i was training a young person at work, and she referred to sexual assault as "SA" out loud, and i immediately was like, "no, it's sexual assault, call it what it is," bc idgaf if the algorithm overlords have taught y'all that you should fear direct language, how tf do any of you expect to ever address real issues with any amount of seriousness if you can't even say the words? imagine an advocate looking a sexual assault survivor in the eyes and asking "did he grape you?" it's absolutely fucking absurd, but these young interns and new hires are coming into an environment where we deal with survivors of all different kinds of abuse, and they're coming with the mindset that the words are as bad as the actions, and that makes them shitty at the job and look juvenile af
i HATE self-censorship for a lot of reasons, but being in crisis work makes it even more frustrating. who are you censoring for? like i am being so fr, WHO are you censoring for? have you even thought it through? people who have been raped know that they have been raped. if someone attempts suicide or is grieving someone who did, saying "sewer slide" isn't going to protect them from any of the feelings. a murder victim's family isn't going to feel better bc you said "unalived" instead of murdered. if anything, it's just extremely invalidating and othering. it's saying "what happened to you is so bad that i won't even say the word," which is NOT trauma-informed care. you are not protecting survivors/victims when you self-censor. the ONLY things you protect when you self-censor are the puritanical ideologies that are being encouraged by rich fascists who want your money and obedience
say the fucking words, guys. just say the goddamn words before i go insane!!!
˚꩜｡pairing: 40s!eddie munson x 20y!fem!reader
˚꩜｡summary: Coming home from the summer was supposed to mean backyard barbecues, Fourth of July fireworks, and spending time with your parents before your final year of college. Falling into bed with your dad's forty-something tattoo artist had definitely not been part of the plan.
˚꩜｡tags/tw: 18+ explicit sexual content, minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!f!reader, big age gap, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, squirting, fourth of july jumpscare (this is a joke pls dont shoot me), 1 comment about reader losing weight but no descriptions of how much and/or body type, im sharing my parents w u guys in this one bc they’re cool and i miss them, underage drinking, smoking marijuana/tobacco, reader has tattoos, mentions of getting a tattoo as a minor, kinda self indulgent sorry, the faintest of angst at the end, lemme know me if i forgot anything :)
˚꩜｡word count: 17.1k+
˚꩜｡a/n: so i know it has been six days since the fourth, but i saw this tiktok and i immediately started to write this so all credits to @/arthursfemalehorse on tiktok for the edit that inspired this<3 (this was supposed to have been posted two days ago but i got too horny to continue writing)
At eighteen, freshly graduated from high school, you couldn’t wait to forget your old life, sever all contact with your old classmates, and never return to the godforsaken town of Hawkins, Indiana, where you had been born and raised.
Now, at twenty-one years old, and just one year shy of graduating NYU and snatching your master’s degree in Art Therapy, you couldn’t wait to return to the sleepy little town.
It had nothing to do with missing your old mates or the achingly slow routine you’d left behind two years earlier. Hell, it wasn’t even because you missed your parents — which you did, obviously — but that wasn’t the reason you were planning to move back.
New York was, for lack for a better, great. Truly. It was everything you’d dreamt about throughout your teenage years — multicultural, freeing, authentic in a way that demanded respect, with a shit ton of opportunities Hawkins couldn’t even dream of offering.
But it was also… just too much.
Too loud. Too smelly. Too busy. Too anxiety-inducing.
Hawkins, on the other hand, wasn’t amazing. Most of the time, it wasn’t even fun.
But it offered a quiet that you never realized you needed until you moved to the East Coast, without ever asking anything in return.
It wasn’t a place that expected — nonetheless demanded — you to keep up, nor did it punish you for slowing down and taking a breather. You could leave the house without planning every minute of your day around subways delays, packed sidewalks, and whether or not you could afford another ridiculously overprices coffee just to justify sitting somewhere for an hour.
In Hawkins, you knew the cashiers at the grocery store and which roads flooded first after heavy rain. You knew which diner stayed open the latest, where to get your tires replaced without getting ripped off by some surprise inspection tacked onto the bill, and exactly which back roads to take if you simply wanted to drive with the windows down for a while.
It was the kind of comfort you missed in the big city.
So the moment your final summer break before your last year of graduate school rolled around in the middle of May, you’d already made up your mind — you were going home for the first time in two years.
Unfortunately, your bank account had other ideas.
Rent in New York — even while sharing a shoebox apartment with two other girls — had a funny way of reminding you that dreams didn’t pay themselves, and neither did tuition. So instead of immediately packing your bags and hopping on the first plane to Indiana, you picked up every extra shift your manager was willing to throw your way.
Mornings behind the espresso machine turned into afternoons. Afternoons bled into closing shifts. Before you knew it, six weeks had disappeared somewhere between burnt coffee, impatient tourists, and people who genuinely believed ordering six different modifications somehow made them easier to deal with.
It wasn’t until the first week of July, when your savings account finally looked healthy enough, that you were able to point yourself towards Indiana.
Not forever. Come mid August, you’d be squeezing back into your apartment, picking up where you’d left off, and tackling one final year before graduation. But for the next month and a half, Hawkins was home again.
Funnily enough, the cheapest flight back from New York to Indianapolis landed in the middle of the night on the Fourth of July — only forty bucks cheaper than the alternatives, but still. An extra forty bucks for a college student meant not eating ramen for four consecutive days.
And, considering, you hadn’t given your parents an exact date for your return, arriving early on the holiday made for a nice surprise.
What wasn’t a nice surprise, however, was the half-hour delay it took to get off the plane. The two-hour drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins in a cramped rental car wasn’t exactly enjoyable either, although the endless stretches of cornfields and the occasional herd of cows were enough to pull a small smile onto your face again.
The weather had already been bordering on suffocating at almost ten in the morning when you passed the Welcome to Hawkins sign, and the cracked windows of the car did little to help in that regard.
But it was the Fourth, and that meant your parents were probably putting up the pool — if they hadn’t already done it the day before — and that an endless supply of ice-cold drinks was already waiting for your surprise return.
You instinctively turned the volume of the radio down as you made the familiar right turn into your old neighbourhood.
The early morning sunshine stretched across the quiet streets, warming the asphalt as it spilled between neat rows of modest houses and leafy trees. Tall utility poles and tangled power lines framed both sides of the road, looking exactly as they had the day you’d left.
Your foot eased off the accelerator almost automatically when the familiar house came into view. The wraparound porch looked exactly as you remembered it, supported by simple wooden posts and bordered by a railing that had hosted more lazy summer afternoons than you’d probably ever admit missing.
And then you noticed the ridiculous red, white and blue decorations your dad insisted on dragging out of the attic every year.
A massive American flag covered nearly the entire front window. Patriotic garlands hung from the porch ceiling. And, judging by the perfectly coordinated flower beds, your dad had somehow convinced your mom to plant red, white and blue flowers just in time for the holiday.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That… was definitely something you hadn’t missed.
You’d save the annual debate about nationalism, capitalism, and the political and economical state of the country and why you didn’t believe the Fourth of July and its founding fathers were something worth celebrating for another day. Preferably one that didn’t involve your father.
The engine died with a quick twist of your wrist, followed by the familiar click of your seatbelt, but you didn’t get out just yet. Instead, you sat there for another moment, your shoulders relaxing almost instantly as you looked at the house you’d once spent every waking moment trying to escape.
Your street had barely changed. Down the road, Mr. Flynn was moving his front lawn like he did almost every morning, while the kids of number 61A were already testing fireworks far too early.
Your lips curled into a small smile as you finally pushed the car door open and made your way to the trunk to grab your bags.
The fence around the house had recently been given a fresh coat of lacquer, and the brick path leading to the backyard had clearly been scrubbed clean days earlier.
Pushing open the familiar creaking gate and stepping into the backyard pulled a content sigh from your chest as you finally set the heavy bags on the ground.
“You here already, Ed?”
Your dad pushed the screen door open with one hand while carrying a heavy-looking cooler in the other.
“Who is Ed?” you asked when your eyes landed on your greying father.
A heavy thud echoed through the otherwise quiet backyard as he let the cooler slip from his hands, standing frozen between the back door and the patio.
“What the fuck?”
“Please don’t curse this early in the morning!” your mom called from somewhere inside the house.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be cursing too if you saw what the fuck I’m seeing.”
While your dad remained rooted to the spot, eyes still wide with disbelief, your mom mumbled something unintelligible as he made her way towards the backyard.
The towel she’d been drying her hands with joined the cooler on the ground.
“What the fuck?”
“Told you.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped you as the two of them simply stared.
“I told you guys I was coming home from the summer.”
“But not that you were coming today!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around you, only pulling back enough to cup your face between her hands. Her eyes searched every inch of it like she hadn’t seen you in decades. “Why didn’t you call? We could’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“I wanted to surprise you guys.”
Your dad finally seemed to reboot.
“Did you rent a car?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Hi to you too, Dad.”
“How much was it?”
“That’s your first question?” You tilted your head in disbelief.
“Oh, Pigeon,” your mom whispered, still holding your face. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been eating properly?”
“Mom, I’m fine—”
“Rentin’ a car is expensive,” your dad muttered, already fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “On top of paying New York rent? Jesus, Pigeon. You should’ve called.”
“Dad, I rented the car for three days—”
“I’m sending you money.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Almost twenty-one years old, and you were still their baby girl — apparently incapable of looking after your own health or your own finances.
Not that there was any point to trying to convince them otherwise, their minds had already been made up.
The cooler had been completely forgotten beside the screen door as your dad wrapped his hands around the handles of your bags — despite your repeated insistence that you were more than capable of carrying them yourself — and made a beeline for your childhood bedroom.
He was still going on about the rental car as you followed him up the creaky staircase, only abandoning the subject once he’d nudged open the familiar white bedroom door with his foot.
The door was still decorated with stickers. The walls were still painted your favourite shade of pale green, and the embarrassingly emo and scene band posters you’d sworn you’d take down before leaving college were still scattered across them.
Aside from the new rug in the middle of the room, nothing had changed.
“You should call your friends,” he said as he set your bags down on the bed. “See if anyone’s around to hang out.”
“I kinda lost touch with everyone, Dad,” you replied with a small shrug. “I’m perfectly happy hanging out with you two.”
