ALI MUNSON ~ Fangirl & Writer {20+} She/Her

The next Friday you were in his car after dinner with his parents and you looked at him from the passenger seat, no pain in your heart, just knowing that whatever had bloomed between you two had run its course.

‘I think you should ask her out.’ You said then, eyes fixed on the windshield. Steve’s stare was overflowing with confusion at your words.

You had been his first everything. Neighbours since you moved to Hawkins when you were nine, best friends since the first day as the new girl at school, first kiss, first girl he slept with, first love.

‘What?’

You tried to read his eyes, knowing him so well, but that night his pupils seemed to be hiding something behind them. The sudden distance between you and the boy you knew like the palm of your hand made you feel insecure.

‘Nancy. She’s pretty. I think you should give it a shot.’

Steve’s eyes turned soft at your words. You weren’t angry, there was no sign of jealousy on your tone, and that was enough for him to know.

You gave him a sad smile and leaned in to kiss his warm cheek, your coconut perfume that stuck to his body like a second skin filling his lungs. The cold yet familiar texture of your lips lingered on his cheek after you stepped out of his car and walked back to your place.

Rumours flew around the school and though you and Steve smiled at each other in the hallways, it was obvious that you were no longer the It couple of Hawkins. A few weeks after that, guys from the sports team started to ask you out and Steve was seen making out with Nancy after classes.

It was weird the first months, but after a while you had to make peace with image of them walking around the school holding hands, and you started going out on dates again.

But you got bored quickly. It was the same every couple of months, a cute guy from the football team would ask you out, you’d go on a date, make out or if you were in the mood, have sex and when they started showing feelings for you, you ended it.

You weren’t sad or disappointed, it was just boredom. Some of them took it nicely, others… not so much. But what if they called you a slut on the hallways? You were still pretty and inaccessible to most. You were having fun.

And Steve, well, he had heard of your reputation, but if he saw anyone talking shit about you, he was always quick on telling them to shut up. He knew he’d always be protective of you, waving from his bedroom’s window when you played with your dog in the backyard every evening, and closing his curtains when he saw you kissing some guy in your bedroom on weekends, sometimes staying in rather than going out as he meant to just in case. In case something happened. In case you needed him. In case you called.

But that never happened.

There was another person in the school that was willing to defend you from the rumours, but you didn’t even know about his existence until one day outside school, when Jason Carver lost his temper with you.

‘I mean it was nice…’ He overheard you say as you stood in front of Jason. ‘I just don’t really feel we’ve got that much chemistry.’

Eddie Munson was leaning against his car from the other side of the parking lot, hiding his amused expression behind a cigarette. Whenever he saw your pretty face around the school, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Eddie had always admired the confidence with which you talked to boys, dressed in those little skirts and knee socks he loved even if the autumn chill was too cold for them. Internally, he kind of liked how careless about dating you were, using those guys for a few weeks before dumping them. He’d argue you had terrible taste in men, from Harrington to Carver to any other pretty boy in the school, but he knew he would never have a chance with you.

‘What the fuck?’ Jason said, but no muscle from you face moved.

‘Come on, Jason.’ You tried to be kind but God, was he annoying. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m sure there’s a bunch of girls in Hawkins that would kill to be with you.’ He opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t let him speak. You never let them. ‘Anyways, I’ll see you around.’

‘Wait a fucking minute, you slut.’ You didn’t even have time to blink when his hand grabbed your arm so tightly it hurt. Eddie observed how you frowned in pain at Jason’s grasp. ‘You don’t get to break up with me.’

‘We’re not even dating, asshole.’ You said trying to get out of his grip. ‘Let me go.’ But the pressure on your arm became even stronger and more painful. ‘Seriously, Jason. Let go!’

Eddie didn’t wait for it to escalate when his fist hit Jason’s jaw and the boy’s hand finally let your arm go. ‘He told you to leave her the fuck alone.’

But Jason was not going to let someone like Eddie Munson walk away just like that. He returned the hit to the Eddie’s nose, and you took your hands to your face when he fell on the ground with a loud noise. Jason kept hitting him even when you screamed at him to leave the boy alone, trying to push him away from Eddie while a bunch of students surrounded you.

It wasn’t pretty. By the time they were separated, Eddie’s face was full of blood and Jason only seemed to have a small bruise on his cheek.

‘Hey!’ You called as the guy that defended you walked back inside the school. But Eddie felt too humiliated to talk to you, and all his bravery had been replaced by a deep sense of shame.

Steve didn’t think he’d find such a scene in front of him when he was about to walk out of the toilet. Eddie The Freak Munson walked inside the toilet with a bloody swollen face. Standing on his place as Eddie opened the sink, he observed the way the boy features clenched in pain when he took his hands to his face.

‘Do you need anything, Harrington?’

‘That just… that looks pretty bad. Should I call the nurse?’

But Eddie only laughed bitterly, not really used to anyone caring too much about him. He had always been invisible in front of people like you or Steve.

‘I’ll be alright.’ He said indifferently, and Steve nodded hesitantly, eyes lingering on the ringed bloody knuckles for a couple of seconds before leaving.

Steve didn’t think too much about it until he heard why Munson had been hit. The rumours said Jason Carver almost hurt you and The Freak had intervened at the right moment, but you felt weird talking about it, so you didn’t answer anyone’s questions as the bruise on your arm started to go from red to purple.

You searched for Eddie the following day at school but didn’t see him. His car was missing in the parking lot and when you tried to drive to his place to thank him, his uncle told you he wasn’t in, even if you heard the clear sound a guitar being played guitar behind the man on the threshold. So, you got the message.

Next Friday, you found yourself drinking and looking at Steve and Nancy from the other side of the party. Steve made eye contact with you as he danced with his girlfriend, and you gave him a sweet smile that he returned. It would never be strange for you to see him with someone else, but at the same time, you told yourself you weren’t really jealous.

But maybe Nancy Wheeler was.

‘Why do you keep looking at her?’ She asked. They were in the toilet after Steve had accidentally thrown his drink on her.

‘What? Who?’ His hands were a bit shaky at the anger behind Nancy’s eyes as he offered her some tissues to clean her clothes.

‘Who?’ She mocked, ‘Your ex-girlfriend, it’s like you’re obsessed with her or something.’

‘I’m not–’

Just then, the toilet’s door opened. Their eyes lift up to find you face, blood rushing to your cheeks quickly at the sight of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ You said, to what Nancy rolled her eyes.

Steve saw the way you looked at her confused. He opened his mouth to apologize for his drunk girlfriend when his eyes caught the purple bruise on your arm, quickly looking back at you. You knew those eyes so well, he was worried. A question in his pupils as his mouth opened slightly. But you turned shy then, embarrassed by the bruise and by your drunkenness, feeling like you had somehow disappointed him.

‘Hey–’ He started, but you closed the toilet’s door quickly before walking towards the living room to tell your ride to go home. You shouldn’t have come to that stupid party anyways.

On Monday, everyone knew that Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were no longer together. You started wearing long sleeved sweaters on top of your usual cute tops with the excuse of the low temperatures, but you were just covering the bruise that had made you feel so humiliated when you last saw Steve.

Eddie thought he was probably the only one that noticed you were wilting after what happened with Jason. He started to be more careful after the fight too, face still purple and swollen by the bruises that cost him the stares of the people calling him a weirdo in the hallways. So, he decided to start eating his lunch in the school’s toilets rather than in the cafeteria.

But he still observed you in between classes, when you were distracted taking your books from your locker, keeping your eyes low. When you started to turn down the dates the popular boys invited you to, punishing yourself for what you thought you had caused. Eddie saw the way you hid your pretty eyes from Steve, who often stared the back of your neck during class or in the hallway, and with narrowed eyes he silently noticed Harrington’s face full of confusion and sadness as you ignored him in the parking lot.

Steve would lift his eyes to find Munson’s gaze on him, not breaking the eye contact as his ringed scarred hands reached for a cigarette on his pocket. His cheeks would turn hotter at the piercing look in Eddie’s pupils, as if he had been caught doing something stupid, or as if he knew something Steve didn’t. All he could do was open the door of his BMW to go home and try to get you off his head as his knuckles wrapped tightly around the wheel.

It all went downhill for Steve after that.

Months later, some rich kids called Eddie to bring some weed over for them at a party, and when he opened the big wooden door of the fancy house, he found Steve’s swollen face on the other side of the door.

The boy ran past him, not even noticing when Eddie stood next to the door and watched him get inside his car. He should’ve done something, he should’ve offered him some help like he had done months ago when he hit Jason, but Eddie was paralysed. He didn’t realise he had been standing outside like an idiot, watching Steve’s car get lost in the distance, until a familiar body walked past him again.

Your coconut perfume made him take a step back into the shadows of the night. You were standing on the street now, your bare back exposed by a nice little dress, trying to see through the darkness. But Steve was gone. The night’s cold air made you shiver, and Eddie decided to walk inside the house before he could do something stupid, like talk to you.

When Eddie walked in, he looked around, trying to find any of the people he had spoken to on the phone earlier. He was about to walk into the kitchen when the sight of Billy Hargrove’s bloody knuckles made him walk away in the opposite direction.

