddie’s voice cuts in. You glance over. He’s closer now, expression just slightly tighter than before, nothing obvious, but enough.
His eyes flick briefly to Gareth. Then back to you.
“We’re heading back to my place,” he says, a little more direct this time. “Just a few of us. You should come.”
Gareth smirks slightly beside you. “Yeah,” he adds. “You should.”
You look between them. Melanie appears at your side like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Oh, we’re going,” she says immediately.
You sigh. “Do I get a say in this?”
“No,” she says.
Eddie laughs under his breath. “C’mon,” he adds, a little quieter, looking at you now. “It’s not far. You said you live nearby, right?”
You nod. “…Yeah.”
“Yeah,” he repeats, like that settles it. And for some reason, it does.
His trailer isn’t far, just like he said. Close enough that the walk back feels easy, the night air cooling everything down just slightly, but not enough to shake the night's energy.
There’s laughter, overlapping conversations, and Melanie is already deep in it. You hang back just a little. Eddie falls into step beside you.
“Having fun?” he asks. You glance at him.
“Yeah,” you admit.
He nods, like he’s glad, but not surprised. “Good.” There’s a pause. Then, softer, “Glad you came.”
You look away slightly, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”
Behind you, Gareth calls out something that makes Melanie laugh. Eddie glances back, then forward again. Just a little closer to you now than before. And for the first time, you don’t question it.
His trailer is warmer than you expected.
Not messy, just lived-in. Music posters layered over one another, a guitar resting against the wall, a couple of dim lamps casting everything in a low, amber glow that makes it feel smaller than it is.
Melanie disappears almost immediately, already mid-conversation with Gareth and one of the others, laughter blending in with the low music playing from somewhere in the background.
You linger near the door for a second. Taking it in.
“Not bad, right?” You glance over.
Eddie’s watching you, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed loosely like he’s trying to play it off casual.
“It’s very…” you pause, eyes scanning the room again, “…intentional.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s a nicer way of saying cluttered, I think.”
“Not cluttered,” you shake your head slightly. “Curated.”
That gets him. You can see it.
“Curated,” he repeats, like he’s trying the word out. “Alright. I’ll take that.”
He nods once, satisfied with that, before pushing off the counter and stepping a little closer, not too close, just enough.
“You want something?” he asks, gesturing vaguely. “Water, beer, something stronger if you trust my life choices.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “I’ll take a beer.”
“Bold,” he says, already turning to grab one.
You watch him for a second longer than you mean to. The way he moves in here is different. More relaxed. Like everything fits around him. He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours just briefly.
He tilts his head slightly, studying you.
“So—New York.”
You nod, taking a sip. “New York.”
“What’re you studying?” he asks.
“Literature,” you say. “Minor in film.”
His brows lift. “Okay,” he says. “That actually makes a lot more sense.”
You glance at him, amused. “What does?”
He gestures vaguely toward you. “The whole… vibe,” he says. “You’ve got this...” he pauses, searching, “—like you’re analyzing everything as it’s happening.”
You smile faintly at that. “I probably am.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
You lean back slightly against the counter, turning the bottle in your hands. “I like stories,” you add after a second. “How people tell them. What they choose to show, what they don’t.”
He watches you a little more closely now. “Film, too?”
You nod. “Film’s just… literature you can see,” you say. “Same idea, just different language.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Damn,” he says. “And here I am just trying to not burn cinnamon rolls.”
You glance at him, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “You’re doing more than that.”
He pauses. Just slightly. Then recovers with a smirk. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, then tell me something, professor.”
You raise a brow.
“You’ve been watching me all night,” he says. “What’s your analysis?”
You hold his gaze. Long enough to make it intentional. Then, “You’re different here,” you say simply.
He doesn’t look away. “How?”
You tilt your head slightly, considering him like you’re choosing your words carefully.
“Less guarded,” you say. “Like you don’t have to think about how you’re coming across.”
He’s quiet for a second. Then, “Is that a good thing?”
You shrug lightly. “I think so.” Then, softer, “I like this version of you better.”
“Careful,” he says, voice quieter now. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.”
You don’t rush to respond. Just take another sip, letting the silence stretch for a second longer than expected. “Maybe I just like observing you,” you say.
There’s a hint of something behind it. Enough to keep him guessing.
He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds about right.”
Later, when the room gets too loud, you slip outside. The night air is cooler, quieter, the hum of everything else settling around you. You lean against the railing, exhaling slowly, letting the noise fade out.
“You always do that?”
You glance over. Eddie steps out, closing the door behind him, the music dulling instantly.
“Do what?” you ask.
“Disappear,” he says, walking over. “Right when things get interesting.”
You shrug slightly, gaze drifting out toward the dark street. “Sometimes it’s more interesting from a distance.”
He huffs a quiet laugh at that, like he expected the answer, and leans beside you. Close enough to feel him there.
For a second, neither of you says anything. And then, he really looks at you. Not the quick glances from behind the counter, not the passing moments during a shift. This time, it lingers.
The way your hair falls over your shoulders, the braids long gone now, replaced with something looser, softer. And there, subtle but impossible to miss, a streak of pink woven through it.
It catches the light just enough. And it throws him off for a second. Because he remembers pink.
Just not like this. Not the same shade, not the same girl.
Not the kid who used to sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by dolls, humming to herself while he and your brother made too much noise in the next room. You’re not that girl anymore. Not even close.
“Y’know,” he says after a second, voice quieter now, “you’re a lot different than I remember.”
You glance at him, already half-expecting that.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “You’ve mentioned.”
He smiles a little at that, shaking his head. “No, I mean it,” he says. “Like… I remember you always having something pink on. Thought it was, like, your whole thing.”
You follow his gaze for a second, fingers brushing absently against the streak in your hair. A small smile tugs at your mouth.
“It’s just weird,” he admits. “Seeing you now and trying to line it up with… that.”
You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You don’t have to,” you say. “They’re not really the same person.”
He looks at you again. Longer this time. Like he’s realizing that’s true. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can see that.”
“I think I like this version better.” You don’t respond right away. Just let the words settle between you, quiet and steady. Then, after a second, a small, almost private smile crosses your face.
“Good,” you say softly.
He watches you for a moment longer. Like he’s trying to figure out something he’s not quite ready to say out loud yet.
Inside, someone calls his name. He doesn’t move right away. Just lingers there beside you, in that quiet space you carved out. Then, “Don’t disappear again,” he says.
You glance at him, that same knowing look in your eyes. “No promises.” He smiles. Like he expected that answer.
The summer settles into something steady. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just consistent.
The kind of rhythm you don’t notice at first, until you realize you’ve stopped thinking about it altogether. Mornings come with the same routine.
You show up early, earlier than you used to, and the smell hits you before anything else. Something warm, something fresh, something that isn’t just coffee anymore.
Eddie’s already there.
There’s always a sandwich waiting. Melanie's set off to the side, vegetarian without question. Yours beside it, turkey sausage, never the regular kind, like he made a point of remembering that once and never letting it go.
You stop commenting on it after a while. Because he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. And neither do you. You just eat.
Coffee becomes your thing. You bring it without asking, sliding it across the counter before he even looks up.
He takes it without hesitation now, like it’s expected. Like you are.
“Timing’s still impressive,” he says one morning, taking a sip.
“You’re predictable,” you reply.
“Wow,” he scoffs. “And here I thought I was mysterious.”
You glance at him briefly. “You try to be.”
That gets a laugh out of him every time.
The cinnamon rolls don’t come back to the menu. Customers ask. Sydney and Ava complain. Eddie just shrugs it off like it was a one-time thing.
But every few mornings, there’s one waiting for you. Just one. Still warm. You don’t ask about that, either.
On his days off, he still shows up. Always around the same time. Always for “coffee.” You’ve stopped pretending it’s a coincidence. He’s stopped pretending he doesn’t know that you know. But neither of you says it out loud.
It builds like that. Small things. Repeated enough to matter. Until suddenly, it’s July.
“Your birthday’s coming up,” Melanie says one morning, like it’s a warning. You glance at her. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not gonna make it weird,” she says.
You narrow your eyes. “You’re definitely gonna make it weird.”
She grins. “I’m just saying. End of July. Big deal.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real resistance behind it.
Eddie doesn’t say anything about it. Not at first. Not to you. But he notices. And one afternoon, when you’re in the back, grabbing inventory, and Melanie’s alone at the counter, he asks.
“Hey,” he says, a little quieter than usual.
She looks up immediately, already suspicious. “What?”
He leans on the counter slightly, casual, but not really. “It’s her birthday soon, right?”
Melanie’s face changes instantly. Not subtle. Not even a little bit. “…Why?” she asks.
He rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m just asking.”
She studies him for a second longer than necessary. Then, “You’re making her something,” she says.
Melanie breaks into a grin, “Oh my god.”
“Keep it down,” he mutters.
“You like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
She crosses her arms, satisfied.
“What does she like?” He pauses. Then, quieter, “Something she wouldn’t expect.”
Melanie thinks for a second. Then smirks. “Tiramisu.”
He nods once, like he’s locking it in. “Alright.”
“And Eddie?” she adds.
He looks at her.
“Don’t mess it up.”
He scoffs. “I won’t.”
Your birthday doesn’t feel like a big deal. You and Melanie spend most of the day out, walking around, getting lunch, doing nothing in particular but making it feel like something anyway.
By the time evening rolls around, you’re tired in that good way. “You wanna head back?” she asks casually.
You shrug. “Yeah, sure.”
She’s already texting someone. You don’t question it.
When you walk past Eddie’s, the lights are on.
You pause slightly. "Isn't he working tonight?”
Melanie just smiles. “Something like that.”
You narrow your eyes, but follow her anyway. She opens the door without knocking.
“Hello?” she calls out.
You step inside, slower. And then you see it. Nothing over the top.
No decorations, no big scene. Just the table cleared off. A small cake sitting in the center. And Eddie, standing off to the side like he’s trying to pretend this is casual. Like he didn’t plan this.
You stop. “…What is this?”
Melanie nudges you forward. “Your birthday, genius.”
You look at him. “You did this?” you ask
He shrugs, but it’s not convincing. “Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “figured you deserved something.”
You step closer to the table. Glance down. Tiramisu.
Your brows lift slightly. “…How did you—” You stop and turn slowly toward Melanie.
She grins. “Don’t look at me.”
You shake your head, a small laugh slipping out. “That’s… actually insane.”
Eddie watches you carefully. “Is that good or bad?”
You look back at him. And for once, you don’t deflect. “Good,” you say, softer now. “Really good.”
Something in his expression eases. Just a little. “Alright,” he says. “Cool.” There’s a pause. Then, “Happy birthday.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer than usual. “Thank you.” And this time, you mean more than just the cake.
It’s mid-shift when he brings it up. Not during a quiet moment, either, right in the middle of everything, like it’s casual. Like it’s not.
He leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, glancing between you and Melanie. “So,” he says, “you two doing anything tonight?”
Melanie doesn’t even look up. “Depends,” she replies. “Why?”
Eddie shrugs, but there’s something behind it. “Bar down on Maple’s got a couple tables open. Figured we could hang out. Play a game or two.”
You glance at him briefly, then back to the drink you’re making. “Since when do you play pool?” you ask.
“I contain multitudes,” he says dryly.
Melanie snorts. “Alright,” she says. “I’m in.”
You raise a brow at her. “That was fast.”
She shrugs. “I like pool.”
“Since when?”
“Since right now.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. Something’s off. You can feel it.
Eddie watches the exchange, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Cool,” he says. “Then it’s settled.”
An hour later, Melanie suddenly isn’t so available.
“I can’t go,” she says, way too casually, tying her apron like she didn’t just agree.
You blink at her. “…What?”
“Something came up.”
“What came up?” you ask.
She shrugs, avoiding your eye. “Just—stuff.”
You stare at her. She refuses to look back.
Across the counter, Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. “Damn,” he says. “That’s rough.”
You shoot him a look.
He just lifts his hands slightly, innocent. “Guess it’s just us, then.”
It lands. Not heavy. But not nothing. You glance between the two of them. Melanie finally looks at you, and the look she gives you is way too knowing.
“Have fun,” she says.
You sigh. “…Unbelievable.”
But you grab your bag anyway. Eddie pushes off the counter, grabbing his keys.
“C’mon,” he says, already heading for the door. “Don’t bail on me now.”
You shake your head, following him out. “I’m not bailing,” you mutter.
“Good,” he says, glancing back at you, that same grin pulling at his mouth. “Would’ve been a real shame.”
The bar is dim, low-lit, the kind of place that feels like it exists outside of time. Music hums softly through the speakers, something slow and familiar.
“Play?” he asks, tapping the table lightly.
You glance at the cue stick. “…I’ve never played.” It comes out easy. Too easy.
His brows lift slightly. “Really?”
You shrug. “Guess I missed out.”
He watches you for a second, like he’s deciding if he believes you. Then hands you a stick anyway. “Alright,” he says. “C’mere.”
He steps behind you, closer than he’s been all night. Not touching, just there.
“Hold it like this,” he says, reaching around you, but stopping just short, letting you mirror him instead. You follow along, biting back a smile. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Almost.”
You line up the shot. Pause. Then, a clean hit. Ball sinks instantly. You don’t react. Just straighten slightly. “…Beginner’s luck.”
“Uh-huh,” he says.
By the third shot, he knows. By the fifth, he’s laughing. “You’re such a liar,” he says, shaking his head.
You glance at him, faintly amused. “I said I’d never played.”
“That was not what you implied.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Sounds like a you problem.”
He huffs a laugh, stepping closer again. “Alright,” he mutters. “Noted.”
You play for longer than you mean to. The game turns into something else. Not really about winning. Just, proximity. Conversation.
The way he leans against the table, watching you line up a shot like it’s more interesting than it should be. The way you catch him looking, and don’t call him out on it.
The walk back is quieter than the bar. Not awkward, just heavier in a way you can’t really name. Eddie walks a little closer to you now, hands shoved in his pockets, glancing over every so often like he’s still deciding something.
When you get inside, the energy shifts again. Softer. Contained. Like the rest of the world, stayed outside.
He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing his keys onto the counter before turning back to you.
“Alright,” he says, stretching slightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
You raise a brow, setting your bag down. “That sounds ominous.”
He smirks. “I heard your playlist’s good.”
You blink. “…From who?”
He shrugs, way too casual. “Sources.”
You narrow your eyes. “Melanie.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe not.”
You shake your head slightly, but there’s a faint smile there. “You want me to DJ?”
“Yeah,” he nods, stepping aside, gesturing toward his setup. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
You hesitate for half a second. Then move. It feels weirdly personal. Handing someone your music always does. You scroll for a second before hitting play. Something slower. Atmospheric. A little heavy, but not overwhelming.
The kind of song that fills a room instead of demanding it. Eddie watches you while it starts. Not the screen. You.
“Alright,” he says after a second, nodding. “Yeah. This tracks.”
You glance at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, leaning back against the counter, “this is exactly what I expected you to listen to.”
You tilt your head slightly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
He smiles a little. “Nothing bad,” he says. “Just… you’ve got a vibe.”
You huff quietly. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
At some point, the music fades into the background. He grabs the remote, flipping through something before settling on a film. Black and white. Grainy. The kind of thing most people wouldn’t pick.
You notice immediately. “…You’re kidding.”
He glances at you. “What?”
“You’re putting this on?”
“Yeah?” he says. “Problem?”
You shake your head slowly, stepping closer to the couch.
“No,” you say. “Just didn’t think you were the type.”
He pauses. Then, “I’m not,” he admits. “But you are.”
You look at him for a second longer than usual. “…You asked Melanie.”
“Maybe,” he repeats.
You shake your head, but you sit anyway. The movie starts. A slow-burning mystery, all shadows and long pauses, dialogue that feels heavier than it sounds. You settle into it almost immediately. He notices that, too.
You end up side by side again. Closer this time, not quite touching, but not far.
“You’ve seen this?” he asks quietly.
“A few times,” you say. “It’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod, eyes still on the screen. “You have to pay attention, though.”
He glances at you instead. “I can do that.”
You don’t look at him, but you feel it.
Time stretches. The movie plays. The music hums underneath it. And slowly, he shifts closer. Not all at once. Just enough.
“C’mere,” he murmurs after a while, softer than before. “You’re still sitting too far away.”
You glance at him briefly. Then move. This time, you don’t stop halfway. You settle beside him, shoulder brushing his.
He exhales quietly. Like he’s been waiting for that
His arm comes up along the back of the couch, then slowly, carefully, his hand finds your back again. Familiar now. Expected. His fingers move lightly, tracing slow patterns, pressing just enough to make you aware of it.
You don’t pull away.
“You always this observant?” he asks after a while, voice low.
“Sometimes,” you reply.
“Explains a lot.”
You hum softly, not asking what he means. Because you already know.
The movie keeps playing, but neither of you is really watching anymore. His hand drifts up your back, into your hair, fingers catching gently on the pink streak.
“Still thinking about this,” he murmurs.
You glance at him. “You’re easily distracted.”
“Only sometimes.”
His hand moves again, resting against your leg now, thumb brushing slowly, absentminded. You let it happen. Again, longer this time. And the whole night feels like that. Like you’re both standing right on the edge of something, just seeing who moves first.
Eventually, the movie ends. Neither of you moves right away. The credits roll quietly in the background, the room dim, the air heavier than it was before.
You sit there for a second longer than necessary. Then, “…I should go,” you say, softer this time.
His hand stills against your back. But doesn’t leave. “Yeah,” he replies, just as quiet.
Neither of you sounds convinced. You shift slightly, pulling away just enough to stand. The loss of contact is immediate and noticeable.
You grab your bag, fingers fidgeting with the strap for a second before you look back at him. He’s already watching you.
“Thanks,” you say, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “For tonight.”
“Yeah,” he says, standing now, a little closer than before. “Anytime.”
You hesitate, then step forward, closing the distance just slightly. Your arms lift, tentative for a second before settling around him in a quick, soft hug.
He exhales quietly, like he wasn’t expecting it, but his hands come up anyway, one resting lightly against your back.
It lingers, just a second longer than it should. And when you pull back, you don’t go far. Your hands drop, but you’re still close. Too close.
His face is right there. Closer than it’s ever been.
You can feel it now, that shift, that quiet pull that’s been building all night, all summer. Neither of you moves at first.
His eyes flick down, just briefly. Then, back up, you feel your breath catch slightly. And then, you both lean in. Slow. Careful. Like giving the other time to stop. But neither of you does. And when your lips meet, it’s soft. Just a brush.
Like testing it, like confirming it’s real. And then it settles. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to change everything. When you pull back, it’s barely an inch. Still close, still there.
His forehead almost brushes yours, breath uneven now. “Okay,” he murmurs, like he’s half-laughing, half in disbelief.
You don’t say anything. You just look at him. Because there’s nothing left to pretend about now. The line’s already been crossed.
The second your lips part, the air between you feels charged, like the hush right before the turning point in a novel you’ve read a hundred times.
Eddie’s forehead stays pressed lightly to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your mouth. His hand is still at the small of your back, fingers splayed like he’s afraid the chapter might end too soon if he lets go.
“You…” He swallows, voice rough. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
You don’t answer with words at first. Your heart is hammering, but there’s a spark of that familiar wit flickering through the haze.
“Careful, Munson,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you speak. “Keep talking like that, and I might start quoting poetry at you. And nobody wants that mid-kiss.”
He laughs softly, the sound low and warm, and it loosens something tight in your chest. “Poetry, huh? Fuck, you’re trouble.”
This time, when he kisses you, it’s deeper. Slower. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of careful hunger, like he’s savoring every line of you. You make a tiny, involuntary sound, half sigh, half whimper, and he answers it by sliding his free hand up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking along the pink streak in your hair.
Your body responds before your mind catches up. You’ve done this before, with other boys, other fumbling moments, but never with him. Never with someone who feels like he’s rewriting the whole story just by touching you.
You clutch at the front of his worn Black Sabbath tee, fingers twisting in the soft fabric, and he smiles against your lips like he can feel how quickly you’re unraveling.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “We don’t have to rush. Tell me if it’s too much.”
You shake your head, a small, wry smile tugging at your mouth despite the flush creeping up your neck. “Too much? Please. I’ve read worse cliffhangers.” But your voice is softer than the words, breathy, giving away how much you’re already yielding to him.
He seems to understand anyway. One corner of his mouth lifts, soft and crooked. “Yeah? Then let’s make this one worth the reread.”
His thumb traces your bottom lip, then he leans in again, kissing you like he’s got all the time in the world and none at all. You let him lead, melting into it, letting your body follow wherever his hands guide you.
When his tongue brushes lightly against yours, you shiver hard, a helpless little sound escaping you, and he groans quietly, pulling you closer until your chest is flush against his.
Somehow you end up on the couch again, only this time you’re not sitting politely beside him. You’re in his lap, straddling his thighs, your skirt riding up without either of you acknowledging it yet. His hands settle on your hips, warm and steady, thumbs rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers against your mouth.
“I’m okay,” you breathe, then add with a touch of that sharp wit, “Just… recalibrating the plot twist.”
“Good nervous?” His lips trail along your jaw, then lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear.
You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “The best kind.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. One hand slides up your back, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. The touch is so gentle that it makes you arch into it without thinking.
He rewards you with another kiss, deeper this time, tongue stroking yours until your head spins and you’re clutching his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing left in the room.
When he finally pulls back again, his gaze drops to your mouth, then lower, taking in the way your chest rises and falls too fast. “Can I take this off?” he asks, fingers curling at the hem of your shirt. “Just the shirt. We can stop whenever you want.”
You bite your lip, then nod, lifting your arms for him with a quiet submission that feels natural, like turning the page when you know the next scene will change everything. He peels it away slowly, reverently, like he’s revealing the first vulnerable line of a new chapter.
The cool air hits your skin, and you instinctively start to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently. “Don’t,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let me look. Fuck… you’re beautiful.”
Heat floods your face. You’re not used to being looked at like this, seen so completely by someone who’s known you in fragments for years. But the way his eyes move over you, dark and worshipful, makes something warm and liquid pool low in your belly.
He leans in and presses a kiss to the center of your sternum, then another just above the lace of your bra. When his teeth graze the soft swell of your breast you gasp, fingers threading into his messy curls.
Eddie groans. “Love the sounds you make… so fucking sweet.”
He shifts beneath you, and you feel him—hard, pressing insistently against the apex of your thighs through his jeans. The realization sends another jolt through you, sharper this time because it’s him. You rock forward experimentally and his head falls back against the couch with a hissed curse.
“Shit, careful, baby. You keep doing that, and this is gonna be over way too fast.”
You freeze for a second, but then that witty spark flickers again. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the ending,” you murmur, voice teasing even as it trembles.
He laughs, dark and breathless, and pulls you down for another kiss, slower, soothing. His hands roam up your ribs, over the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until you’re whimpering into his mouth, all wit dissolving into soft, needy sounds.
Then, without warning, he turns his head and bites your cheek.
Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to leave a mark. His teeth sink into the soft, rounded flesh of your face just below your eye, holding for a second before he soothes the spot with his tongue. You squeak in surprise, a startled little sound that makes him chuckle darkly against your skin.
“Been wanting to do that since you walked in with that pink streak and those big eyes,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Gonna look so pretty with my teeth marks on you tomorrow. Like a secret annotation only I get to read.”
Your whole body flushes hotter. The possessive little bite, the casual way he says it—like marking a favorite passage—does something dangerous to the submissive part of you that’s been quietly humming under your skin all night. You duck your head, hiding against his shoulder for a moment, but he catches your chin and tilts your face back up.
“Hey. No hiding. Not from me.”
He kisses you again, deep and claiming, and this time when his hands slide down to your thighs and start pushing your skirt higher, you don’t stop him. You let him guide you, let him lay you back against the couch cushions, let him settle between your legs like he belongs there.
His mouth finds your neck, sucking lightly, then harder, leaving little blooming marks that match the one on your cheek. Every time you make a soft, needy sound, he rewards you with more, more kisses, more touches, more murmured praise against your skin.
“Such a good girl for me… so fucking pretty when you let go…”
Your hands stay in his hair, tugging gently, guiding him without words because even with your experience, this feels different—deeper, like the first real intimate scene after years of buildup. But he seems to know anyway. He always has.
When his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and careful, you’re already soaked. He groans at the first touch, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart… all this for me?”
You can only nod, breath hitching as he strokes you with reverent, teasing fingers. He takes his time, learning every little reaction, every gasp and shiver, until you’re trembling beneath him, hips rocking up into his hand without shame, your usual wit reduced to breathless whispers of his name.