“Well, us two and Eddie.” He scratched at his beard. “And a handful of our other friends too.”
“Who’s Eddie?” You frowned.
“Eddie Munson.” He pushed the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt farther up his arm, revealing the tattoo he’d gotten the year before. “He moved back last year when his dad got sick. Opened a tattoo studio downtown not long after.”
Your hand reached out almost on instinct, fingertips brushing over the healed ink.
The words of an embarrassingly sentimental poem you’d written in elementary school curved neatly around his upper arm, permanently preserved in your own unmistakable chicken-scratch handwriting.
And just above it sat a black-and-grey coloured realistic pigeon.
You still weren’t entirely sure which tattoo was more ridiculous.
“I still can’t believe you actually got this tattooed,” you snorted, looking back up at him.
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, tugging his sleeve back down. “Can you blame me for being obsessed with my only child?”
“If your obsession makes you do stupid things?” You folded your arms. “Then yes. Absolutely.”
He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on his hips in that particular way that always told you your dad was about to call you out.
“Says the girl who got 1D tattooed on her ankle when she was fourteen.” He pursed his lips for a moment before they curled into a disbelieving grin. “Still have no idea how you managed to get a tattoo back then.”
“Black ink from a pen and a sewing needle.” You shrugged as you unzipped one of your bags. “Saw a tutorial on YouTube.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Your giggles echoed through the bedroom as your dad simply shook his head, muttering something about teenagers while backing into the hallway.
“Put your bikini on. It’s gonna be hot today,” he said, pausing in the doorway to rap his knuckles against the frame, and then pointed a finger at you. “And then get downstairs and help me with the grill.”
“Aye, captain,” you laughed. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Good.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over the bedroom once again.
You let yourself sink onto the edge of the mattress before eventually falling backwards with a soft whump, the old springs protesting underneath your weight just as they always had, and you let your eyes wander across the familiar room.
The glow-in-the-dark constellations were still stuck to the ceiling. The bookshelf tucked beside your desk still leaned ever so slightly to the left after you’d tried to climb it when you were ten. The faded Polaroids hanging from the mirror still showed smiling faces you’d long since lost touch with.
Nothing had changed — not really.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were kind of grateful for it.
It took you a few more seconds of studying an older, more innocent version of yourself before you finally pushed yourself off the bed to change into a bikini like your dad had suggested.
For a second, while pulling open one of the drawers, you considered putting on the ridiculous American flag bikini as a joke, but the thought of your dad embarrassing you by saying something along the lines of, “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Celebrating the American spirit!” was enough to make you think better of it.
So you opted for another one instead — the one with the gold sequins and pink beads you’d bought during your junior year in a desperate attempt to impress Andrew Harrington.
Despite what your mom had claimed downstairs, you hadn’t actually lost weight. If anything, somehow surviving almost exclusively on ramen and bread had convinced your body that your chest needed to grow another cup size. The bikini still fit, but the straps leaned a little more to the digging into your shoulders side.
A pair of light-washed denim shorts covered the bottom half of your bikini, and your sneakers were swapped for sandals.
The familiar creaks of the staircase were drowned out by the unmistakable roar for a pickup truck pulling into the driveway as you made your way downstairs.
“Dad,” you called as you stepped into the kitchen. “Need anything from inside?”
“Uh…” he thought aloud for a second. “No, Pigeon. I think we got everything already.”
You hummed in acknowledgement and wandered over the fridge instead.
Having a beer at ten-something in the morning wasn’t exactly frowned upon if it was the Fourth of July, right?
You grabbed one from the bottom shelf before popping the cap off against the edge of the countertop, taking a long sip as the icy bitterness settled pleasantly against the summer heat that had already begun creeping into the house through the open windows.
Outside, a car door slammed shut, and your dad’s voice carried through the open window almost immediately.
“About time you got here!”
A man’s laugh answered him.
“Had some things to sort out.”
You were halfway through another sip when your dad called again.
“Pigeon! Come out here for a sec!”
Beer still in hand, you made your way towards the backyard, already half-expecting him to need help moving the grill or finally dragging the pool out of the garage.
Your dad stood barefoot on the grass, tongs in one hand and a bag of charcoal in the other, a broad grin already spreading across his face.
Beside him stood a man in a faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark three-quarter shorts, two six packs tucked beneath one arm.
Greying curls brushed his shoulders, a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head. Tattoos disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, and you were fairly certain you caught the glint of a small silver hoop through one of his nostrils.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open.
“Well,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing this is the famous poet who wrote Lovely Purple Pigeons.”
A warm laugh escaped you as you finally snapped out of your thoughts. Shaking your head, you walked down the few steps towards the two men before offering him your hand.
“Well, I’m no Emily Dickinson,” you joked, “but I’m glad you enjoyed my greatest work.”
You ignored the feeling of your tongue sliding over your bottom lip when a large, calloused hand wrapped around yours, his handshake firm without being overbearing.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said with a smile. “Kinda impossible not to become a fan of your work.”
“I’d say the same,” you replied, “but I still think letting my dad get that tattoo counts as a felony.”
That pulled another laugh from him.
Meeting new people had never exactly been your favourite thing. While you weren’t the most sociable person in the word, you weren’t exactly an introvert either. More often than not, though, first conversations felt painfully awkward.
Meeting Eddie was nothing like that, and conversations came surprisingly easily.
He laughed at your jokes — whether because they were actually funny or simply because he was being polite, you had no idea — and every question he asked felt genuine instead of obligatory.
More importantly, he never once spoke to you like you were still fifteen. Considering most of your parents’ friends still seemed convinced you were, that alone was enough to make you like him.
Your dad, who had wandered over to the grill while you and Eddie were talking, pulled you out of your thoughts when he spoke again.
“Emily Dickinson has nothing on you, Pigeon,” he called over his shoulder before doing a double take. “…Is that a new one?”
Your eyes followed his line of sight to the palm-sized, fine line design of a little fishing boat resting against your ribcage.
“Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Got it during spring break with a friend.”
“You don’t even like boats.” He frowned.
“It’s an inside joke from when we were, uh,” You hesitated for a second before taking another sip of your beer, “…stoned.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“There was something about boats and Led Zeppelin.”
“I don’t even wanna know.”
“Tattoos and Led Zeppelin?” Eddie laughed beside you. “Oh, I definitely wanna know.”
You looked over at him, only to find warm brown eyes already fixed on yours, and your mouth opened and then immediately closed again.
A stupid little laugh escaped you as warmth crept across your cheeks.
“It’s really not that interesting,” you warned.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jokingly rolling your eyes at him, you gave in anyway.
You told him about spending spring break in Florida with one of your roommates, getting far too high one evening, and somehow ending up in a twenty-minute conversation about whether Led Zeppelin sounded more like the name of a rock band or a fisherman boat.
Somewhere along the way, your roommate started pronouncing Zeppelin in an exaggerated Southern accent that had reduced the two of you to tears.
Looking back, it wasn’t even that funny — not unless you’d been there, at least.
“See?” you finished with an awkward shrug. “It’s one of those stories.”
The crowfeet beside his eyes deepened as he laughed.
“No, I get it.” Eddie smiled. “I’ve got a shit tone of those too.”
Adjusting the two six-packs, he nodded towards your side.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You returned the nod before turning slightly, lifting your arm just enough for the tattoo to come into view.
Eddie stopped closer — not enough to crowd you, but just enough to see the details.
“Can I?”
You nodded again, and his fingertips brushed lightly against your skin as he gently stretched it, the touch careful and practiced in a way that immediately gave away years of experience. Professional. Matter-of-fact, even.
Which definitely didn’t explain the fresh wave of heat climbing into your cheeks.
“It healed really well,” he said quietly, studying the delicate shading. “Nice line work.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “I’ll pass the compliment along.”
“Ribs are a bitch to get tattooed.”
“It honestly wasn’t that bad,” you admitted. “It tickled more than it hurt.”
“Huh.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “That’s a first.”
He let his hand fall away before straightening to his full height, and only then you realised just how much taller he actually was.
Well over a foot, if you had to guess. Which definitely wasn’t something you were thinking about either.
His eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer before he looked over towards your dad.
“So,” he said, lifting the six-packs. “Where do you want these?”
Your dad muttered something unintelligible while gesturing vaguely towards the house.
Eddie looked back at you.
“You wanna show me where the kitchen is?”
You raised an eyebrow at that.
If Eddie was more than just your dad’s tattoo artist — which, judging by how comfortably the two of them interacted, he clearly was — then he absolutely knew where the goddamn kitchen was.
But still.
“Sure.”
Turning on your heel, you led the way inside.
Entering the kitchen, your mom had just put the lid on the bowl of potato salad before turning around and making a beeline for the backyard.
Balancing the bowl on her hip, she pulled Eddie into a quick side hug, asking how his dad had been while you set your bottle down on the counter and opened the fridge.
“I’m gonna see if your dad needs any help,” she said over her shoulder. “Be right back.”
You hopped up onto the counter beside your beer as Eddie stepped over the fridge.
“How long are you staying?” he asked absentmindedly while tearing the plastic wrapping off one of the six-packs.
“I fly back on the twentieth of August,” you answered lightly.
A low whistle escaped him before he spared you a quick glance as he returned to stocking the already overcrowded fridge.
“That’s a long time to spend in a town like Hawkins.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Especially when you’ve got New York to go back to.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for your bottle again. Your fingers absentmindedly started peeling away the label. “It’s just…”
The sigh that followed was almost drowned out by the refrigerator humming as it struggled to keep up with the summer heat and the open door.
“It’s not what you expected?” Eddie offered.
“No, it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “More than I expected, actually.”
You looked down at the bottle slowly turning between your fingers.
“But I guess I found out there’s beauty in simplicity, too.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you after that.
Eddie finished squeezing the last few cans into the fridge before his eyes drifted towards the nearly empty bottle in your hands.
Without asking if you wanted another one, he reached in one last time and grabbed two cold beers.
“I spent twenty years trying to escape this place.” He popped the caps off both bottles with a battered old lighter before holding one out towards you. “Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Yeah.” You bit your lip as your fingers curled around the cold bottle. “I’m thinking about moving back next year.”