You saw Steve’s bruises heal from the distance.

The laughs of Carol Perkins and Tommy Hagan made you lift your eyes sometimes, but Steve no longer hung out with them, the empty space where he belonged once making you frown your eyebrows with curiosity.

Sometimes you stared at the phone next to your bedside table, laying on your bedroom’s floor with your hair wet after a shower and your feet bare against your green rug, thinking about calling him. But you never felt brave enough to deal his number, and you had grown fond of walking your dog around the block instead of playing with him in the back garden of your house. Or that’s what you told yourself.

You thought he and Nancy would eventually come back together, hopeful that it might all have been a misunderstanding and completely unaware of how you had caused the breakup on the first place, but she was now dating Jonathan Byers. He must be feeling lonely, you thought the morning you found the new couple kissing against Jonathan’s car.

Yet you would still looked back to your locker when you saw Steve walking down the hallway, a little red scar marking his lower lip, purple bruises around his nose fading. You were dying to talk to him, repressing a sigh as the smell of his familiar woody cologne invaded your lungs when he walked past. But you abandoned the idea, closing your locker’s door a bit too harshly before heading to class.

Didn’t everyone feel utterly miserable in high school, anyways?

It all changed two weeks after that, when you were on your way to the cafeteria and Billy Hargrove tried to ask you out. You stood next to your locker in shock, lips partly opened but nothing coming out of them. You had turned more introvert after what Jason Carver did to you, and you figured Hargrove would treat you worse than him. You’d seen what he did to Steve, and the way his little sister seemed so tense around him all the time sent shivers through your body. You almost felt your hands shaking next to your sides as you looked back at him, but the fear quickly turned into something else: anger. Why did you have to be so careful around all these assholes?

‘I don’t… I don’t think so, Billy.’ You said before trying to walk past him, but Billy placed his arm on your locker and blocked your way out, making you roll your eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but you pushed his chest with your hand. ‘I said I don’t want to. Leave me the fuck alone.’

‘What? You’re getting picky now after half the school has slept with you?’

And that’s what made you snap.

You kicked him on the shin by reflex, the first thing you brain could come up with. But when he reached for his leg trying to soothe the pain, your rage was too much for you to hold in.

Everyone in the hallway was looking at you when you bent a little to be at the same eye level as him. ‘Listen to me, asshole. I fuck whoever I want to, not the other way around. Maybe you’re not half as hot as you think you are, so if you really want the full thing, you’re gonna have to masturbate until your little dick falls off.’

Your angry words echoed through the walls as Billy’s eyes filled with fury. Under his breath, he was still able to speak, ‘Who wants to fuck the school’s slut, anyways.’

‘That’s it–’ you said, but as you were about to jump on him you felt someone’s arms on your waist.

‘Okay, okay. That’s enough.’ Steve said as he walked you backwards, his hand around your waist while you kicked your feet in the air and Billy composed himself. ‘Come on.’

‘Let me go, Steve!’ You screamed as he kept dragging you away from Billy and the rest of the students.

But he didn’t until you were in the boy’s toilets, your cheeks red with anger and scalp a bit sweaty by the adrenaline.

‘You need to calm down.’

Eddie stood still inside the toilet’s stall when he jumped to the sound of Steve Harrington’s voice. He thought it was weird for him, or anyone, to be in these toilets that he found almost no one in the school seemed to use. Until he heard your voice.

‘I don’t fucking want to calm down.’

Eddie stayed silent, trying to look through a little crack on the stall’s door. Steve had both hands on your shoulders while you seemed to be breathing heavily with rage.

‘He could’ve–’ He started.

‘Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.’ You removed his hands from your shoulders, screaming at him. You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but you were burning with anger. ‘I’ll fucking fight him, Steve. Hargrove, Carver, all of them. I’m so sick of this shit.’

You let out a sigh, trying to relax, but it was impossible. Eddie smiled at your words; he loved how tough you were despite the fact you seemed like a really soft girl. He repressed a laugh at the sight of Steve standing in front of you with his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck do with you.

‘I know, I know.’ He said, eyes serious as he looked at you through brown strands of hair that fell on his forehead, ‘But that’s not the solution–’

‘You’re such a hypocrite!’ You clenched your fist on either side of you, ‘You hit Billy–’

‘Yeah, and I fucking lost.’ He said to you, his hands were aching to touch you again. Your cheeks red, coconut smell everywhere around him, softened by the way your hands got lost inside your oversize sweater. He missed that, he missed that so much, making him suddenly nervous like when he was sixteen. He swallowed before speaking again, trying to keep those thoughts out of his head.

‘I would’ve had to fight him again if he’d touch you and I would’ve lost again.’ His words almost made you smile, stress and anger dissipating and his eyes lighting up at your reaction. ‘Would’ve ended up like Munson when he hit Carver.’

Eddie noticed how you shut your eyes at the sound of his name, tilting your head back and biting your lip. ‘I still feel so fucking guilty about that. I was never able to thank him and now I feel too awkward to do it.’

Eddie held a sigh at your words. A part of him felt kind of flattered, but another was relieved you never spoke to him again. As creepy as it sounded, and as pathetic as he felt for it, he preferred to observe you from afar.

‘I think maybe I should too.’ Said Steve as his eyes got lost on the tiles of the toilet’s floor. You lifted your gaze at his words, but he didn’t feel brave enough to look back at you. ‘I mean, that wouldn’t have happened if I…’

He let the words hang in the air. You turned your gaze to your shoes, arms crossed over your chest as the air turned tense. He took the opportunity to look back at your face and study the subtle changes that had somehow turned you even prettier after your breakup. No wonder you had so many guys after you, the air of confidence you radiated now made you irresistible. But he knew you. They didn’t deserve you.

When you licked your lips, Eddie couldn’t ignore the way Steve’s eyes followed the movement of your mouth.

‘We can be friends.’ You said then, looking up at him.

Steve nodded sightly, but you knew the darkness in those eyes too well. He wasn’t looking at you the way friends looked at each other. Eddie noticed the way your body shifted next to him, looking at Steve from under your lashes and biting your lip unconsciously, unaware of the effect that simple gesture would have in the two boys that were looking at you. Steve looked down to your shoes when you took a step towards him.

God, he was so pretty. You took your time to study the scars that now adorned the skin around his nose and mouth, dying to kiss them. You remembered that summer night you had sneaked into his bed for the first time two years ago, the way his weight over your body felt so right, the safety and tenderness of it all. You remembered how Steve Harrington fucked: slowly, devotedly, sweetly, sloppy.

Maybe it was the habit that made his hand lift to stroke the little space of skin between your skirt and sweater. His fingers hadn’t forgotten, you were still soft as silk, and your coconut smell that used to perfume his bedsheets brought the same memories of your body beneath his. Mind clouded by images of your open mouth and arched brows as he guided you with the movements of his hips. There was a time when you trusted him.

‘S that what you want?’ Steve whispered. His eyes met yours then, not trace of shyness in them, but the same endless devotion he so dangerously gave away as if it was nothing.

‘Maybe.’ You pondered in silence as you got closer to him, and your eyes asked for what your mouth didn’t. ‘I mean, I can be a really good friend.’

Steve’s hand found the back of your knee, fingertips following an invisible line from there towards your ass. Eddie couldn’t look away at the sight of your skirt lifting just enough to see the curve of your butt cheek when Steve’s hand found the lace of your thong. You gasped at his touch; this wasn’t boring at all. Not like the sex you were having in the cars of all those guys you had been dating the last few months.

‘Hmm, ‘m sure you can.’ His hand was playing with the lace of your panties now, he held the thin fabric strip before lightly letting it go, hitting your skin just nicely. He knew you liked that. His fingers moved to the fabric in between your legs, finding it damp. A breathy laugh left his lips in disbelief. ‘So wet already?’

Eddie couldn’t help but shut his eyes at Steve’s words. He couldn’t help but imagine what a wet mess your underwear was, the way he’d kill to put his hand under your skirt like Steve was doing right now. You moaned in response, and Eddie opened his eyes to find you looking straight into your ex-boyfriend’s, dark brown taking in the pretty scene in front of him. Eddie had a thing for girls that knew how to do eye contact, and you seemed to be fucking fantastic at it. Your eyebrows met in the middle when Steve opened your legs slightly, with so much confidence behind, like he had never forgotten the little things that made your body melt.

Steve’s eyes stayed on you when he lifted your leg towards him, your knee resting on his hip. ‘What d’you say, sweetheart?’ He whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke, ‘Just once for old times’ sake?’

‘Fuck, Steve.’ You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. ‘Just touch me.’

He let out another breathy laugh as his fingers dived inside your underwear. Eddie rolled his eyes when the sounds of Steve’s hands getting in and out of your wet cunt echoed through the toilet’s walls. You took three of your fingers to your mouth, trying to hide your moans by sucking on them. Steve placed his forehead on yours as you looked up at him, eyes overflowing with that purity he loved so much.

‘D’you like it, baby?’ He said putting another finger inside of you, ‘Did your pretty pussy miss me?’