Only when you’re whimpering for more does he finally ease your panties down your legs, kissing every inch of skin he reveals. Then he’s back between your thighs, mouth replacing his fingers, and the world narrows to the wet heat of his tongue and the low, filthy sounds he makes like he’s the one being rewarded.
You come apart with his name on your lips and his teeth grazing the inside of your thigh, the bite on your cheek still tingling like a secret brand only he’s allowed to leave.
Afterward, he pulls you into his chest, both of you breathing hard, skin damp, and hearts racing. He presses a soft kiss to the bite mark on your face, then to your swollen lips.
“Still with me?” he whispers, voice tender now.
You nod, curling closer, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest like you’re mapping out the next few pages. “Yeah,” you murmur, a hint of that wit slipping back in. “Just… bookmarking this moment.”
Eddie smiles against your hair, arms tightening around you like he never plans to let go.
The next morning feels… off. Not bad, just different.
You wake up later than you meant to, the light already too bright through your window, your phone buzzing with missed alarms you definitely slept through.
For a second, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling. Replaying last night. And then—“Shit.”
You’re barely on time. Rushing in, hair still slightly damp, heart beating a little faster than it should for a normal shift. The bell chimes as you push through the door. And he’s already there.
Behind the counter, mid-conversation with Melanie, sleeves pushed up, moving like nothing happened. Like last night didn’t exist. Your steps slow just slightly. He looks up, sees you, and for a split second he freezes.
Just enough to notice. “Hey,” he says.
It’s normal, too normal.
“Hey,” you reply, also normal.
Melanie looks between the two of you immediately. Eyes narrowing. “…Oh my god.”
You shoot her a look. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she says, already grinning. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I am,” she confirms. “Very loudly.”
Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turns away slightly, grabbing something off the counter. But he’s listening.
You move past them, setting your bag down a little too quickly. Everything feels hyper-aware now. Where he’s standing. How close he is. The way your shoulders almost brush when you pass him, and how neither of you acknowledges it.
The shift is weird. Not in a bad way. Okay, maybe a little. Like you’re both trying not to do anything that gives it away. But somehow that makes it more obvious.
Melanie notices everything. The way you avoid eye contact for too long. The way he lingers just slightly closer than usual. The way neither of you mentions last night.
“You’re both acting insane,” she mutters at one point, wiping down the counter.
“We’re not,” you say.
“You are,” she insists. “It’s painful.”
Eddie snorts under his breath.
“Leave her alone,” he says, but there’s no real argument behind it.
Melanie looks at him. Then back at you. Then, “Oh my god, something did happen.”
You don’t respond. You don’t have to. Your silence says enough.
Her jaw drops. “I knew it.”
“Mel—”
“I knew it,” she repeats, pointing between the two of you. “You’re both so obvious.”
Eddie laughs quietly again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright,” he says. “Relax.”
“Relax?” she echoes. “You—”
“Melanie,” you cut in, sharper now.
She stops. But she’s still smiling. Because she’s right.
Later, when things quiet down, he finds you. Not dramatic. Just slipping beside you while you’re restocking, voice lower than usual.
“Hey.”
You glance at him. “Hey.”
There’s a pause. Different from before. More aware. “So,” he says, “tomorrow’s your last day, right?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
He shifts slightly, like he’s working up to something. “Then… come in early,” he says. “Before your shift.”
You raise a brow. “Why?”
He hesitates. Just a second. Then, “Sunrise,” he says. “Figured we could—y’know. Before everything.”
It’s simple. But not.
You study him for a second, then nod. “…Okay.”
His shoulders ease slightly. “Okay.”
But the next morning? Everything goes wrong.
You wake up to a text from Melanie: you need to get here. now.
No context. No explanation. Just that. Your stomach drops.
When you get there—
it’s chaos.
The back area is a mess.
Flour everywhere. Containers knocked over. A shelf—one of the main ones—completely collapsed, ingredients scattered across the floor like something exploded.
Melanie’s in the middle of it, already trying to clean. And Eddie? Eddie looks stressed.
More than you’ve ever seen him. He’s pacing slightly, running a hand through his hair over and over.
“What happened?” you ask, stepping in quickly.
Melanie looks up. “Shelf gave out. Everything came down.”
You glance at him. He barely meets your eyes. “I—I didn’t check the weight,” he mutters. “I thought it’d hold.”
There’s a tightness in his voice you haven’t heard before.
“I’m gonna get fired,” he adds, quieter.
You don’t think, just move. “Okay,” you say, already grabbing a towel. “Then we clean it up.”
Melanie nods immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie looks at you. “Hey, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” you cut in, not looking up. “I want to.”
There’s no hesitation in your voice. No teasing. He watches you for a second. Then nods, “Alright.”
You work like that for a while. Quiet, focused, side by side—but not in the same way as before. This time, it’s not about tension. It’s about showing up.
The sun rises without you noticing. The plan, forgotten. Ruined even. But neither of you says it out loud.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. By the time the shift winds down, the mess is gone, the café looks normal again, and the adrenaline has worn off just enough for everything else to settle back in.
You’re wiping down the counter when he finds you again.
“Hey.”
You glance up. “Hey.”
There’s a pause; short, but not empty. “Band’s playing tonight,” he says. “One last thing before you ditch this place for good.”
You huff softly. “I’m not ditching.”
“Leaving,” he corrects. “Abandoning me. Same thing.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there. “What time?”
His expression shifts just slightly. “Eight.”
You nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
The venue is louder than last time. More crowded, more bodies packed together, the air thick with heat and movement.
Melanie’s with you again, but she drifts off pretty quickly, pulled into a conversation with someone near the bar. You stay closer to the stage. You always do.
Eddie spots you before the set starts. There’s that same look, quick, but unmistakable. Then he’s gone again, pulled into it.
You watch from the side this time. Closer than before, close enough to feel it. The bass, the drums, the way the floor almost vibrates beneath your feet. He’s different up there again, looser, more confident.
And every so often, his eyes flick over, just to check. Just to make sure you’re still there.
Between sets, the crowd shifts.
Another band takes the stage, heavier this time, louder, the energy in the room changing almost instantly.
The pit opens up before you even realize it. Bodies pushing, shoving, movement turning chaotic in seconds.
“Hey—” A hand catches your arm steadily.
Pulling you back just enough to keep you out of it. You turn, Eddie. Closer than usual, expression focused now, not teasing.
“Careful,” he says, guiding you slightly behind him. You don’t argue. Just let him.
He positions himself between you and the edge of the pit, one arm still lightly at your side like he hasn’t fully let go.
“You good?” he asks, glancing down at you.
“Yeah,” you say.
His hand lingers for a second longer. Then drops. But he doesn’t move far.
Later, outside, the air feels cooler. Quieter.
You lean against the brick wall, pulling a cigarette from your pocket, tapping it lightly against your hand before lighting it. He watches.
“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” he says.
You shrug, taking a drag. “Occasionally.”
“Occasionally,” he repeats.
You glance at him, amused. “You repeat everything I say.”
“Only the interesting stuff.”
You roll your eyes slightly, exhaling. He steps closer. “Lemme see that,” he says, nodding toward the cigarette.
You hand it over without thinking. He takes it, bringing it up, but instead of immediately taking a drag, he pauses, the filter resting between his teeth. Biting it. Absentminded.
Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Your eyes linger on it for a second longer than they should. The slight pressure of his jaw. The way his rings catch the light as his fingers hover near them.
“…You do that a lot?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.
He glances at you. “Do what?”
You gesture vaguely. “That.”
He looks down at the cigarette in his hand. Realizes. Lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” he says. “Didn’t even notice.”
Then his eyes flick back to yours, something a little more aware settling in now. “Why?”
“Nothing,” you say lightly, taking it back from him. “Just… noticed.”
He watches you for a second longer. Like he knows it’s not nothing. But he doesn’t push it. Just smirks slightly, stepping back.
“Careful,” he mutters. “You keep paying attention like that, I’m gonna start getting nervous.”
You hum softly. “Good.”
He huffs a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head slightly, but his eyes linger on you for a second longer than before. Like he’s trying to figure out what you meant. You don’t let him.
The door behind you swings open, voices spilling out, the sound of laughter and overlapping conversation cutting through the quiet. You glance over your shoulder at his bandmates. Perfect.
You push off the wall slightly, taking another drag before flicking the ash off the end, using the distraction without making it obvious.
“So,” you say, like nothing just happened, “I got something to show you.”
He raises a brow. “Yeah?”
You nod, already pulling your digital camera out. “From your set.”
That gets his attention immediately. You scroll for a second, then turn the screen toward him.
Photos from earlier; angles caught between movements, lighting hitting just right, grain from the low light giving everything this raw, almost cinematic feel.
He leans in. Closer than necessary. “…Wait,” he says, taking the phone gently from your hand, eyes scanning. “You took these tonight?”
You nod, watching him. “Yeah.”
He flips through them, slower now. Really looking. “Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“You’re good,” he says, glancing up at you briefly before looking back down at the screen. “Like, actually good.”
You shrug slightly, like it doesn’t matter. “It’s just timing.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, still scrolling, “your timing’s insane.”
Behind him, one of his bandmates leans over. “Yo, what are you looking at?”
Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. “Her photos,” he says, holding the camera up slightly. “From the set.”
The way he says it is not casual or dismissive. Just proud. You feel it.
His bandmate takes the camera, scrolling quickly. “Damn,” he says. “These are sick.”
Another one steps in. “Lemme see.”
Eddie shifts slightly, closer to you now, without thinking, watching them look through them like he’s already decided they matter. “Told you,” he says, glancing back at you for a second, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. “Best ones we’ve got.”
You raise a brow slightly. “That so?”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “Might have to start bringing you to every show.”
There’s a pause. You tilt your head slightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Careful,” you say. “Sounds like a commitment.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh.
After that night, the texts started getting shorter.
At first, it was just the usual lag: hey, sorry, band shit ran late, or catch you tomorrow? But tomorrow kept sliding into the day after, and the day after turned into radio silence. You tell yourself it’s nothing. People get busy. Life isn’t a neatly plotted novel where every absence means foreshadowing.
Still, you catch yourself rereading the last message he actually sent, the one with the little smirking emoji after you’d sent him a photo of the bite mark on your cheek fading to a faint bruise. Looks good on you. That was three days ago.
Now it’s the night before you leave, and your suitcase is half-packed on the bed like an open wound. The pink streak in your hair feels suddenly childish under the lamplight, like a detail you added to a character who was never meant to stay in this chapter.
A soft knock at the door. Melanie lets herself in before you can answer, eyes already a little too bright, a little too shiny. She closes the door behind her and leans against it, arms crossed like she’s trying to hold something in.
“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than usual.
You force a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes. “If you’re here to talk me into staying, the answer’s still no. I’ve got that train ticket burning a hole in my wallet and everything.”
She doesn’t laugh. Instead she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, next to the open suitcase. Her gaze flicks over the folded clothes, the book you’re halfway through (a dog-eared copy of something melancholic and Russian, because of course it is), then back to you.
“I saw Eddie today,” she says finally. The words land heavy.
You go still, fingers pausing on the zipper. “Yeah?”
She nods once. “He was… off. Distant. Kept finding reasons to be in the back room, didn’t stick around for the usual bullshit banter.” A pause. Her eyes glisten, but she blinks it away fast. “Looked like shit, honestly. Like he hadn’t slept.”
Your chest tightens, but you keep your tone light, wry. “Classic Munson. Probably stayed up rewriting the campaign again. Or listening to the same three Metallica tracks on repeat until his brain melted. Very on-brand.”
Melanie hesitates, then exhales slowly, choosing her words with care. She doesn’t tell you the rest — that she had mentioned you were leaving tomorrow, that Eddie had already known and tried to joke it off at first (“Yeah, well, Hawkins can’t keep all the pretty ones forever”), before the tone turned serious because she can pull confessions out of anyone.
She doesn’t tell you how he’d cracked under her stare, admitting that knowing you were about to disappear had twisted the knife on every old insecurity he carried: that he was always the one left behind, the older brother’s best friend who was never supposed to matter, the guy who pushed first so no one else could reject him later.
She keeps all of it locked away. Because she knows you — your soft, sympathetic heart that would immediately offer to transfer somewhere small and close just to give him more time, just to fix what he was breaking on purpose. She won’t let you do that to yourself.
Instead she simply says, “I didn’t bring you up at all, actually. Didn’t want to make it worse.”
The half-truth sits between you, heavy but safe.
You let out a quiet laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “God, Mel. You make it sound like I’m the tragic heroine in some Victorian novel. All pining and unanswered letters.”
But the wit feels thin, even to you. Underneath it, your throat aches. Because she’s right about the cycle. You’ve felt the shift; the way his replies grew drier, the way he stopped initiating, the way the warmth that had wrapped around you on that couch suddenly had teeth. Insecurity, probably. Eddie’s always carried it like an old scar he pretends isn’t there.
You just didn’t think you’d be the one he’d push away first.
Melanie reaches over and squeezes your hand once, quick and tight. “I love you,” she murmurs. “And I’m sorry. I wish he wasn’t such a coward about his own heart.”
You hug her back when she pulls you in, pressing your face into her shoulder for a second longer than necessary. When she finally leaves, the room feels quieter than before.
You pick up your phone, thumb hovering over his name. The last message thread stares back at you, your words getting longer, his getting shorter, until they stop altogether.
You don’t type anything.
Instead you set the phone face-down, close the suitcase, and turn off the light. Tomorrow the train will leave, and the story will keep moving whether he shows up in it or not.
But the bite mark on your cheek, faint now, almost gone, still tingles sometimes when you touch it. Like a footnote you can’t quite erase.
Weeks later...
The lecture hall smells like old paper and cheap coffee, the kind of scent that usually pulls you into the story on the page. Today it just feels distant, like you're reading a chapter from someone else's life.
You sit near the back, notebook open, pen tapping idly against the margin. The professor is droning on about unreliable narrators in Russian literature—how the protagonist convinces themselves the ending is inevitable when it's really just fear wearing a clever mask. Your mind keeps drifting anyway.
To messy curls and tattooed forearms. To the low rumble of "behind" against your back. To the faint mark on your cheek that finally faded weeks ago but still ghosts under your fingertips when you touch it without thinking.
Your phone buzzes in your lap. You glance down.
Eddie Munson: that new Deftones album is actually insane. listened to it twice already. you win this round
You smile despite yourself; small, private, and type back before you can overthink it.
figured you'd approve. the bridge on track 4 feels like a plot twist you don't see coming
Three dots appear, then vanish. Then: yeah, exactly. like the song knows something you don't yet
Nothing more. No how's school, no when are you coming back, no real substance. Just these little threads, random song replies, a photo of a new guitar pedal he found, a blurry shot of the café kitchen with the caption your sausage substitute is judging me.
You send him one back a few days later: a flyer screenshot from a small venue in the city, an indie metal night that might suit his band.
thought this spot looked decent. good sound, not too corporate. might be worth checking if you're ever up this way
His reply comes hours later, during your evening reading: damn. looks sick. thanks for the heads up. we'll see
That's it. No follow-up. No miss having you around the counter. Just enough to keep the page from fully turning.
You tell yourself it's fine. This is what distance looks like in real life, not dramatic goodbyes or grand gestures, just quiet footnotes trailing off. You've read enough stories to know when a character is holding their breath, waiting for the next line that never quite comes.
Eddie stares at his phone screen in the dim light of the trailer, the glow casting shadows across the cluttered counter. The TV is on low, some old horror flick he’s not really watching, but his thumb keeps scrolling.
Your story pops up first tonight: a quiet shot of campus at dusk, leaves turning, overlaid with a line from some book he doesn’t recognize but feels like it was written for moments like this. Then another, a mirror selfie with that pink streak catching the light, headphones in, expression half-lost in thought. Caption: when the unreliable narrator starts sounding too familiar.
He watches it twice. Then again.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the phone onto the couch like it burned him.
He’s been doing this more than he should. Checking for new stories the second he wakes up, during breaks at the café, late at night when the silence gets too loud. Each one feels like a tiny window into a life that’s moving forward without him.
College. New city. New chapters. And here he is, still in the same damn trailer, still making the same damn cinnamon rolls for a counter that doesn’t have you behind it anymore.
He almost quit last week.
The new restaurant downtown offered him full-time—better hours, better pay, no early mornings slinging pastries for the same familiar faces who still look at him like the town freak who never quite left. He had the resignation half-written in his head. Walk in, hand it over, cut the cord clean.
But then he thought about summer. About you, maybe coming back for break, sliding onto that counter like you used to, braids and wit and that soft way you’d let him brush past you just a little too close. About the chance, however small, that you’d walk through the door again and he’d get to see that faint smile when he remembered your stupid turkey sausage.
So he stayed. Told the new place maybe later. Held out like an idiot, hoping for a plot twist he knows better than to expect.
Because he already knows how this ends. You’re leaving, Melanie had let it slip that night at the café, and he’d tried to joke it off, but the truth settled heavy anyway. Everyone leaves eventually. Better to start pulling away first. Keep the texts light. Random songs. Gig spots. Nothing real.
Nothing that lets you see how much he’s still thinking about the way you’d melt under his hand on your back, or the quiet sound you made when he bit your cheek like he could mark a place for himself in your story.
He picks the phone back up. Your last message sits there, the venue flyer. He stares at it a second longer, thumb hovering.
Then he closes the app without replying.
Not tonight.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll send something stupid about a new recipe. Keep the thread alive just enough.
Just in case you decide to come back for one more summer.
will she, wont she? the world may never know. unless... ;)
anyway, thank you always for your appreciation. this one hit a little too close to home, honestly.
badfish 1, badfish 2, & badfish 3: eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+) |finished series
Hawkins’ golden girl meets the town’s most infamous outcast, and somehow, neither of you walks away unchanged. You’re the mayor’s daughter. Perfect on paper, watched from every angle, expected to be everything Hawkins wants you to be. Eddie is the exact opposite. Loud, unapologetic, and already written off by the same people who expect you to stay in line.
is it really you?: eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+)
You come back home for the summer expecting everything to feel the same. Same café job, same routine, same version of yourself you left behind. But the café’s different now. Renovated, busier… and apparently staffed with one very familiar face. Eddie Munson. The same Eddie who used to sit in your living room with your brother, who called you “kid,” who never really saw you the way you wanted him to. That was years ago. Now you’re twenty-one. And he’s definitely looking.
demolition lovers (1), demolition lovers (2): eddie x fem! eddie's POV| NSFW (18+)
You were Eddie Munson’s first love, first song, and the one mistake he never really recovered from. Years after he let you go for a dream that never happened, you return to Hawkins with a band, a voice, and a history neither of you ever learned how to let go of. Now, with unfinished feelings and too many songs that say what neither of you ever did, Eddie is left with one chance to prove he won’t run again.
all i wanted: eddie x fem! reader|
you were thirteen when you first moved to Hawkins, which was just supposed to be another pitstop in a long line of schemes your father wrangles himself into. first, you met Ronnie, and then came Eddie. somewhere in between, he became your first everything, and the one thing you never learned how to leave behind.
hold on till may (1) , hold on till may (2): eddie x fem!reader|NSFW (18+) |finished series
A heavier, more raw story about a girl trying to hold herself together in a house that’s constantly pulling her apart. Between a cruel older sister and pressure that never really lets up, you’re used to surviving more than living. Eddie sees it, maybe before anyone else does.
the ghost of you: eddie x fem!reader| ongoing
A high-stakes, emotionally charged story set during the final battle, where love, fear, and sacrifice collide in the Upside Down. When the plan falls apart, you realize too late that Eddie was never meant to wait for you. And when Vecna sets his sights on him, it becomes painfully clear why. With everything unraveling, you’re forced to choose between the mission and the person you can’t lose.
lover, you should've come over: eddie x fem!reader|
A slow-burning, tension-filled story about history that never really stayed in the past. When you and Eddie cross paths again, it doesn’t feel like a first meeting; it feels like picking up something unfinished. Between late-night run-ins, sharp banter, and the quiet weight of what went wrong years ago, every interaction walks the line between familiarity and frustration. Because the real problem isn’t that you don’t know each other. It’s that you do, and neither of you ever said what mattered when it counted.
petals (1), petals (2): eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+) | ongoing
You, Max's older sister, have enough on your plate. Between protecting Max from a volatile home, clashing with Billy, and refusing to play nice for anyone, you don’t have time for distractions, especially not one with messy curls and a smirk that keeps finding you. But the more your worlds overlap, the harder it gets to ignore him and the life you’re trying to build beyond survival.
flawless execution : eddie x fem!reader, dual POVs| maybe ongoing, haven't decided
A slow-burning story where control starts to slip. You live your life in counts, routines, and expectations; pushing your body past its limits for something bigger, something worth it. There’s no room for distractions. No room for mistakes. Then there’s Eddie. What starts as curiosity becomes harder to ignore, pulling you out of your rigid world and into something unpredictable, messy, and real. But when everything you’ve built depends on discipline, the question becomes: how much are you willing to lose to feel something?
summary: Eddie died. You watched him die in the Upside Down, felt him slip through your fingers, and somehow the world kept going without him. Except you don’t. Because you start seeing him everywhere: shadows, dreams, reflections, standing just out of reach, and you’re almost convinced you’ve finally lost it…until he starts looking back.
tags: vampire! eddie, no y/n, grief, dark romance, obsessive love, angst with smut, he's trying not to hurt you, you want him anyway, "i don't care if you hurt me", undead love, he's attatched to you, dead dove
TW: NSFW 18+, minors do not inquire, eddie death, blood/blood drinking, biting/feeding, references to suicide/suicide ideation, PiV, unprotected
WC: 16.2k
A/N: gah okay here we are! i'm obsessed with this story (i just started rewatching TVD & saw a vampire Eddie edit so, pen to paper.) this will be an ongoing series, so be on the lookout. reblogs are always appreciated <3 as always, enjoy! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
A part of you died with him the day they lowered his casket into the ground, and no one seemed to notice they were burying two people instead of one. Every inch of your body felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left behind, your eyes fixed, unblinking, on the perfect six-foot rectangle carved into the earth. It felt wrong, all of it, the neatness, the quiet murmurs, the way people dressed in black like that could ever be enough to honor something as loud and alive as him. You almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the way they made such a careful, reverent spectacle for an empty coffin. Eddie would have hated it. God, he would have hated it.
You remember days before, your hands shaking as you held his torn, blood-soaked body in your arms, the metallic scent of it thick in the air, clinging to your skin like it never planned to leave.
Your team had the “easy” part. That’s what they called it. Distract the demo-bats, buy time, get back through the gate. Simple. Clean. Manageable. But nothing in the Upside Down was ever simple, and you learned that quicker than anyone. You and Dustin sat on top of the trailer, your legs dangling over the edge while Eddie stood behind you, guitar slung low, fingers moving like second nature even as the world around you pulsed and rotted and breathed wrong. The sound cut through the air like a challenge, like a dare.
When the swarm shifted, when you saw that black, writhing mass change direction and come for you, everything after that blurred into panic and noise and instinct. You were supposed to jump. You were supposed to run. You were supposed to survive.
Inside the trailer, the bats came anyway.
They forced themselves through every crack and splintered edge, their bodies folding in unnatural ways, screeching and clawing and snapping as if the metal walls meant nothing at all. You could feel them before you could see them, the rush of wings, the heat of them, the sound drilling into your skull. You scrambled, all of you, tripping over each other, breath ragged, hands searching for something, anything.
Eddie got you to the rope.
You remember his hands on your waist, lifting, steady even as everything else fell apart. You remember the way your fingers burned as you climbed, the way your heart slammed against your ribs as you pulled yourself back into the right-side-up, gasping like you’d been drowning. Dustin was beside you a second later, and then you were both there, above him, reaching, screaming, begging—
“Eddie, come on! Come on, please!”
He looked up at you, and for a moment, for one horrible, suspended second, you thought he would. But something in his face changed.
And before you could understand it, before you could stop it, he pulled the knife from his pocket and sliced through the rope in one clean motion. It snapped, recoiling upward, leaving nothing but empty air between you.
“No—Eddie, no, what are you doing?!” Your voice broke, hands grasping at nothing. Your only way to him. His only way out. Gone. When you found him, it was already too late.
The ground was damp beneath your knees as you dropped beside him, the world narrowing down to the sight of him, barely recognizable beneath the blood and torn fabric, bite marks littering his chest and sides like something had tried to take him apart piece by piece. You didn’t feel yourself move, didn’t remember crossing the distance, only that suddenly his head was in your lap, your hands cradling him as if you held him carefully enough, gently enough, he wouldn’t slip away.