His eyebrows lifted at the confession.
Taking a long sip of his beer, he stepped closer to the counter and leaned against it, turning his face towards you.
“It’s the rent, isn’t it?” He teased.
“Definitely.” A laugh escaped you before you took another sip.
The sound of clattering dishes and your parents’ laughter drifted through the cracked kitchen window, filling the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you.
“So…” you spoke up after a few moments. “Your own studio, huh?”
Eddie’s eyes, which hadn’t really left your face since he’d walked over, softened into a smile before he glanced down at his boots.
“It’s busier than I expected,” he admitted, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. “Guess Hawkins isn’t the conversative little town it used to be.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Oh, yeah.” A disbelieving chuckle slipped from him. “The principal called my old man the first time he saw this.”
He swapped the beer into his other hand before extending his right arm towards you, and your eyes immediately fixed on the faded marionette inked across his forearm.
“Master of Puppets by any chance?” you asked quietly.
His gaze lifted from the tattoo to your face. “You’re a Metallica fan?”
You tipped back the last of your first beer before answering.
“I went through a metal phase,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Always skipped that song, though.”
Eddie tilted his head back dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as though you’d personally offended him.
“Oh, fuck off.”
A laugh burst out of you at his antics.
“Welcome Home was my favourite.”
“Jesus,” he sighed. “That’s somehow even more depressing to hear, sweetheart.”
The word settled somewhere low in your stomach.
Not because it was particularly intimate — if anything, it rolled off his tongue with the effortless ease of someone who’d probably called half the town sweetheart at one point or another.
But it somehow felt different directed at you.
Heat crept into your cheeks as you looked away, your tongue absentmindedly sweeping across your bottom lip before your attention dropped to the empty bottle in your hand. You rested it against the windowsill, intending to throw it away later.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, searching for the right words. “Guess I–”
“Pigeon!” Your dad’s voice boomed from the backyard. “Help me light the goddamn grill, for the love of God.”
You squeezed your eyes shut before answering.
“Coming!”
Eddie’s snort of laughter followed you as you hopped off the counter.
“I should probably go save him from himself.”
“Probably for the best,” he grinned. “I’d hate for your old man to burn his eyebrows off before lunch.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the back door.
Being your parents’ only child, your dad had spent the better part of twenty years making sure you knew how to do just about everything he could think of — from managing your finances, although he sometimes questioned your abilities, to cooking what he insisted was the perfect steak.
Which was why, apparently, you were the only person capable of getting the grill started.
The very same grill he’d begged for two Father’s Days ago after doing, in his words, extensive research on the best one money could buy.
Your beer instantly found a home on the folding table beside it as you crouched down to inspect the brand-new gas cylinder.
A sigh escaped through your nose as you shot your dad a quick glance before you reached down and connected it to the grill.
“Just tell me your knees are hurting next time.”
“That’s slander.”
“No,” you replied, straightening back up. “That’s old age, Dad.”
Somewhere behind you, Eddie laughed.
You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch him leaning back in one of the lawn chairs, beer balanced against his tattooed knee and a grin still lingering across his face.
Your dad, meanwhile, looked thoroughly offended.
“I’ll have you know these knees still work perfectly fine for my age.”
“Clearly.”
You turned the gas valve before pressing the igniter, and the grill roared to life on the first try.
“There.” You dusted your hands together. “Happy?”
“I would’ve gotten there eventually.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten back up.”
The familiar creak of the backyard gate interrupted whatever comeback your dad had been preparing.
A chorus of cheerful greetings immediately followed as a handful of familiar faces filtered into the yard, coolers swinging from their hands and bowls of homemade food balanced carefully against their hips.
Your mom was already making the rounds, hugging nearly everyone before they had both feet inside the gate.
It didn’t take long for the backyard to settle into the kind of comfortable chaos that only existed at neighbourhood barbecues. Someone had already claimed the lawn chairs beneath the shade, while another group gathered around one of the many coolers in search of cold drinks.
Laughter drifted across the yard, blending with the occasional pop of early fireworks somewhere in the distance as the late-morning sun climbed steadily higher.
“You wanna help me with the pool?” Your mom asked as she approached, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “God knows your father will take too long getting it out of the garage.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Keeping her arm around you, the two of you made your way towards the garage.
During one of your many phone calls, your mom had mentioned she was planning on spring-cleaning it, but you hadn’t actually believed her until you stepped inside.
Gone were most of the shelving units that had once covered the entire back wall, along with the countless heavy boxes that had sat on top of them. The concrete floor looked freshly swept, and judging by the faint smell that still lingered in the air, the walls had recently been given a fresh coat of paint, too.
“So,” your mom started casually as she searched between the remaining boxes, “what do you think of Eddie?”
You turned towards her just in time to stop yourself from looking quite as startled as you felt.
“Uh…” You cleared your throat. “Yeah. He’s… cool.”
If she’d noticed the slight hesitation or the awkwardness creeping into your voice, she didn’t let on.
“He’s handsome too, isn’t he?”
“Mom.”
She dismissed your protest with a wave of her hand, a grin already spreading across her face.
“Oh, come on. I’m not blind, Pigeon.” She crouched down to tug at a large carboard box before looking back up at you. “And I’m closer in age to him than I am to your father.”
Right.
The age gap between your parents was practically the size of the Atlantic Ocean.
But still somewhat smaller than the Pacific Ocean-sized gap between you and Eddie.
Guess having a thing for older men ran into the family.
“He kind of looks like one of those boys you have all over your bedroom walls.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Just… older. And without make-up.”
“I guess.” You shrugged, hoping the conversation would die there.
The sound of cardboard scraping against metal shelves echoed through the garage as your mom finally managed to wrestle the pool box free.
She let it drop onto the floor with a heavy thud before turning back to you, the faint smile she’d been wearing slowly softening.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” You nodded a little too quickly before reaching down for one side of the box. “Of course, Mom.
She studied you for another second or two before deciding not to push any further, and offered you a warm smile.
“Come ne.” She grabbed the other end of the box and nodded towards the backyard. “The longer we wait the longer it’ll take to fill the pool.”
The box was just as awkward to carry as you remembered, and your mom laughing at the disastrous way the two of you shuffled back towards the party definitely earned her a look.
Somehow, the two of you managed to carry it across the backyard before dropping it onto the grass with a heavy thud.
You immediately crouched down to pry open the cardboard flaps, fishing the instruction booklet from the top for a quick refresher. A few pages flicked by beneath your thumb as your eyes skimmed over the familiar diagrams.
“We’ve been putting this thing up for almost a decade, Pigeon.” Your mom looked down at you as though consulting the instructions was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever witnessed. “We don’t need the instructions.”
“Last time I was here, this thing nearly collapsed,” you muttered dryly, still scanning the pages.
A teasing smile spread across her face. “What happened to all that loud Girl Power thing of yours?”
“I turned the volume down,” you deadpanned, setting the booklet aside before reaching for the folded blue liner.
The plastic unfolded with a dramatic whoosh, nearly knocking your backwards. Your mom burst into laughter, gripping the edge of one of the folding tables to steady herself.
“Oh, shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You carried me for nearly ten months. I’m literally capable of reading your thoughts, Mom.”
Still chuckling, she helped you spread the liner across the grass while the metal poles clicked together with familiar little snaps.
As always, the liner refused to cooperate, folding in on itself every other minute before one of you inevitably sighed, untangled it, and started again.
From the other side of the backyard, Eddie tipped his bottle back before glancing over at the two of you with quiet curiosity.
“Should we help them?”
Your dad looking over his shoulder, and a chuckle escaped him before he turned his attention back to the burgers sizzling on the grill.
“Not if you wanna keep your head.”
By the time the pool was finally standing upright instead of threatening to collapse every five minutes, the sun had climbed high enough for the backyard to shimmer beneath the relentless July heat.
Burgers and hotdogs had long since disappeared from paper plates, coolers had been emptied and restocked more than once, and you’d already claimed the half-filled pool despite the water still being cold enough to make you swear.
The other guests drifted in and out of the house as though it were their own, someone had put on a questionable summer playlist that crackled through the garden speakers, and every now and then another firework echoed somewhere across town despite it only being four in the afternoon.
Somewhere between rescuing your dad from overcooking another batch of burgers, helping your mom carry dishes back and forth, and watching Eddie seamlessly weave himself into every little task the afternoon seemed to produce, he had quietly made it a habit to bring you a fresh beer whenever he got one for himself.
You never asked. He simply remembered.
You’d spent the last ten minutes talking to one of your mom’s friends about New York, college, and the seemingly endless questions of the existence of someone in your life.
“So you’re still studying psychology?”
“Art therapy,” you corrected with an easy smile, grateful for the change of subject.
“Oh, right!” she laughed. “I keep forgetting.”
She excused herself to the bathroom not longer after that, and before the chair she’d left beside the pool had even stopped rocking, a smudge of black dropped into it.
Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, one arm draped over the backrest of the pool.
“First Zeppelin, then Metallica, and now art therapy.” He took a slow sip of his beer as his eyes drifted towards you. “You’ve got a surprisingly eclectic résumé.”
A laugh escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
Silence settled between the two of you for a few seconds before he broke it again.
“I gotta admit,” he started, unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” Your eyebrow lifted.
“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully and took another sip of beer. “I’ve heard so much about you over the last year that I think I accidentally invented an entirely different person.”
He looked you up and down — but not once did he linger anywhere below your clavicles.
“You’re considerably more interesting that I had imagined.”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you tilted your head to the side.
“I would’ve thought you’d have learned how to flirt better at your old age.”
Eddie barked out a surprise laugh.
“Old age?”
“You heard me.”
He was still too busy laughing to notice your fingers curling around his beer bottle. You stole it from his hand with surprising ease before taking a slow sip without ever breaking eye contact.
His laughter faded as you tipped the bottle back.
“Careful. Keeping doing things like that,” he smiled, “and people are gonna think you like me.”
“What if they are right?”
Your fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary against his when you handed the bottle back.
“I don’t know.” He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle again. “You tell me.”
Neither of you looked away, and after a moment, Eddie scratched thoughtfully at his beard.