It was the way you nodded innocently as your fingers came in and out your mouth what made Eddie unzip his jeans. How many times had you been in his fantasies? Way too many. And now you were here, being fingered in the school’s toilets, your frail body turning into nothing. He couldn’t resist to touch himself, the noise of your choked whimpers making his cock throb.

Eddie started stroking up and down his dick when your hand found Steve’s big erection under his jeans. ‘Wanna fuck me ‘gainst the sink?’ You said then, voice soft but hot, just how you knew Steve liked it. That voice had always made him dumb, and you knew by the way his eyelids had turned heavy and his pupils shiny, that his brain was struggling to process your dirty words as your hand rubbed against his bulge. ‘Can keep the skirt on and you can fuck me from behind, hmm?’

‘Fuck.’ Eddie whispered under his breath. He was trying not to cum so quickly, but you were making it hard for him.

Steve couldn’t resist your offer, unzipping his jeans clumsily while you bent over the sink. You looked behind your shoulder, innocent eyes inviting him as you stood all exposed for him.

Eddie’s clothes were wet with sweat at the look of your ass and your wet pussy ready for Steve, but when Harrington moved his boxers down and his cock fell out hard and big, something inside him betrayed him, trying hard to repress the loud moan that almost got him caught.

‘Shit.’ He whispered then, as Steve positioned himself behind you and the noise of skin against skin filled the toilet. Eddie had to angle himself properly before all his cum fell promptly on the stall’s door, staining the floor too. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

It didn’t happen just once.

You didn’t know what this meant, and you didn’t care. You and Steve found each other in the school’s toilets at least once a week. In person you were still polite, but it wasn’t like you were dating again.

But it seemed like that’s what made the whole thing so nice. This was different from any other thing you had experienced before. In the time you had spent apart, you and Steve had definitely learned some nice new stuff, but you had never forgotten what could drive each other insane. And through all your encounters, Eddie sat down inside the stalls making sure he kept quiet as he heard your precious moans echoing through the walls.

He had also learned that Steve was very vocal. Growls against your neck, some pretty nice noises when you got on your knees for him… That was Eddie’s favourite sight while he looked through the familiar crack of the same stall door: your little mouth taking Harrington’s big cock so well. At times, he closed his eyes while Steve moaned, fantasising about stroking your hair and calling you a good girl while you made out with your ex-boyfriend’s cock.

But things are always bound to change, and one particularly cold day you found yourself getting fucked in the toilets once again. Your back was against the wall, heel on Steve’s shoulder as his dick touched that spot he knew how to find so well.

‘Hmm, you’re desperate for it today, baby.’ He said before thrusting into you, ‘Like it like that?’

‘Uh-uh.’ Your nails were leaving nice half-moon marks on his back as your head hit the wall every time he thrusted himself inside you. ‘Fuck me like that.’

Eddie could notice your hard nipples under your soft top, since you had taken your sweater off earlier. Steve was right, there was something freaky about you today, something that made Eddie even harder for you as the boy in front of you fucked you faster, and faster.

‘Hmm.’ You moved your hips against Steve as he fucked deeper into you. His eyes almost absent because of how good and tight you felt. You loved when he looked at you like that. ‘Shit, daddy, fuck me harder.’

Steve would’ve cum for you right there if it wasn’t for the soft growl that startled you two. You covered yourself with your skirt and he instinctively stood up in front of you, his hand finding yours right after he zipped his jeans and interlacing your fingers together. There was no noise for a second until something caught your eye, a shadow under one of the stalls. There was someone here. You decided to walk past Steve, standing in front of one of the green metal doors.

You placed your ear next on it and heard the clear sound of a heavy breath behind. Holding your breath, you pushed the door lightly, finding no other than Eddie Munson on the other side.

He was holding his face on his hands, cheeks red in embarrassment when you laughed with relief.

‘Fuck, Eddie. You scared the shit out of me.’

He looked up confusedly at you when Steve walked the distance to the stall. ‘Munson.’ Steve’s cheeks turned rosy at what the situation looked like. ‘Were you…?’ He swallowed hard trying to find the right words.

‘I’m sorry.’ His anxious voice echoed through the walls, and you noticed the subtle shaking of his hands. ‘Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

‘Hey.’ You walked inside and bent in front of him. His hands were freezing when you held them in yours. ‘I’m not mad. It’s fine. It’s hot stuff, don’t worry.’

Eddie looked up at Steve then, who stood with his hands on his hips. Steve considered the situation for a second and shrugged in resignation. ‘Whatever, man. If she doesn’t care, I don’t care.’

Eddie let out a sigh of relief then, and you gave him a sweet smile. Your shoulders relaxed when the terror dissipated from his eyes, and something inside you turned soft. The idea of him being so scared almost broke your heart.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ You said standing up, a cheeky smile on your beautiful angelical face as you spoke, ‘I’m feeling quite generous today.’

Eddie thought he was dreaming it all for a second when you walked towards Steve, wrapping your arms around his waist. You were still wearing no underwear, your skirt just short enough for Eddie to look at the soft lines of skin underneath. ‘What do you say, Steve? Should we let Eddie watch?’

Steve looked from you to Eddie, trying to process what you were asking. His dick twitched inside his jeans, still needing the sticky wet walls of your pussy wrapped around it.

‘Babe.’ He said unsure. His hands found your hips by reflex, the soft and warm skin above the hem of your skirt calming his nerves.

‘Steve.’ You said then, face turned serious before you looked behind your shoulder at Eddie, then back at him. ‘Are you really gonna tell me this doesn’t turn you on?’

Steve seemed hesitant. Not because he wished to say no, but because he wanted to say yes so badly it scared him. Something in his eyes made yours turn softer for him as you realised he seemed a bit insecure, heart beating hard against his chest.

‘Hey.’ You cupped his face with your hands and looked into his sweet brown eyes, brows arching when your thumb stroked his cheekbone. You didn’t know what this was anymore, but if you were going to do this, it was going to be with Steve and only Steve. ‘It’s just me. You know I’d never judge you.’

He nodded once and swallowed hard before letting out a deep breath.

‘Still wanna do it?’ You asked once again, to what he nodded more eagerly now, eyelids getting heavy as the heat of his body increased.

You took a step aside, getting rid of your top then, showing off your hard nipples and enjoying the idea of being observed by the two boys. You felt your pussy getting wet once again as your back rested on the cold metal wall of the stall. Feeling Eddie’s eyes on you, you grabbed Steve’s shirt and pulled him towards you.

‘Now fuck me so Eddie can cum.’

And just like that, things changed. Now you and Steve met with Eddie at least once a week in the toilets. You enjoyed it too much. Steve would say he was just happy to indulge you, but you also saw the looks exchanged between the two boys when they were about to cum, the way Steve often looked at Eddie to check that he was enjoying it. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your orgasms harder and sweeter.

You found out quickly that Eddie loved to see you sucking cock, and Steve noticed Eddie loved to look at you from the other side of the toilet while he fucked you from behind. And almost in an implicit agreement, you indulged his fantasies too.

Eddie never touched either of you, though. He was just a mere observer on those occasions, and he didn’t feel brave enough to ask for it, scared it might offend you and Steve. He wasn’t sure of how things worked between you two outside the toilet’s boundaries either.

When he smoked his usual cigarette while leaning on his car after school, he noticed that you and Harrington never left together. He still saw how Steve still looked at you during class though, the way the pretty brown eyes that often focused on his dick seconds before cumming followed your silhouette in the hallways. How his face turned red whenever you waved at him right after you caught him staring from the other side of the classroom; the tense frown on his face as some guy tried to flirt with you in the parking lot, mediocre speeches leaving their mouths before you simply replied no to their date offers.

Eddie noticed everything. And Eddie knew that Steve had never gotten over you.

You were more difficult to decipher. You seemed to be extra caring of Steve most times, always leaving needy kisses after finishing before you turned back to look at him and ask, ‘You okay, Eddie?’ with your sweet smile, but that’s just who you were. Outside the toilets, you kept being the girl you had always been, comfortable in that careless solitude that made you seem so unreachable.

Another Friday, another party; and you were considerably drunk, sitting on the kitchen’s counter with some girls from school, joking about the possibility of doing body shots while Steve looked at you from the other side of the room.

You had noticed him earlier, sitting on the couch next to Robin Bluckey, but you promised yourself you wouldn’t give it too much thought. At the end of the day, he kept coming back to fuck you in the toilets every week. His pretty eyes lingered on you, that cocky smile that used to fill your stomach with butterflies at sixteen adorning his face, causing you to bite your lower lip as you tried to ignore him.

You looked down to the drink one of the girls offered you, when the familiar silhouette of Eddie walking into the house caught your attention. He seemed kind of lost, looking for someone or something. You knew what Eddie did in this parties, he wasn’t exactly invited, more like called when he was needed. But a part of you somehow wished he would stay tonight.

His dark eyes found yours and you gave him a sweet smile, too sweet, he would argue, bringing back memories of the little meeting you’d had with Harrington the day before.