Tears blurred your vision, falling unchecked onto his face as you tried to keep him with you, tried to anchor him there. “C’mon, Eds,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you hooked your arms under his shoulders, trying to lift him, trying to do something, anything. “Just—fuck—come on, please, please—”
He didn’t move. A broken, guttural sound tore from your chest as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Dustin!” you screamed, your voice echoing uselessly through the trees. “Help! Please!”
But Dustin was already there, or trying to be, dragging himself across the ground, his movements slow, uneven, his face twisted in pain from the ankle he’d wrecked on the fall. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fast enough.
“H–hey,” Eddie rasped, the sound wet and thin, barely there. His hand found yours, fingers weak as they curled around it, giving the smallest squeeze. Your heart shattered all over again.
“You…you gotta get outta here.”
You shook your head violently, tears spilling faster, your grip tightening like you could keep him here by force alone. “No. No, I’m not leaving you. I’m not—I’m not doing that, okay? You just need help, you need a doctor, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be fine—”
He coughed, and this time the blood didn’t stay hidden, spilling from the corner of his mouth, dark and thick, trailing down his cheek.
“I love you,” he whispered, like it was something fragile, something he was placing carefully into your hands. “You know that, right?”
“Eddie—” your voice broke on his name, splintering completely.
His chest rose once more. Then stilled. The grip on your hand loosened, slipping, his fingers falling away as if they’d never been there at all. A single tear tracked slowly down the side of his face, cutting clean through the dirt and blood. And just like that, he was gone.
And now, here you were, trembling over a casket that held nothing of him, your body swaying as the first drops of rain began to fall, slow and deliberate, like the sky itself was grieving something it couldn’t name. The clouds had swallowed the sun whole, casting everything in a dim, suffocating gray, and still, you didn’t move.
You didn’t feel the rain at first. Not when it soaked through your clothes, not when it clung to your skin, not when your hair began to cling to your face in damp strands. It was as if your body had forgotten how to register anything but the absence in front of you.
Wayne pressed an umbrella into your hand at some point, his fingers lingering like he wasn’t sure you’d stay standing without it, like you might collapse into the grave right alongside him. But you never opened it. You couldn’t.
Because leaving, even by something as small as stepping back, felt too much like letting him go.
So you stood there, unmoving, rain pouring over you in quiet sheets, eyes locked on the hollow space beneath the lowering coffin, waiting, impossibly, for something to change.
The last of the mourners drifted away in quiet fragments, their voices low, their footsteps soft against the soaked ground, as if even sound itself had the decency to tread lightly around him. Dustin lingered the longest, his arms wrapping around you in a damp, trembling hug, his breath uneven against your shoulder, like he was trying not to fall apart in your hands. Gareth followed, quieter, his grip tight for a fleeting second, like letting go might mean something permanent. And then they were gone.
It was just you and Wayne Munson, standing at the edge of something neither of you knew how to survive.
His hand came to rest on your shoulder, heavy, grounding, though it felt like nothing could anchor you anymore. When you finally looked at him, his eyes were rimmed red, worn down by something deeper than tears, something that had settled into his bones. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, like he was asking something of you he didn’t have the words for.
“It’s time to go.” The sentence didn’t land so much as pass through you.
You didn’t respond. Didn’t trust your voice not to break apart entirely. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, slow and mechanical, one foot in front of the other, as if you were learning to walk again in a world that no longer made sense. The distance between the grave and the car felt endless, stretched thin by everything you were leaving behind.
The drive blurred. The road, the rain, the silence, all of it smeared together until the trailer came into view like something distant, something familiar in a way that hurt. There was no conversation when you stepped inside. No agreement spoken out loud. Wayne didn’t ask you to leave, and you didn’t ask to stay.
He just let you exist there, in the space his nephew had once filled so effortlessly, as if he understood that sending you anywhere else would be like losing him all over again. And for the last three weeks, that’s where you returned.
Night after night, you found your way back to his room, the door creaking softly as you pushed it open like you were afraid of disturbing something sacred. His bed still smelled like him, faint but unmistakable, woven into the sheets, the pillows, the air itself. You would lie there in the dark, curled into the space he used to occupy, clutching at what little remained, like if you held on tightly enough, it wouldn’t fade. Like he wouldn’t fade.
You soaked in every trace of him you could find, every lingering ghost of warmth, every memory stitched into the walls, desperate and unwilling to accept that this was all that was left. Nighttime was the worst.
The dreams didn’t come gently; they came in waves, pulling you under before you even realized you were drifting. At first, they were almost kind, almost merciful. You and Eddie in some sunlit field that didn’t exist anywhere you’d ever been, the grass brushing against your legs as you ran, his laugh loud and bright and alive in a way that made your chest ache even inside the dream. He would grab your hand, spin you, say something you could never quite remember when you woke, and for a moment, just a moment, it felt like nothing had ever gone wrong.
And then it would shift like it always did. The sky would darken too quickly, as if something were swallowing the light whole, and that familiar, suffocating red would bleed across the horizon. The air would turn thick, metallic, the scent of blood creeping in until it coated the back of your throat. His hand in yours would grow cold, too cold, and when you looked at him, he wouldn’t be him anymore.
Flashes. Quick, violent, impossible to hold onto. His body on the ground. Blood. Teeth. Stillness.
You would wake up gasping, heart slamming, hands grasping at sheets that never felt like enough. But then the dreams changed, and they no longer pretended to be kind.
They dropped you straight into something darker, something that felt less like memory and more like a warning. The sky above you would be black, endless, stretching on forever without a single star to break it apart. And the sound, God, the sound.
Ravens circled above you, their silhouettes cutting across the darkness, their caws sharp and relentless as they called down to you, over and over again, like they were trying to say something you couldn’t understand. You would try to move, to sit up, to run. But you couldn’t. Because you were lying down.
Flat on your back. Surrounded by wood. The edges of a coffin pressing in around you, suffocatingly close, the lid just inches above your face. You could feel the weight of the dirt above you, could almost hear it, shifting, settling, sealing you in. Your chest would heave, panic clawing its way up your throat as the ravens grew louder, closer, their beaks tapping, scratching, like they were trying to break through.
And then: through the chaos, through the blur of wings and shadow, you would see him. Not fully. Never fully.
Just a silhouette standing above you, framed by darkness, still and unmoving as everything else spiraled around him. You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t reach him, couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or through you. But you knew.
“Eddie—”
And then you would wake up. Every time. The next night, you didn’t even try to sleep.
Instead, you found yourself back at the cemetery, like something had pulled you there without asking, your feet carrying you over familiar ground until you reached him. The fresh dirt hadn’t settled yet, still uneven, still wrong, the headstone too clean, too new, like it didn’t belong there.
You lowered yourself beside it slowly, your body heavy, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. The grass was damp beneath you as you lay down, curling slightly into yourself, your shoulder brushing the edge of his grave as if proximity alone could make this feel any less unbearable.
For a while, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the night, the distant rustle of trees, the steady rhythm of your own breathing. And then, a sharp, piercing caw cut through the silence.
Your eyes snapped open. Perched on the headstone above you, dark against the dim glow of the night, was a raven. It stared directly at you. Its feathers seemed almost too black, swallowing the light around it, its head tilting slightly as if studying you, recognizing you. Another caw echoed from its beak, louder this time, sharper, like a call meant only for you.
Your breath caught. Because something about it felt wrong. Familiar. Like you had seen it before. Like it had seen you. And for a split second, just as it shifted its wings, just as the shadow moved, you could have sworn you weren’t alone.
You began to see them everywhere.
On your walk home from work, perched along the telephone wires like sentries, their silhouettes sharp against the fading sky, heads turning in eerie unison as you passed beneath them. Through the classroom windows, just beyond the glass, one would sit unmoving on the branch of a dying tree, watching, always watching, its dark eyes fixed on you like it knew something you didn’t. At night, they gathered outside Eddie’s bedroom window, claws scraping softly against the glass, wings shifting in restless, whispering movements that kept you from ever truly sleeping.
At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. A trick of your exhausted mind. Grief, warping the edges of everything until nothing felt quite real anymore. But it didn’t feel random. It felt deliberate.
Each encounter lingered a second too long, each bird holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest tighten, like there was something just beneath the surface, something trying to reach you, trying to be understood. They weren’t afraid of you. They didn’t scatter or startle or fly off like they should. They stayed. And worse, you started to recognize them.
Not in any way that made sense, not in a way you could explain without sounding completely unhinged, but there was a strange, creeping familiarity in each glossy feather, in the tilt of their heads, in the way they seemed to follow rather than appear.
Like it wasn’t different birds at all. Like it was the same one. Over and over again. You told yourself you were losing it. That grief had finally snapped something in your brain, twisted your reality into something you couldn’t trust.
But every time you met its gaze, you felt it. That pull. That awful, aching recognition. Like you weren’t looking at a bird at all. Like something was looking back. It wasn’t just the birds anymore.
It spread, slow and insidious, bleeding into everything you looked at, everything you felt. You started to catch him in the edges of your vision, in the spaces just beyond where your eyes could fully focus. A figure in the corner of a room that vanished the second you turned your head. A shadow that lingered a moment too long, shaped just enough like him to make your breath hitch.
And it wasn’t just sight. It was worse than that. You could feel him.
In the air, in the stillness, in the quiet moments where the world seemed to hold its breath. Sometimes it was the faintest brush of something against your arm, gone before you could react. Sometimes it was the unmistakable scent of him, cigarette smoke and something warm, something his, curling through the room when you knew, you knew, there was no reason for it to be there.
It crawled under your skin, settled into your bones. It was driving you insane. You stopped trusting yourself. Stopped trusting what was real and what wasn’t. Every shadow felt like a trick, every reflection something you couldn’t look at for too long without your heart starting to race.
Yet still, you kept looking. Dustin found you like that.
Standing too still, eyes locked onto the raven perched across the street, your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t even realized were falling. The rest of the world felt distant, muffled, like you were underwater and everything else was happening somewhere far above you.
“Hey.” His voice was gentle, cautious, like he was afraid of startling you. His arm came to rest on your shoulder, grounding, warm, real. “You okay?”
You nodded once, the motion delayed, your throat tight as you forced yourself to swallow around the weight sitting there.
“Yeah,” you said, but it came out quieter than you meant it to.
You hesitated. Then, softer, “Do you ever feel like…” your voice faltered, eyes flickering back to the bird, still watching, still unmoving. “Like you see him?”
Dustin doesn’t answer right away. You feel it before you see it, the way his hand stills slightly on your shoulder, the way the air between you shifts into something heavier, something careful.
“No,” he says finally, and it’s quiet, but it lands hard. “No, I… I don’t.”
You turn to look at him then, searching his face for something else, something that might contradict it, but all you find is worry. Real, unfiltered, settling into the lines of his expression in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“Hey,” he adds quickly, his voice softening, like he’s trying to reach you without pushing too hard. “That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you, okay? I mean—” he lets out a small breath, shaking his head slightly. “You went through… a lot. We all did. But you—” his voice catches for a second, like even he doesn’t know how to say it. “You were there. With him.”
You look away.
“I just think…” he continues, a little more hesitant now, “maybe you should talk to someone. Like, actually talk. Not just… keep it all up here.” He taps lightly at his own temple, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
You nod again, automatic, distant. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”
But you don’t mean it. Because later that night, you find yourself somewhere else entirely. Lover’s Lake.
The air is colder here, quieter, the surface of the water stretching out into a dark, endless mirror that swallows whatever little light the moon offers. The trees crowd close around the edges, their shadows long and reaching, like they’re trying to pull everything inward. You don’t remember deciding to come.
The bottle in your hand is already half-empty by the time you sit down near the edge, the damp earth soaking through your jeans as you stare out across the water. The burn of it lingers in your throat, sharp and familiar, something you welcome only because it’s something you can feel.
The lake is still, too still. You take another sip, your hand unsteady now, your thoughts quieter than they’ve been in days, like the noise has finally burned itself out and left nothing behind.
Your eyes drift to the water, tracing the faint ripples, the way the darkness seems to stretch on forever. You wonder, briefly, how cold it would be. How long would it take before you stopped feeling anything at all?
It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Not if it meant…You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the bottle. Not if it meant being with him again. The thought settles into you, heavy, dangerous, but not unwelcome.
Romantic, almost. Tragic in a way that feels fitting. You could see him again. You could hear him, touch him, stop this constant, aching absence from tearing you apart piece by piece.
Your feet shift slightly against the ground, closer to the edge now, your gaze fixed on the black water like it’s calling to you, like it’s offering something in return.
And then, something moves. Not in the water, but across it. Your breath catches. On the opposite side of the lake, just beyond where the trees thin out into shadow, there’s a figure.
Still. Watching. Your heart slams violently against your ribs, the world snapping back into sharp, suffocating clarity as you push yourself up, stumbling slightly, your eyes straining to make sense of what you’re seeing.
It’s just a shadow, it has to be. But…The shape. The stance. The way it stands like it belongs there, like it’s been waiting. Your voice breaks before you can stop it. “Eddie?”
The figure doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But it doesn’t disappear either. And for the first time since the ground closed over his empty casket, you don’t feel alone.
The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t come closer, doesn’t call out, doesn’t do anything except stand there, just far enough away to feel unreachable, just clear enough to make your heart stutter painfully in your chest.
“Eddie?” your voice breaks, fragile, hopeful in a way that terrifies you.
And then, it’s gone. Like it was never there at all. The space across the lake is empty again, nothing but trees and shadow and the faint shimmer of water reflecting a sky that refuses to give anything back. You blink hard, once, twice, your breath catching as your eyes dart across the shoreline, searching, begging for something to reappear.
Nothing. Your chest caves in on itself. A sharp, broken sound tears out of you before you can stop it, something between a laugh and a sob, your hands dragging through your hair as you stagger back a step.
“Of course,” you choke out, shaking your head, your voice splintering. “Of course you did. You finally fucking lost it.”
The bottle is still in your hand. You don’t think, don’t hesitate, just tip it back and swallow what’s left in one go, the burn harsh and unforgiving as it tears down your throat, making your eyes water, your stomach twist. You barely register it, barely feel it over the ache already consuming you.
It doesn’t help. It doesn’t quiet anything. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now there’s nothing left to distract you from it. From him. From the empty space where he should be.
Your knees give out before you realize what’s happening, the damp ground unforgiving as you collapse onto it, your hands digging into the dirt like you’re trying to hold onto something solid, something real.
A sob rips through you, violent and uncontrollable, your body folding in on itself as everything you’ve been holding back finally breaks loose. “I can’t do this,” you cry, the words raw, torn from somewhere deep inside your chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this without you, I can’t—”
Your voice dissolves into nothing, your shoulders shaking as you press your forehead into the ground, the cold seeping into your skin, into your bones, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin. It hurts. It hurts so much.
And suddenly, there’s only one way to make it stop. The thought comes quietly this time. Not frantic. Not panicked. Just certain. You lift your head slowly, your breath uneven, your vision blurred as your gaze drifts back to the lake. It stretches out in front of you, dark and endless, the surface barely disturbed, like it’s waiting.
Like it’s always been waiting. You push yourself up, unsteady, your body heavy but your mind eerily clear now, each step toward the water deliberate, measured. The mud shifts beneath your shoes as you move closer, the edge of the dock just a few feet away now.
Your heart slows. The noise fades. It would be so easy. One step, that’s all it would take. You inhale shakily, your eyes closing for a brief moment as you steady yourself, your lips parting as if to say something, though you’re not sure what.
Maybe goodbye. Maybe his name. Your foot moves forward—“Hey.” The voice is quiet. Too quiet, but it stops you instantly. Your eyes snap open, your breath catching as you turn, your entire body going rigid.
He’s there. Closer now. Not across the lake. Not hidden in shadow. Right behind you.
Eddie.
Your heart lurches violently, your vision swimming as you take him in, every part of you screaming to move, to run to him, to throw your arms around him and never let go. But you don’t, because something is wrong.
He looks like Eddie. The same hair, the same frame, the same familiar silhouette you’ve memorized a thousand times over. But there’s something off in the way he stands, too still, too composed, like the movement has been drained out of him.
His skin is pale. Not just pale—ashen, like something that hasn’t seen warmth in too long.
And his eyes…You can’t quite make them out in the dark, but you know, somehow, they aren’t right. He tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” he says softly.
Your breath stutters. “…Eddie?” you whisper, your voice barely there.
He takes a step closer. And the air around you drops, cold and suffocating, like something unseen has wrapped itself around your lungs.
“I told you,” he murmurs, his voice familiar but distant, like it’s echoing from somewhere far away, “you gotta get outta here.”
Your heart breaks all over again. Because it sounds like him. It looks like him. But whatever is standing in front of you isn’t. Your breath stutters, then breaks entirely.
“No–no, no–” you scramble backward, your foot slipping in the damp earth as you fall hard onto your hands, the impact jolting through your arms. Your chest heaves, panic crashing back in full force, sharper than before, more real. This isn’t him. It can’t be him.
Your head shakes violently, eyes wide, darting over him like if you look hard enough, you’ll find the flaw, the crack, the thing that proves this is exactly what you think it is. A trick. A sick, twisted trick.
“Stop it,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you push yourself further back, your palms dragging through mud and dead leaves. “Stop! This isn’t funny, this isn’t—”
Your gaze flickers to his face again, and your stomach drops. Because he isn’t reacting the way Eddie would. He isn’t rushing to you. Isn’t panicking, isn’t asking what’s wrong, isn’t anything.
He’s just watching you. Too still. Too quiet. Like he’s waiting. Vecna.
The name slams into you like a warning, cold and immediate. Of course. Of course, this is what it is. You let out a broken, breathless laugh, something hysterical creeping into it as you shake your head harder, tears spilling freely now.
“You don’t get to do this,” you snap, your voice cracking as you drag yourself to your feet, stumbling back another step. “You don’t get to use him—”
Your heel catches on uneven ground, nearly sending you down again, but you catch yourself just in time, your body already turning, already moving. Run.
The instinct hits fast and hard, adrenaline surging through your veins as you spin and take off, your breath ragged, your vision blurred by tears and darkness as you push yourself forward, away from him, away from whatever the hell is standing back there pretending to be something it’s not. Branches snap under your feet, the sound too loud, too sharp in the otherwise suffocating quiet of the night. Your lungs burn almost instantly, your body still weak, still exhausted, but you don’t stop.
“Don’t—” his voice cuts through the air behind you, closer than it should be, closer than makes sense. “Don’t run.”
You ignore it. Your heart is pounding too hard, your thoughts spiraling, the image of him burned into your mind in the worst way, wrongwrongwrong—A hand wraps around your wrist. Hard.
You’re yanked back so abruptly it knocks the air straight out of your lungs, your body jerking to a stop with a choked gasp as your feet stumble beneath you. The world tilts, disoriented, your free hand flying out to steady yourself as you try to twist away, panic surging all over again.
“Let me go!” you shout, your voice breaking as you struggle against the grip, your nails digging into his arm, pushing, pulling, anything to get free. “Get off me—!” But he doesn’t budge, not even an inch.
His hold is firm, unyielding, like iron, like something that doesn’t tire, doesn’t falter. Your chest heaves as you finally manage to turn toward him, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, fear written plainly across your face as your eyes lock onto his.
Up close, it’s worse. So much worse. Every familiar detail is there, every line and angle and piece of him you know by heart, but it’s like something has been hollowed out. Like he’s been pulled from somewhere he shouldn’t be.
“Look at me,” he says, and it’s quiet, but there’s something in it, something heavier, something that makes it feel less like a request and more like a command.
You don’t want to. God, you don’t want to. But you do, and your breath catches all over again. “Please,” you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes searching his desperately, trying to find him, just him, somewhere in there. “Please don’t do this to me.”
Something in his expression shifts. The stillness fractures, just enough for something warmer to bleed through, something achingly familiar that makes your chest seize. Something him.
Your breath hitches. “Eddie…?” it comes out broken, barely more than a whisper, like saying it too loud might shatter whatever this is.
His grip on your wrist falters, less like a restraint. More like he’s holding on. “Just—” his voice catches, rougher now, strained in a way that feels wrong and right all at once. He swallows hard, like even that is an effort. “Just listen to me, okay? Please.”
The word please nearly undoes you. Because it sounds like him. Not the hollow echo from before. Not the distant, wrong thing that made your skin crawl. This sounds like Eddie at two in the morning, voice low, a little desperate, trying to get through to you when you’re both too stubborn to back down.
Your knees almost give out. You shake your head anyway, tears spilling faster now, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth like you can hold yourself together if you just try hard enough.
“No,” you whisper, the denial weak, unraveling even as you say it. “No, you’re not—you’re not him, you can’t be, I watched you—”
Your voice breaks. His face tightens, something pained flickering across it, like your words are landing somewhere deep, somewhere he can still feel.
“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer without thinking, like instinct is pulling him toward you even if everything else is wrong. “I know, I know—I remember, okay? I remember you—” his voice stutters, falters, like the memory itself is too heavy to carry all at once. “You were there. I saw you.”
Your heart stutters violently. “I’m not—” he drags a hand through his hair, the motion almost frantic, almost alive, like he’s trying to piece himself together as he speaks. “I’m not… the same. I can feel that. I know that. But I’m still—” He stops, like he doesn’t know how to finish it. Like he’s afraid to.
His eyes find yours again, and this time, there’s no distance in them. No emptiness. Just something raw, searching, and terrified. “Just don’t run,” he says, softer now, the words careful, like he’s placing them between you instead of forcing them. “Please don’t run from me.”
For a second, neither of you moves. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist, but the tension in it has changed entirely, no longer something holding you in place, just something holding on.
Then, slowly, like he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he does it too fast, he lets go. Your skin feels cold where his touch disappears. He takes a step back, putting space between you, hands lifting slightly like he’s trying to show you he’s not going to stop you this time, not going to trap you here if you decide to run.
“I’ll explain everything,” he says, his voice steadier now, but still threaded with something urgent, something fragile. “I swear to you, I will. Just…” he exhales shakily, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. “Just please don’t run from me.”
You don’t move. You don’t trust yourself to. Your chest is still rising too fast, your thoughts too tangled, but your feet stay planted where they are, even as every instinct screams at you to leave.
He notices. And something in his shoulders drops, just slightly, like he was bracing for you to disappear. “I tried,” he says after a moment, quieter now, his gaze flickering away from you briefly before returning, like even looking at you is something he has to build up to. “I tried to stay away.”
Your brows knit, confusion cutting through the fear. “What…?” your voice is hoarse, barely there.
“I didn’t want to do this to you,” he continues, shaking his head faintly, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t want you to see me like this, didn’t want to—” he cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I thought it’d be easier if you just… remembered me the way I was.”
“But I couldn’t,” he admits, and there’s something raw in it now, something that sounds dangerously close to guilt. “I kept checking in. Just from a distance, making sure you were okay.”
“I saw you,” he says, softer now, like he’s stepping carefully through something delicate. “At the trailer. At night. You wouldn’t sleep. And when you did—” his expression tightens, something pained flashing across it. “You were having nightmares. Bad ones.” Your stomach drops.
“I didn’t mean for you to see me,” he adds quickly, like he can hear the panic starting to rise again. “Not like that. The ravens, the—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated, like he doesn’t have the words for it. “It’s just easier. For me. To be there like that.”
Your heart is pounding all over again. “You were… watching me?” you whisper, the words fragile, caught somewhere between fear and something else you don’t want to name.
His face falls. “Not like that,” he says immediately, shaking his head, taking another careful step back instead of forward this time. “I wasn’t—God, I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just…” he exhales, the sound uneven. “You were getting worse.”
“I saw you at the grave,” he continues, voice low, steady but strained. “Every night. And tonight—” his eyes flicker toward the lake, then back to you, something sharper settling in them. “You weren’t just sitting there anymore.” Your throat tightens.
“I couldn’t stay away after that,” he says quietly. “Not when I knew what you were thinking.”
Your legs give out before you can stop them.
The adrenaline drains too fast, leaving you shaky, hollow, your body suddenly too heavy to keep upright. You stagger back a step, then another, until your back hits the rough bark of a tree, the impact grounding and jarring all at once. Slowly, like you’re afraid of collapsing completely, you sink down, knees pulling into your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.
You can still feel where he touched you, but you don’t look at him, not yet. Your breathing is uneven, hitching every few seconds like your body hasn’t decided whether it’s safe to calm down or not. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your jeans, gripping too tightly, like you need something solid, something real.