“You wanna know something,” he began slowly, his eyes dropping briefly to the bottle in his hand before finding yours again. “I’ve been trying very hard not to flirt with you all day.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded once.
“Thought it’d be inappropriate.” His gaze flickered towards your parents for the briefest of moments before returning to you, shrugging lightly. “You know… Me being friend with them and all.”
The pool creaked softly as you leaned back against the wall, cool water lapping gently around you. Tilting your head back just enough to let the afternoon sun warm your face, you closed your eyes with a quiet sigh.
“You’re forgetting there’s a big age gap between them too,” you murmured.
Silence settled for another moment — long enough for you to become acutely aware that he still hadn’t looked away.
In fact, you were fairly sure his eyes had trailed somewhere past the tight straps digging into your shoulders.
“Thirteen isn’t quite the same as twenty-three, sweetheart,” he replied distractedly.
“No,” you admitted as a quiet laugh escaped you, opening your eyes again. “I suppose not.”
“It’d be different if I didn’t know them.”
You studied him for a moment, catching the way his gaze indeed lingered on your bikini before trailing up to meet yours.
“You know,” you stared slowly. “You’ve been doing a terrible job with the whole not flirting thing.”
“Yeah?” Eddie barked out a laugh. “Thought I was being subtle.”
“There wasn’t anything subtle about the way you just stared at my breasts, Eddie.”
You bit your bottom lip to stop the smile threatening to spread across your face as you watched his mouth fall open.
That was clearly not something he’d been expecting, and for what was probably the first time all afternoon, he looked completely speechless.
His mouth opened once, only for him to close it again. then he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, clearly searching for something — anything — to say.
Somewhere behind him, your dad’s booming laugh cut through the silence that had settled between the two of you.
“Ed!” he called from the grill, and pointed towards the man standing next to him. “Get over here. You gotta hear this.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered back to you for one last glance before he pushed himself up from the chair.
“Try to pay attention,” you called after him before he’d fully turned around, and then lowered your voice just enough as you continued. “And try not to imagine them without the bikini.”
If he hadn’t been flustered before, he certainly was now — the flush spreading across his milky cheeks deepened as he paused mid-step, his mouth opening before immediately closing again.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Then, as he started walking backwards towards your dad, he pointed the neck of his beer bottle in your direction.
“We’re not done with this.”
A grin tugged at your lips.
“Promise?”
For a split second, he looked like he’d forgotten how words worked.
Then he simply shook his head, mumbled something and laughed under his breath as he finally turned away.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away much the same way the earlier hours had.
Somewhere along the way, your dad had insisted on putting on his classic rock playlist after declaring the previous one too depressing, despite nobody remembering who’d put it on in the first place. A few more neighbours filtered through the creaking backyard gate with desserts balanced on plates, while the coolers slowly emptied for what had to be the fifth time that day.
Every now and then, you’d catch Eddie looking your way.
Sometimes he’d smile. Other times, he’d simply lift his bottle ever so slightly in your direction before absentmindedly dragging his tongue across his bottom lip and returning to whatever conversation he’d been pulled into.
And every single time, your stomach betrayed you over the smallest breadcrumb of attention he offered.
The relentless July sun eventually began to lose some of its bite, giving way to a softer warmth that settled over the neighbourhood, while the sky above slowly traded its bright afternoon blue for streaks of peach and pale gold stretching lazily between the telephone poles.
The water that had felt heavenly just an hour earlier had cooled enough for goosebumps to creep across your arms. With a quiet sigh, you climbed out of the pool and reached for the towel draped over one of the lawn chairs.
As you dragged it over your arms, your gaze wandered across the backyard.
People were sitting instead of standing now. The grill had long since been turned off, paper plates were stacked in uneven piles on the folding tables, and the softer evening light settled gently across everyone’s faces.
This was exactly what you’d missed; not the fireworks, or even the stupid holiday, just this. People lingering without watching the clock. Conversations drifting from one topic to the next. Nobody in a hurry to leave.
After drying your feet just enough to slip your sandals back on without worrying about eating shit in front of half the neighbourhood, you made a beeline for the house.
You had barely let go of the screen door behind you when it was pulled open again from the other side. The damp strands clinging to the back of your neck barely shifted as you glanced over your shoulder.
Eddie.
“…Toilet,” he mumbled, though the word lost some of its conviction when his eyes betrayed him and briefly flickered to your hard nipples peeking from underneath the bikini before snapping back to your face.
“Right.” The corners of your mouth twitched as you turned around and continued walking. “You know where that is or do you want me to show you that too?”
The screen door slammed shut behind him.
“Funny,” he muttered, falling into step a few paces behind you.
Resting you hand against the banister, you paused just long enough to watch Eddie reach for the downstairs bathroom door, only to find it occupied.
“Be out in a minute,” your dad’s muffled voice called from the other side.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you watched Eddie pull a face.
“There’s one upstairs you can use,” you offered softly before turning towards the staircase without waiting for an answer.
The heavy footsteps against the old wooden steps were enough, anyway.
Once upstairs, you silently pointed towards the door next to yours before disappearing inside your own room.
Pretending to have forgotten to close the door behind you wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?
Biting your thumb, you waited for a moment until the loud flush from the bathroom next door slipped through the cracked bedroom door, followed shortly by the brief hiss of the sink before throwing the bikini on the wooden floor with a wet slap!
A content sigh escaped you at the freeing feeling of finally peeling it off, the towel quickly finding its way across your chest before you leaned over your bed in search of the first oversized shirt you could find in your bags.
While pulling the shirt out of your bag, the familiar stick-covered door creaked further open again.
“Interesting interior design.”
You glanced over your shoulder just enough to Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes slowly wandering across the pale green walls before landing on you.
“One Direction and Black Veil Brides posters weren’t exactly what I was expecting.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme today, huh?” you replied with a small smile before turning back and throwing the towel onto the bed before pulling the shirt over your head.
It took him longer than expected to find a reply.
“You keep surprising me.”
Behind you, Eddie wandered farther into the room with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, taking his time looking over the bookshelves and framed photographs scattered between rows of well-loved fantasy books.
You’d long since stopped feeling embarrassed every time someone looked at your old pictures. If anything, they only made you feel strangely nostalgic now.
“How old were you here?” he asked quietly, his attention fixed on a framed picture of you and your dad and a sea of strangers behind you.
You followed his gaze, landing on the picture your mom had taken at your very first concert.
Mark Knopfler — not exactly your first choice, but after your parents had failed to find someone willing to babysit, you’d ended up having to tag along anyway. Looking back, it had eventually become one of your favourite childhood memories.
“Twelve, I think.”
Taking advantage of Eddie’s attention remaining glued to the picture, you stepped out of your damp bikini bottoms before pulling on a pair cotton shorts you’d fished from your bag.
The quiet rustle of fabric followed by the metallic clink of a small tin opening finally pulled his attention away from the picture. His eyes settled on the weathered little metal box resting in your hands, the dents and scratches along its surface giving away years of previous owners.
“You smoke?” you asked, holding up the small resealable bag tucked.
A crooked smile slowly spread across his face.
“I used to deal when I was your age,” he admitted with an almost sheepish shrug. “Obviously I don’t anymore but…” His eyes flickered briefly towards the bag before finding yours again. “Yeah. I still smoke on occasion.”
Your eyes wandered over him almost absentmindedly, taking in the faded band shirt, the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric, the rings decorating his fingers and the curls brushing his shoulders before one corner of your mouth tugged upwards.
“Yeah, I can see that.” One teasing eyebrow lifted. “I bet you had the whole bad-boy thing going on.”
A warm laugh rumbled from his chest.
The silence that followed settled comfortably between the two of you as you returned to the task at hand — grinding the buds, laying a thin layer of tobacco onto the rolling paper, and tucking a paper filter into one end.
Heavy footsteps echoed softly against the walls as Eddie wandered farther into your room before eventually settling onto the edge of your bed beside your begs.
“Not bad,” he murmured, watching your fingers roll the paper back and forth before your tongue swept across the adhesive strip to seal it shut.
The brief glance at your mouth hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Many years of experience,” you chuckled.
“You say that like you’ve been smoking for a decade.”
“Eh.” You shrugged. “Half of one.”
You tapped the finished joint against the little metal tin a few times to pack the contents before pushing yourself off the bed and making your way over to the window seat.
Eddie’s eyes drifted towards the open bedroom door.
“Your parents don’t mind?”
A laugh escaped you as you accepted the lighter he held out before patting the empty cushion beside you.
“My dad doesn’t care as long as I’m not doing coke,” you replied with a shrug. “And my mom will probably ask for a hit later.”
The old wooden window seat creaked beneath the added weight as Eddie settled beside you. It was just wide enough for the two of you, provided you both kept your legs on the ground or close to your chests.
The excess paper burned away beneath the warm flame of his lighter, and before long the room filled with the familiar earthy scent you only let yourself indulge in every now and then.
The first drag hit the back of your throat in a sharpness that almost made you cough — though, thankfully, not quite to embarrass yourself — and left behind the grassy, slightly citrusy taste you’d always associated with summer evenings.
Just like that, the joint began making its way back and forth between the two of you while the muffled sounds of laughter, music and clinking bottled drifted up from the party downstairs.
“So…” Eddie finally spoke after another drag, exhaling the smoke slowly through his nose. “Art therapy.”
You looked over at him.
“What do you actually do?”
“It’s pretty much in the name,” you smiled, handing him the lighter when you noticed one side of the joint had started burning unevenly. “Traditional therapy doesn’t work for anyone.”
Eddie took another drag while he waited you to continue. When you didn’t, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“Tell me more.”
“You sure?” A small smile tugged at your lips as you accepted the joint back from him. “Because once I get started, I tend not to shut up.”
“I enjoy flirting with you,” he admitted with a quiet smile, “but I’d like to get to know you better, too.”
The warmth that spread across your cheeks had absolutely nothing to do with the weed of the last few remaining streaks of golden sunlight.
Your eyes dropped briefly to the lighter turning absentmindedly between his fingers before you took another drag and handed the joint back.
“We guide clients through different themes and encourage them to express themselves through art,” you began, speaking a little slower than before as the familiar fogginess settled comfortably over your thoughts. “Afterwards, we reflect on what the creative process might be communicating rather than focusing on whether the artwork is actually… good.”