He had to try hard to keep the image of your body against the sink counter off his head, Steve kneeling in front of you and his pink tongue softly stroking your clit while you moaned nonsense, your beautiful body turning into nothing just for them–

Weren’t you the sweetest secret he’d ever kept?

You noticed he tried to return the smile, but it was just a shy gesture that lifted the edges of his mouth subtly. You followed his body with your eyes as he got lost between the dancing bodies in the living room before realising Steve wasn’t on the couch anymore.

That was it. You stayed on your side of the party, Steve on his, and Eddie doing business like it was supposed to be. Until your boredom saved your ass for once.

You stepped outside the house with a red cup on your hand, the loud music still bouncing through the walls of the house. It was too cold to be wearing the top and red skirt you had on tonight, but the alcohol made you feel warm, and you felt alone. God, you were always alone. The girls you had been hanging out with hours ago were either puking or getting laid in the rooms upstairs, gone as soon as they found someone else to talk to or a guy to flirt with.

Sometimes being popular felt too much like being pathetic.

You let out a deep sigh and downed the liquid in the cup, feeling the alcohol burning your throat. You cleaned your mouth with your wrist when you noticed the familiar BMW parked a bit further away from the house. Steve, your Steve was leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, hair falling on his forehead.

You walked down the front steps and got closer to his car with a smile on your face.

‘Hey.’ You murmured.

‘Hey.’ He said back. Your eyes followed the way his leather jacket hugged his arms so nicely before you turned your head to the night’s darkness. You were trying to hide how cold you were as the wind blew your hair.

‘Had fun tonight?’

He laughed softly at your question. ‘Not really. Just drove Robin here but she left with… uh, someone else.’

You lift an eyebrow with a flirty smile on your face. Steve couldn’t help but repress a laugh as his eyes got lost beyond your shoulder, anything to avoid the way you were making his body temperature increase.

‘King Steve’s date leaving with someone else? That’s new.’

Steve wanted to tell you it wasn’t at all new, and that he didn’t remember when was the last time he went on a date or the last time someone had called him King Steve.

‘You know that Robin is not my girlfriend, right?’

You lifted your eyes at him, studying his face before you took a step forward.

‘I know.’ You said, the candy gloss on your lips reflecting the lights of the road.

He could see the way your skin was full of goosebumps, but his eyes lingered shamelessly on the red mark he had left on your neck the day before. The sweet melody of your moans mixing with Eddie’s heavy breaths came to his mind.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the reflection of red and blue lights in the distance stopped him.

‘Shit.’ Said Steve. You’d recognise Jim Hopper’s car anywhere.

‘Eddie.’ He looked back at you at the sound of the boy’s name. ‘Shit, Steve. Eddie’s inside selling stuff.’

You were about to move when Steve put his hand on your shoulder. ‘Get in the car. I’ll get Eddie, then we’ll leave.’

You stayed in your place, confusion all over your face as Steve climbed the front steps.

‘Get in the car!’ He said before he got lost inside.

You didn’t waste time and quickly walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat. The red and blue lights were much closer now, music still loud mixing with the laughs of the people inside the house.

You observed how Hopper walked out of his car with other two police officers, your knees were shaking but the cold had nothing to do with it. Your parents were going to kill you if they found out. You sat deeper into the seat when they walked next to Steve’s car, before climbing the front stairs of the house.

You didn’t notice Eddie and Steve walking out through the garden gate until the driver’s door opened, making you jump.

‘Let’s go.’ He closed the door quickly as you heard the screams of people and Hopper’s loud voice over the music. ‘Eddie, let’s go.’

But Eddie stood outside the car as people started to run out of the house. He was paralysed at the absurdity of the situation, unable to move until you looked behind your shoulder at him. ‘Eddie, get in!’

He nervously opened the door and sat in the backseat as Steve turned the engine on. You let out a sigh of relief when he started to drive in reverse. Eddie looked down at the strange looks of the few people realising the three of you were inside Steve’s car, his own sense of shame telling him maybe you wouldn’t want to be associated with the school’s freak.

But all you did was roll your eyes and show them your pretty manicured middle finger through the windshield. You could imagine what the whispers would say about you on Monday, but it was out of your control at this point.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’ Said Steve.

He had been driving in silence for a few minutes. You were warmer now that Steve had turned the heating on. Eddie stood at the back, trying to ignore how the seats of Steve’s car smelled so much like him. Like cinnamon and cedar. Like pretty boy and money.

‘I can’t go home like this.’ You said looking through the window. Eddie frowned at the note of sadness in your voice. ‘If my dad sees me like this, he’s gonna kill me, Steve.’

He noticed how Steve licked his lips and took a worried glance at you before looking back at the road. ‘My parent’s aren’t home. You can stay there tonight.’ Eddie almost jumped when Steve looked at him through the rearview mirror. ‘You okay with that, Munson?’

Eddie looked up at the worried brown eyes on the mirror, piercing and protective in a way he didn’t know Steve Harrington could be.

‘Sure.’

You stepped out of the car as soon as Steve parked in front of his house, making sure to walk in quickly in case your parents were around. But your body visibly relaxed once you were inside the Harrington’s living room, leaning against the wall and closing your eyes to let out a breath of relief. Steve couldn’t help but stare at you, body full of goosebumps as you tried to calm down.

Eddie looked around the spacious house, at the green couch that must’ve costed more money he would ever make in his life, at the elegant lamps that fell from the ceiling, at crystal walls on the other side of the living room. He looked back at Steve, who hadn’t taken his eyes off your profile and was so evidently and pathetically in love with you, and Eddie knew then thathe didn’t belong there or anywhere else.

‘I should probably go home.’ He said.

Your eyes opened wide at his words. ‘No.’

Your hand found his quickly, not even giving him a chance for his brain to register the cold touch of your fingers. ‘Eddie, come on.’

He stayed silent for a second, thinking about what words to choose, when Steve spoke.

‘Why?’

‘I…’ But couldn’t bring himself to say it, instead he just shook his head slightly.

The confusion in your eyes made his chest hurt. He looked from you to Steve, but he couldn’t hold the deepness of his stare, he would rather drown in the tenderness of yours.

‘Listen, I–, you two–,’ He couldn’t help but get distracted at the way your fingers stroked his rough hands. ‘You two work really well, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’m doing here.’

‘Hey. Eddie.’ Steve took a step towards him, his shoulder brushing with yours, tone filled with urgency as he searched for the boy’s eyes. ‘Come on.’

Eddie let out an unsure breath before brushing the curls of his head with his free hand. He didn’t know what Steve and you were asking, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. If he was ready to.

It was almost a whisper, the way Steve said it, but it was loud enough for you two to hear it. ‘We came back for you.’

You looked back at him then, vulnerability overflowing from those eyes you’ve loved since you were sixteen. And you knew. You knew that the something you and Steve were missing was right in front of you.

Your other hand found Steve’s then, making his gaze fall on you, pretty and beautiful under the soft lights of his empty house.

Your movements were slow when you placed Eddie’s hand on your stomach. He had never touched you, so he couldn’t repress the deep breath he let out as you guided his hand upwards, ringed thick fingers touching your ribs over your shirt. You were still looking into Steve’s eyes when Eddie’s hand reached your chest under your guidance, feeling your nipples getting hard under your bra. He was so warm now, burning against the fabric that covered your boobs.

‘Tell me to stop.’ You told Steve, voice weak as he observed the way your cheeks were turning rosy and your eyes needy. ‘Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.’

He shook his head, a subtle gesture interrupted by his eyes following the trace you drew over your body with the other boy’s hand. You took Eddie’s fingers to the space in between your clavicles, then your neck, then your chin.

‘Jesus Christ.’  Eddie couldn’t help but swear under his breath when you took two of his fingers inside your mouth.

Your saliva was thick and sticky as you took them into your pretty mouth, tongue soft when it came in contact with his fingertips. You closed your eyes and let out a deep breath as you took his fingers in and out of you. Your eyes finally looked back at Eddie when they opened again, and he looked so entranced by you and your damn mouth taking his fingers so well that he knew he was gone.

You couldn’t help but pull him towards you, his body crashing softly and heavy against yours and Steve’s, the sweetest smile on your face as your hand found his cheek. You felt Steve’s arm wrap around your waist, chin sitting on your shoulder and erection hard against your ass while Eddie’s lips brushed yours, hesitating even when your noses rubbed against each other and one of Steve’s hands started to draw an invisible line from your knee to your thigh.

‘Just… just kiss me, Eddie.’ You whispered.

He finally got the courage to close the gap between you two. His lips were needy but tender. You were dying to bite him, to feel him. This wasn’t just sex, and you knew it by the way Eddie’s lips stroked yours slowly and his hands found your face while Steve left sweet pecks on your neck and temple.

‘Take me to the couch.’ You whispered breathily as Eddie’s lips brushed against the skin of your neck.

‘Uh-uh, sweetheart.’ His voice was velvety as he kissed along the curve of your boobs. ‘M not fucking you on some couch.’

You let out a soft laugh at his words. Your hand found the back of Steve’s neck as you looked back at him, he loved the way your eyelids turned heavy as Eddie started to kiss the skin next to your knee.