“Why…” your voice cracks immediately, barely audible, and you have to swallow hard before trying again. “Why didn’t you—” You stop, shaking your head, the question falling apart before it can fully form. Nothing makes fucking sense.
Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, like maybe if you block it all out, it’ll go away, reset, something. It doesn’t.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you manage finally, the words rushing out unevenly, tripping over each other. “I—I was there, I was—every day, I kept going back, I kept—” your breath stutters, your voice breaking again as frustration bleeds into it. “You saw me, you said you saw me, so why didn’t you just—just—”
You let out a sharp, shaky laugh, something on the edge of hysterical as you drag a hand over your face, smearing tears you didn’t even realize were still falling. “I thought I was losing my mind,” you whisper, softer now, more fragile. “I thought...I thought I finally snapped or something, seeing you everywhere, hearing you—” your voice drops, barely there. “I thought it was just grief.”
Your head tilts back against the tree, eyes finally opening, staring up at the dark canopy above you like it might give you an answer you can’t find anywhere else. “But you were there,” you say, quieter, the realization settling in slowly, painfully. “You were actually there.”
Your gaze flickers toward him then, hesitant, uncertain, like you’re afraid he might disappear if you look too directly. “Why didn’t you just… come to me?”
His answer doesn’t come right away. For a moment, all you hear is the quiet rustle of leaves, the soft movement of water behind you, the uneven rhythm of your own breathing as you sit curled into yourself at the base of the tree.
“I tried.” Your fingers tighten around your knees.
“I did,” he repeats, softer now, like the words cost something. “I tried to come to you. More than once.”
Your head tilts slightly, brows pulling together. “Then why didn’t you?” Your voice shakes. “I was right there. I kept going back—I kept—”
“I know.”
He steps closer, slow, careful, like approaching something fragile that might shatter if he moves too fast.
“I saw you,” he continues, voice low. “At the grave. At the trailer. You wouldn’t sleep.” His jaw tightens slightly. “And when you did… I was there for that, too.”
Your stomach drops. “The birds,” you whisper.
He nods once. “Easier that way. Less me.” Silence stretches.
“You could’ve just come to me,” you say again, quieter now, more confused than angry.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair like he doesn’t even know where to start. “I’m not the same,” he says finally.
It’s subtle. Easy to miss if you weren’t staring. But there’s something too still about him. Something too controlled. Like every movement is intentional, like he’s holding himself together instead of just being.
“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice barely steady.
He hesitates. Then, quieter, “I came back wrong.”
The words settle heavily between you. Your breath catches. “What kind of wrong?”
He lets out a short, humorless breath, glancing away for a second like he can’t stand to watch your reaction. “I can hear things,” he says. “Too much. Heartbeats. Blood moving. It’s like everything’s louder now, all the time.” His jaw flexes. “And it doesn’t stop.”
A chill creeps over your skin. “And when I get too close to people…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly. “It gets worse.”
Your heart starts pounding, and immediately, his eyes flick back to you. Too fast, too sharp, like he felt it. Like he heard it.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he says quickly, taking a step back now instead of forward, like he’s correcting himself, putting distance where there wasn’t any before. “Didn’t want you to look at me and realize I’m not—” he swallows. “Not safe.”
Not safe.
“But I tried to stay away,” he continues, softer now. “Just check in. Make sure you were okay.”
A broken sound leaves you. “I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
His gaze drops for a second, something like guilt flickering across his face. “I saw you tonight,” he adds, voice quieter. “Walking into the lake like it didn’t matter if you came back out.” Your chest tightens painfully. “I couldn’t stay away after that.”
“There’s something else,” he says, more hesitant now.
You brace yourself. “What?”
He looks at you again. And this time, there’s no distance in it. Just something conflicted. Something restrained. “It’s you,” he admits quietly.
Your breath catches. “What about me?”
He lets out a slow breath, like he’s trying to stay in control of something you can’t see. “I can hear you,” he says. “Even when you’re not close. Your heartbeat, your breathing—” his voice drops slightly. “It cuts through everything else.”
Your pulse stutters.
“And it’s…” he searches for the word, frustrated. “It’s harder. Around you.”
Your chest rises and falls a little faster. His eyes flicker to your throat for half a second, then back to your face. “I haven’t hurt anyone,” he says quickly, like he needs you to know that. “I won’t.”
“I just didn’t trust myself to stand this close to you and still be me.”
You don’t say anything at first. You just sit there, staring at him like if you look long enough, hard enough, you’ll be able to separate what’s real from what isn’t. Your chest is still rising too fast, your thoughts tangled, but something in you has shifted.
The fear is still there. But it’s not the loudest thing anymore. “…I don’t care.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but they land heavy all the same.
His expression tightens immediately. “Don’t—”
“I don’t care,” you repeat, stronger now, your grip tightening around your knees before you push yourself up, unsteady but determined. “You keep saying that like it matters.”
“It does matter,” he snaps, sharper than before, something defensive flashing across his face. “You don’t get it—”
“No, you don’t get it.” Your voice breaks through his, raw and desperate, cutting him off completely. “You think I care about ‘safe’ right now?” The word sounds almost bitter on your tongue.
You take a step toward him, and he takes one back. That alone makes your chest ache.
“I watched you die,” you say, your voice dropping, quieter now but somehow more intense. “I held you while you were dying, Eddie. Do you understand that? I felt it. I felt you—” your breath stutters, your composure cracking as your voice falters. “And then you were just… gone.”
His face softens, something pained pulling at his features, but you don’t stop.
“And now you’re standing here,” you continue, tears slipping freely down your cheeks, your hands shaking at your sides. “You’re here. I can see you, I can hear you, I—” your voice breaks again. “And you’re telling me to what? Be careful? Be scared of you?”
You laugh, but it’s hollow, uneven. “I’ve been sleeping in your bed for three weeks,” you whisper. “Talking to a grave like you could answer me. I almost—” you cut yourself off, your throat tightening painfully. “I almost walked into that lake just to be with you again.”
His entire posture shifts at that, something darker flickering across his face, something angrier, but not at you, but at himself.
“You don’t get to come back,” you say, softer now, your voice trembling, “and then tell me to stay away from you.”
You take another step forward. This time, he doesn’t move. “I don’t care if you’re different,” you whisper. “I don’t care if you’re dangerous.”
Your eyes lock onto his. “I don’t care if you hurt me.”
Something in him snaps. “Don’t say that,” he says immediately, his voice low, strained, like it’s being held together by sheer force. “Don’t—don’t say that like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” you shoot back, your chest heaving. “It’s everything. It’s—” your voice cracks, softer now, more fragile. “It’s you.”
Silence crashes down between you. You can see every detail of his face, every familiar line twisted slightly by something new, something darker, something he’s trying so hard to keep contained. His eyes flicker to your throat again.
Just for a second, but you see it. And this time you don’t step back. “If that’s what this is,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper now, but steady. “If that’s what you are now, then fine.”
Your breath catches slightly as you take one last step forward, closing the distance completely. “Do it.”
His entire body goes rigid. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice rough, almost breaking. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. Maybe he can. “I already lost you once,” you whisper, your eyes searching his desperately, something reckless, something aching bleeding into every word. “I’m not losing you again because you’re too scared of what you are now.”
His breathing changes. Like he doesn’t need it, but something in him is reacting anyway. “You think I don’t want this?” he mutters, more to himself than you, his jaw tightening. “You think standing this close to you isn’t—”
He cuts himself off sharply, turning his head away like he can’t trust himself to keep looking at you. Your hand lifts before you can stop it, hovering and shaking. Then, you press it against his chest.
The contact is enough. His breath catches.
His hand moves fast, grabbing your wrist: not rough, but firm, like he has to anchor himself before he does something he can’t take back. “Don’t,” he says again, but this time it’s quieter, more desperate. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt. “Then show me.”
The woods swallowed the last of the moonlight as you followed him deeper, away from the lake, away from the open vulnerability of that clearing. Eddie moved like the shadows had learned to obey him; silent, deliberate, every step placed with a predator’s care that the old Eddie never needed.
He didn’t hold your hand. He didn’t crack a joke or offer some dramatic, theatrical line about “leading his fair maiden into the unknown.” He just walked, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, like he was fighting a war with every inch of ground you covered together.
You didn’t care. You’d follow him anywhere now.
The trees thickened, branches clawing low enough to brush your shoulders. The air grew heavier, damp with night and moss and the faint metallic tang that always seemed to cling to him since he came back. Your heartbeat was a drum in your ears: loud, reckless, alive. You knew he could hear it. Every frantic thump. Every stutter when his gaze flicked back to you over his shoulder.
He stopped in a small clearing ringed by thick pines, the ground soft with fallen needles and moss. No one came here. Not at night. Not this deep. It felt like the woods had been waiting for something exactly like this.
Eddie turned. Slowly.
His eyes caught what little light filtered through the canopy; dark, hungry, ringed with that unnatural red that caused your breath to hitch.
“You still sure?” His voice was low, rougher than before, like gravel dragged across velvet. No theatrical flourish. No “princess” or “sweetheart” thrown in for flair. Just Eddie, raw, edged, the aggression simmering right under the surface because he was trying so damn hard not to let it out. “Once I start, I’m not stopping easy.”
You swallowed, throat dry, but nodded. “I meant it. All of it.”
He exhaled through his nose, something almost like a growl caught in it. Then he moved.
One hand fisted in the front of your shirt and yanked you forward, not gentle, not careful. Your chest collided with his, and his mouth crashed down on yours: hungry, demanding, teeth nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You tasted the faint copper where he’d broken skin, and he groaned into the kiss like it was the best thing he’d ever had. His free hand shoved up under your shirt, palm hot and rough against your bare waist, fingers digging in like he needed to feel you were real.
When he pulled back, his breathing was ragged even if he didn’t strictly need it. “Fuck.”
He spun you, pressing your back against the rough bark of a thick pine. The tree scraped through your clothes, but you didn’t care. His body pinned you there, one thigh shoving between yours, pressing up hard against your core. You gasped at the sudden pressure, hips rolling instinctively, and he let out a low, dark sound that vibrated through his chest.
“Greedy already,” he muttered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “That’s my girl.”
His mouth trailed down wet, open kisses along your jaw, your throat, until he reached the curve where neck met shoulder. He paused there, lips hovering, breath cool against your heated skin. You felt his fangs: long, sharp, and they grazed lightly, teasing.
“Do it,” you whispered, threading your fingers into his wild hair and tugging. “Eddie, bite me.”
A shudder ripped through him. Then he struck.
His teeth sank into the soft flesh just above your collarbone, deep and sure. Pain flared bright and hot for a split second—then melted into something liquid and filthy and perfect. You cried out, back arching hard against the tree, but it wasn’t a scream of hurt. It was pure, overwhelming want.
The pull of his mouth was rhythmic, greedy, each swallow sending sparks straight down your spine and between your legs. Warm blood trickled down your skin where it escaped his lips, and he chased it with his tongue, lapping it up like he couldn’t waste a drop.
“Fuck—Eddie—” Your voice broke into a moan as he ground his hips against you, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently through his jeans. He was already rock hard, rutting slow and deliberate like he was savoring the way you fell apart from his bite alone.
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips smeared dark red, eyes blown wide and feral. “Tastes so fucking good,” he growled, voice thicker, more aggressive. “Like you were made for this. For me.” He licked over the fresh punctures again, slower this time, and you felt the throb of the bite marks pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
Then he bit down a second time, a little lower, reopening and deepening the mark on your collarbone. The pain spiked sharper this time, but it only made the heat between your legs worse. Your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging through his shirt as pleasure coiled tight and vicious in your belly. Every pull of his mouth synced with the slow grind of his thigh against your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge without even getting your clothes off.
He finally released the bite with a wet sound, licking over the wounds once more. Blood still welled slowly from the two deep punctures, staining your skin and the collar of your shirt. He didn’t try to close them. Just stared at the mess he’d made, breathing hard, something dark and possessive flashing across his face.
“Need you,” he rasped. “Right fucking now.”
His hands were frantic but sure: yanking your jeans open, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear just enough to free one leg. He didn’t bother with the rest. One of his hands shoved between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your slick folds and pushing inside you without warning. You keened, head falling back against the tree as he curled them deep, stroking that spot that made your vision spark.
“So wet already,” he muttered, almost accusing, as it pissed him off how ready you were for him. “All this for a dead man?”
“For you,” you gasped, hips bucking into his hand. “Always for you.”
He snarled, like actually snarled, and pulled his fingers free. You heard the clink of his belt, the harsh rasp of his zipper, and then the blunt, thick head of his cock was nudging at your entrance, slick with your own arousal. He didn’t ease in. He thrust forward in one rough snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt.
The stretch burned in the best way. You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as best you could with your jeans still tangled around one ankle. Eddie didn’t give you time to adjust. He fucked you hard against the tree: deep, punishing strokes that slammed you back into the bark with every thrust. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced beside your head, fingers digging into the wood.
Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. Every snap of his hips made the bite marks on your collarbone throb hotter, blood still slowly trickling down your chest. You were dripping down his cock, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet woods.
“Look at me,” he demanded, voice dark and rough. When you did, his eyes were glowing faintly, fangs still extended, lips and chin stained with you. “That’s it. Want you to see exactly what’s fucking you.”
You moaned his name like a prayer, fingers clawing at his shoulders as the coil inside you wound tighter and tighter. He leaned in and bit down on the same spot on your collarbone again, shallower this time, more possessive than feeding; teeth sinking in just enough to reopen the wounds and send fresh sparks of pain-pleasure shooting through you.
That was all it took. You came with a broken shout, walls clamping down around him so hard your vision whited out. Eddie groaned against your skin, hips stuttering, and followed you over the edge a few brutal thrusts later. He spilled deep inside you, hot and endless, grinding through it like he never wanted to stop.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hoot of an owl.
Eddie slowly pulled his fangs free, licking over the still-bleeding bites with surprising gentleness, smearing the blood across your skin rather than sealing it. He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, body still trembling with aftershocks.
“…Still me?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse, the aggression bleeding back into something almost vulnerable. “Even like this?”
You carded your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly until he lifted his head and met your eyes. Your collarbone throbbed, warm blood still trickling slowly down your chest, but you didn’t care.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice wrecked.
He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh, then kissed you: slow this time, tasting like blood and sex and home. The woods felt quieter now. Safer. Like, even the trees approved. He didn’t pull out right away. Just held you there against the pine, cock softening inside you, arms wrapped tight like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
He doesn’t say much after.
The shift is immediate, almost jarring, compared to what just happened. The sharp edge of him dulls, the hunger settling back under his skin like something leashed, barely. He helps you fix your clothes without making a big deal out of it, hands slower now, more careful, like he’s overcorrecting.
You notice he avoids looking at your neck for too long. The walk back is quiet.
His shoulder brushes yours every now and then, like he can’t help it, like he needs the contact to remind himself you’re still there. The woods feel different now, less threatening, like they’ve already taken what they wanted from the night.
When you reach the edge of the trailer park, he stops. You take another step before realizing he didn’t follow. Turning back, your chest tightens at the sight of him standing just beyond the dim glow of the streetlight, half-shadowed, like he belongs more to the dark than the world you’re about to walk back into.
“You’re not coming?” you ask softly.
His jaw shifts. “I can’t… not right now,” he says, quieter than before, like he’s choosing restraint over instinct. “Too many people. Too close.”
Your hand lifts slightly, like you’re going to reach for him again, but you stop yourself.
“Hey,” he adds quickly, taking a step closer, just enough to soften the distance but not close it completely. His eyes flick over you, lingering for a second on your collarbone before snapping back up. “You okay?”
You nod, even though your body still feels like it’s humming. “Yeah.”
“You?”
He huffs something that almost sounds like a laugh. “Ask me tomorrow.”
That earns the smallest ghost of a smile from you. Silence lingers for a second longer before you turn, walking the rest of the way alone. You don’t look back, but you can feel him there, watching, making sure you make it inside.
The next day feels wrong. Too bright. Too normal. The hum of the cafeteria, the clatter of trays, people laughing like nothing ever happened. It all feels like it’s happening behind glass.
You sit across from Dustin, barely picking at your food, your body still heavy with exhaustion, your mind somewhere else entirely. You can feel it. Every little movement pulls at your skin differently now, a dull ache blooming across your collarbone where his teeth had been.
You thought you covered it. You really did. A hoodie. Hair down. Sitting just right. But Dustin’s eyes narrow slightly.
“…You good?” he asks, already suspicious.
You nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
His gaze lingers, scanning your face, your posture—then drops, just for a second, to your collarbone where your hoodie has shifted ever so slightly.
His expression changes. “Whoa—hey, what is that?”
Your stomach drops. “What?” you ask, too fast.
“That,” he says, leaning forward a little, pointing subtly. “On your neck—did you—did you fall or something?”
Your hand flies up instinctively, covering it. “Oh, yeah,” you laugh, but it comes out tight, forced. “I, um… slipped. Last night. By the lake.”
Dustin’s brows pull together immediately. “By the lake?” he repeats. “At night?”
You shrug, avoiding his eyes, picking at your sleeve like it’s suddenly very interesting. “Yeah, I just… went for a walk. Cleared my head. Tripped on something.”
He leans back slowly, still watching you. “…That looks like more than a fall,” he mutters.
Your heart is pounding now. “It’s not,” you insist, a little sharper than you mean to. Then softer, quickly, “I’m okay, Dust. Really.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, like he knows you’re lying. “…Okay,” he says finally, but there’s no conviction in it. “Just—be careful, alright?”
You nod. But your fingers are still pressed lightly against your collarbone. And you can still feel it. The faint, lingering throb of where Eddie had bitten you. Like something that hasn’t quite let go.
By last period, you couldn’t sit still anymore. The classroom felt too loud, too bright, too normal, like the world had the audacity to keep spinning when yours had been completely ripped apart and stitched back together wrong. Your fingers kept drifting to your collarbone, wincing at the dull, throbbing ache beneath your hoodie, a constant reminder of last night. Of him.
“Not safe.”
The word echoed, over and over. You couldn’t accept that. So you left.
Mumbling something about needing the bathroom, you slipped out of study hall and down the quiet hallway, your footsteps echoing too sharply against the tile. The library was nearly empty, just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the soft rustle of pages somewhere in the distance. Good. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this.
You moved straight to the back, where the older shelves sat untouched, fingers trailing over worn spines until you started pulling books at random: occult, folklore, mythology, stacking them in your arms until it was almost too much to carry.
You dropped into a chair, the stack hitting the table with a dull thud, immediately flipping one open. Vampires.
Your stomach twisted. You skimmed quickly, eyes darting across the page. Wooden stakes. Garlic. Sunlight. You scoffed quietly, flipping past it. That wasn’t him.
Another page. Another book. More of the same. Until something different. Your eyes slowed.
“In certain cases, transformation does not erase identity, but distorts it. The subject may retain emotional memory, particularly toward individuals of strong attachment, though this often manifests as intensified fixation or hunger.”
Your breath caught, your fingers clenching against the page. You could hear it again, your heartbeat last night. The way his eyes flicked. The way he stepped back.
You swallowed hard, flipping the page faster now. Curecurecure. There had to be something.
You scanned, jumping between paragraphs, piecing together fragments that didn’t quite fit.
Some claimed:
kill the one who turned them
restore humanity through emotional anchors
blood rituals, reversal rites
Nothing was consistent, nothing was certain. Your chest tightened. “No…” You whispered under your breath, flipping another page, more frantic now. “There has to be something—”
Another book. You grabbed it quickly, fingers trembling slightly as you opened it, scanning faster, messier—And then you stopped. Your eyes locked onto a section halfway down the page.
“Methods of becoming vary across accounts. In most traditions, transformation requires the exchange of blood: the human must ingest the vampire’s blood, followed by death. Upon revival, the subject completes the transition through their first feeding.”
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. You read it again, slower this time. Exchange of blood. Death. Revival.
Your grip tightened on the page. Your mind flickered—His blood. His teeth. The way he said you didn’t know what you were asking for. Your breathing started to pick up. You shouldn’t keep reading. You knew you shouldn’t, but you did.
“In rare interpretations, the act is voluntary, often driven by emotional attachment. However, such transformations are considered unstable, as pre-existing bonds may intensify both loyalty and dependency between the two.”
Your chest rose sharply. Voluntary. Your fingers drifted back to your collarbone again, pressing lightly against the tender skin, feeling the faint pulse beneath it. You thought about the lake. About how close you were. About what you said to him.
“I don’t care if you hurt me.”
Your throat went dry. Because now, this wasn’t just about saving him. Your eyes lingered on the page, unmoving. Because now you knew there was a way to stay with him. Forever.
By the time you make it back, the sky has already gone dark. The trailer park is quiet in that eerie, late-night way, a few dim porch lights flickering on in the distance, but Eddie’s trailer sits still and dark, just like it has every night this past week.
Wayne’s at the plant, you already know that. Still, the silence feels heavier tonight.
You fumble with the handle, stepping inside, the door creaking softly behind you as it shuts. The air is cool, untouched, the faint scent of him lingering in a way that makes your chest ache before you can stop it.
You don’t turn the lights on. You just stand there for a second. Letting your eyes adjust. Letting the quiet settle around you. Your bag slips from your shoulder onto the floor with a soft thud, your fingers drifting absentmindedly to your collarbone again, tracing the tender skin beneath your hoodie. Exchange of blood. Death. Revival.
Your stomach twists. You take a step forward, and a hand clamps over your mouth. Your body jerks violently, a scream caught in your throat as you’re yanked backward, your back hitting a solid chest, your heart instantly slamming against your ribs in pure panic—“Shh—hey, hey—”
The voice hits you first. Low. Familiar. Your breath stutters. And then, a quiet, almost amused hum against your ear.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Your entire body goes still. The hand over your mouth loosens slowly, like he knows you won’t scream now, like he knows exactly what that voice does to you. You turn in his hold, your breath uneven, eyes wide, and there he is.
Closer than he’s been since last night. Closer than he probably should be. Your chest rises sharply.
“You—” your voice catches, still shaky from the suddenness of it. “You scared the shit out of me—”
“Yeah, I got that,” he murmurs, something almost playful threading through his tone as his hands settle at your waist, steadying you like you might fall apart otherwise. But something’s different. Not just that he’s here. It’s the way he’s looking at you. Brighter. Sharper.
There’s an energy to him now that wasn’t there last night, something less restrained, less afraid. Like whatever was holding him back has loosened. Your breath catches slightly.
“You’re… here,” you say, softer now, like you’re still not entirely convinced this is real.
“Yeah,” he says easily, like it’s nothing, like showing up in your dark house unannounced is completely normal. His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your side, a small, grounding touch that lingers a second too long. “Miss me?”
There’s a hint of something there. Something warmer. Something almost possessive. Your stomach flips.
His gaze flickers over your face, then lower, to your throat. To your collarbone. Where the marks sit hidden beneath fabric. His jaw tightens for just a second. Then relaxes.
“You went digging today,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Your heart stops. “…What?”
His lips twitch slightly, like he’s entertained by your reaction. “Library,” he adds, tilting his head just a bit, watching you carefully. “Back shelves. Occult section. You always go straight for the good stuff.”
Your breath goes shallow. “How do you—”
“I can feel you,” he cuts in, softer now, stepping just a little closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Remember?” Your pulse spikes instantly.
Something in his expression shifts at the sound of it, something darker, something pleased in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“Told you,” he murmurs.
You swallow hard. “I was just looking,” you manage, your voice uneven.
“For a cure?” he asks.
Your silence is answer enough. A quiet hum leaves him, something thoughtful, something almost amused.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Figured.”
Your brows pull together. “You don’t want one?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
His eyes snap back to yours. And for a second, there’s something intense there. Something that wasn’t there before. “Why would I?” he asks, quieter now, but there’s weight behind it.
Your chest tightens. “Because this isn’t—this isn’t you,” you say, stepping back slightly, even though you don’t really want to. “You said it yourself, you’re not the same—”
“I said I’m not safe,” he corrects, stepping forward to close the distance you just created, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Or maybe he does.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not me.” His voice is firmer now, more certain. And there’s something else underneath it, something that feels dangerously close to attachment.
“I feel more like myself than I have in a long time,” he adds, quieter, his gaze softening just slightly as it traces over your face. “Everything’s clearer now.”
Your heart is racing again. And he’s closer, so much closer.
“You,” he says softly, almost like he’s thinking out loud now, his hand lifting without hesitation, brushing lightly along your arm. “You’re louder, though.”