Eddie nodded quietly, never once interrupting or taking his eyes off of you.
Encouraged by the genuine interest in his expression, you found yourself explaining how different materials could encourage different forms of expression, why the finished piece almost never mattered, and how every client inevitably communicated something unique through whatever they created.
Only when you heard yourself wandering into the four levels of expression did you finally stop.
“Sorry,” you mumbled with a sheepish smile, scrunching your nose.
“What are you apologising for?” Eddie asked gently, tilting his head before offering the joint back to you.
“I tend to…” you shrugged, lighting the uneven edge again before taking another drag. “Ramble.”
“You shouldn’t apologise for being passionate about something.”
His words settled over the room almost as softly as the evening sunlight pouring through the open window.
“You’ve got this look on your face when you talk about it, you know.”
“What look?” You frowned.
“The same one people get when they’ve found the thing they’re supposed to do.”
It took a few long seconds for his words to truly settle while all you could do was look at him.
No teacher, no classmate, not even your parents had ever described it that way.
And somehow, hearing it from a man you’d only met that morning made something warm settle quietly in your chest.
The grip you had on the joint faltered ever so slightly as your lips slowly parted.
Before you could think twice about it, you pushed yourself away form the wall and reached up to cradle his face between both hands, gently pulling him into a kiss.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Eddie’s lips were every bit as soft as they looked.
It took him the briefest moment to realise what was happening before his eyes fluttered shut and his head instinctively tilted, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.
One of his ringed hands, warm and calloused, settled naturally against your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the fabric of your shirt before you slowly pulled away again.
“…Sorry,” you breathed, slightly out of breath.
Hazy brown eyes searched yours for a quiet moment while his free hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You really gotta stop apologising, sweetheart,” he murmured with a chuckle, his gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“Sor–”
The word died somewhere behind a bashful laugh as your eyes darted anywhere but his face. When you finally looked back at him, he still hadn’t moved.
This close, you could make out the crow’s feet fanning gently from the corners of his eyes and the faint smile lines that years of laughter, cigarettes and sunshine had carved into his face. Even the way he smelled was somewhat different now that there was hardly any space left between you — a clean, woodsy scent with something faintly minty lingering beneath the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
Almost distractedly, your tongue swept across your bottom lip before you leaned forwards once more, pressing a lingering peck against his lips.
“Why tattooing?” you asked quietly as you settled back against your side of the window seat.
Eddie’s hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before reluctantly slipping away.
“That’s one hell of a subject change.” He replied with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you realised you were about to apologise again before stopping yourself.
“I know.”
He reached for the joint absentmindedly, brushing his fingers against yours for a moment longer than necessary,
“Because it isn’t only about tattooing.” His eyes found yours again after he lit the joint. “It’s about making people feel heard for a couple of hours.”
He shrugged lightly and took a drag before continuing.
“The ink’s just the excuse they give themselves for walking through the door.”
“That sounds familiar,” you murmured, gently taking the joint from his fingers.
Eddie’s eyes drifted briefly toward your bent legs before he wrapped a hand around your shins and effortlessly pulled them across his lap.
“I guess that’s another thing we have in common, huh?” you added with a small smile.
Somewhere across town, the first proper fireworks of the evening split the sky open, their heavy booms rolling across Hawkins until they drifted through the open bedroom window.
You’d been too distracted by the bursts of colour blooming against the deepening purple sky to notice that Eddie hadn’t looked away once.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the evening?”
An easy laugh escaped you.
“It would, yes,” you admitted, slowly catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you turned back toward him. “But you’d also be right.”
“Good.”
The smile that spread across his face was slow and unhurried.
He looked at you through his lashes for a quiet moment before his lips pulled into a smile.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to invite myself over to your place?”
Your attention barely lingered on the dying joint as you stubbed what remained of it against the brick windowsill outside before looking back at him.
“I was actually hoping you’d say that.”
His thumb, heavy silver ring catching the last of the evening light, traced slow, absentminded circles just above your ankle while the fireworks continued blooming somewhere beyond the open window.
Your eyes drifted past him and landed on the open bedroom door, where the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking bottles still floated up from the backyard.
“We should probably head back down,” you suggested quietly.
Eddie let out a thoughtful hum.
“Probably.”
Neither of you made any move to leave just yet. His thumb continued tracing slow circles against your ankle while your eyes slowly found his again.
“…Definitely.”
Another few seconds passed before the two of you finally laughed and pushed yourselves off the window seat.
You slipped your sandals back on before turning around to find Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What?”
“Just admiring the view,” he answered lowly.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you shook your head.
“You definitely don’t know how to flirt.”
“And somehow I still got you to kiss me, hm?”
Uncrossing his arms, he reached out and gently pulled you toward him by your waist.
Under the warm glow spilling in from the hallway, his eyes looked closer to amber than the deep brown you’d grown used to over the course of the afternoon.
His gaze wandered painfully slowly down your face before settling on your lips, his tongue absentmindedly sweeping across his own.
Then he leaned down until his lips found yours again.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly against your waist as a quiet, involuntary sound escaped you when his tongue brushed softly against your bottom lip, and for one brief moment the rest of the house disappeared entirely.
“Now we can go downstairs,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
Eddie stepped back as though he hadn’t just turned your already hazy mind into complete mush, only sparing you a grin over his shoulder before making his way toward the staircase.
“You comin’, sweetheart?”
The conversations in the backyard hadn’t even faltered when the two of you stepped outside again.
Well… Almost.
Your mom looked up from her folding chair, her slightly bloodshot eyes moving from you to Eddie and back again while one eyebrow slowly lifted.
The smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth was barely contained before she decided to let whatever she’d noticed slide.
“Did you seriously smoke without offering your own mother a hit?” she asked instead, narrowing her eyes at you before finally giving in to the grin.
“You were busy,” you shrugged, reaching for her beer and stealing a quick sip.
“Was I now?”
“There’s more than enough upstairs if you want to roll yourself one.”
By the time your mother had finally worked up the motivation to leave her chair and roll herself a joint, and the first few proper firework bloomed overhead, most of the neighbours had settled into folding chairs scattered across the backyard.
The conversations had quieted, drifting lazily beneath the warm July night while bursts of colour painted the sky overhead every few minutes. Somewhere between the booming fireworks and the shrieks of the neighbourhood children slowly fading as midnight approached, the backyard gradually began to thin out as people responsibly decided they’d had enough to drink and wandered back home.
It hadn’t taken long for your mom to return with a slightly wonky-looking joint between her fingers before settling back into the chair beside your dad, while he and Eddie effortlessly fell back into conversation.
You had quietly started making your way around the backyard, gathering abandoned paper plates in one hand and empty beer bottles in the other.
“Leave it, Pigeon,” your mom called softly from her chair. “We can do it tomorrow.”
“It’ll rain tomorrow,” you replied absentmindedly as you dropped another stack of paper plates into a garbage bag. “Besides, I don’t mind.”
Somewhere between politely turning down the joint your mom offered him and your dad deciding to get up and help you, Eddie quietly slipped inside to use the bathroom.
While you held the garbage bag open, your dad tossed in whatever disposable cups, napkins and paper plates he’d come across, the two of you working together in an easy silence that only came from having done this after every barbecue for as long as you could remember.
“You know, Pigeon,” he started quietly after a while, glancing up at you before pointing toward his nearly white hair, “as you can probably tell… I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You merely blinked at him before reaching for another abandoned plate.
“And I’m not blind either.”
“Dad—”
“I’d be a hypocrite to, I don’t know…” He vaguely gestured over his shoulder. “…tell you not to see him.”
“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief moment as warmth crept steadily up your neck. “I really don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Me neither,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “Glad we got that sorted.”
His attention drifted toward the screen door just as the faint sound of the downstairs bathroom door opening echoed through the house, followed by the familiar weight of heavy footsteps making their way back outside.
“Listen, I’m just saying…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you wanna go with—”
“Dad.”
“Yep. I’m done talking.”
He clapped his hands together once before plucking the garbage bag from your grip. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the large bin just outside the fence gate, leaving you standing in the middle of the backyard with burning cheeks and absolutely no desire to think about the conversation you’d just had.
The backyard had grown quiet by the time the very last neighbours wandered — more like stumbled — home, offering lazy waves and promises to see one another before the next barbecue.
Your mom stretched with a content groan as she pushed herself out of her folding chair, gathering the last few empty bottles with her joint carefully balanced between two fingers, while your dad carried the final cooler back towards the garage.
Eddie stepped back into the backyard and held the screen door open for your mom before making his way over to where you stood.
“So…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You still serious about inviting yourself over?”
The way he stood awkwardly in front of you — absentmindedly rubbing at his neck while looking at you with an expression that betrayed far more nerves than he’d probably care to admit — pulled a small smile onto your lips.
It was surprisingly easy to forget the age difference when he looked at you like that.
“If I’m still allowed to be presumptuous.”
“Always.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you while your eyes drifted somewhere over his shoulder.
Your dad had apparently taken the long route back inside through the front door and now stood in the kitchen beside your mom, and had his back turned towards the backyard.
Mostly.
Every now ant then, he’d steal a quick glance over his shoulder while pretending to be far more invested in the conversation he was supposedly having with your mom.
A quiet sigh escaped you.
“Can we get out of here before my dad tries to talk to me again?”
Eddie followed your gaze towards the open kitchen windows.
“Did he say something?”
The question came so casually that you almost answered it. But instead, your eyes squeezed shut for the briefest moment.
“Please don’t ask.”
“That bad?” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, but now I’m invested.”
Before you had the chance to explain that no, he really didn’t, your mom reappeared in the screen doorway and leaned casually against the frame behind it. Her eyes wandered from you to Eddie and back again while she absentmindedly patted her pockets in search of her lighter.
“Take your keys,” she mumbled around the joint tucked between her lips before finally lighting it and taking a slow drag. “You’re too old to be sneaking in.”
A horrified groan escaped you.
“Mom.”
“You’re complaining like I’m not a cool mom or something,” she laughed, completely unfazed by the look you shot her as you brushed past.
“Right now?” you muttered while disappearing into the kitchen. “You damn straight you aren’t.”
Your keys were still sitting exactly where you had dropped them that morning.