‘Want to share you.’ You whispered then. Steve’s eyebrows arched at your words, it overwhelmed him, how willing you were to give him everything so devotedly. His eyes almost rolled when Eddie’s hand found the bulge under his pants, and you smiled at him as the curly haired boy observed his reaction from below. ‘Re you gonna let me, Steve? Wanna share you with Eddie.’

Steve’s head was clouded by desire and fear, and his dick was getting harder the more the big hand of Eddie kept rubbing his bugle. His forehead fell on yours, the sigh that left his mouth stroked your lips, as he shut his eyes hard. His breaths heavy in between shaky words, surrendering to what his body wanted, ‘Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, okay.’

His heart was still beating hard against his chest when he sat on the bed. You got rid of your top as soon as you walked inside his room, pushing Steve’s chest lightly towards the bed just like you loved to do when you were younger. Eddie’s hands found your shoulders to push you into Steve’s lap while his lips started to bite your neck, his curls tickling the skin of your arms.

Steve got rid of your bra when Eddie’s tongue found its way back to your mouth, swallowing the moans you let out as the other boy started sucking on your hard nipples. Your skin filled with goosebumps, Eddie’s cautious hand sneaking into your underwear to feel your pussy so deliciously wet for him. It caught you off guard, the way he seemed to know your body even if it was the first time he touched it, making you moan as two of his fingers massaged the spot he had seen Steve hit with his fingers so many times.

Your mouth opened to let a loud moan out while he still kissed you, making his dick throb as you felt Steve’s hand lifting your skirt to have a better look at the pretty image of Eddie’s fingers getting in and out of you. When the pace of his fingers turned faster you couldn’t help but throw your head back to rest it on his shoulder, breaking the kiss.

Eddie’s hungry eyes turned to Steve then, looking at the way the pretty boy’s cheeks were rosy under his gaze, the leather jacket he was wearing long forgotten on the bedroom’s floor, the tight white shirt he wore accentuating his arms nicely. Eddie’s arm still vibrated by the rhythmic movements of his fingers inside you when Steve swallowed hard at what he knew was coming.

You fell on top of his body when Eddie leaned in to kiss him, being nicely crushed by Eddie’s weight and caught in between their bodies, feeling his dick hard against your ass. Always used to be a giver, Steve got overwhelmed by all the attention he was receiving as Eddie’s demanding tongue stroked his and the smell of your hair surrounded him. He felt your lips climbing from his neck to his jaw, the way your tongue played with his earlobe before you bit it sweetly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you felt his hand squeezing your thigh in response. You could feel his heartbeat, hard and fast under your naked chest, and your own body’s response, the sound of your pulse on your ears. Eddie’s lips started climbing down to Steve’s neck, and you took the opportunity to climb off his lap.

It was a sweet dance of an implied agreement between you and Eddie to make Steve feel good and safe. You sat down behind him to help him get rid of his t-shirt as Eddie left a trail of kisses down his chest and stomach. You kneeled on the bed so Steve’s head could rest on your thighs, pretty eyes looking at you with fear and excitement. You bent to kiss his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth while his lips let out shaky breaths that reminded you so much of the fear you both felt the first time you had sex. His shaky hands found yours as you smiled at him from above, and his eyes shut hard when Eddie finally teased the tip of his dick with his lips.

‘Fuck.’ He whispered in your mouth as the curled haired boy started to take his cock deeper into his own mouth, making sure of getting it sloppy the way you had done all those times he watched from the stalls. Steve ran his fingers through his hair as he looked down to the scene of Eddie taking his big dick into his mouth and feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. ‘F-fuck, yes.’

Eddie slightly smiled at you from the other side of the bed. You loved how moany Steve could get with blowjobs, whining in agony, turning needy as he let out the sweetest noises. He looked up at you then, brown eyes looking dark and desperate. He let out a breathy laugh at you before squeezing your thigh with one of his hands. ‘Come sit on my mouth, babe.’

‘Keep the skirt on.’ Eddie’s voice made you lift your eyes. His stare dark now, taking in the sight of you: nipples hard, mouth shiny and swollen by their kisses.

You nodded slightly, not breaking the eye contact with him as you moved to open your legs and sit comfortably. You made sure to lift the piece of fabric around your hips a little when you finally sat down on Steve’s perfect tongue. You couldn’t help but bite your lip as you kept your eyes on Eddie when he took Steve back into his mouth, rolling your eyes at the sweet sensation of skin against skin. He loved the way his tongue rubbed against your sensitive clit, his big lips hungry and pussy drunk for you. How you moved your hips slowly, the way you held one of your boobs and Steve’s hard grip around your thighs as he ate you out, making his arms look veiny and strong. There was not one inch of skin in front of Eddie Munson that he wasn’t dying to taste that night.

‘So sweet, fuck.’ Steve said in between licks, ‘Such a perfect pussy.’

His hips had started moving up and down unconsciously, fucking Eddie’s pretty pink mouth repeatedly. You never thought such a sight would turn you on so much, but there was something about Eddie that was so rough and messy as he took Steve in. A thread of saliva falling from one the sides of his mouth, head moving with violent devotion. God, did you want to be fucked. The thought made your eyebrows arch in desperation as your orgasm started to slowly build up from the bottom of your tummy.

‘I’m gonna c-cu–’

‘No, you’re fucking not.’ Said Steve against your cunt, but he resumed his movements right after.

‘I-I’m going to.’

‘Fuck no, you’re not, princess.’ Said Eddie then. You lifted your eyes to find him cleaning his mouth with his sleeve. His ringed hands pulled Steve’s thighs, getting him out from under your legs.

You looked flushed and desperate as you waited for them to do something, anything so you could get what you wanted. Eddie got rid of his clothes as Steve shook his jeans off his ankles, before cupping your face and kissing you hard, your sweet taste on his tongue mixing with the remains of your candy gloss. You whined in disappointment as he kept kissing you, begging to be touched.

‘Steve, please.’

‘What?’ He laughed as if he was completely clueless. You didn’t like being teased, always expecting to get what you wanted without working for it. His hands found the cheeks of your ass when you felt Eddie’s body behind you, emanating a warmth that made you feel so small, but so safe and cozy.

His curls were tickling your back when the tip of his dick started stroking your ass hole. ‘Is this okay?’

His voice was raspy but sweet. You let out a shaky breath but your eyes rolled as your pussy got wetter at the possibility of having both boys inside you. ‘God. Yes.’ You head rested against his shoulder as Steve’s mouth left love bites on your neck. ‘Yes, it’s fucking perfect. Steve, t-tell me you’ve got lube.’

‘I do.’ He said lips brushing against your skin, enjoying how desperate you grew every second you didn’t have a dick inside you. ‘Baby wanna be fucked in the ass, huh?’

‘Steve.’

His face came out of your neck to find your needy, demanding eyes. His pupils were dark, moving to your lips as he spoke. ‘Tell Eddie.’

You frowned at his words as he kneeled in front of you, hands still on your hips, looking down at you and taking in the beautiful image of your curves. ‘Tell Eddie you want him to fuck you in the ass.’

You rolled your eyes half annoyed, half turned on at his authority. The soft stroke of Eddie’s laugh against your cheek made it much worse. Steve sweetly smacked your butt cheek at your lack of words. ‘C’mon. Say it.’

But you took your time, head turning slowly to your side. Your eyes lingered on Eddie’s mouth and then on his eyes for a few seconds before you let out a soft moan. ‘Hmm.’ Your nose stroked his and he almost started searching for your mouth when you whispered against his lips. ‘Want your cock in my ass, baby. Please.’

Eddie let out a sweet laugh, the shyness he showed downstairs had disappeared completely, instead you had found a devotion as overwhelming as Steve’s.

‘You always ask so nicely, don’t you?’ He whispered against your lips.

It took a few minutes of playing with your body to get you to relax. Steve stroked your clit with his fingers while Eddie kept teasing your tiny hole with a finger wet with warm lube. There was no distance between your bodies as your back still rested against Eddie’s and your hand stroked the hairs of Steve’s chest lazily.

‘Thought so much ‘bout this you know,’ Eddie whispered on your ear as his dick teased you once again. You could feel your body ceding as he pushed lightly inside you. You looked up at him with those angelic eyes he’d grown to love the last few months, Steve’s pretty mouth ghosting above your cheekbone as your nails left half moons marks on his arm whenever Eddie pushed deeper.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned. ‘I need you. P-please. I need to feel both of you.’

Steve was done teasing you, too turned on to say no to you. You saw the ways his eyes shut and his mouth opened in pleasure when his dick came in contact with the inner walls of your cunt, feeling Eddie’s erected cock on the other side of your body. A loud growl came out his chest at the overwhelming sensation.

You were gone. All you could feel was how you full you were, how cared for you felt as one of Eddie’s hands grabbed at your hip firmly and he fucked you slowly and deeply, taking his own time.

Steve’s movements were a bit faster, desperate with need as his eyes got lost in your beautiful body, boobs moving rhythmically with the pace of his hips as he went in and out of you.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say as your eyes lingered absently on the tiny drops of sweat adorning his crown. ‘Come here, Munson. Fuck.’

Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand over your shoulder and took two of his fingers into his mouth as his speed inside you increased. Your blurry eyes got lost in his beautiful, flushed face: eyebrows arched in pleasure but eyes dark with desire as he kept fucking you. Eddie couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of Steve’s warm wet tongue before he took the big hand out of his mouth, a thread of saliva hanging in between you two, and guided it towards your centre.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and arch your back at the overstimulation. There was no inch of your skin that wasn’t burning, no curve that wasn’t worshipped, no stare that wasn’t met with overflowing adoration. No part of your body that wasn’t being loved by the two boys.

‘Come on, baby.’ You could hear Eddie’s voice in the distance as his hand touched the sensitive nerves of your clit and his dick kept stretching out your ass hole. ‘You can cum now, you can let go. It’s okay.’

You could only reply with moans, high-pitched needy sounds that made them move closer to you, crushing you in between them. Your back against Eddie’s chest, boobs pressed against Steve. Something hot wet your face, you were fucking crying at how good it all felt.

Steve cupped your face with one of his hands then, lost in the way your lips opened slightly, eyes absent and body focused in just feeling. His head found a comfortable place on your neck as your grip on his arm got even tighter and you felt the walls of your cunt and ass contract before your body exploded in pleasure.

‘Fuck, baby.’ Said Steve on your neck. ‘Look at you. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Something hot and sticky fell from your thighs. Eddie’s lips left a wet kiss on your shoulder as your convulsions became less intense, you could feel his hard breaths while he kept hugging you from behind. ‘You did so well, princess. So well.’ 

You stayed there, crushed in between their bodies for a few minutes, or maybe hours. Eddie was still stroking the skin next to your belly button when you felt the weight of Steve’s body lift. The sound of water in the distance. Crickets outside or maybe the birds waking up.

‘Let’s go clean you up, babe.’ Said Eddie, leaving a sweet kiss on your temple.

You opened your eyes to find him smiling at you, eyes full of tenderness. A tickling touch made you lift your eyes to the end of the bed, where Steve’s stood up, sweet smile, tired eyes and hair messy while his fingers wrapped around your ankle.

‘Come on, pretty girl. You can take a nap later.’

You let out a silly giggle. This was absurd.

“This one?”

“No way-”

“Alright mister ‘I have impeccable music taste’, you pick one then.” Eddie shrugs and meets you on the other side, resting his head on your shoulder and reaching over you to look at himself. Once he reaches a Dio record he holds it up. 

“This one.”

“You’re so predictable"

He spins you around so you're fully facing him.

“Very.” He kisses you softly, taking the record and heading towards the cashier. You smile, trying to contain your blushing cheeks.

“So, you guys do this couply stuff even when Claire isn’t around?" Robin takes a seat with you both in the food court while taking her lunch break.

“Yeah, just in case she happens to pop up somewhere random.”

“Which seems to happen often. I swear she’s got like Eddie radar or something.” You take a fry and pop it in your mouth.

“Haha, very funny.” 

Robin smirks, laughing to herself. “Could have fooled me.”

“What?”

She takes a huge bite of her burger, motioning that she couldn’t answer you.

Eddie strums the guitar on his acoustic, lips perched up to the mic. “Test test one two.”

You look up from the bar, wiping it clean before doors open in 20 minutes.

He hums into the mic, looking up at you. You smile, giving him a small nod and continuing to clean.

“Test test,” he strums and sings, “shout out to my incredibly hot girlfriend wiping down her baaaarrrrrrrrr…” You chuckle, giving him a strange look.

“Guys, literally no one is here. You don’t have to pretend right now.” Gareth walks across the room, not looking up from his phone. 

You both look at each other looking embarrassed, so you go back to cleaning. Eddie sets his guitar down and walks down the stage following him, and you trail his path with wandering eyes. You sigh, shaking your head out of your current funk and continue cleaning.

“Well well, isn’t it my favorite customers!” You look up from the booth, greeting your favorite waitress Rose.

“Good evening Rose, looking good tonight.” Eddie winks at her.

“Oh you hush young one, you ain’t getting a discount from me this time.” She gently swats his shoulder. “Another date night for you?”

“You bet. Can we have the usual?”

“Waffles and a chocolate milkshake it is. I’ll be right back.” Your food eventually arrives, with you both sticking your straws in the milkshake.

“How are Smith and Will doing?” Eddie asks, spreading the syrup all over his plate.

“Really well. They’re going on vacation together in a few weeks.”

“Where too?”

“Just a small stay-cation. Will planned it all out.”

“Sweet…just like these waffles.” You giggle, taking a sip of the milkshake.

The rest of the night continues as normal. You talk about his show, how your shift went. When it’s time to leave Rose meets you at the register. You make small talk as she rings you up. “Yall are just too darn cute! Reminds me of my husband and I when we were dating.”

You raise an eyebrow, “really now?”

“Mhm, it’s so delightful watching you both fall more in love with each other every visit.” Eddie's arm around your waist suddenly feels tighter, you sneak a peak at him noticing a light blush creep across his cheeks. “Well you both get home safe now. I’ll see you around.” You both say your goodbyes as you exit the diner ; the walk to the van oddly quiet, as well as the drive home. You thank Eddie and head inside. 

Smith is laying on the couch watching some TV once you enter. “Hey love, how was your late dinner date?”

“Oh-yeah fine, thanks.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Eddie walks into his place, kicking off his boots and throwing his keys onto the end table near the door. He’s trying to keep his mind occupied ; washing dishes, cleaning up the living room, starting some long overdue laundry. A shower, a shower would help.

…a shower does not help. All he can do is stand under the running water and think of you. The way your face lights up when you see your friends. The way you laugh at every stupid joke, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the world. The way you sing along to every song the band plays. The way you fall so easily in with him when it’s time to become a couple. The way neon lights in the bar light up your eyes, how your hand fits perfectly in his, the way your ass looks in your work shorts, the way your lips lock with his. Your tongue, god your tongue feels so fucking good with his. When you grip his hair he’s gotta control himself-

Eddie can feel the blood rushing to his cock and he’s trying his damn hardest to stop. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to think of anything and everything to ease his mind. 

But the moment he opens his eyes back up, he sees you. And there you are, fully nude and radiant. The water is hitting you in all the right places ; streams flowing down your breasts to your thighs. God your thighs, the nights he’s dreamt of being buried between them. 

He brings his hand down, slowly beginning to stroke. 

You saunter over, moving fingers under his chin to make eye contact. Your held tilts, a small smirk appearing as you lean in to kiss him. It’s slow and passionate, your tongue slowly making its way in with ease. You’ve done it so many times already, it all just comes naturally now. Eddie begins to pump faster as the kiss intensifies, your hand soon replacing his. Your strokes aren’t as aggressive, they’re gentle and steady. You both moan in unison, your fingers tracing his head spreading his pre-cum as it slowly falls with the water. You move to kiss his neck, finding his weak spot and tracing your tongue over it as his hips pump in your hand.

“Oh Eddie.” Your voice is soft, sensual ; his forehead finds yours, his breaths turning into pants, becoming more rapid. “You feel so so good in my hand, I can’t imagine how you would feel, better yet taste, in my mouth-” 

And that’s when he cums, his eyes shoot open and the water is a bit cooler than before. He had to grab onto the wall for a second, thinking he was going to fall. It’s been a few days since he’s had a dream or thought about you, but this was the most intense he’s ever felt. He thought the nights you made out were enough to get him off but this, this was a first. 

You and Eddie are both laying in your beds in your own homes staring at the ceiling, minds running rapidly with thoughts, good and bad. You both sigh, and slowly blink. Eddie brings one arm behind his head, you bring your favorite stuffed animal to your chest.

“I need to fake break up with her.”

“I need to end things with Eddie.”

Tag List - @djoshairychest @eddiessweethrt

Ser Gwayne was patient, just as he had promised, as he had vowed to be long before your wedding, ever since you first met him, many years ago.

And irritatingly determined and persistent. He was a full-fledged knight, quite possibly the most graceful and refined knight you had ever met in your entire life, and simultaneously, was the most frustrating and exhaustingly annoying man you'd have ever found.

The realization that Gwayne was different—good different—did not sit well with you at first, at all. You had spent years preparing for the worst, ever since you were a little girl, hardening your heart to face a kind of evil beyond comprehension, a wicked, darkness-filled, and power-hungry man as your husband, only to be met with one who treated your boundaries like sacred ground.

His outrageously determined crusade to win your trust only intensified with the passing moons after the festivities of your wedding ceremony had ended. It was a campaign fought not with swords, but with quiet, incredibly detailed gestures of devotion and above all, respect.

It all appeared to be an endeavour aimed at courtship, if not outright friendly intentions.

For every morning, you would wake to find a small silver tray on your vanity. On it lay a single, freshly plucked clover from the gardens—still damp with dew—and a small cup of hot, spiced tea brewed exactly how you liked it, with a dash of dried orange peel and heavy honey. He never stayed to hand it to you, knowing you valued your morning solitude. He simply left it as a silent promise, a gesture of kindness and thoughtfulness, one that he made in the knowledge that he was not truly expecting anything in return from you.