Your breath hitches. His fingers trail slowly upward. Intentional. Measured. Until they stop just beneath your collarbone. Right where it still aches.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, something warmer creeping back in. “Could feel it from here.”
Your pulse jumps violently. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and focused. “Tell me what you found,” he says softly. It doesn’t feel like a request. Your throat feels tight. His fingers are still resting just beneath your collarbone, warm, deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, like he can feel every shift in your pulse under his touch.
You swallow hard. “I…” your voice falters for a second, your eyes flicking down before forcing yourself to meet his again. “I found a way.”
That catches his attention immediately. His hand stills. “A way to what?” he asks, quieter now, something cautious slipping into his tone.
Your heart pounds. “To turn,” you admit, the word sitting heavy between you. “Like you.”
His expression changes. Not dramatically, not violently, but enough. The warmth in his face pulls back slightly, something more guarded taking its place, something that wasn’t there a second ago.
“No,” he says, almost instantly. It’s not loud, but it’s firm.
You blink. “Eddie—”
“No,” he repeats, sharper this time, his hand dropping from your collarbone as he takes a small step back, like he needs the space to think. “We’re not—no.”
Your chest tightens. “You didn’t even hear what I found—”
“I don’t need to,” he cuts in, running a hand through his hair, pacing once like he did the night before, like he’s trying to burn off the reaction. “You don’t get to just decide that.”
“I’m not deciding,” you snap back, frustration creeping in. “I’m thinking about it, because you’re standing here telling me you’re not safe, and I’m supposed to just—what? Pretend that fixes itself?”
“That’s not your problem to fix,” he says quickly.
“It is if it’s you,” you shoot back.
He stops pacing, turning to look at you. Something flickers again: conflict, frustration, something softer buried underneath. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, quieter now, but no less serious.
“And you don’t get to decide that for me,” you reply, just as soft, but stubborn.
Another silence, longer this time. Then, he exhales, long and slow. Like he’s letting the tension bleed out instead of letting it explode. “…We’re not doing this tonight,” he mutters, more to himself than you.
Your brows knit. “What?”
“We’re not talking about this,” he clarifies, glancing at you again, something gentler creeping back in despite himself. “Not when you just—” his jaw tightens slightly. “Not when everything’s still this.”
Your frustration lingers, but it softens around the edges. “…Then what are we doing?” you ask.
He hesitates. Then something shifts. “Normal,” he says, like he’s testing the word out. “We’re gonna try normal.”
You almost laugh. “Normal?” you echo.
“Yeah,” he shrugs lightly, though there’s something intentional behind it. “Like we used to. Before all the—” he gestures vaguely, meaning everything. “Sit on the couch. Watch something stupid. Not much talking, especially not about blood or turning or any of that.”
Your chest tightens from the effort in it. At the way he’s trying. “…Okay,” you say quietly.
The TV hums softly in the background. Some random late-night rerun you’re not even really paying attention to flickers across the screen, casting dim light across the trailer. The only real illumination in the room.
Your shoulder brushes his, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Neither do you. For a while, it’s quiet. Almost normal. Almost. Until his hand finds yours. Slow. Careful. Like he’s asking without saying anything.
You turn slightly toward him. He’s already looking at you. And something about that look; softer now, less restrained, but still intense—makes your breath catch.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
You huff out the smallest breath of a laugh. “Hi.”
And then he leans in. The kiss is slower than last night. Not desperate. Not hungry in the same way. But it’s still him.
Warm, familiar, a little rough around the edges, like he doesn’t quite know how to do gentle anymore but he’s trying anyway. His hand lifts to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he deepens it, pulling you just a little closer.
You melt into it. Your fingers curl into his shirt, grounding yourself in something that feels real, something that feels like before, even if it’s not. His other hand settles at your waist, steady, holding you there like he doesn’t want to let go.
For a moment, you almost forget. Forget the lake. Forget the blood. Forget everything. It’s just him. Just you. Just this. Until—
“—authorities are still investigating what appears to be a brutal animal attack—”
The words cut through the room. Sharp. You both freeze. The TV drones on, the volume low but suddenly too loud.
“…local Hawkins farm reported multiple livestock found drained of blood earlier this morning…”
Your stomach drops. Eddie goes completely still beside you. You pull back slowly, your breath catching as you look at him. His eyes are locked on the TV. Unblinking.
“…no signs of known predators—”
The reporter’s voice continues, but it fades under the sound of your own heartbeat. His throat moves like he’s swallowing something down. “Eddie…?” you whisper.
He doesn’t look at you. Not right away. When he finally does, there’s something different there again. Something darker.
“I didn’t do that,” he says quickly. Too quickly. Your heart stutters.
“I didn’t,” he repeats, softer now, like he needs you to believe it. “I haven’t—” He cuts himself off. Because the silence after that says enough.
The silence after the TV report lingers longer than it should, stretching thin and tight between you like something waiting to snap, the low hum of the broadcast still flickering in the background as neither of you moves, neither of you quite sure how to bridge the space that just opened up.
You’re still half turned toward him, your body angled in, your lips parted like you were about to say something, but the words stall somewhere in your throat when you catch the way he’s looking at the screen, too still, too focused, like he’s listening to something deeper than the report itself.
“Eddie…” your voice comes softer this time, less accusing, more careful.
He exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face as if he’s trying to steady himself before he answers, and when he does, his voice is quieter, but more grounded. “I didn’t do that,” he says, not defensive now, just certain, his gaze finally shifting back to you. “I haven’t gone anywhere near the farms.”
Your shoulders loosen slightly at that, not fully, but enough, your eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any crack in what he’s saying.
“Then what have you been doing?” you ask, your tone gentler now, curious more than afraid.
There’s a brief pause, like he’s deciding how honest to be, before he answers. “I feed,” he says simply, the bluntness of it still making your chest tighten, even if you were expecting it. “Just not like that.”
You nod slightly, like you already understand, like you’ve already accepted it in a way that surprises even you. “On what?” you ask quietly.
“Whatever I can find out in the woods,” he says, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “Deer, squirrels… anything that keeps it under control without hurting anyone.”
The way he says it, like it matters, like you matter in that equation, settles something in your chest instead of stirring fear. Your gaze drops briefly, then lifts again, softer now. “And me?”
The question comes out gently. Something shifts in him again, but this time it isn’t sharp or defensive; it’s quieter, more intentional, the kind of care that feels heavier than anything else he’s said.
“That’s different,” he says, stepping closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s making sure you have time to move away if you want to.
“I only feed on you if you let me,” he continues, his voice low, steady, grounded in something that feels like a promise instead of a warning. “I’m not gonna take from you. Not unless you ask me to.”
Your breath catches slightly, but not from fear. From the weight of it. From the way he’s choosing restraint, even now. You nod once, small but certain, your fingers brushing lightly over your collarbone where the marks still ache faintly beneath your clothes.
“Okay,” you say softly. And you mean it.
Something in his shoulders eases at that, just slightly, like he was waiting for resistance that never came, like your acceptance steadies him more than anything else could. The quiet settles again, but it feels different now, less sharp, less threatening, like something fragile has been acknowledged instead of avoided.
And then—A knock. Loud. Sudden. Jarring against everything you just built. You both flinch slightly, your head snapping toward the door as the sound comes again, sharper this time.
“Hey! Open up!”
Your stomach drops instantly. “Shit,” you breathe, already moving, already piecing it together.
“Who is that?” Eddie asks quickly, his body shifting, alert now, the ease from seconds ago gone in an instant.
“Dustin,” you say, your voice rushing as you glance toward the door, then back to him. “And—wait—”
Another voice filters through. “…and Mike and Will.”
Everything in the room shifts. Eddie stills for half a second, then moves, the motion so fast it barely registers, one moment standing in front of you and the next already at the window, pushing it open with quiet precision as the curtain flutters in the sudden rush of cool air.
“Eddie—” you start, your voice catching as you follow him with your eyes.
He glances back at you once, his expression sharper now, focused. “Act normal,” he says quietly. And then he’s gone. The absence hits just as quickly as his presence did, the window left slightly ajar, the night air slipping in as if nothing had happened at all.
Another knock rattles the door. “Seriously, open up!”
You force your breathing to steady as you move toward it, your hand lingering on the handle for half a second before you pull it open. Dustin stands there, eyes wide and alert, with Mike and Will just behind him, all three of them looking like they came here with a purpose.
“What’s going on?” you ask, keeping your tone as even as possible as you step aside to let them in.
Dustin doesn’t answer right away, already moving past you into the trailer like he’s mid-thought, like he’s been running through something in his head for a while now. “Okay, don’t freak out,” he says, which immediately makes your chest tighten, “but something weird is going on.”
Mike shuts the door behind them, glancing back at you briefly before looking at Dustin again. “The farm thing isn’t normal,” he adds quickly. “Like, at all.”
Will lingers near the doorway for a second longer, his expression more unsettled than the others, his gaze flickering around the space like he’s trying to place something he can’t quite name. “It doesn’t feel like before,” he says quietly. “But it’s still… wrong.”
Your heart is still beating a little too fast, but you keep your posture steady, your expression neutral. “…What are you saying?” you ask.
“That it might be happening again,” Dustin says, turning toward you now, his voice dropping slightly. “Like, Vecna, Upside Down, again.”
The words settle heavily in the room. Behind them, the window remains cracked open, the curtain shifting slightly with the breeze. Dustin pauses. His nose wrinkles slightly. He takes a small step forward, like he’s trying to place something.
“…Do you guys smell that?” he asks slowly.
Your entire body stills.
Mike frowns, glancing around. “Smell what?”
“Like—” Dustin gestures vaguely. “Smoke, or something.”
Will tilts his head slightly, his expression tightening. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I do.”
Your mind moves quickly, faster than your fear can catch up. You let out a small breath, shaking your head lightly as if it’s nothing, stepping casually further into the room, subtly positioning yourself between them and the window.
“It’s probably just me,” you say, your tone easy, almost dismissive. “I’ve been staying here all week, remember? Wearing his clothes and everything.” You give a small shrug, like it’s obvious. “They still smell like him.”
Dustin studies you, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he takes that in, like he’s weighing it, turning it over. “…Yeah,” he says finally, though it comes out slower than before. “Okay. That makes sense.”
But something in his expression lingers, like he’s not fully convinced. And as the conversation shifts, as they start throwing around theories and half-formed explanations, your attention drifts anyway, your focus pulling somewhere else entirely.
Toward the window. Toward the dark just beyond it. Because even though he’s gone, you can still feel him there. Waiting.
The conversation drags on longer than you can focus on, Dustin pacing, Mike throwing out theories, Will quieter than the rest, his eyes drifting every so often like he’s trying to feel something just out of reach. You nod when you’re supposed to, answer when they look at you, but your attention is already somewhere else.
The window. The slight movement of the curtain. The feeling that hasn’t left your chest since he disappeared. Eventually, they leave.
Not all at once, not dramatically, just a slow unraveling of urgency that turns into, “We’ll check the farm tomorrow,” and “Just—be careful, okay?” and Dustin lingering for a second longer than the others, like he wants to say something else but doesn’t.
The window is still open, the curtain lifting slightly with the night air, and for a moment there’s nothing there, just darkness and trees and the distant hum of insects. Your heart sinks—“Miss me already?”
You don’t even flinch this time. He’s sitting on the edge of the window frame like he never left, one leg inside, one still outside, his hands braced loosely on either side of him, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
You exhale, something soft and almost relieved escaping you. “You’re not subtle,” you say quietly.
He smirks, just a little. “Never claimed to be.”
But there’s something else there tonight. He drops down fully into the trailer, landing without a sound, straightening slowly as his eyes find you again, and the air shifts almost immediately, like something has tightened between you without either of you saying a word.
“You okay?” he asks, softer now, stepping closer.
You nod. “They think it’s Vecna again.”
His jaw ticks slightly. “Figures.”
Then your eyes flick to him, something heavier sitting behind them now. “I found something else,” you say.
He already knows where this is going. You can see it in the way his shoulders shift, in the way his gaze sharpens just slightly.
“We’re not—” he starts.
“I’m not saying we’re doing it,” you cut in quickly, stepping closer, your voice quieter now but more intense. “I’m just saying… I know how.”
That stops him. Not fully—but enough. Your heart is already starting to race again, your thoughts moving faster than your caution.
“It’s not random,” you continue, your words coming a little quicker now, like if you stop you won’t be able to say it at all. “It’s controlled. Blood, then—death, then—”
“Stop.” The word is soft, but it sticks.
“You shouldn’t even be thinking about that,” he says, quieter now, his voice losing its edge and slipping into something lower, something more dangerous in a completely different way.
“Why?” you ask, your breath catching slightly. “If I were like you, you wouldn’t have to hold back.”
His eyes snap to yours, and something flickers. Not anger, not exactly. Something deeper. “You think that fixes it?” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice dropping with each word. “You think that makes this easier?”
Your heart is pounding now, loud and fast. He hears it, clenching his jaw. “I think it means I don’t have to watch you fight yourself every time you look at me,” you whisper.
That does it. The space between you disappears. He’s in front of you in a second, one hand coming up to your jaw, not rough but firm, tilting your head just enough that you have no choice but to look at him.
“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?” he asks, voice low, strained, but not pulling away this time.
Your breath stutters. “Yes.”
And you mean it. That’s what makes it worse. His gaze drops to your throat, your collarbone, the marks. Still there. Still his. His thumb brushes just beneath them, slow, deliberate, like he’s remembering exactly how they got there. Your pulse spikes.
His breath catches. You nod your head, eyes flicking between him and your neck.
That’s all it takes. He leans in, but not to kiss you. His mouth hovers just above your skin, right where your pulse is strongest, his breath cool against the warmth of you, and for a second, just a second, he doesn’t move. Like he’s deciding. Like he’s choosing.
Then, his hand tightens slightly at your jaw. And he bites. This time, it’s not hesitant. His teeth sink in deeper, sharper, a sudden flare of pain that makes your body jolt, your hands gripping onto him instantly—but it melts just as quickly into something heavier, hotter, pulling a broken sound from your throat as your knees threaten to give out.
His arm wraps around your waist before you can fall, holding you upright as he drinks, slower than before but more certain, like he’s stopped second-guessing himself, like he’s giving in just enough to take what he needs without losing control completely.
Your heartbeat is everywhere. In your ears. In your chest. In him. He groans softly against your skin, the sound low and rough, and it sends something sharp down your spine, your fingers tangling in his shirt as your body leans into him instead of away.
“Fuck—” he breathes, barely pulling back, his lips brushing over the wound before he presses in again, not as deep this time, more controlled, more measured, like he’s pacing himself.
You don’t tell him to stop. You don’t want to. Your vision blurs slightly at the edges, your body warm, heavy, your head falling lightly against his shoulder as your grip on him tightens.
After a moment, seconds, minutes, you’re not even sure, he pulls back. Breathing harder than he should be. Eyes darker than before. But still him. Still there. His thumb brushes over the bite, slower now, almost grounding, like he’s checking you, making sure you’re still with him.
“…You okay?” he asks, quieter now.
Your breath is uneven, but you nod. “Yeah,” you whisper. And you are, that’s the problem. Because now, you don’t want him to stop.
He doesn’t move right away after pulling back. His hand stays on you, steady and grounding, like he doesn’t trust what happens if he lets go too soon, his thumb brushing slowly over the fresh mark he just left behind, the motion softer now, almost absentminded, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re still here, still breathing, still okay.
“…You okay?” he asks again, his voice quieter this time, rough around the edges in a way that doesn’t come from feeding alone.
Your breathing is uneven, but not in the way it was before, not panicked or disoriented, not slipping out of your control. Something else. Something warmer. You nod, but it comes a second too late, like your body is catching up to the answer your mind already settled on.
“Yeah,” you say softly, your voice slower than usual, a little lower, like it has to travel farther to reach him. “I’m okay.” And you are. That’s the part that feels strange.
Because you don’t pull away, don’t create distance, don’t do anything that would make this feel like something to recover from. Instead, you stay exactly where you are, your body still close to his, your forehead brushing lightly against his shoulder for a second as your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, not out of weakness, but out of something steadier, something more intentional. You feel aware.
Your heartbeat is still fast, but it no longer feels chaotic, no longer something your body is struggling to control. It feels loud, purposeful, like you can feel it everywhere at once, in your throat, in your chest, in the tips of your fingers, like it’s echoing through you instead of staying contained.
Your hand lifts slowly, almost unconsciously, drifting back to your collarbone where the bite sits warm beneath your skin, your fingers brushing over it lightly as if you expect it to hurt more than it does. It doesn’t. If anything, it pulses.
“That didn’t feel like last time,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. He stills immediately, you feel it. Not just in the way his body goes quiet, but in the way his attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto you with something that wasn’t there a second ago.
“What do you mean?” he asks, slower now, more careful.
You hesitate, trying to find the right words, your fingers still resting against your skin. “I don’t know,” you admit softly, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “It just… didn’t hurt the same.” That’s not entirely true. It did hurt. But it wasn’t the part that stayed with you.
Your hand drops back down slowly, your fingers brushing against his shirt again without really thinking about it, grounding yourself in him instead of pulling away.
“I feel fine,” you add, quieter now, but certain. “Better than fine, actually.”
That’s what makes his expression change. Not dramatically, not all at once, but enough. Something sharper underneath both. “You shouldn’t,” he says, almost under his breath, like the words slip out before he can stop them.
Your brows knit slightly. “Why not?” you ask, stepping just a little closer, not enough to overwhelm him, just enough to close the space he created when he pulled back.
His eyes flick down again. Your throat. The mark. Then back up.
“Because that’s not how this is supposed to go,” he says quietly, though there’s less certainty in it now than there was before. “You’re supposed to feel it. The drop. The weakness. Not—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “Not like this.”
You tilt your head slightly, watching him, something softer creeping into your expression, something that almost looks like understanding. “Maybe I’m just different,” you say lightly.
He huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not—” he starts, then stops, like he doesn’t have an answer he trusts.
You step closer again. This time, he doesn’t move. Your hand lifts slowly, deliberate now, resting lightly against his chest again, right where you can feel the absence of a heartbeat beneath your palm, something that should feel wrong but doesn’t, not anymore.
“You don’t have to hold back with me,” you say, your voice soft but steady, your eyes locked onto his.
Something in him tightens instantly. “You’re not supposed to want that,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher, like he’s fighting the pull of something he doesn’t fully understand.
Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt. “I want you,” you answer.
And that’s what makes it dangerous. The air between you shifts again, heavier now, charged in a way that feels different from before, less frantic, more intentional, like something is settling into place instead of breaking apart. His gaze lingers on you longer this time, searching, conflicted, but not pulling away. Not saying no.
After everything settles, after the tension ebbs into something softer, something heavier and more fragile, the two of you don’t say much. The TV keeps playing in the background, some late-night rerun neither of you is watching anymore, the low glow casting shadows across the trailer as the night stretches on around you.
At some point, you both drift toward his room without really deciding to. It feels natural. Familiar. Like muscle memory, and your body hasn’t forgotten. The bed dips slightly as you sit, then shift, then settle, the space still carrying that faint, lingering trace of him that you’ve been clinging to all week, except now he’s actually there, close enough to touch, close enough to feel.He hesitates for a second before lying down beside you. Not too far, but not close enough to overwhelm.
The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, just full, like there are too many things sitting underneath it to sort through right now. Your fingers drift absently over the blanket, your mind still caught somewhere between what just happened and what it means.
“You should sleep,” he says after a while, his voice softer now, worn down in a way that feels more human than anything else tonight.
You let out a small breath. “You don’t?”
“Don’t need to,” he corrects lightly.
You turn your head slightly toward him, your voice quieter. “You can still stay.”
He pauses, like he’s really thinking about it. Then, “…Yeah."
Not touching at first, just lying there beside you, the space between you small but intentional, like he’s still trying to hold some kind of line even now. But sleep comes quicker than you expect, your body heavier than it should be, your thoughts slipping under before you can follow them all the way through.
The last thing you feel is the faint shift of him beside you. Closer.
When you wake up, the room is empty. The space beside you is cold. You don’t panic, not this time. There’s no jolt, no sharp inhale, no frantic search of the room like he might still be hiding somewhere just out of sight. Instead, you just lie there for a second, staring at the ceiling, your fingers drifting slowly across the sheets until they find the place he had been.
You sit up slowly, your body still feeling off. Not weak. Not sick. Just different. Your hand lifts almost immediately to your collarbone, brushing lightly over the marks, expecting them to feel worse in the morning.
They don’t. If anything, they feel… settled. Like your body has already accepted them. Your brows pull together slightly at that, your thumb pressing there again, testing it, but there’s no sharp pain, no lingering soreness that matches what should be there.
“That’s not…” You murmur under your breath, trailing off. Your stomach twists. You already know where you’re going.
The library is quieter than yesterday. Or maybe it just feels that way. You move faster this time, more focused, more intentional, heading straight for the same section without hesitation, pulling the same books, plus a few more, stacking them in front of you like you’re building something out of answers you haven’t found yet.
You flip through pages quickly at first, scanning, searching, your fingers moving faster than your thoughts can organize. Vampires. Feeding. Transformation. Bonding. Your eyes catch on a section you didn’t notice before.
You slow, reading more carefully this time.
“In certain traditions, a vampire’s bite is not solely predatory, but also manipulative. The saliva introduced during feeding may contain compounds—supernatural or otherwise—that dull pain and heighten emotional response, often resulting in increased attachment, euphoria, or compliance in the victim.”
Your breath stills. You read it again, slower. Dull pain. Heightened emotional response. Attachment.
Your fingers tighten slightly on the page. “…Okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything else. That explains it. The way it felt was different. The way you didn’t pull away. The way you didn’t want to.
You flip the page.
“Repeated exposure may intensify these effects, reinforcing emotional bonds between vampire and human subject. In some cases, individuals may begin to seek out the bite voluntarily.”
Your chest tightens. Your mind flashes back: the way you stepped closer, the way you said you didn’t care, the way you told him not to hold back.
Your hand lifts again, brushing over your collarbone, slower this time. Intentional. “…That’s not me,” you murmur, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to you. Another line catches your eye.
“Despite these effects, the subject remains fully human unless transformation is completed through ritualistic means. Emotional influence should not be mistaken for physical conversion.”
You exhale slowly and steadily. So you’re not turning. But something is happening. Something that makes it easier to say yes. Easier to want more. Your gaze lingers on the page a second longer before you close the book, your fingers resting on the cover as your thoughts settle into something quieter, something more dangerous.
i hope you all enjoyed! be on the lookout, Petals 3 will be out soon. as always, thank you for the love and support. till the next one <3
Let Me In - Eddie Munson X Virgin!Fem!Reader (Smut)
Summary - Yours and Eddie's first time together
Warnings - Strong Language / Corruption kink (?) / Mentions of Breeding / Oral (F Receiving) / Fingering / Mentions of Spitting / Praise Kink / Protected Sex / Choking / Riding / Multiple Orgasms
Word Count - 3k
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"Just let me know when it gets too much, sweetheart, and I'll stop."
You nodded bashfully, your stomach muscles tensing under the delicate tips of Eddie's fingers. They barely skimmed the surface of your goosebumped flesh as they trailed upward, dragging your shirt with them. His lips followed the path of his fingers, grazing along every inch of your soft skin as it became exposed. They never pressed against you, though, not in the way that you wanted them to. He was too chivalrous, respecting your boundaries and not daring to cross them.
He reached the underwire of your bra, gripping the bunched material of your shirt in his palms to refrain from lifting it any higher. His head raised, round eyes pleading silently for permission, which you hesitantly gave. His palms splayed over your rib cage, and his lips finally pressed softly between them in gratitude.
His calloused hands continued upwards until your upper body was completely exposed. As he threw your shirt to the side, he couldn't help but admire you. The way the swell of your breasts heaved from the confines of your bra with every anticipated breath. The way your stomach did the same, hiding your womb behind supple flesh, a womb he so desperately wanted to fill with his seed.
But perhaps another time.
Your arms crossed over your chest shyly. "It's alright, sweetheart." Eddie comforted. "You don't need to hide from me."
"It's not fair." Your timid voice barely reached his ears as you removed your arms from yourself, but the way your gentle fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt told him exactly what you had meant.
He loved seeing you so torn: so shy and inexperienced, yet desperate for him. Wanting more, but not knowing how to ask for it. That would come in time, of course, Eddie was almost certain of it. You were such an obedient little thing, Eddie knew it wouldn't take long for him to teach you how to beg. How to use your words to tell him exactly what you wanted.