By the time you stepped back outside, Eddie had pressed his lips together so tightly they had almost disappeared, and the warning finger you pointed at him did absolutely nothing to help.
“Don’t.”
His shoulder bounced ever so slightly, while a reluctant laugh escaped you despite your best efforts as you guided him towards the fence gate. By the time the two of you stepped out into the quiet street, your parents had already disappeared upstairs for the night, leaving only the warm porch light glowing beside the screen door.
The walk to Eddie’s truck passed in an easy silence — the kind that settled naturally after spending an entire day talking.
He unlocked the passenger door for you before making his way around to the driver’s side, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled away from the curb that the two of you finally looked at each other.
Neither of you said a word for a moment. Then, almost simultaneously, the memory of your mother’s comment caught up with you. The first laugh escaped Eddie, while yours followed a heartbeat later.
Within seconds, the cab of the old Ford filled with the kind of helpless giggles that only came after an exhausting — but undeniably wonderful — day.
“She’s unbelievable sometimes.”
“Your mom really doesn’t have a filter, huh?”
He glanced over at you, his grin softening as he brought the truck to an easy stop at a red light.
Your own smile lingered with the familiar streets of Hawkins rolled quietly past outside, the last few fireworks still blooming overhead as Eddie shifted the gears once the light turned green and turned onto the road leading towards downtown.
There was little movement left at that hour and even less sound, save for the occasional firework rumbling somewhere in the distance.
The warm glow spilling from inside one of the storefronts caught your attention long before Eddie slowed the truck to a stop. The neon sign above the tattoo studio had been switched off for the day, but a lamp somewhere inside still cast a welcoming light through the front windows. Through the glass, you could make out framed flash sheets and posters covering the walls, the familiar outlines of tattoo chairs sitting further back in the room.
Eddie switched off the ignition before turning towards you.
“This is me,” he said quietly, gesturing towards the apartment above the studio.
“Must be nice,” a small smile tugged at your lips as you followed his finger, “never being late to work.”
A laugh rumbled from his chest as the click of your seatbelt echoed through the cab. “You’d be surprised how often I’m late.”
“Eddie.” Your eyebrows lifted as you turned towards him.
“How would they know I wasn’t upstairs finishing someone’s design?” he replied with a grin as he pushed open his door.
The heavy door of the old Ford creaked far louder than either of you would’ve liked as he walked around to open yours, though neither of you paid it much mind — compared to the occasional boom of fireworks still echoing somewhere over Hawkins, it barely made any sound at all.
Eddie pushed the passenger door shut behind you with one hand while digging through the front pocket of his short for his keys.
The warmth of his palm settled against the small of your back as he guided you towards the unassuming door tucked beside the storefront window, its surface covered in layers of old stickers and faded spray painted tags.
The lock gave way with a quiet click before he nudged the door open with his foot and gently tugged you inside by your wrist. After pushing it shut behind the two of you, he shot you a quick glance over his shoulder as he led you up the steep staircase.
Neither of you made any attempt to fill the comfortable silence by the time you reached the top. The moment Eddie stepped into the narrow hallway leading towards the living room, he crouched down to loosen up the laces of his boots before straightening again and flicking on the lights.
And suddenly, the apartment was there — like it had been ripped straight out metalhead magazine.
The polished wooden floors carried a dark lacquer that caught the warm light overhead, while the walls had been painted a deep shade of grey that border on charcoal and decorated with framed vintage band posters. It wasn’t overly tidy, but it wasn’t messy either.
Just… extremely Eddie.
Your eyes wandered curiously around the living room as you stepped farther inside.
Eddie lingered in the doorway leading to what looked like the kitchen, his lips pursed slightly as his gaze quietly followed you taking everything in.
“You, uh…” He scratched at his beard. “You want something to drink?”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you slowly approached the leather couch, your fingertips trailing absentmindedly along the backrest.
“Are you nervous?” you asked gently instead of answering.
A quiet, awkward chuckle escaped him.
“Kinda, yeah,” he admitted with a bashful smile. “It’s, uh… been a while.”
Your gaze lingered on his face for another moment.
The thin silver hoop through his nostril caught the warm light overhead, and his salt-and-pepper curls had become just frizzy enough throughout the day that they felt impossibly soft beneath your fingers as your hand found the back of his neck.
Had it not been for the genuine uncertainty and awkwardness swimming in his brown eyes, it would’ve been impossible to believe what he’d just said.
Not when he looked like that. Like he had just stepped out of a fucking Lana Del Rey music video.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, your nails lightly scratching at the curls near the nape of his neck. “It’s been a while for me too.”
The nervous glimmer in his eyes slowly melted into something closer to disbelief as his hands settled more firmly against your hips, gently drawing you closer.
“Bullshit,” he snorted, fingertips pressing playfully into your sides. “You’re way too smart and ridiculously beautiful.” His eyes wandered across your face. “No way you don’t have an entire fucking queue of men begging for your attention.”
A bashful laugh escaped you.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged lightly. “New York’s full of douchebags who think playing Hey There Delilah on an acoustic guitar is the secret to get girls to hop on their dicks.”
“Hey There Delilah?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Seriously?”
“Either that or Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.” You rolled your eyes. “And believe me, neither of them sound particularly romantic in that annoying Dave Mustaine kind of twang.”
“Hey, now,” he said, lowering his voice. “No Dave Mustaine slander in my home.”
A grin slowly tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Or what?”
The faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the apartment settled between the two of you while Eddie simply looked at you.
Long enough for three cars to pass somewhere out on the street below.
Of all the shit you’d thrown his way throughout the day, surely this wasn’t going to be the thing that finally made him reconsider inviting you over.
A startled shriek escaped you when he suddenly swept you off your feet and effortlessly threw you over one shoulder.
“I’m getting real tired of that fucking mouth of yours,” he muttered, unable to hide the laugh threatening to break through his voice as he carried you out of the living room and back towards the hallway.
While the view of his ass was admittedly nice, it also meant you had absolutely no idea where he was taking you.
The dull thud of his foot against a door echoed through the apartment before old hinges creaked in protest, followed by the faint rustling of fabric somewhere in the darkness as Eddie stepped inside the pitch-black room.
Finally pulling you off his shoulder, another wave of shriek-induced giggles escaped you when your back met a surprisingly soft mattress, the old springs dipping beneath your weight.
For a brief moment, all you could make out was Eddie’s silhouette standing over you, tall frame and broad shoulders, barely outlined by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtain.
Your heart stumbled over itself when the faint outline of his body disappeared around the other side of the bed before he reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
There was something inherently unfair about the way the warm amber light settled across his face when he looked back at you, turning his eyes into something closer to honey than brown.
You couldn’t remember who moved first. One second you were still leaning back on your elbows, and the next Eddie was straddling your lap, both hands buried in your hair while your mouth instinctively parted for his.
He kissed you slowly at first, like he wasn’t feeling the same desperate drop in his stomach that had just swept through yours. Then, the moment your barely contained sigh reached his ears, the kiss deepened.
He tasted faintly of the last beer he’d had hours earlier, and it only made your head spin faster when his familiar, comforting scent settled around you. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the heavy silver rings scratching lightly against your scalp while the other cradled your cheek as though you were something impossibly delicate.
This wasn’t anything like the kiss you’d shared back in your childhood bedroom — not even close.
He kissed you like a starving man. Teeth brushed against teeth, his tongue met yours with an urgency that stole the air from your lungs, and his fingers tightened gently around the strands of your hair before giving them an experimental hard tug.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice rough as he slowly pulled back just enough to look at you.
A dry lump settled in your throat beneath the weight of his gaze, and swallowing around it became nearly impossible when his hands drifted from the back of your neck to the curve of your waist.
“I mean… That fucking bikini?” A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he pushed a few loose curls away from his face, holding them back for a moment while he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Teasing me like that all day was fucking unfair.”
The slightly nervous, awkward man from just minutes ago had disappeared, his voice lowering into something quieter, more confident — and just a little condescending.
Eddie was the first to lose his shirt, tugging the dark fabric over his head and making his curls bounce free in the process.
“Fuck.”
The word slipped from your mouth before you had the chance to stop it.
The loose-fitting shirt he’d worn all day hadn’t done his body any justice. He was built in that particular way that wasn’t overly muscular, but just enough for the ink stretched across his skin to move with every shift of his shoulders and every steady breath he took.
Your eyes couldn’t decide where to settle — on the large neo-traditional Saint George slaying the dragon spread across his stomach, on the mirrored goats framing the saint, or on the blacked-out star that had replaced his left nipple.
Warm fingertips gently harshly into your cheeks finally pulled your gaze away from the artwork scattered across his chest and back, forcing your eyes to meet Eddie’s once again.
A knowing smile had already settled across his lips by the time you looked up.
“If you could only see yourself right now, sweetheart,” he chuckled, giving your cheek a couple of light, teasing taps. “Looking all dumb and drunk…” His grin widened ever so slightly. “…And I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Eddie’s expression softened just enough as he lowered his voice.
“You tell me if I start doing something you don’t like, yeah?”
You merely blinked up at him for a few long seconds, your mind too busy trying to catch up with everything he was making you feel to form a coherent thought. Eventually, you gave him a small, stiff nod, his fingers still gently pressing into your cheeks.
“Words, sweetheart.”
A quiet groan escaped you.
“Yes, Eddie.”
His eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly searching for any signs of hesitation or discomfort before he finally let go of your cheeks when he found none. The bed creaked beneath the two of you as Eddie pushed himself off your lap and stepped to the foot of the bed instead.
The loss of his weight and the overwhelming warmth of his presence was immediate. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed the way your eyebrows had drawn together ever so slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he slowly peeled off his shorts, his eyes never once leaving your face.
You couldn’t help the way your gaze wandered lower with every new inch he revealed.
He really was a walking piece of art. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, different tattoo styles stretched across his legs, and scattered freckles and little moles interrupted the ink here and there, making him feel all the more real beneath the artwork.
And then your eyes trailed back up, stopping right at the ridiculous volume he’d been packing underneath his clothes.