Breakfast with the royal family was, much like every gathering within the Red Keep, a careful performance.

Queen Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her silver hair braided with pearls, speaking quietly with Lord Corlys over matters of the Narrow Sea. Prince Daemon lounged in his chair to her right, lazily carving an apple with his dagger instead of using the silver knife laid before him. Baela and Rhaena exchanged amused whispers further down the table, while Jacaerys attempted—unsuccessfully—to keep Joffrey from feeding scraps of bread to Tyraxes' hatchling beneath the table.

Conversation slowed the moment the heavy doors opened.

Ser Gwayne Hightower entered alone.

Dressed in dark red and black rather than the bright Hightower colors of Oldtown—a concession made after the wedding—he crossed the hall with measured steps and every eye followed him.

He bowed first before the Queen. “Your Grace.”

Then to Prince Daemon. “My King.”

Daemon merely grunted, truly unconcerned by his presence.

Only then did Gwayne turn toward you, and the indigo blue of his eyes shimmered as bright as the heavens above the moment they found you, and your beautiful face, which seemed unbelievably more radiant that particular morning—like he always thought every morning.

You sat halfway down the table amongst your family, absently stirring honey into your spiced tea.

There was an empty chair beside yours and absolutely no one there would have questioned him for taking it, he was your husband, after all.

But, still, he stopped beside it, folding his hands neatly behind his back as he gazed down at you with soft eyes.

“My Princess,” Gwayne's voice was quiet enough that only the table could hear, “...may I sit beside you?”

Baela's brows lifted, Rhaena blinked, Jacaerys looked from Gwayne to you, visibly confused, as Luke was covering his mouth to avoid bursting into laughter. Even Queen Rhaenyra paused mid-sentence.

You slowly looked up from your teacup, your silvery brow wrinkling on your forehead. “Y–you are asking me?”

“I am.” He nodded once, giving you a quick, dimpled smile, his lips trembling slightly out of sheer nervousness.

The sight of your magnificent lavender eyes narrowing at him brought a sudden sweat to Gwayne’s palms and a thrilling shiver down his spine.

“You do realize you are my husband, Gwayne.” You tilted your head, visually disturbed by the entirety of the situation.

“I do.”

“And husbands generally do not request permission to sit beside their wives.”

“I know,” another faint, nervous smile touched his finely shaped lips. “I simply thought...” he continued, “...that perhaps you might prefer to enjoy breakfast with your family alone.”

Daemon let out a low snort at his words and so did Luke.

The Rogue Prince leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with open amusement before taking a leisurely bite of his apple.

“I have seen beaten hounds with more confidence,” the prince drawled.

But Gwayne didn't even bother listening to him, since he was too absorbed in looking at you, taking in the beauty of your gorgeous face, and delighting in the pleasure of having your beautiful eyes lock onto his for such a long moment.

“If you would rather I sit elsewhere,” Gwayne continued softly, “I shall.”

Daemon barked out a laugh this time, “there it is.”

Rhaenyra shot her husband a warning glance, silencing him instantly.

The corner of your mouth threatened to twitch and you concealed it behind a gentle sigh.

“You may sit, Ser Gwayne.”

The relief that softened his features was almost imperceptible, but you, obviously, were able to catch a sight of it. “Thank you, my darling.”

Only then did he pull out the chair and he waited until you had resumed your breakfast before seating himself, careful not to invade your space.

The faint flush already lingering upon his rosy, cute cheeks deepened into a intense red the moment you gifted him a gentle, intimate smile, reserved only for him to experience.

And he understood that, perhaps, you were starting to like him.

One warm afternoon, you find him in the library.

He is sitting at the massive oak table, surrounded by piles of heavy, leather-bound books. His forehead is furrowed in deep concentration, and he is clumsily trying to translate a passage of High Valyrian, his pronunciation so atrocious that even from the doorway, you could hear him butchering the ancient vowels.

“It is ñuha, Gwayne, not nu-ha,” you correct him, leaning against the doorframe. “You sound like a dying frog, Ser.”

Gwayne is startled, cousing him to drop his quill, which lefts a tiny blot of ink on his nose. He looks up, a sheepish but entirely delighted grin breaking across his handsome face. 

Your husband is breathtakingly beautiful, not only that day, but every bloody day; his flaming red hair seems to burn under the afterglow of the dying sun, and his face, oh his face, flushed with embarrassment and shy delight, beams under your heavy gaze.

You can easily see how truly happy he is to have earned a glimpse of your notice, one that isn’t merely a display of good manners or basic politeness, but real attention and genuine interest in him.

“I must apologize, my princess,” still, your husband hurries to excuse himself, flashing you a sheepish smile. “I have been endeavoring to master a few words of the tongue of your ancestors... Though it was never my intent that you should overhear my clumsy attempts, darling.”

You lean your head back against the heavy wooden frame of the door, crossing your arms over your chest as you look over at him. You squint your eyes, granting yourself a quick moment to meticulously examine his features.

The ink smudge on his nose does absolutely nothing to diminish how strikingly handsome he is. If anything, it softens his countenance, rendering him younger—a dream made flesh—as he looks up at you as though you alone have hung the stars in the celestial vault.

“Clearly,” you mock, a thread of gentle amusement and teasing irony weaving into your voice as you finally detach yourself from the timber frame.

With measured, quiet steps, you cross the quiet chamber floor and come to a standstill beside his high-backed chair, looking down upon the erratic, ink-stained scratching that mars his parchment and all over his face.

Gwayne is utterly perplexed, rendered near speechless, unable to bring himself to move at all, unwilling to risk upsetting you too much and having you step away, for your closeness and warmth and the way you are looking down at him have him holding his breath and entirely spellbound.

“...Princess?”

Before your lips can shape a reply, your hand moves toward him. Your fingers advance with a sudden, delicate hesitation. You gently press the pad of your thumb against his nose, wiping away the dark stain of ink he has left behind.

At your touch, Gwayne freezes instantly. Not only that, the breath abandons his lungs entirely; his azure eyes widen as the soft skin of your fingers makes contact with his warming cheek.

He does not draw back, nor does he make any motion to stay your hand. He simply sits there, utterly captive to your gentle touch, his visage flushing a deeper, more magnificent shade of pink beneath the warmth of your thumb.

“You have ruined your cute little nose, husband,” you note softly, your voice scarce above a whisper, striving—and failing—to maintain a veneer of cold indifference.

“A worthy sacrifice,” Gwayne breathes, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting, breathless second before rising once more to meet your eyes, alight with a quiet, shimmering hope.

Slowly, you pull your hand back, though you don't step away. You point to a specific line on his parchment, where he has scribbled a phrase over and over again until the ink is nearly illegible.

“You wrote this wrong,” you say, your tone softening further as you lean over the table, your shoulder brushing lightly against his doublet. “Here. ‘Kirimvose, ñuha dōra.’  You translated it as ‘Thank you, my peace.’ But dōra is a very clunky word for it. If you want to say it correctly...”

You take up his discarded quill, dip the nib into the dark inkwell, and trace a clean, elegant script of High Valyrian beneath his unpracticed scrawls.

“...you must say, ‘Kirimvose, ñuha mēre.’ Thank you, my only.”

Gwayne stares at the graceful calligraphy, then lifts his eyes to yours, his green gaze shimmering in the dying, amber light of the afternoon.

He repeats the foreign words on his tongue, his pronunciation still marred by a slight Andal accent, yet spoken with such profound, deliberate weight that the phrase hangs in the air like a solemn vow.

“Kirimvose, ñuha mēre,” he echoes after you, striving with earnest devotion to no longer appear a shameful sight in your estimation.

“Mhm...” you hum in quiet approval, nodding faintly as your eyes trail from the manuscript back to his face. “You are a fast learner, Gwayne.”

For a long, suspended moment, neither of you breaks the silence. There is only the scent of aged parchment, the fading golden glory of the sunset, and the steady, quiet rhythm of Gwayne’s breathing beside you.

Slowly, you slide your hand across the polished oak table, until your fingers brush against his own.

Gwayne’s breath catches in his throat. He does not immediately clasp your hand; instead, he waits, granting you ample grace to pull away should you so choose. But when you remain right there beside him, his fingers slowly, reverently fold over yours. His palm is warm and somewhat calloused, yet his grip is incredibly tender, as though he were cradling something infinitely precious and fragile.

He is always like that. Gentle, patient. Always patient.

It is utterly infuriating.

You find the very existence of Gwayne Hightower entirely vexing, for you have grown accustomed to the tales of husbands who behave like conquerors, thieves and exploiters who claim everything and yield nothing in return, destroying the sacred meaning of marriage and devotion and love. Men who demand blind obedience, heirs, and subservience.

Instead, yours asked for permission before sitting beside you at the morning meal.

Gwayne is different. Good different. And that realization unsettles your soul more than any open threat ever could.