Oh, the dirty things that would come out of that innocent mouth of yours.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
The cool air of his bedroom snapped him back to reality as he pulled off his shirt. His pants grew tighter at the way your bottom lip pinched between your teeth at the sight of his body. This wasn't the first time you had seen his body, however. Hawkins had reached ridiculous temperatures this past summer, which meant spending days around Harrington's pool. But you had always been too reserved to stare for too long.
But in this setting, in the golden glow of an impending dusk, with just the two of you, you wanted nothing more than to worship him.
Tentative fingers reached out to touch the tattooed skin of his chest. You traced the black ink, his skin burning under your touch. You then repeated his actions in reverse, fingers trailing down his pecks and down his soft stomach. His abs tensed under your touch, and he bit back a moan when you fumbled down his happy trail and rested your hands on his belt.
His voice deepened with arousal as he placed his hands over yours. "Are you sure about this, baby?"
His eyes almost rolled back into his skull when you didn't reply, but instead began to unbuckle his belt with shaking hands. He helped you pull his jeans off his legs, and they fell to the floor with a thud. Your eyes stayed locked on his, too bashful to look down at the prominent bulge that tented his boxers.
He chuckled at your shyness and softly pressed his lips to yours in an unrushed kiss to distract you from the heat blooming on your cheeks. His tongue tenderly lapped against yours, coaxing his saliva deep into your mouth. You relished in the fruity taste of the gum he had chewed on the drive to his trailer.
Without breaking the kiss, his hands softly cupped your breasts, teasingly pinching your nipples through the thin lace, causing you to gasp into his mouth. He did it a second time, and then a third, until you were panting against his lips.
Your clit throbbed against the soft cotton of your shorts, and your hips thrust upwards impulsively in need of friction. Eddie took it as a sign to trail his hands back down your body until they tauntingly hooked under the waistband of your shorts. You raised your hips helpfully as he pulled them down the length of your legs.
His hands immediately clasped the back of your thighs and spread your legs wide before you could hide yourself away from him.
You hadn't been wearing panties this whole time.
Fuck.
He guided a leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips higher and higher up your inner thigh until his mouth hovered over your glistening pussy.
"Eddie." You gasped at the feeling of his hot breath against you, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment, yet too desirous to make him stop.
"Is this okay, baby?"
Fuck, yes.
You nodded eagerly, uncovering your face to thread a hand into his hair and pull him the last few inches towards your aching cunt.
Despite his initial shock at your boldness, he dived right in. His tongue lapped up your leaking juices, spreading them along your folds and over your sensitive clit. He prodded the tip of it into your entrance before licking a solid stroke up to your clit where he suckled it gently into his mouth. You moaned and cooed at the sensation, your hips rolling against his mouth at the delicious friction.
He was extremely messy with it, letting his saliva drool all over you until it pooled in your unused hole and leaked down to your ass. He slurped it back up and rolled his tongue around your sensitive nub again, refraining from violently spitting it back onto your abused clit.
Your moans were unrefrained, and your thighs shook on either side of his head. His right hand unhooked itself from your quivering thigh and glided upwards until the tip of his middle finger prodded at your entrance.
"You gonna let me finger you, baby? Stretch you out ready for my cock?"
"God, yes!" You moaned. But at this point, he could have asked you anything, and you would have agreed, if only it meant he would continue his assault on your pussy.
Your warmth enveloped his finger as he slid it inside of you. His cock swelled in his boxers at your sheer tightness around his single digit. He could only imagine how amazing it would feel to sheathe his girthy length inside of you. His tongue continued to move against you as he thrusted his finger in and out, letting you get used to the sensation before adding another finger.
You gasped as his fingers curled ever so slightly inside of you, pushing you closer to the edge in record time.
But you refrained.
"Wait, baby." You gasped, gently pushing him away.
"What's the matter?"
"I want..." You trailed off, embarrassed.
"You want to stop?"
God no.
You shook your head.
"Then what is it, baby? C'mon, use your words." He coaxed with a gentle kiss on your thigh.
"I want... I want to cum with you inside of me."
Jesus Christ.
He was so fucking proud of you. You were being such a good girl for him. He hoisted himself up and captured your lips in his, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He reached blindly into his bedside drawer and expertly pulled out a single foil packet.
"You sure you're ready for this?" He warned, giving you one last chance to back out.
"I'm positive."
Atta girl.
He held the foil pack between his teeth as he finally freed his aching cock from his boxers. You gasped at the sight of him. You couldn't help but reach out and touch him. A hiss sizzled from between his teeth as you grasped him softly in your hand. He was smooth to the touch, yet riddled with veins. You could just about clasp your fingers around him, but he fit so perfectly in your palm.
Like you were made for each other.
"Can I suck you off?"
Eddie chuckled at your eagerness and wiped the drool from your mouth. "Another time, sweetheart. I need to be inside you."
He helped to show you how to roll the condom along his length, then pulled your thighs around his waist. He lined himself up, staring at you intently to give him the go-ahead, which you did by gently rolling your hips.
His tip slipped inside of you, causing you to gasp already at the fullness from it. Your nails raked against his shoulders, and your eyes squeezed tight as he pushed forward.
"You gotta relax, baby. I promise it'll feel good soon."
You breathed with him slowly, untensing your muscles and unclenching your walls. His arms cocooned around your head, and his lips suckled sweetly on your neck.
"Thaaat's it. Let me in." He pushed in another inch. "Such a good girl for me."
You whimpered at the praise, "You're so big."
"I know, baby, just a little more. You can take it."
With a final groan, he sheathed himself inside of you completely. You bit your lip and dug cresent moons into his shoulder blades as he sat stationary inside of you, letting you adjust to the fullness of him. He kissed your lips again, swallowing every little sound you made when you experimentally rolled your hips. He muttered curses against you when he slipped impossibly deeper inside of you.
He tested a thrust, pulling out almost all of the way before slowly propelling his hips into yours. The size of him took your breath away.
He thrusted again and again until he found a rhythm that had you moaning wildly with every slam of his hips. He trailed kisses from your neck, along your collarbone, to your shoulders, where he slid down the straps of your bra. You had been too overwhelmed with pleasure that you had barely noticed when he had unhooked your bra and thrown it off the bed. It wasn't until his lips latched onto your hardened nipple that you noticed. Your back arched into him, hips raising to create a delicious angle that had the swollen head of his cock right where you needed him the most.
Your tits had become riddled with hickeys, making them sensitive when Eddie's chest pressed against yours. His lips attached to yours as he ground his pubic bone into your clit. A moan caught in your throat, a throat Eddie had to abstain from wrapping his fingers around. The thought of your pulse throbbing against his fingertips as you gasped for breath and choked on moans made his cock twitch inside of you, and your walls clenched around him. He wanted to cut off every little thought to that pretty head of yours, but he supposed he was already halfway there when you chanted his name against his lips like a prayer.
"That feel good, sweetheart?"
"Yes." You panted. "More, please. Harder."
Your wish was his command. He pulled back further and slammed in harder while still keeping his steady rhythm. Your sounds grew louder, and Eddie was sure he would be getting a noise complaint tomorrow morning. His cock speared into you, the ridges of his veins gliding lusciously along your slick walls. He could feel you tightening around him and your body going rigid under his touch. He pulled back to appreciate the fucked out expression on your face. Your brows were scrunched, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure as your mouth hung open to allow your moans and cries of his name to escape.
"Eddie, I'm... I'm gonna--"
"Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock." His hand reached for your clit, edging you on.
Your walls constricted around his length like a python, your erotic venom poising him, making his blood burn with lust. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge with every thrust. Your tightness made it almost impossible for him to hold back. With a final groan, he forced the entirety of his length inside you, feeling himself spill inside the condom as you spasmed around him.
He stayed there for a minute, enjoying the feeling of your walls pulsing around his softening cock. He waited until you had come down from your high before pulling out and lying beside you. He couldn't help the spark of disappointment that ignited within him when he saw the condom completely intact with his heavy load still inside. He pulled it off and threw it in the trash. A part of him had hoped he had pounded into you hard enough to break it, to see his thick seed spilling from your folds. He could feel himself hardening again at the thought, but he soon calmed down when he turned his gaze to you.
You remained on your back, with your head turned away from him. Your chest rose with hiccupping breaths as you sniffled.
Eddie panicked, bringing you into his chest and wiping away your tears. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
You shook your head, burrowing yourself into the sweaty crook of his neck. "No, you were perfect."
"Then what's the matter Sweetheart?" He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.
"I'm... scared"
"Scared?"
"I've never been this close... intimate with anyone before," you blinked back tears. "Whenever I get close to people, they always leave me."
His heart sank. You had been so brave to let him in, to allow him to cherish you in a way that no one else ever had. Nobody else deserved to be this close to you. Eddie wasn't even sure if he deserved it. But pride swelled in his chest. You had accepted him in the way that he had accepted you, with a courageous devotion. Something that took time and trust, and god was it worth it.
He squeezed you tight. "Oh, baby. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
You nodded, but he could tell you didn't believe him.
"Hey, look at me." He held your face tenderly in his hands, cupping your tear-stricken cheeks and wiping them away with a gentle brush of his thumb. "You know why I'm not going anywhere? Because I love you."
"Eddie--"
"Don't think I'm just saying it. I mean it, Y/N. I love you."
"Eddie--"
"And don't feel like you have to say it back. I know you're feeling kind of emotionally overwhelmed right now."
"Eddie--"
"But just know that I'm not leaving your side, okay? You're stuck with me till we're grey and old."
"Eddie!"
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
A smile beamed across his face. "You do?"
"Of course I do." You smiled back, planting your lips on his.
Your tongues melded together, and you began moaning again when Eddie suckled on yours. What once started tenderly had become rushed and desperate, not being able to get enough of each other. Your lips tingled as he nibbled on them, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth before soothing it gently with his tongue.
You found yourself throbbing for him again, dragging your clammy hands along his skin for something to feel, and your hips stuttered against nothing, eager for friction again. Your recent confession had your blood pumping with valour and exhilaration. You pushed against Eddie, rolling his back onto the bed before you clambered on top of him. Your lips never left his when you found your hips rolling along his hardening length, spreading your juices along his shaft.
The two of you moaned when his tip caught against your clit. "You don't have to do this, sweetheart." Eddie panted when you did it again.
"I want to." You breathed against his lips as your fingernails raked down his torso to grasp his length.
You toyed with his sensitive cock, pumping your hand up and down. With your other hand, you reached into his drawer and pulled out another condom. You rolled it onto his length just as he had shown you, causing praises to pass from Eddie's swollen lips. Desperate to feel him again, you sank onto him in one fell swoop, feeling like he filled you up behind your navel. Your thighs shook immediately at the sensation, and you sat on top of him while you adjusted again.
Eddie's hands found themselves on your breasts, kneading the soft tissue and pinching at your nipples. You whimpered exquisitely, placing your hands over his, guiding him to squeeze harder. Your untouched clit pulsed, giving you the motivation to finally grind your hips against his. Your lips pulled between your teeth as you bounced on top of him, the position allowing your fluids to leak so his cock impaled you with little resistance.
Eddie couldn't help thrusting his hips from beneath you, the force of it causing you to fall into him. Your palm steadied against his cheek, feeling the heat bloom as his chest flushed red. Your aching thighs slammed downward to meet him in the middle. The harshness of it made his cock bulge in your stomach.
Both of your moans grew louder with every thrust, until Eddie couldn't contain himself. A hand gave your breast a final squeeze before it wrapped around your pretty little throat and squeezed lightly. Your head spun with pleasure, and you melted into him.
The pressure on your neck made your mind go blank. You practically went limp against him, letting him hold you up by your neck as he quickened the pace of his hips beneath you. He could feel you tightening around him again, your smooth walls strangling his thick length. The feeling spurred him to move faster, his rapid pace causing your orgasm to crash over you unexpectedly soon.
You shuddered above him, letting him prolong your orgasm as he chased his own. After a few more thrusts, he spilt inside of you again.
His hands softly fell from your throat and squeezed your hips, holding you in position before you could even think to move off him. "Stay."
Summary: After a few too many drinks, secrets start to mean less and your skin starts to hum Eddie’s name, whether you feel it or not. He answers the call.
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, PiV unprotected semi-public sex, secret friends with benefits, cream pie, cum eating, little bit of oral (fem rec), dirty talk, drunk!Eddie POV, jealousy, possessiveness, panty stealing, begging, testosterone-off, small physical altercation (not R), desperation station, PDA, switch!Eddie, mild public embarrassment, dubcon (alcohol consumption; one-sided drunk sex), established relationship, Eddie is down horrendously, drunk!horny!Eddie abuses endearments, R wears a skirt (for easy access)
Song Rec: Drunk in Love by Beyoncé
A/N: Happy (almost) Valentine’s Day <3 Also, SURFBOAR— SURFBOAR—
Masterlist
Submission Guidelines
Eddie feels good.
Actually, he feels better than good—
He feels amazing.
The alcohol in his bloodstream is rushing, warming him from the inside out, leaving him flushed in the face.
The smoky bar is playing old Judas Priest tracks.
He’s drunk enough to not care how badly he’s losing the bet—the one he made thinking Steve would easily beat Robin at a billiards game. How was he supposed to know she was some kind of a whiz at Pool?
He’s got his girl to his right and the two bickering boneheads in front of him.
A couple of beers, some smooth vodka, great music, and friendly competition.
What’s not to love?
Although, you do keep inching away from him every time he gets close. He’s not loving that new development.
Somewhere in the back of his mind—before the three pints and the two shots—he recalls your hushed voice in his ear, outside the bar. It was low and sultry. Scratchy and strained, but not like how it gets after a long day of talking. No—
It was the type of strain that happens when you’ve spent too many hours screaming his name. When too many breaths have torn from your chest, ragged and pressed out by the strength of his hips.
That type of strain is his favorite…. But you had said something then—
You leaned close. The music from the bar was leaking out into the muggy, open air of the parking lot. There was noise from the road nearby. Fast cars, rubber peeling off of wet asphalt—
Wet asphalt emanating heat and earthy scents—
And there was you. He could smell you, too. His favorite scent. The perfume you always leave traces of, like love notes he finds well after you’re gone. Proof of your existence in his bed, near his clothes, on him.
You leaned close. Yes, because of the noise—the music, the cars.
And your mouth brushed the shell of his ear and he shuddered. You laughed. Sweet and teasing. You laughed.
He shuddered again, or maybe he was just vibrating with excitement—he could never tell around you. Then he felt what you were saying before you even said it. Your kiss-bitten lips curved so delicately around every syllable.
You called his name.
His favorite shape your mouth makes…
Well, that, and the stretch of—
No. No, you said something. His name. That’s what you said.
That and something else.
What was it?
He closes his eyes, trying to relive the moment— Your mouth against his ear, your hot breath on his skin, his name on your lips…
Fuck, he can’t remember. And damn it, you won’t let him touch you.
You just took yet another shuffle-step to the right. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into you until you did that
Come to think of it, what you said before probably had to do with why you’re not letting him touch you now.
Usually you love it. You welcome his zealous exploration. He knows that, you tell him through the prettiest sighs—
And what you said—well, it felt important at the time. You dropped his hand to say it, so it must’ve been.
But as the golden glow of the hanging light fixture shines down on you, your hair glinting with every movement, his patchy memory no longer seems all that significant.
The sound of dense resin knocking together draws his attention to the table, the green surface missing one less solid colored ball.
“Yes!” Robin calls out, pumping her fist victoriously.
“Shit!” Steve curses at the same time, stamping the butt of his wooden cue on the floor.
“Oof, rough go, Steve.” You smirk, pretty as a picture.
Eddie wishes you’d look at him like that.
Subtly, he brushes his arm against yours—the one that’s holding your beer. His eyes practically roll at the heat rippling across your soft skin.
But you move away at the first contact. That’s really starting to get on his nerves. Because what, is he radioactive or something? What’s so bad about him wanting to hold you?
You lean forward. “Maybe if you—”
“No speak from the opposition!” Steve shouts stiltedly, sending an accusatory finger your way. His eyes flit from you to the table as he strategizes his next shot. “I will not let your womanly wiles corrupt me—”
“Mm, I would,” Eddie purrs lowly, floating into your orbit. His leisurely efforts are abruptly halted, though, when you jab a knuckle into his side.
Steve paces, wearing a chasm into the chipped, creaky floorboards of the old dive bar. “If you had bet on me like you should’ve, then maybe I’d hear you out. But since you’ve left me scorned, I’d like to keep my dignity intact, thank you.”
“For now,” Robin simpers, sending you a side-long glance. “Or wait, do we think he had any to begin with?”
“Mmm, jury’s still out—” you shrug, lips curled like you’re trying not to laugh at the frazzled man’s brewing tantrum.
Eddie giggles, “Dignity…Steve.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, like he’s dragging each syllable out a second too long.
Steve grumbles—something about trading. Or maybe ‘trait-or’? Eddie doesn’t know, he’s too busy weathering the turn of the earth now that you’re looking at him again. It’s been forever since he’s held your attention, and he was nearly at the point of begging.
It’s not just your eyes on him, though. You’re smiling, too. It’s that knowing smirk he loves. The kind that makes his knees weak and his pants feel tight.
But then your lips twitch, smile faltering as you peer down at his finger hooked in the waistline of your skirt. And suddenly, you turn to him, shifting your hip out of reach. He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue when you force a half-drank bottle of beer into his outstretched hand with a terse, “Hold this.”
Straightening up, he gathers himself, prepared to shoulder any task for you—no matter how trivial. His responding, “Okay, baby,” is drowned out by Steve’s loud cheer after finally pocketing a ball.
You turn back to Robin and Steve, leaving Eddie chasing after your gaze. “I’ll get the next round.” And just like that, you’re gone.
He jogs after you, the floor feeling uneven as he stumbles through groups of people. You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for the drinks when he arrives, looming over you with heaving breaths.
“Oh, baby, y’look so pretty tonight,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing his lips up your neck.
You whip around, hand shoving against his chest until he stumbles back a few paces. His eyes widen, stinging from the pain of rejection, and he feels minuscule under your cold glare.
When you swallow, glancing somewhere behind him, he has to stop himself from moving into your eyeline. Because damn it, if you’d just look at him longer than a second—
“You need to stop,” you hiss.
His head jerks back, the burn of nausea twisting low in his gut. “Wha—”
“You said you’d be good, Eddie.”
He is being good! He’s being so good! All he’s done tonight is stare at you and touch you—you love when he does that!
He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he gets the chance to start.
“You said you’d behave! So you better start now, or we’ll have to leave,” you grit out, stepping back from him once more.
Following your movement, his overheating body crowds you against the bar. “No, please, don’t make us leave, baby,” he hurries, grabbing at your hips. “‘M havin’ so much fun, don’t wanna go—”
Your shoulders drop, you lean into him, and he almost closes his eyes, certain your lips will find his.
“Okay, then be-have,” you admonish, then turn to collect the drinks left behind by the busy bartender.
Eddie decides he’d much rather have gotten a kiss than a warning.
Sliding out of his embrace, you march back to your party, a grumbled, “Just friends, Eddie. You promised they wouldn’t know—” fading the further you flee.
And he feels like he just stepped into the Twilight Zone because what the hell? Why would he say that? That doesn’t sound like him at all—
“Thank God, gimme that,” Steve swipes a bottle from your arms, chugging it. He jabs a finger in Robin’s direction. “This woman wants me dead.”
She snorts, then looks at you with an unimpressed glint in her eyes.
“Missed another shot?” you ask, brow quirked.
“Multiple,” Robin confirms.
“It is just not your night, is it, Steve?”
Before the beleaguered man can answer, Robin cuts in, elbowing him. “It’s never his night. That’s basically his whole thing. He’s, like, the personification of a Monday.”
Steve snaps, “Okay, that’s enough outta you. Just take the damn shot.”
A loud clack, then a muffled thump into leather, and Robin laughs manically.
Eddie watches you lean over the table, passing the girl her drink. Inch by inch, your skirt rises the more you reach, and his head drops to the side, weighed down by curiosity.
He thinks of the black panties you shimmied on before coming here. He watched you then, just like he watches you now. Watched the way you wiggled the flimsy fabric over your ass, how the material covered your freshly fucked cunt so delicately.
The same black fabric peeks out from beneath the hem of your skirt, only now, there’s a wet splotch between your folds, and he knows exactly what soaked through.
You straighten up—too soon for his liking—but Eddie’s still staring. Still leering at that cursed skirt. It’s never done him any good—always hiding you away. Then again, maybe it’s done him a world of good. It’s been the catalyst to many a sweaty tryst, that’s for sure. But right now, it’s useless fabric obstructing his favorite view.
In the back of his mind, he vaguely registers the bickering going on around him, the music blaring. But his focus is divided between the sight of your upper thighs and the stirring in his pants.
He reaches down to adjust himself, then quickly remembers the beer in his hand. The condensation beading down the glass has seeped into his skin, pruning his fingers. He doesn’t remember why he’s even holding the thing to begin with.
Setting the bottle on a nearby table, he shuffles closer to you. You’re talking to Steve, and he’s not quite sure what you’re saying, but he hears you choke on your words the moment he presses against you. There’s a hiss of breath that sounds like his name, but his mind goes blank as tingling pleasure prickles up his spine, almost a relief of pressure. Or the temptation of relief.
The feeling is small, but it’s intoxicating. Even more than the alcohol in his bloodstream. Because now he’s drunk on you. On what could be if he just bent you over and—
You cough, clearing your throat as you take a step forward—right up to the Pool table. Eddie grunts, grabbing your hips and dragging you back against him, this time with a stronger, steadying grip.
“No, that doesn’t count as a mulligan— Hey! Ed, what the hell are you doing?”
Steve’s question falls on deaf ears, and your elbow digging into his ribs does nothing to deter his mission. Because the heat is building. In his flushed cheeks, in his muscles. Even lower. Incendiary friction sparks something dizzying and all-consuming.
“Dude, at least let her breathe. No need to hover—”
He’s laughing, but Eddie doesn’t think it’s funny. Not when you slip from his hold, yet again, now an arms-length away. Too far.
Your palms are planted on the glossy, oak edge of the table as you huff out something that sounds like it would’ve been a chuckle if it hadn’t collapsed halfway up your throat. “Think he just gets weirdly clingy when he’s drunk. Don’t know why I’m the victim, though—”
There’s a sharpness to your tone. It’s dulled by his inebriated ears. Undeterred, he closes in on you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”
The words slip out easily. Your shocked reaction only makes Steve laugh harder.
“Jesus Christ, you’re really three sheets to the wind, dude—”
Eddie ignores him, but then watches as he turns to you.
“Does he think you’re someone else?”
The question makes Eddie’s chest rumble. As if you could be anyone else. As if he could want anyone else this badly—
Wrapping his arms around your rigid frame, he can feel your ribs expand on the breath you draw in. Before a response tumbles past your lips, he squeezes you. Quick and firm. It’s the only warning he can manage without ripping fabric or leaving teeth marks on your delicate skin.
Because he knows what you’d say. He’s starting to catch onto the lies. And he’s not in the mood to play pretend anymore.
“How many has he had?”
Robin’s voice sounds distant as Eddie finds himself beside you again—not far, this time, but shucked off all the same—monitored under your eagle eyed gaze. When she calls your name, stealing your attention for…something about going home or taking a home, he can’t find it in him to care. Not about Robin’s itch for theft or Steve’s quiet, regarding stare.
He can smell your perfume. It calls to him, whispers of heat and closeness. Of the subtle change in the chemical makeup when you begin to warm beneath him, when his sweat mixes with yours. The evil scent pulls him in until his nose is running along your neck. You don’t jump nearly as much as you have been. He’s breaking you down. All he has to do is persist.
You reach across your body, finding his chest and he almost giggles at the half-hearted shove you give. Like it’s just for show. Like you don’t really want him gone. Then your fingers curl around the flimsy material of his shirt and he’s certain you don’t want him gone. How could you push him away if you’ve got a hold on him?
With a groan, he presses his straining length against the underside of your other wrist, your palm still planted firmly on the edge of the table. It’s a slow, focused grind; his knees nearly buckle. Pushing harder as his own hands slide down your arm, he keeps you in place.
“Fuck, Eddie, st—”
“Holy shit, he’s like a cat in heat,” Steve mutters, cutting you off in what Eddie deems a particularly grating tone. It does nothing to aid the coiling need he’s trying to sate.
Tension bleeds from your muscles in a slow-burning drip as your form sways just the slightest bit in his direction. He can feel you fighting the urge to melt into him. He’s waiting. Patiently. As patiently as he can without compromising his own desires.