The heavy denim hit the floor with a dull thud before Eddie made his way around the bed once more. He gave your cheek another three gentle taps before helping you to sit up, only to step in behind you a moment later. The mattress dipped softly beneath his weight as he settled against the headboard, drawing you back with him until his bare chest rested flush against your back.
“The first thing I’m gonna do,” he murmured absentmindedly, his hands settling around your thighs as his thumbs alternated between slow strokes and gentle squeezes, “is take a good, long look at whatever you’ve been hiding from me underneath that shirt.”
His fingertips gradually wandered higher until they found the hem of the oversized fabric.
“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping another notch as he slowly began gathering the fabric in his hand, “when I’m done teasing you…” The shirt slid painfully slowly up your frame. “I’m gonna do what I’ve been wanting to do all fucking day.”
One hand left your waist and slowly travelled upwards until it settled against your cheek, gently turning your face towards the full-length mirror standing against the opposite wall.
It had been hidden behind his frame when he’d stood at the foot of the bed, but now there was nothing shielding your reflection from view.
Eddie rested his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing featherlight kisses along your skin while the hand curled around the hem of your shirt continued slowly pulling the fabric higher. Only when the fabric reached your shoulders did he finally have to lean back from you, lifting it the rest of the way over your head. The oversized shirt fell to the ground without either of you paying much attention to it.
His warm hands trailed your arms as the two of you looked at your reflections in the mirror.
Your breath, already quick and shallow, hitched as Eddie leaned to kiss the crook of your neck. His lips left intense and tingling kisses in their trail, and it felt like his dark eyes, transfixed on the way your ribs expanded as you fought for air, bore holes in you.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your neck. He propped his chin on your shoulder, leaning forwards and flickered his gaze down to your breasts, warm fingers trailing to meet the spot where his gaze had been fixed. “They’re even better than I’d imagined.”
Your fingers were tearing all the loose skin around your nails and your throat went dry when Eddie’s hands cupped your breasts. Four of his ringed fingers found the underside of your boobs, while his thumb traced soft circles right above your nipples.
When Eddie felt your face angling to meet his eyes, he immediately curled his thumb and forefinger around your nipples, tugging hard to get your attention.
“Eyes on the mirror.”
The hard squeezes he gave you only made your back arch away from his chest, which was apparently something else he wasn’t satisfied with; he put more pressure on your breasts, not only on the fingers around your nipples, but to pull you back flush against his chest.
“F-fuck.”
You blinked, taken aback by the way Eddie was playing with your chest. The warmth of his fingers and the harsh tugs sent a thrill down your spine. The world narrowed to the press of his chest against your back, the way he touched you, the slide of his lips against your neck.
Eddie’s fingers rolled your nipples, relishing the way you kept arching away from him only for him to pull you back twice as hard. His dark eyes found the mirror again, and the reflection showed him everything – the parted sheen of your lips, the feverish glaze of arousal in your eyes. It was dizzying, intoxicating even, and he’d decided then and there that he could watch you come undone like this forever.
“M-more,” you whimpered. “Please.”
A condescending chuckle escaped Eddie at your request. He increased the pressure, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples until you’re choking on your own breath and writhing against him.
He kept drinking in the sight of you, desperate for more. Reverently, he covered you with his hands once more, thumbs circling your nipples before he ducked to suck the spot right beneath your ear. The hot suction made you cry out, fingers reaching out to tangle in his greying curls to hold him closer. Teeth grazed lightly before soothing with flicks of his tongue.
The way you’d started to rock your hips against the bed hadn’t gone unnoticed by him — not when the small of your back hit his erection every time you ground back and forth.
“You’re so responsive,” he praised huskily, trailing biting kisses across your neck and shoulder. “Gonna make you fall apart.”
The wicked promise sent a fresh wave of heat flooding your veins. You could only nod frantically, surrendering yourself to whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you.
When a broken whimper escaped you, Eddie gentled his touch, caressing your trembling form with soothing strokes. He let go of one of your breasts and cradled your face in his hand. He pressed tender kisses to your temple, to your cheekbone, to the corner of your mouth. He traced the delicate line of your jaw, the graceful column of your throat, marvelling at the power he wielded over you.
He let go of your face, not without turning you back towards the mirror, and trailed his hand down your abdomen, dipping just below the waistband of your shorts—
Only to immediately retreat with a teasing nip at your belly.
You feel his lips, still resting against the side of your cheek, pull into a smirk when another broken whimper escaped you.
Eddie flickered his eyes up to meet your through the mirror. He drank in the sight of you drunk and desperate in his hold. With deliberate slowness, he hooked his free hand in your waistband, dragging the elastic just low enough for him to find a thin lined tattoo that had been hidden under your bikini all day — he couldn’t read what it said from where he sat, but he’d find out soon enough.
“P-please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” he purred, trailing his hand lower until his fingers were met your drenched folds. He slowly circled your aching clit, watching your body bow off the mattress with dark eyes. “This?”
“E-Eddie—”
“Or maybe this?”
Without warning, he plunged two thick digits inside you, pumping steadily as his palm ground against your swollen clit. Your shattered moan was music to his ears, spurring him on. He worked you mercilessly, curling and stroking your inner walls until you’re writhing mindlessly, chasing the feeling.
Eddie abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you bereft and whimpering. He caught your pleading gaze through the mirror, a wicked glimmer dancing in his dark eyes.
“I’m not done teasing you, sweetheart.” He sucked harshly at your throat, sinking his teeth in the skin before smoothing it out with his tongue.
His calloused hand mapped the contours of your body, cupping and teasing until you were all but a puddle on his bed. Deft fingers plucked at your nipples, rolling and tugging until the sting blended into electric pleasure.
And then his touch is nowhere to be felt — not his hands on your breasts, his plush lips against your neck, or even his warm chest against your back.
Standing up from behind you, he guided you until you were perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the mattress. He knelt before you, the heat of his gaze searing as he slowly pulled your shorts down your thighs, inch by torturous inch until you were bare in front of his eyes. Your breath came even shallower and faster, skin prickling with anticipation.
Eddie froze at the sight of your tattoo, his eyes darkening and his lips pulling slowly into a smirk.
“Valentine, huh?”
He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his tousled hair. His gaze darted between your face and the ink marring your skin. Slowly, he reached out to trace the still-healing letters with the tip of his finger, watching your skin jump and quiver under his touch.
When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, the look in them is dizzying. His ringed fingers danced higher, teasing the creases of your thighs. He parted your legs with a practiced touch, exposing you fully to him.
The first swipe of his tongue is electric, drawing a broken moan from your lips. He growled low in approval, doubling his effort until you were trembling and whimpering helplessly.
It was one thing when boys eat you out, but this?
Eddie acting like he was hungry, making out with your pussy?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Dark grey curls tickled the insides of your thighs as pressed his face harder against your slick folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit and tongue circling your leaking slit.
With one final, devastating lick, Eddie pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate. His dark eyes bores into yours through his lashes as he issues a husky directive.
“Keep those pretty eyes on yourself.”
He hooked one trembling leg over his broad shoulder, spreading you wider. Cool air met your dripping core, followed by the hot rasp of Eddie’s tongue painting your slit. Your reflection was debauched perfection – hair mussed, the thinnest layer of sweat covering your forehead, lips parted on breathy cries.
Just as you crested the peak, teetering on the knife’s edge, Eddie retreated once again. Denial clawed viciously at your insides. He grinned at your anguished whimper, clearly relishing in the control he held over your pleasure. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with need. Eddie drank in the sight, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he prepared to drive you wild once more.
Then, without taking his rings off, he pushed two fingers in your dripping pussy, pumping steadily as he leaned back down to suck at your clit. He maintained his punishing pace, alternating between deep, probing thrusts and fluttering licks that made you see stars.
“F-fuck. Ed-Eddie!”
The coil wound tighter with each pass of his tongue, with each hard, curling thrust of his fingers, until you writhed shamelessly, reduced to garbled curses and pleading whimpers of something that vaguely resembled his name.
Ecstasy crashed over you in dizzying waves, every nerve ending alight with bliss. Eddie worked you through it, wringing out every last shudder and aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.
You watched through hooded eyes as he rose, stalking towards you with a shiny lips pulled into a knowing, cocky smirk and a glint in his eyes.
His knees made a faint cracking sound as he climbed up the bed. With tender care, Eddie gently pulled you upright, gathering your limp form into his arms. He claimed your mouth in a deep, searing kiss, swallowing your dazed whimpers at the taste of your own release.
You clung to him, moulding your arms around his neck as his tongue brushed against yours. He guided you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. The solid heat of him grounded you even as residual tremors wracked your frame. Calloused fingers trailed reverently over your sweat-slick skin, mapping every dip and swell.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered when he pulled away from your lips, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Just breathe.”
Eddie continued cradling you close, murmuring soft reassurances. His wandering hand slipped lower, deft fingers pushing his boxers down just enough to free his straining length. You felt the swollen tip notch against your slit, poised to claim you fully.
“Gonna fill you up now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravelly with need.
His other hand still held the back of your head, pushing you down to keep you in the crook of his neck while he pushed himself deeper and deeper, until he sheathed himself to the hilt.
“Ed– Mhmm!” Your cry is muffled against his sweat-dampened skin as he started to move, rolling and grinding until you were a boneless, pliant thing in his arms. His hand roamed restlessly, mapping every hidden place that made you gasp and writhe until reaching your ass, pulling you harder against him.
“Keep looking in the mirror f’me, weetheart.”
The filthy visual drove you wild — tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and tattooed back, the depraved picture the two of you painted together. Eddie’s murmured command urged you on, hips moving in filthy counterpoint to his steady thrusts.
“F-fuck. Just like that,” he groaned approvingly, fingers digging bruises into the globe of your ass.
He moved faster, harder, grinding deep until you were sobbing wordlessly. Distantly, you registered the crude slap of skin on skin, the lewd squelch of his cock working in your sopping cunt. Tension coiled tight and taut, winding higher with each precise hit against that delicious, hidden spot. You were so close again, watered eyes staring back at the ridiculous way Eddie had your eyebrows pulled together and your teeth sunk in his shoulder.
You convulsed in his arms, wailing your release to the ceiling. He worked you through it ruthlessly, wringing every last drop until you collapsed limply against his tattooed chest, utterly spent.