Then, your chin tips and you whisper a lackluster, “Eds, seriously, not here—” over your shoulder.
“Okay, what the fuck, man.”
A large hand lands on his bicep, pulling him away from you. His heartrate spikes.
A calamitous anger rages inside, catching like a wildfire through his veins. It feels like integrity but tastes like possession.
Whipping around, he smacks the arm away, blindly knocking the culprit back.
“Dude! Actually get the fuck off her—”
“Steve, it’s fine!”
Your sharp tone slices through the fog in his mind; it settles the devastation inside, canning it for another time. He stares at your back as you move between him and a very angry-looking Steve. Chest all puffed out, the ex-jock is the picture of chivalrous defense, and he can’t help but grin.
If the good knight only knew the things you’ve let Eddie do to you…
“Yeah, Steve,” he drawls, his heavy-lidded gaze sliding from the incensed man to you, the one-woman garrison emboldened by altruism and bolstered by sweetness. He inches closer; a shadow encroaching on the light, a predator going in for the kill. “She said it’s fine.”
His palms hover over your skin, consuming and reveling in the heat. Up your arms, around your shoulders, and back, he maps out your body, admiring the winding curves he’s traversed many times before. The simmering rage of the man in front of you only encourages his quiet appreciation.
Slowly, delicately, he leaves a chaste kiss where your neck meets your shoulder.
You tremble, blinking like you mean to steel yourself.
And his grin widens. “See? She likes it—”
Steve snaps into action, but Robin is quicker, throwing her arm out in front of him. At the same time, you grab Eddie’s wrist, yanking him after you.
“That’s it, I’m taking you home.”
He lets you drag him away, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. Steve tries to ask if you’re sure and you only let out a clipped, “See you guys later,” in response.
Eddie can’t help but congratulate himself on yet another successful victory. You’re his. You’re choosing him, again. A room full of people and you’re taking him home.
He somehow feels both stone-cold sober and wasted beyond belief, all from your fingers digging into his pulse. And the alcohol. There’s that, too.
Weaving through meandering patrons, the exit sign comes into view. You’re talking, but he can’t hear you. The words float ahead, jostled and spliced by the whining guitar riff peeling from the surrounding speakers. He hears the anger, though. It doesn’t bother him.
Once the door closes behind him, the stuffy bar now in his rearview and the night air filling his lungs, he drops his weight back, no longer moving so willingly.
You grunt, but otherwise seem unfazed. Only tightening your grip and continuing your lecture—
“—at fault. I mean, seriously, we fucking agreed! It was mutual! We said we didn’t want the dynamic to change, then you down a few too many, and now all of a sudden, you’re measuring dicks with Steve. I mean, you might as well’ve just pissed on me—it was too fucking obv—”
Pebbles kick up beneath his skidding shoes as he finds his balance.
“Oh, sure, make this harder than it has to be. You’re great at that—”
The last word catches in your throat as he pulls you the opposite way, back to the bar. You stumble, trying your best to resist, but he’s moving you easily.
“Eddie, what the fuck did I say? If you can’t behave, we’re leaving. We’re not going back— Agh—”
Pressed against the brick wall of the building, hidden in the alley beside it, your complaints fall to unintelligible nonsense as Eddie attacks your neck, lips ravaging any sliver of skin he can find. His body envelops yours, keeping you still with a force he can’t find it in him to tame, especially for the sake of propriety. Not now. Not after waiting so dreadfully long.
“E-Eddie, slow d-down, Jesus—”
“Can’t,” he grunts, finding his way to your mouth, mumbling like a wanton man. “I need you, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad—” His hips jut forward, searching for reprieve from the miserable strain of his jeans.
When your back arches, he sinks his talons in, blunt nails biting and fingers digging as he clings onto you. Because in this moment, you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth; he feels it racing beneath his feet. Your eyes on his, the taste of your lips—it slows everything down.
“Shit, you’re so pretty. So, so pretty—”
Every word is mindless, slurred, but true. Inhibition has long-since died a silent, restful death inside him, buried somewhere low, near the hearth that never stops burning for you.
His hands grope and grab at anything they can reach—your ass, your thighs, your arms, your breasts. Anything. All of it keeps him here for one second more. Grounded in your softness. Steady on your terrain.
“Eds, we—we have to go,” you gasp, pliant beneath his roving touch. He closes the gap, tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, searing kiss that makes his mind whir and his ears fill with a fizzing sound.
“Nuh-unh, wanna stay,” he pants, nipping at your pulse point, feeling your blood rush. “Wanna stay with you.”
His hands slip beneath your skirt as you hold onto his shoulders. You give a weak push when his fingers pull at the gusset of your panties, but it’s not nearly enough to deter him.
“We can’t st—ay, fuck— You’re drunk, Eddie. I don’t even know how you’re hard right now.”
He hums, straightening to his full height and pressing you harder against the wall. His breath comes fast; he can’t seem to catch it as he watches you.
How is it not obvious?
“‘S you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your temple. “‘S all you. Makin’ me burn…. Makin’ me want you so damn bad it hurts.”
You swallow, lashes fluttering as you lean into his gentle touch. “I’m sorry I hurt you…but we can’t do this. Not he—”
“You don’t want me?” His voice is brittle. Breaking.
A night full of small rejections comes to a head as the weight of your words—sincerity and conviction threaded through every syllable—crashes into him, a frenzied tidal wave leaving wreckage in its wake.
He only manages to retreat half a step before you’re pulling him back, arms wrapping around his neck.
“I do want you,” you rush, pressing imploring kisses onto his rosy cheeks, tiny promises sealed with sticky lipgloss. “I always want you.”
His vision blurs as he peers down, frizzy curls hanging low in his eyeline. Confusion is a bitter thing as he finds the hem of your skirt. There’s mercy in the feeling of the grooved stitch beneath the rough pads of his fingers.
“Even now?” he asks, low and timid for the first time tonight.
Your arms release him, trailing down the sinewy plane of his chest. You lift his shirt only an inch—just enough for your nails to find his flushed skin, enough to feel him twitch as you explore so freely.
“Always.”
He pauses, searching for something in your gaze. Or, maybe something in the silence. And it’s the silence that answers.
With a hurried breath, he tears at your panties. It’s a quick, controlled rip, and he stuffs the fabric into his back pocket.
You gasp, but he drops before you get the chance to scold him. His jeans do little to mitigate the sting of gravel as his knees hit the ground. He hikes your thigh over his shoulder, disappearing under your skirt.
“Ed— Oh, God!”
His face drags through your folds, nose catching on your clit as his tongue sinks into you, plunging as deep as it’ll go. But the thundering ecstasy of finally tasting you—and himself—is cut short when you tug at his hair with a force far too sharp to be pleasurable. He groans, missing your heat as you haul him up to his feet.
“Eddie! We can’t do that here,” you bite out, glancing behind him. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
The worry in your brow catches on something inside him, and if he had the right words, he’d make it go away. But there are no right words, only burrowing panic and gnawing desire so deep, it’s almost torture.
“Please, baby, I’ll be good,” he pants, pawing restlessly at your body. “I swear to God, I’ll be good. Just— Just let me— Ah, Jesus!” His forehead falls to your shoulder and he hangs onto you, a firm grip on your ass as he pulls you into him. The movement is meant to alleviate, to save his sanity, but all it does is remind him of your denial, of the space he can’t close, and the release he can’t reach.
Your fingers begin to soothe his scalp. He matches his breathing to yours; in and out, in and out, in and out.
Curious and tender, you mutter, “It’s really that bad?”
He shakes his head, lifting it to meet your concerned gaze.
You don’t understand. You can’t possibly know what it feels like. This dull ache. Persistent, like a gnat in his ear, it’s been with him all night, made worse by you. Your perfume, your soft touch, the glimmer in your eyes. The distance, the act, the canyon between words and truth.
It’s all a great pain. An infection that’s been festering for hours. You have the medicine and you won’t give it to him.
His voice cracks, “So bad. I’m achin’ for you, can’t you feel it?” His hips jerk forward as he waits for your response, but the silence is too loud. He can’t stand it.
“You’re just so pretty…” Dazed, his eyes rove over your wrinkled top, fabric askew and showing more skin than you started the night showing. “‘N so soft.” Ducking closer, he rumbles out a drawling, “Mm, you smell so good.”
Again, you look behind him, somewhere just over his right shoulder and he sways, chasing your gaze.
“And you can’t wait ten minutes to get to your apartment?” you ask, eyes narrowed.
He sags against you, a whine crawling up from deep within his throat. “No…. No more. I’ve been waiting all night. I can’t— I—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I hear you. Just— Hey, Eds, look at me—”
Your palms cradle his head and he can smell the lavender hand soap he put in his apartment just for you.
“Be quick,” you whisper, tipping your chin to hold his attention.
He perks up, swallowing harshly as he stares at you, trying to decode the two simple words. But you might as well have spoken another language because his mind is running circles around the meaning, never through.
“Hey—” Your eyes dart downward, stall there, then you close the distance.
It’s messy and wet and he can still taste you on his tongue—smell you smeared on his skin—but you don’t seem to mind as you deepen the kiss, your mouth parting around a moan. It’s over too soon, though.
A delicate string of spit connects him to you as you pull back. “Take what you need, ba—”
He’s moving before you even finish the endearment, hands racing across your body, tugging at fabric, kneading skin—anything he can touch. His jacket is around your shoulders in no time, protecting you from the rough brick. The cuffs on his belt clang as he unfastens the homemade contraption, the button of his jeans next.
“Oh, thank you, baby,” he breathes into your mouth, using his full weight to trap you against the wall. “Thank you, thank you—shit! You’re so good to me,” he whimpers, bucking his hips as he frees his length, wrapping a hand around the base until it throbs beneath his unyielding grip. “So fuckin’ good to me. Wanna be good to you, too.”
He fumbles a bit, struggling to move while still trying to maintain every point of contact he can. Once he manages to pick up your thigh, hitching it onto his hip, he guides the blunt tip of his cock through your slick folds. A soft mewl escapes you and the sound only makes him twitch, a stream of sticky precum dribbling from his slit.
“Wanna be inside you. God, I always wanna be inside you—”
Your voice cuts him off, strained with a familiar need as your forehead falls to his. “Please, Eddie— Please just fuck me already, I can’t—”
His body responds before his mind even registers the plea, jerking forward until he’s buried deep inside you. A resounding groan echoes through the empty alleyway, drowning out your shrill cry. Though, you have enough sense to slam a hand over your open mouth, muffling the lewd noise
He, however, is too drunk to care. Drunk on the alcohol humming in his bloodstream. Drunk on the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight, he could count your heart rate just from the pulse of your pussy alone.
“Ohh, my—fuck! Jesus, fuck—you’re tryin’ to kill me, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he babbles incessantly, squirming from the pressure.
Your hand drops to his shoulder, holding onto him so tightly, your fingers pinch. “E—ddie, shh—ah!”
Torturously slow, he pulls out. Your cunt clings to him, contracting—almost a proper plea to stay—and yet, you seem to revel in the drag of his length. He knows you feel it. The thrum of his veins, the curve that stretches you, the thick ridge that catches on your entrance.
With just the tip inside, he shudders, his head hanging as he stares downward. The bright neon sign on the corner of the building beams, making his cock shine with your arousal.
He pauses.
Then, his hips snap forward, marking the start of a suffocating rhythm as he forces the breath from your body with every thrust. He moves wildly, a frenzied pace with one intention, and one intention only.
“Oh, God, oh, shit, baby! You feel s’good.… Takin’ such good care o’ me—thank you! Thank you— S’sweet to me—” he pants, slipping a large, heavy hand behind your neck until your gaze drops, joining him as he watches himself disappear inside of you. “Ah, look at that— Mmm, so pretty when you’re full o’ me.”
The wiry hair at the base of his shaft begins to stick to his skin, weighed down by the mess he’s making out of you. Glimmering slick forming a milky ring, droplets splashing from the strength of his thrusts. A giddy chuckle rumbles through his chest, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he admires just how wet you are. How wet he makes you.
The sound of his leather jacket scratching against the brick fills his ears as he falls against you, muscles straining. Your eyelids droop low, but your gaze hasn’t moved from where he’s fucking into you. His mouth finds yours, lips gliding as he hungrily swallows your every moan.
Sweat beads at his hairline, and his nails sink into your thigh, drawing you impossibly closer. Because he needs more. He needs all of you. Your walls are pried apart by his thick length and it’s still not enough.
He lets go of your neck, pushing two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”
His breath turns ragged and you finally look at him, your eyes dark and glossy as your lips reach his knuckles, your cheeks hollowing out in that way that always makes his knees buckle. His hips jerk, rhythm shifting at the memory.
He can feel the flames spreading, overtaking the hearth, but he’s not ready yet. He’s not done with you.
His fingers fall from between your lips as he reaches below, pressing tight circles into your clit. You choke on your breath and the sharp sound makes him grin.
“Yeah, there you go, sweetheart. Fuck—you’re so tight! Squeezin’ the life outta me— God, I know you wan’ it—cum for me. Soak my fucking cock,” he grits out, watching your eyes roll with rapt attention. “Mark me, baby, drown me—”
“F-Fu— Eddie!”
Your back arches and you go rigid; he knows you’re on the very edge. He knows you. He knows the exact high your voice reaches before you come undone, and even though you’re trying not to, he knows you’re losing yourself.
“Give it to me,” he drawls, practically purring at you. “Give in, baby. Please, I know you need it—”
“Shh, shh, we have to—b—e quiet! You have t—o keep it d— Oh, God!”
Your cunt clenches around him, tighter than he can handle after suffering from your denial for so long. You're moving against him now, convulsing and chasing after the pleasure like an ebbing wave. His body starts to curl inward, but he tries his best to keep a good enough pace. Your moans ring in his ear as he drives into you, shivering at the obscenely wet sounds.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! F-Feels so— God, ‘m g-gonna fill you up, baby. Hm? You wan’ it? Wanna feel full o’ me? Wanna hold it for me? You’re always so good at it—”
His breathless words seem to have no effect on you as you settle limply, held up by his frame and the wall at your back. You give no indication that you heard him, there’s only the flutter of your lashes and the lull of your head against the brick. His palm presses against your neck, just enough to keep you still, to hold your far-out gaze.
“You listenin’? Hm?” he pants, landing a firm kiss on your slackened mouth. “Y’gonna empty my balls for me, baby? Know you love to feel me drippin’ outta you.”
Your cunt responds with a weak pulse. He chuckles, only to be cut off by his own sputtering groan as a particularly deep stroke shoots right through him. You whimper, and he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from buckling to the ground as your arms struggle to wrap around him.
“E-Eddie…”
Static buzzes in his mind as you mewl, soft gasps hiccuping in time with his pounding thrusts. His hand drops low, splaying just beneath your navel. Then, he presses, relishing the catch in your breath.
“Ah, there I am,” he mutters, going dizzy at the feeling of his cock-head nudging his palm. “Here, right? Y’gonna keep me here, baby?”
You nod, letting out a frail, broken sound that tells him all he needs to hear. You want it. Need it, even.
His eyes roll, balls pulling taut as his rhythm falters. “Oh, f-fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re made f’me—you are,” he grunts, nosing against your neck. “Fit together so nicely. Hmm, made f’me, made to be full o’ me—”
Your face crumbles as you clench around him once more, another orgasm rolling in, quiet as a tide, and this time it’s softer. He can still feel you shake, but there’s a dragging sense of freedom. Of letting go.
And you drag him with you. Under the tide. Under the surface where everything sounds fuzzy and he feels weightless.
“Jesus—fuck! Ah, shit!”
He gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself inside your heat as he spills into you. Waves of pleasure crash through him, so overwhelming, his hips stall. He shivers, almost violently, and his words tumble out, barely loud enough to be a whisper. “God, baby, thank you. T-Thank you. Shit—you’re so good to me.”
He stays like that—arms wrapped around you, your fingers in his hair—for a while. It’s only when you shift, repositioning yourself against the wall, that he picks his head up. Indulging himself in your gentle kiss. His languid lips speak a sweetness far greater than his words could manage at the moment.
“I feel better now,” he mumbles, letting himself explore along your jaw, lazy and sated, but needing to taste you all the same.
“Yeah, I bet,” you snort, tucking his hair behind his ear, then twisting a damp curl around your finger.
With much reluctance, he finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the loss. He fixes himself quietly, buttoning his pants again and hiding his smile as he notices you squirm. You adjust his jacket over your shoulders and smooth your skirt. His eyes follow the movement and all he can think about is how much he wishes he could just sit on the ground beneath you and watch himself leak out of your pretty pussy.
But then you clear your throat, motioning to the end of the alley and he offers his arm. You smirk, shaking your head as you accept his offer. As he passes under the neon sign that says, “Bar,” he stares at the entrance to the building.
“Mm, I wan’ a beer,” he hums wistfully, starting to veer off course.
“Unh-unh!” Both of your hands circle his bicep, yanking him back. “No, we’re leaving. I’m taking you home.”
“But—”
“No ‘but’s.” You continue to drag him further away from the bar, heading toward his van. “You’re going home, then you’re going to sleep. And tomorrow, you’re gonna call up Steve and apologize for trying to fight him.”
Eddie’s face twists up, a sharp scoff falling from his lips. “‘M not apologizing. He was trying to touch you—”
“No,” you utter pointedly, digging into his back pocket—ignoring his quiet, “Hey, buy me dinner first”—and pulling out his keys. “He was not, that was you. He was trying to stop you because he thought you were being a perv.”
“I was being a perv,” he grins, watching you unlock the van. You shove him into the passenger side and he gracefully complies, settling in a haphazard huff. His eyes follow you through the windshield as you speedwalk around to the driver side door, which he reaches across the console to open for you.
“An unwelcome perv,” you amend, climbing into the seat. You check the mirrors first, then turn the key in the ignition. Eddie sighs contentedly as the van rumbles to life, the tape he mixed for you already filtering through the stereo.
He leans close, looming over you. With exaggerated slowness—a test, a toeing of boundaries—he drags two fingers up your thigh, beneath your skirt, until he feels the sticky combination of his cum and your slick smeared against your skin. “Knew you liked it,” he purrs lowly, sucking the digits clean.
Your breath comes quicker and shakier as you give him a sidelong glance. “You’re disgusting.”
His grin stretches into something wolfish, something predatory and ostensibly clear-headed, despite the glossy look in his eyes and the sway in his body. Quickly, he makes another swipe between your legs, this time relishing the hitch in your throat as he grazes your warm, puffy folds. He shrugs, admiring the milky gleam on his fingers before taking them into his mouth once more. “Chef’s gotta taste his own food.”
With that, your trembling hand lands on the gear shift and the van jolts into reverse.
A/ N: Guys, is this anything? Let me know🧎♂️It’s been in the drafts since October🥀
Also, it's the one year anniversary of me writing fics :) One year ago (almost to the day), I posted this rambling drabble. Since then, my work has improved so much, and I’ve gotten to talk to so many of you about your Eddie thoughts which is all I ever wanted from this.
Thank you for reading my silly, not-so-little ramblings. Thank you for making this an enjoyable space to create in. Thank you for always showing up to my ‘Is anyone interested in…’ posts with 110% enthusiasm. And thank you for talking to me about my writing.
I think that’s what I appreciate the most—how much I get to connect with y’all over what I’ve worked so hard on. I love reading your reactions to my fics, I cherish them so deeply. I’m also glad you feel comfortable with me and enjoy my writing enough to want to hear my thoughts on your Eddie ideas. I love this space and I’m glad you guys are always down for a little chitty-chat.
Thank you for sticking around and taking an interest in my work and especially me as a person <3 Love you guys <3
can you get drunk off a piece of writing ? cause i think i just did
woweee what a ride this was and i’m always a big fan of pathetic male pov every time eddie says thank you and please it feels like i just did a line of coke
ugh and the yearning like i could see him vibrating out of his skin because he wanted us so bad— this was all amazing but the description of how much eddie wanted it was hotter than the smut itself
every time eddie says thank you and please it feels like i just did a line of coke
LOL that was the goal because that's how I felt writing each one. I was like, 'I hope everyone gets the slurring desperation here because he just needs It™ so bad rn, he's acting a fool.'
this was all amazing but the description of how much eddie wanted it was hotter than the smut itself
God bless because I find that type of writing hotter than smut normally. It's before anything ever happens and there's all this possibility...🫦 And his mind is just running wild with need...
Summary: A new apartment with enormous windows puts you directly in the line of sight of your dangerously observant neighbour, and what begins as innocent glances quickly becomes a deliberate, silent game of watching and being watched. As the tension escalates into obsession, the barrier between you finally disappears, forcing you both to confront the reality of the desire you’ve been performing for each other all along.
Warnings: 18+ content, minors do not interact, smut, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mutual escalation, manipulative behaviour, male and female masturbation, p in v sex (protected and unprotected), creampie, both reader and Eddie have sex with other people, oral sex (m and f receiving), reader is an absolute throat goat. Eddie is late 30s, reader is early 20s.
6,211 words
a/n: I ain't gonna lie, this was absolutely inspired by I Get Off by Halestorm.
Hauling the last of the boxes up the narrow stairs leaves your arms aching, lungs burning as another mental curse is thrown at the building’s complete lack of an elevator. The irritation fades the moment the living room comes into view, replaced by the same quiet awe that made this place impossible to resist in the first place.
A massive window dominates the far wall, its thick frame carving the glass into neat, symmetrical panes. It stretches from the ceiling down to just below your knees, flooding the empty apartment with soft, natural light. The centre pane is cracked open just enough to let fresh air slip inside, stirring the stagnant stillness left behind by months of vacancy. The openness of it makes the space feel exposed in a way you hadn’t fully considered before, like nothing is separating you from the outside world at all.
Unpacking becomes a welcome distraction, attention turning first to the curtains buried somewhere in one of the boxes. They surface quickly enough - thin netting, sheer enough to let the light through while still offering some illusion of privacy.
Dragging the end table beneath the window, you climb carefully onto its surface, arms lifting to hook the fabric onto the rail left behind by the previous tenant. Once finished, instead of climbing down, you linger there for a moment, perched above the quiet apartment, curiosity pulling your gaze outward.
An identical building stands opposite yours, no more than ten feet separating the two.
And leaning out of one of its windows is, to put it bluntly, the hottest man you have ever seen.
He rests against the frame with lazy confidence, one leg propped on the sill. A cigarette burns between his fingers, the tip glowing amber as he takes a slow drag. Your eyes follow the movement without permission - from the long fingers holding it, to the tattooed arms revealed by a sleeveless black shirt, ink winding over muscle in dark, deliberate lines.
His hair falls in messy curls, like he’s only just rolled out of bed, framing a face that feels unfair to look at for too long. Full lips. Stubble shadowing his jaw. Effortless in a way that makes your chest feel strangely tight.
A soft sigh escapes before you can stop it.
Mortification washes over you.
Cheeks flushing, you scramble down from the table, heart suddenly pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
Ridiculous. He couldn’t have heard that.
Still… Just one more peek couldn’t hurt.
Carefully, cautiously, you lift your gaze back toward the window. He’s looking directly at you. And waving.
The smirk on his face is unmistakable - it’s slow, knowing, dangerous in a way that makes heat crawl up your neck and settle deep in your chest. There’s no hesitation in him. No awkwardness. No pretence.
He knows you were watching. And worse still…
He doesn’t seem to mind.
Swallowing hard, you force your hand to lift in a polite wave in return, hoping the distance hides how warm your face has become. Mercifully, he stubs out his cigarette and heads back into his own apartment, breaking the gaze first, releasing you. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes your lips and you step over to the small kitchen, out of view of the giant window.
The taps protest from lack of use, a metallic whine punctuating the silence in the apartment before the water finally gives in. You splash some onto your face, desperate for anything that might cool the heat crawling across your skin.
The plan had been to face your sofa to the window, but you didn’t quite trust yourself with that set up, so you settle for the sofa facing the wall next to the window. That’s not to say your eye doesn’t occasionally drift to the apartment opposite when you’re watching tv. Just glancing, checking out your surroundings, you tell yourself, repeating in your head like a mantra.
You quickly learn that your neighbour rarely closes the curtains. This has culminated in a lot of waving when your eyes meet. It’s becoming a problem, he’s going to think you’re some kind of peeping tom if you keep this up. Except… it’s not all one sided. In fact you’ve caught him looking more times than you can count and he doesn’t react with the same embarrassment you do when he’s caught.
If anything, knowing you’re looking seems to give him a kick.
The first time it happens you could pass it off as an accident.
It’s late on Sunday night, and you’re draining the last of your wine before heading to bed, when your eyes drift toward the window. The sight causes you to inhale your wine. You make it to the kitchen before the burn of wine in your nose and throat renders you coughing and spluttering.
Meanwhile your neighbour across the street is still damp from his shower, towel slung so low around his hips that a thatch of dark hair is visible just above the edge. Once you catch your breath and your eyes stop streaming, you walk back over, telling yourself it’s only to turn the TV off. I don’t need to see if he’s still there. You try to convince yourself, you really do.
He’s still there.
A pattern emerges, Saturday nights become a game of seeing how long you can take it before you’re looking over. It’s sick, you’re sick, he’s probably also sick. But you’re hooked, and it’s not like you haven’t been reciprocating. The summer heat provides the perfect excuse to wear less and less around your apartment.
This Saturday, you’re sprawled out on your sofa, the picture of casual lounging. Pretending to watch the TV, you glance at the clock above it. Thirty minutes. Long enough. And you tilt your head slightly, yep. There he is, towel on. At this point you’ve got to commend his meticulous hygiene. God knows how you could do that and not come off a massive pervert.
But then, his hands trace along the edge of the towel, rings catching the light in his apartment. You watch as his thumb dips below the fold of fabric, lifting it.
The towel drops to the floor.
Surprise jolts through you, your body turning fully toward the window before you can stop yourself. The movement gives you away.
He’s hard. There’s no mistaking it.
He winks at you and scoops the towel back up, pretending this was all just an accident. Your heart stutters in your chest. Heat floods your skin, spreading from your face down your throat and into your chest. Your legs tremble beneath you, and your mouth has gone unbearably dry.
As he retreats, you stand, throwing on a few more layers before heading out.
It’s not hard to find some guy willing to go home with you. In fact you’ve managed it before you’ve even left the first bar. His kisses are clumsy as you lead up the narrow stairs to your apartment, once more cursing the lack of elevator. The apartment is cold, you’d left the window open, you make no move to close it. You’re sure you’ll warm up quickly.
The door is scarcely closed before you’re guiding him toward the sofa. He lands with a soft oof, unable to take his eyes off of you as you pull your top over your head. He matches you, piece by piece until you’re stripped down to your underwear. You drop to your knees, gathering your hair in a loose ponytail, palming him through his underwear.
You’re impatient, and he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he helps you to remove his underwear, groaning as you wrap your hand around his cock, hips juddering as you stroke him. His head is tilted back and his eyes are squeezed shut as your thumb plays with his sensitive tip. You take the opportunity, turning your head defiantly toward the window.
He’s sitting on his sofa, lit by blue light from his TV but you can tell he’s not watching it. His mouth sits in a hard line, one eyebrow raised. Satisfaction thrums through you. You turn your attention back to the man before you, licking a slow stripe up his cock and teasing the tip with your tongue. His breaths come hot and hard as you take his cock into your mouth, working him over until he’s trembling like a leaf.
You don’t look over at the window as you unroll a condom over your… date? Conquest? You don’t look over as you sink down onto his lap. A pang of disappointment sits in your gut as you take him easily. You rest your hands on his shoulders and lift your hips, his own hands resting on your hips and gripping you tightly.
“That good, baby?” He pants beneath you. You roll your eyes over his shoulder but you stroke his ego a little, moaning loudly, “Oh fuck, yes.” He murmurs, taking over the rhythm you set, clearly convinced he’s doing a great job pleasing you, now focused entirely on his own end goal. You spur him on, and while you’d never admit to this, you’re pretty convincing when you fake orgasms. As you moan his name, followed by cries of “yes, god, yes,” you hazard a glance toward the window. Your companion too far gone to notice your split attention.
Eddie feels like a pervert watching this, even if he knows you want him to watch... But when your moans punctuate the still night air, he has to bite his fist. His other hand palming himself over his jeans, he stops as another moan reaches his ears. Then he tilts his head, focusing on listening to you.
Faker.
He watches as you slip off your date’s lap. The awkward exchange makes it clear he isn’t staying the night as you both get dressed again. He waits until you glance over, then waves, giving you a thumbs-up. He laughs as you huff and close the curtains.
Still hard, he heads to bed, discarding his jeans before dragging a hand down his face, sleep already feeling impossible.
He doesn’t even know your name and yet you’re the only image he can conjure up as he spits in his hand and strokes his length, your face burned into his brain. When he shuts his eyes, you’re back on your knees, only this time it’s him you’re kneeling in front of. His breath hitches as your hand closes around him, your gaze never leaving his as your tongue drags slowly over his tip, deliberate, knowing.
“Fuck,” he hisses into the empty room, his hand tightening as the image sharpens. He feels you take him deeper, his head falling back as he imagines the strain in your throat, the wet warmth of your mouth, the way your eyes glisten as you look up at him. His fingers tangle in your hair, in his mind, holding you there, unable to look away. His other hand twists in the sheets beneath him, gripping so tightly the fabric pulls taut between his fingers. He releases it only to drag his hand lower, grabbing his balls, holding them tightly as he fucks into your throat, watching as tears spill over your lashes.
He grunts as he releases into your mouth, removing his saliva coated cock from your lips, watching as a line of saliva and cum connects the tip of his cock to your swollen lips. He wipes away your tears with his thumb before pressing it gently to your bottom lip. You open for him without hesitation, and let him see his cum coating your mouth. You close your mouth and swallow, a mischievous grin crossing your features as he exhales shakily.
Eddie grabs his discarded underwear from the floor, wiping up the mess that coats his chest and stomach, throwing it absently into the laundry basket, mind still fixated on you. Sleep finds him eventually, but even there, you follow.
The bed springs creak as you throw yourself back onto your mattress. The guy could have at least tried to get you off, you stare up at your ceiling. Jaw tight as you replay your evening with growing irritation. Your hand slips under your pillow, fingers searching for the cool plastic of your vibrator.
You don’t switch it on yet.
Instead, your hand drifts lower, rubbing slowly over your attention-starved clit. A soft sigh escapes you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as your eyes fall closed. Your body moves without permission, hips rocking gently into your touch, your free hand sliding up to tease your nipple. Your fingers slip lower, teasing yourself, your mind already drifting where it shouldn’t.
To him.
The sofa creaks as you push him back onto it, the two of you tearing at each other’s clothes in a desperate rush until you’re both bare beneath wandering hands. He pulls you into his lap, his grip firm, deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You bring the vibrator between your folds, switching it on to its lowest setting, the soft buzz sending a shiver through you as he drags the tip of his cock slowly over your clit.
You try to push forward, chasing friction, chasing fullness, but he stops you, holding you there, forcing you to wait. Your breath catches. He keeps you suspended on the edge, your arousal slick between you, your body aching with the need to be filled.
Your hand tightens around the toy as you finally let it slip inside you, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the sensation blooms through you. In your mind, he finally relents, letting you sink down onto him, stretching you slowly, deliberately.
You turn the settings higher, your legs trembling as the intensity builds.
“Fuck!” you cry out to no one in particular as he lifts his hips to meet yours, deeper than anything you’ve ever taken. Even the slightest retreat feels unbearable, your body chasing him desperately, unable to tolerate the distance. You press the vibrator harder, your other hand slipping between your legs, circling your clit as the tension spirals tighter and tighter.
Tears spill down your cheeks as you climax, your whole body trembling in the aftermath.
The curtains remain shut the next day, your cheeks feeling hot at the thought of seeing him again, and you surprise yourself with your restraint. The following day, however, you all but rip them off their pole, caught in some kind of perverse withdrawal. You notice that the apartment opposite has changed slightly; a table is now next to the window.
Before you can spiral into the absurd thought that he somehow moved out overnight, you see him cross his living room, heading to his usual smoking spot. He smiles when he sees you, offering a friendly wave which feels ridiculous in spite of two nights ago. You wave back, thankful for the excuse of heading to work before either of you starts acting up.
By the time you’re home the apartment opposite is dark, you’d never known him to go to bed before you, so you assume he’s out. Your own apartment is stuffy from you not switching the heat off before you left for work, you’ll pay for that with your next bill. You crack the window and watch as the apartment opposite lights up.
He enters first, holding the door open like a perfect gentleman. Heart racing, you duck behind your curtain as he closes the door behind a woman, his eyes flicking toward your window, predatory and knowing. He pulls her close, hands settling on her waist as they move together across the room, lips never quite parting. They stop at the table. His mouth moves against hers, a question you can’t hear, and she nods eagerly in response. He undresses her slowly, deliberately, his focus seemingly fixed on her, until her hands move to his shirt. That’s when his eyes lift.
And find you.
Your breath stutters. Every instinct tells you to look away, to disappear behind the safety of the curtain, but your body betrays you. You stay exactly where you are.
Watching as she undresses him, running her hands over the dark ink that adorns his body.
He doesn’t look away from you.
Not once.
He lifts her easily, like she weighs nothing, and sets her on the table with her back to the window, to you, positioning himself where he can see you clearly.
Where you can see him.
You watch as he pushes her back on the table, head dipping between her thighs. Her back arches in response, fingers tightening on the edge of the table, and something ugly twists low in your stomach. He straightens, breath steady, and looks at you again, running his tongue slowly over his lips.
Then he winks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He uses his teeth to rip open a foil packet, and turns his attention back to her as he slides the condom down his impressive length, a hand rubbing at her thigh. Holding eye contact with her as he sheathes himself inside her, adjusting himself, but his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like he’s measuring the effect.
He wants you to watch, just as you’d wanted him to watch.
You settle onto the arm of your sofa, unable to stop yourself, your hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.
He notices immediately.
His pace stutters, just for a second, before picking up again, harder now, more deliberate. You slide your fingers into yourself, your breath catching as you match his rhythm, your jealousy dissolving into something hotter, something heavier. You watch him lose control, his composure cracking in small, visible fractures.
He reaches between them, bringing her closer to her peak, but his eyes never leave you.
Not really.
He gives you a pointed stare as she writhes beneath him.
His pace becomes impossible to follow with your fingers alone, so you grind against your thumb instead, chasing the same desperate edge. Your body tightens, tension snapping all at once. Your eyes squeeze shut as you break, the world tilting around you, tears spilling freely down your cheeks.
You force yourself back, eyes opening again.
He’s right there.
Watching you.
You bring your fingers to your mouth, holding his gaze, tasting yourself, and something in him shatters. You watch as he drives himself deeper, coming completely undone.
Over the following week you notice the curtains get closed more often.
You’re paranoid you took it too far.
Between work schedules, it's already the weekend before you see him again. Not in his apartment, but at a bar you frequent. Tired of being driven crazy by your own spirals of paranoia and inability to not glance over at the window, so you head out, planning on grabbing drinks with friends. As you enter the bar, you hear the deep thrum of live music from the stage.
You locate your friends and settle in the booth with them, glancing up at the stage and freezing when you see him, your pulse quickens, imperceptible to anyone but yourself. His eyes are shut as he sings, curls damp with sweat that catches in the low stage lights. His shirt clings to him, outlining the familiar shape of him in a way that feels far too intimate for something so public. His hands move over the guitar with practiced ease, long fingers precise and confident.
The chatter of your friends fades into a dull hum around you. His eyes open mid-song, scanning the room without urgency, until they find you.
You notice the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Recognition.
Your breath catches.
The noise of the room disappears completely as the final notes fade. The set ends, and he pulls the guitar from over his shoulder, hopping down from the small stage. The silence continues as he stalks over to you, pressing his palms to the table as he leans over it, filling the space but not touching you.
“Evening ladies, did we enjoy the set?” His voice is warm, easy. Polite.
His eyes leave yours long enough to acknowledge your friends, offering them a charming smile as they answer eagerly.
He’s so close you can smell him now. Smoke. Sweat. Something warm beneath it. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s placing you. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you manage. “I live in the apartment opposite yours.”
“That’s right,” he says easily, like the answer had just come to him. “Big windows, huh?” His mouth curves into a small, knowing smile. “I’m Eddie.”
You offer your name in a painfully croaking voice. Eddie nods and makes polite conversation before excusing himself, heading back to his band. He takes a slow pull from his beer, and when his eyes lift again, they find you immediately. He doesn’t look away.
Not even when you notice.
Heat prickles across your skin, sharp and unbearable. You shift in your seat, trying to steady yourself, trying to listen to whatever your friends are saying, but your attention betrays you. Your eyes keep drifting back to him. And every time they do, he’s already looking. Eventually, the pressure becomes too much.
You excuse yourself with some vague mention of fresh air and push your way out of the stifling bar. The cold hits you immediately. You breathe it in deeply, greedily, like you’ve been underwater too long. The alley beside the bar is empty, quiet, the muffled pulse of music vibrating faintly through the brick behind you.
You lean back against the wall, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Try to slow your heart. Try to cool the heat pooling low in your stomach. Try not to think about him. Try not to think about the way he looked at you.
Footsteps sound behind you. Unhurried. Certain. They stop just close enough to make your pulse stumble.
“Well hey there, neighbour.” The teasing lilt in his voice sends heat rushing straight back into your face. “You gone all shy on me suddenly?”
You turn your head. Eddie leans against the opposite wall, giving you space, but not much. Close enough that you could cross it in seconds. Close enough that the distance feels deliberate. He watches you openly now. No glass between you. Just him.
The air is tense, the silence stretching tight between you.
You drag your eyes up from the ground to meet his. Something shifts in his expression. His arms unfold slowly, his shoulders rising with a quiet breath like he’s coming to a decision. He exhales sharply.
“Fuck it.” The words barely leave him before he closes the distance.
His hand finds your chin, warm and steady, tilting your face up to his. His mouth meets yours, firm and certain, like he’s been waiting too long for this.
There’s no hesitation.
No testing the waters.
His thumb brushes along your jaw as his lips move against yours, deepening the kiss, his body pressing you back against the rough brick. The cold of the wall seeps through your clothes, but he’s warm everywhere else, overwhelming, grounding. Your hands move without thinking, tangling in his hair, holding him there like he might disappear if you let go. Your heart is racing, pounding so hard it feels like it might give you away completely. Like he doesn’t already know.
His hands roam your body unabashedly, learning the shape of you through fabric and heat. You press into his touch without hesitation, chasing more of him, needing more. He pulls back enough just to breathe but his lips never leave your skin. They drag across your cheek, smearing lipstick as he finds your neck, pressing slow kisses there before nipping at your earlobe.
“Question,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely audible.
You’re not sure you could form a coherent thought if your life depended on it. “Hmm?”
“Your date.” His mouth returns to your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “What was his name?”
You laugh softly, the sound breaking into a gasp as his teeth press harder. “I don’t remember,” you admit.
Eddie huffs a quiet laugh against your skin. “That’s fair,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t remember someone who couldn’t make me cum.”
The words hit deeper than they should. “How do you know I didn’t-” The protest dissolves into a breathy sound as his hands find your chest, fingers closing over you through your shirt.
He exhales, almost amused. “You’re not exactly quiet,” he says. “And c’mon… anyone paying attention could tell.” His hand slips beneath your shirt, cold fingers meeting overheated skin. You jolt against him.
His other hand moves lower, deliberate, unhurried. He unbuttons your jeans with practiced ease, his forehead resting against yours, eyes locked onto you as he tests the boundary.
“Eddie, we can't do that here.” you whisper.
His fingers press lightly over you through damp fabric, and his mouth curves faintly.
“I know, I know, you’re a good girl really,” he murmurs. “Just warming you up.”
He withdraws slowly, like he’s proving he can. He fixes your jeans with careful hands, then takes your hand in his, fingers lacing through yours naturally, like they’ve always belonged there.
“C’mon,” he says quietly. He leads you away from the alley without hesitation.
“Wait,” you manage. “Won’t your friends mind?” He glances at you sideways, amused.
“Won’t yours?” You hesitate.
“If we’re both gone,” he continues easily, “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”
“I really fucking hate the lack of elevators,” Eddie huffs behind you as you fumble with your keys.
The door clicks open, and before you can even step forward properly, he’s there, crowding you inside. He pushes the door shut and presses you back against it, his body warm and solid against yours.
His lips hover just over yours as his hand reaches past your shoulder, turning the lock with a soft click. You shiver. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. You fight the urge to close the distance yourself, to grab him and pull him down to you, to stop the waiting.
He notices. Of course, he notices. A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Aren’t you patient?” he murmurs. “And here I thought you’d be a feral alley cat once I got you alone.” He lets you have him then. His mouth finds yours, and you lean into him immediately, hunger overriding restraint as you kiss him back, deeper, harder.
He steps away from the door, taking you with him, never breaking the kiss as he guides you backward through the apartment. Past the living room. Past the window. Into your bedroom. You press your hands into his chest and shove him back onto your unmade bed. He lands with a soft bounce, surprise flashing briefly across his face.
He rests himself on his elbow, watching you with interest, you step forward, between his knees. Your hands skim over the rough denim of his jeans, fingers brushing the worn edges of his belt before you begin to unbuckle it. The sound of the metal sliding free feels louder than it should. He lifts his hips without being asked, letting you pull the denim down his legs.
He doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. Your heart pounds as you look at him like this, exposed, real, entirely yours to touch. You swallow, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his underwear, easing them down after his jeans.
The shift in him is immediate. His breath catches. His fingers tighten slightly in the sheets beside him. You hold his gaze as your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, breaking the barrier between you piece by piece. You let it fall somewhere behind you, forgotten.
His eyes track every movement. You step out of your jeans next, pushing them down your legs, leaving them pooled on the floor. Your underwear follows, discarded just as carelessly. You’re bare before him now.
His breath shudders. He sits up slightly, dragging his shirt over his head in one rough motion, like the fabric itself has become an obstacle, something standing between him and the full view of you. It lands somewhere beside him, unnoticed.
You sink down to your knees, taking his cock in your hand and gently stroking down, he hisses under your touch, ringed fingers clutching tighter at the sheets, as precum beads at his slit, your mouth waters, keen to know his taste. You lean forward, your tongue dragging over his soft balls first, then along his shaft before you pull him into your mouth, tongue lapping at him, tasting him.
Eddie’s chest is flushed and he’s breathing hard as he watches you take his length into your throat, thumb brushing away the tears beneath your eye in a gesture so gentle it almost undoes you. You pull back and alternate between sucking softly, letting your tongue trace around him, and taking him so deep that your nose is scratched by the thatch of hair above his cock.
“Doin’ so good for me.” He whispers, hands gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, tugging lightly at your roots to release his cock from your throat, only to use the hair clasped in his hands to ease you back down. Willing your throat to relax, you let him fuck into your mouth, feeling your arousal running down your thighs as he groans above you.
“Such a good girl,” he pants, pulling you off him, your mouth releasing him with a soft sound. His hands find your arms immediately, guiding you upward.
“And as much as I’d love to fuck this pretty face all night…” He kisses you before he finishes the thought, deep and consuming, and tasting himself on your tongue. The intimacy of it makes your stomach tighten. You shift forward instinctively, leaning into him, but his hands slide to the backs of your thighs instead, gripping firmly as he lifts you. The sudden movement makes you tense, your body anticipating what comes next.
A faint smile flickers across his mouth. But instead of pulling you down onto him, he turns you, guiding you onto your back with deliberate care. The mattress dips beneath your shoulders as he follows, settling himself between your legs.
He pauses there. Watching you again. Close enough now that you can feel his breath against your skin. His hair brushes against your thighs as he leans in, lips barely skimming along the sensitive skin there. He lingers, letting anticipation stretch tight between you, before exhaling softly. You flinch and a small whine escapes your lips, a not-so-silent plea. His fingers follow, parting you slowly, reverently, the smirk on his face diabolical.
“All this for me?” He asks, lazily dragging a finger through the evidence of your arousal, using it to rub over your clit with slick precision. You open your mouth, but whatever you meant to say disappears the moment his hand rises, his fingers pressing lightly against your lips. “Suck.” It's not a request, and you obey without hesitation. You can taste yourself on his fingers, your tongue hungrily lapping over his fingers until he pulls them out, a string of saliva trailing, falling over your breasts and stomach.
“Messy girl.” He chides, “Still, you must really taste good if you’re that keen.” He dips his head between your thighs, dragging his tongue from your soaked center to your clit, eyes fixated on you. He laps up your arousal like a man starved, arms locking your thighs on either side of his head, your back arches against him as he pushes his tongue deeper inside you, hands tangling in his hair. He flicks his tongue over your clit, watching as your body shivers, pausing briefly before wrapping his soft lips around your clit and sucking. The sudden pressure makes your breath catch, your composure fracturing completely.
“Jesus fucking chr-” You curse, your sentence interupted by Eddie’s fingers breaching you, your body so eager that it offers no resistance. The sensation doubling, your body reacting instantly, helplessly. Your hips move against him without permission, chasing what he’s building inside you.
Eddie twists his wrist and presses the pads of his fingers onto your g-spot, rocking them backwards and forwards, the sensation ending any hope of rational thought from you. You rock your hips against his face, chasing your high and he is only too happy to get you there, applying heavier pressure to your g-spot, tongue washing over your clit as his pillowy lips surround it.
He doesn’t rush. He controls the pace, the pressure, every subtle shift designed to pull you higher, closer, until your thoughts dissolve completely. You can’t hold his gaze anymore. Your head falls back, vision blurring, the world narrowing to sensation alone.
“C’mon pretty girl, let me feel you coming apart.” Eddie urges, voice muffled by your skin, but you still hear him loud and clear. The words send something sharp and electric through you.
Your body answers before your mind can catch up.
Your grip tightens, your back arching again as everything inside you snaps, pleasure cresting and breaking all at once. Your breath leaves you in broken fragments, your legs trembling around him as he holds you through it, steady, unrelenting until the last wave fades.
The mattress dips lower between your legs as Eddie hovers above you, your breath catching as you feel the tip of his cock brushing your thigh. He looks down briefly to line himself up with you and sinks into you, his gaze snapping back up to your face to measure your reaction. His jaw tightens, watching your face, searching for any sign of discomfort.
But there isn’t any.
Only the slow unraveling of you beneath him. He pauses halfway, giving you time, his hand settling on your hip, grounding you. You exhale softly, your body relaxing around him, welcoming him deeper. That’s all the permission he needs. He sinks the rest of the way in. You all but purr in satisfaction at the way the stretch burns.
“Size queen.” He laughs, feeling the way your walls hug him tightly. He draws back slowly, watching the way your expression shifts, the way your body responds to the absence before he moves forward again. He settles back on his knees, watching himself disappear inside you with every slow thrust.
Your legs wrap around him, drawing him closer as the steady rhythm begins to undo you completely, each thrust dragging precisely over your g-spot, pulling you to the brink of madness. He touches your chin, turning your face toward him. His lip catches between his teeth, restraint hanging by a thread. His hair sticks out at wild angles, a few grey strands catching in the low light. Dark ink that tracks over his arms, and is beginning to spread over his chest. You run your hand over his arms, feeling the way the muscle beneath flexes under your touch.
“You’re so fucking hot.” You whisper, half mesmerised.
“Flattery will get you everywhere sweet thing.” He responds, hooking his hands behind your knees, pushing them up, spreading you wider. He tears his eyes from yours to once more look at that spot where you join, his tongue tracing over his lips, collecting a wad of saliva before letting it fall onto your clit, the sudden wetness making you flinch. One of his hands leaves the punishing grip on your thigh to come down and trace patterns over your clit.
It's dizzying, and unfair. Made even worse when Eddie grips your chin,
“No going away this time, you’re going to look at me when I make you cum.” You nod dumbly, not entirely confident in your ability to comply. Eddie doubles down, picking up pace, slamming into you with filthy grunts.
Never once breaking eye contact, watching as your mouth forms an ‘O’ as you cry out for more. What was earlier a wave is now a hurricane of force, adrenaline and pleasure shooting through your veins, making your brain short circuit, and the whole time, Eddie is holding onto your chin, staring into your eyes and driving his cock deeper into you. You feel your walls tightening around him and feel his rhythm slip, chasing his own high, determined to have your pussy milk the cum from him.
He releases with a loud groan, pushing himself as deep as he can as his control finally breaks, shooting hot ropes of cum inside you. His head drops forward, sweat falling onto your skin as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
“Now who’s looking away?” you tease through ragged breaths. Eddie laughs, lifting his head up to look at you once more, watching the wince on your face as he pulls out and his cum leaks out of you.
He flops down beside you, stroking the hair out of your face in yet another devastatingly intimate gesture. “Eddie?”
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