Eddie, not being a complete monster, gave you a brief moment to catch your breath before gently pushing you onto your back. He positioned himself between your spread thighs, looping one leg high up over his hip. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, stretching you deliciously.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned out as he gave you a hard thrust. “Crying as I fuck you stupid.”
His intense gaze locked with yours, dark with hunger and devotion. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew until just his tip remained nestled inside your slick walls. Gripping your thigh, he rolled his hips in a slow, sensual grind, until he had you arching into his touch.
“P-please, Eddie,” you whimpered.
Eddie’s eyes gleamed with delight at your breathy plea. He maintained his torturously slow rhythm, leaning down to capture your nipple in his teeth, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. He soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue before switching to the neglected nipple, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.
“Hm? You want more?” Eddie rumbled, voice dripping in sin. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”
He straightened up, hands gripping your raised thigh as he powered into you with deep, jarring strokes. The change in pace had you seeing stars, inner walls clamping down desperately. Eddie set a brutal pace, grunting with effort, determined to unravel you one more time before he even considered letting himself come.
Eddie’s calloused finger found your swollen clit, circling maddeningly as he pounded into you. Electric shocks of pleasure radiated outward as he varied his technique — brushing feather-light, flicking firmly, rubbing in maddening figure-eights until you’re writhing beneath him, incoherent with need.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned out, eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the salty tears rolling down the sides of your face. “Just one more, that’s it.”
Another finger joined the fray, plunging deep in tandem with his thrusts. The dual stimulation proved too much, and your orgasm barrelled through you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Eddie’s eyes widened as your release gushed forth, wetting the base of his cock and the lowest part of his stomach.
“F-fuck,” he groaned, momentarily stunned by the sight of you squirting over him. “So beautiful when you let go f’me.”
He didn’t relent, continuing to pump into your spasming heat. Overstimulation warred with reluctant pleasure, keeping you suspended on a razor’s edge. Eddie’s grip tightened, anchoring you as he ground deeper, working you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm.
“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the side of your neck as he quickened his pace, desperate for his own release. “I– Fuckfuckfuck.”
Your spasming walls milked his cock mercilessly. With a guttural groan, he hilted deep, painting the insides of your pussy in thick, milky ropes of cum.
Wave after wave crashed over the both of you, seemingly endless. Through it all, he kept your trembling form anchored, murmuring praises into the sweaty crook of your neck.
“Good girl, took me so well.” Eddie placed a lingering kiss against your throat.
Eddie held himself up, gazing down at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with satisfaction, damp grey curls clinging to his eyebrow. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his sculpted torso, highlighting every ridge, valley and detail of his tattoos.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered.
“I’ve never–” You gulped down, licking your lips as your eyes trailed down to the base of his cock. “Not with somebody else, I mean.”
Eddie followed your gaze to the few translucent beads decorating his happy trail, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached down, swiping a finger through the slick trail, bringing it to your lips for a taste.
The gesture made a whole new wave of heat spread across your face. Hazy with the aftermath, your lips instinctively parted further, while Eddie hummed at the sight of you sucking his finger.
A broken moan spilled from your lips as Eddie slowly pulled out. The loss of the fullness left you aching, empty in a way that bordered on painful with your muscles fluttering weakly in protest, seeking to draw him back in.
Eddie pressed soothing kisses to your dampened temple. Carefully, he arranged you atop the tangled sheets, cradling your spent body flush against his larger frame. One hand drifted low to gently clean his leaking cum while your fingertips traced the bold lines on his stomach.
“Didn’t take you–” You cut yourself off with a broken hiss when Eddie’s fingers thrusted back into your pussy. “F-for the rel-religious type.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled — whether it was at your comment or on the way you’d reacted at the intrusion, you didn’t know. “Just have a thing for dragons.”
His deft fingers continued their shallow thrusts, coaxing forth fresh waves of sensations.
“What about that Valentine tattoo of yours?” he urged, voice low and enticing as he ignored the strangled whimpers spilling from your lips. The pad of his thumb found your swollen clit, circling with maddening slowness. “Tell me about it.”
“J-just thought it’d be hot.” You gulped down at the sight of Eddie’s lips stretching into a grin. “Someone reading it if they went—”
Eddie’s grin widened at the confession. His free hand traced idle patterns across your skin, while the other continued abusing your overly sensitive pussy.
“P-please, Eddie,” you begged. “I c-can’t.”
“Just one more?” he whispered back, biting his bottom lip. “Please, sweetheart.”
His eyes had softened at the broken sounds spilling from your lips, but there was no mercy in them. The answer you gave him, another broken whimper, was punctuated with a curl of calloused fingers, grazing that deep spot.
Your spine arched helplessly, mouth falling open on a silent scream as new tears rolled down the sides of your face. Through the haze of overstimulation, Eddie’s face came into focus above you, awash with smug satisfaction.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just one more, that’s it.”
“Eddie!”
He gathered you tenderly into his arms as you shuddered through the aftershocks, ragged breaths mingling with your whispered name.
“Atta girl,” he murmured approvingly, stroking damp strands of hair from your eyebrow. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”
You felt absolutely boneless in his embrace, barely incapable of pushing his hand away when he gave your clit one last, teasing, flick. Eddie’s fingers mapped soothing circles across your back, gentling you from the high.
“I could really use that drink now,” you mumbled tiredly against his chest.
A quiet chuckle rumbled beneath your cheek. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Eddie shifted carefully beneath you before easing you back onto the mattress. The bed dipped as he climbed off, pausing only long enough to brush a few strands away from your face before disappearing through the bedroom door.
The room fell strangely quiet without his presence. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the old floorboards creak beneath his footsteps somewhere down the hall while the occasional boom of another firework echoed faintly through the open bedroom window.
The corner of your mouth tugged upwards before you could stop it.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You’d left New York that morning convinced you were coming home for nothing more than a quiet summer with your parents. Instead, you’d somehow ended up in the apartment of the ridiculously handsome tattoo artist you’d met at ten-something in the morning.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway carrying two empty glasses in one hand, a bottle of water tucked underneath his arm and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
“There she is,” he smiled when he found you exactly where he’d left you. “Didn’t know which one you’d want.”
“Water, please.”
He crossed the room and handed you the bottle before settling back onto the mattress beside you, balancing a on one thigh while he poured himself a generous splash.
The water was almost painfully cold against your dry throat. You hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until nearly half the bottle disappeared in one go.
“Damn,” Eddie chuckled, watching you lower the bottle. “You weren’t kidding.”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.
The room settled into another comfortable silence. Outside, another firework bloomed over Hawkins, briefly washing the bedroom in flashes of red and gold before fading back into the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Eddie rested against the headboard, his shoulders brushing yours as he lazily turned the whiskey around in his glass.
“So…” he said after a while.
“So...”
A teasing smile spread across his face. “I think your mom likes me.”
That pulled a laugh from you loud enough to echo around the bedroom.
“Obviously. You’re her friend.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tilted his head.
“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, taking another sip of water. “She’s probably thinking you’ll tattoo her for free now, since you fucked her daughters brains out and all that.”
Eddie barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his whiskey.
“I knew there was a catch.”
“There always is.”
He looked at you for a moment, the grin lingering on his face. He swirled the amber liquid around his glass for another second before speaking again.
“What’s yours?”
“My what?” You frowned. “My catch?”
“There’s gotta be one, right?” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the nightstand. “Because a girl your age, pretty and smart and funny, doesn’t just sleep with someone my age after meeting, what? Fifteen, sixteen hours ago?”
You looked at him for a long moment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening the longer you held his gaze.
“That’s not fair.” You ignored the confusion that flickered across his face, and turned to set your water bottle on the nightstand before reaching for your discarded shirt. “Not to me, and not to you either.”
“Sweetheart, wait.” His voice lost every trace of teasing. Before you could pull the shirt over your head, his hand found your wrist, not enough to stop you by force, only to make you pause. “I didn’t mean…”
He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I wasn’t trying to put words in your mouth.” His eyes searched for yours as he let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “I guess I still have a hard time believing someone like you would look at someone like me and think, Yeah that’ll do.”
“I didn’t come home with you because you’re some hot, older tattoo artist.”
He stayed quiet, and you could almost see him trying to work out what you were going to say next.
Your eyes drifted away for a moment, replaying the day in your head. The beers he’d quietly kept replacing before you’d even realised yours was empty. The way he’d helped your dad with the grill without being asked. The way he’d sat beside you in your childhood bedroom, genuinely listening while you rambled his ear off about art therapy.
“You looked at me all day like I was someone worth getting to know.” A small smile found your lips, and you slipped your fingers around his. “You actually listened when I started rambling.”
A soft scoff escaped you, followed by easy chuckles as your eyes trailed him up and down.
“The tattoos are nice, and the curls definitely helped too.” Your expression softened. “But I came home with the man who made me feel like the most interesting person in every room we walked into today.”
Your eyes drifted down to the floor, finding his black shirt lying forgotten close to where yours had been. Without saying a word, you tossed yours back down next to it and reached for his instead.
Neither of you felt any need to fill the silence while you slipped your arms through the sleeves, the fabric hanging far too large on your frame and carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and mint, cigarettes and whatever laundry detergent he used.
When you turned back around, you found Eddie staring at nothing in particular, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Hey.”
His dark brown eyes lifted immediately.
“C’mere,” you whispered.
You eased yourself back onto the mattress before shuffling closer and gently tugging at his arm until he followed, settling onto his side to face you.
His hand found your waist almost instinctively while yours came to cradle his jaw, your thumb lazily tracing circles along the stubble covering his cheek.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Studio’s closed on Sundays.”
“Good.” A small smile found your lips. “I want a private tour. After you make me breakfast.”
“Oh, wow.” The grin that spread across his face was slow enough to make your own grow wider. “Demanding, are we?”
Please go watch Sex Explained on Netflix. Not only is it a great resource for the basic sex education that is sorely lacking in the U.S., but some of ya’ll need to take a deep breath and remember the difference between fantasy vs reality. This purity culture thing that we’re going through right now is directly harmful to responsible, healthy sexual expression.
BTW this woman, Lisa Diamond, is a noted psychologist and has been pushing for greater understanding of womens sexuality as a whole.
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