The shift between you is subtle, yet undeniable, a quiet, hairline fracture in the ice. Over the passing days, you find yourself less inclined to retreat into the guarded shadows of your mind during the evening feast.

No longer do you reach for the comfort of your own mind the very instant he crosses the threshold, nor flee far from his company, flying away on your dragon. Instead, you watch, you see him. You see the way he carries himself amongst the household guards, the way he never forces his presence upon your solitude, and how he genuinely, stubbornly persists in his quiet courtship.

You find yourself struggling to ignore the waves of warmth spreading through your chest every time you're with him, increasing your heartbeat, accompanied by that giddy feeling in the pit of your belly.

And as the days rolled by, you gradually got comfortable with Gwayne's persistent hovering around you.

One particularly cloudy morning, he made you giggle.

By the time Viridrax touches down upon the stone platform, kicking up a storm of dust and ash, your heart is still drumming against your ribs as you dismount gracefully.

You stroke the warm, rough hide of Viridrax's snout, breathing in the familiar scent of ozone and brimstone of her.

“Rikās, Viridrax,” you whisper softly in High Valyrian, resting your forehead against her snout. Stay. “Rest, my girl.”

The green dragon let out a long puff of hot smoke that singed the hem of your riding leathers, nuzzling your shoulder before settling down with a heavy, earth-shaking thud.

You unbuckle your flying gloves, your silver hair wild and wind-tangled, your cheeks flushed from the biting chill of the upper sky.

Turning to head toward the cavernous exit of the Dragonpit, you expect to see only the stoic, iron-clad Dragonkeepers—only to freeze in your tracks.

Standing right at the edge of the landing platform... is Gwayne.

He is wrapped in a heavy, dark red cloak lined with fur, standing entirely alone in the shadow of the colossal stone arches.

He looks painfully out of place amidst the ancient, dark stone of the dragonpit, yet he stands unnaturally still, his jaw set in a rigid line.

You see the exact moment he fights himself. He takes a heavy, deliberate breath, forcing his boots to stay firmly planted on the cold stone. He squares his shoulders, swallows hard against the knot of fear in his throat, and wills his trembling hands to relax at his sides.

He refuses to run. He refuses to look weak or faint-hearted in your eyes, forcing a composure he clearly does not feel as he faces down a nightmare made of scales and fire simply to be near you.

When his gaze finally locks onto yours, the terror in his eyes softens, replaced by that quiet, stubborn devotion that had been relentlessly chipping away at your own walls for moons.

“You are a fool, Gwayne,” you call out to him, your voice cutting through the heavy, tense silence of the vault as you slap your gloves against your leather-clad thigh. “Viridrax does not share my patience, and she certainly does not share my tolerance for Hightowers.”

A soft, breathless laugh escapes Gwayne's rosy lips, though it sounded more like a relieved gasp as he managed to hold his ground before you. “Then it is fortunate... that I came to see you, my Princess, and not your... magnificent companion.”

Very sowly and cautiously, as if navigating a minefield, he takes two measured steps forward, coming to a stop just a few paces away. He is still within strike of Viridrax’s tail, yet he focus every ounce of his attention entirely on you, forcing the looming threat of the beast right behind your back into the background of his mind.

“You've been standing in this damp pit,” you note, narrowing your eyes as you studied the pale flush on his handsome face and the faint tremor in his hands. “How long?”

“Long enough to watch you descend from the heavens,” Gwayne replies softly, a faint, sheepish smile finally managing to break through his nervous tension. “It was... a terrifyingly beautiful sight. Though I must admit, standing down here requires s–significantly more courage than I—I anticipated.”

Right as the last stuttered word leaves his lips, Viridrax shifts her immense weight behind you.

The massive emerald dragon stretches her neck, opening her cavernous jaws to release a sudden, bone-rattling growl—a deep, reverberating snarl that vibrates through the flagstones and shakes the very dust from the vaulted ceiling. A cloud of scalding, sulfurous steam vents straight from her nostrils, whipping the hem of Gwayne’s dark red cloak around his boots.

Gwayne’s forced composure shatters in an instant.

His indigo eyes widen to the size of silver stags. He squeaks—a high, pathetically un-knightly sound—and jumps a good foot into the air, instinctively throwing his arms up to shield his face. His boots scramble backward on the slick stone as if he were trying to outrun a falling star, his grand cloak wrapping clumsily around his legs until he nearly trips over his own spurs.

A sudden, helpless snort escapes you. You clap a gloved hand over your mouth, but it is useless. A burst of giggles bubble up from deep within your chest, echoing wildly off the high stone walls of the Dragonpit.

Gwayne blinks, his wide, terrified gaze slowly darting from the dragon over to you. Seeing you helpless with laughter, his pale cheeks instantly flood with a dark, burning crimson that spreads all the way to the tips of his ears.

You gently reach out and clasp his hand, your fingers curling firmly around his trembling, warm palm.

“I have seen seasoned knights faint in her presence,” you tease him. “But I do believe that high-pitched squeak was a first.”

Gwayne lets out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers instantly clasp yours, firm and desperate. “I believe she enjoys seeing me humiliate myself in front of you. Like everyone else in this place.”

“Oh, she doesn't care enough about you to want to humiliate you, my lord,” you say, your thumb lightly rubbing the back of his knuckles to soothe the lingering panic in his pulse. “But Viridrax would never harm you. Not while you belong to me.”

He is rendered speechless and with his jaw hanging open in utter amazement, he happily lets you pull him along by his hand.

You like Gwayne Hightower.

And the catalyst of it all arrives upon a sweltering evening, during a feast thrown to celebrate your mother, the Queen's name day. The Great Hall is suffocating, thick with the heavy stench of roasted meats, the clinking of silver chalices, and the low, rumbling laughter of lords who wear their loyalties like hidden daggers beneath their velvet doublets.

Gwayne remains by your side for the better part of the night, watching over your form with that quiet, devoted vigilance to which you have slowly grown accustomed.

He is, as ever, the very mirror of a chivalrous knight, attentive, pouring your sweet Arbor wine before his own cup is even touched. Yet, the fragile illusion of peace shatters the moment the musicians strike up a slower, more solemn air.

“My princess,” a drawling, dangerously familiar voice interrupts your thoughts.

Turning, your gaze falls upon Ser Lucon. He wears a smug, mocking smirk and offers a grand, sweeping bow that does nothing to conceal the bold, unseemly lust lingering within his dark eyes.

Lucon is a handsome, swaggering lordling from the Crownlands, possessing dark curls and an arrogance that has long since outstayed its welcome. He was numbered among the many suitors who actively courted your favor before your political match to Gwayne Hightower was sealed by the High Septon.

“It would be an absolute tragedy for the fairest maid in the keep to sit out such a song,” he says, extending a gloved hand toward you. “Grant me this dance, Your Grace. For the sake of old days.”

With an imperceptible sigh, you place your hand in Lucon’s grip.

“A single dance, Ser,” you consent, your voice flat and strictly formal.

Before stepping onto the rushes of the floor, you catch Gwayne’s eye. His jaw is clenched so tightly it resembles carved stone, his fingers brush restlessly against the pommel of his sword.

Lucon leads you into the center of the hall. As the measure begins, he presses closer than etiquette or decency should ever permit, his hand gripping your waist with an unnecessary, firm pressure that draws you flush against his massive frame.

“The livery of the greens suits you, my princess,” Lucon whispers near your ear, his warm breath thoroughly vexing your senses. “Though every soul in the Red Keep knows that squire of a husband possesses not the slightest inkling of what to do with a dragon’s fire.”

“Watch your tongue, Ser Lucon,” you hiss, keeping your visage a mask of polite indifference as the steps force you both to spin. “Gwayne is my lord husband, and I assure you he is twice the knight you could ever hope to be.”

Lucon lets out a soft, derisive laugh that makes your blood boil in your veins.

“Is he? For from where I stand, I can feel how cold your skin remains. Were you mine...”

Before the lordling can finish his blasphemy, a heavy, iron-firm hand clad in boiled leather grips his shoulder, bringing your turn to an abrupt and dead halt.

Gwayne has stepped directly onto the dance floor. His blue eyes, usually so soft and pleading when they seek yours, are now dark as a stormy night, fixed upon Lucon with a promise of absolute violence.

“Your dance is finished, ser,” Gwayne says. His voice is a low, raspy whisper, yet it carries a lethal edge that causes the nearby lords and ladies to step back hastily, sensing the sudden peril.

Lucon, striving to maintain his arrogant facade, does not relinquish his grip upon your waist right away.

“Ser Gwayne, let us not ruin protocol. The Princess and I were—”

“I said, unhand my wife,” Gwayne interrupts, stepping forward so sharply that Lucon is forced backward by sheer physical instinct. Gwayne’s hand slides down from the knight's shoulder, clamping around Lucon's wrist with a crushing, bone-grating grip to force his release. “Now. Before I forget where we stand and decide to teach you proper court manners in the middle of this hall.”

The tension within the Great Hall becomes suffocating. The hands of your guards drift toward their swords, and your kin move a step closer. The air is thick, ready to spark into a bloodbath over a sudden flash of jealousy.

Knowing that a single wrong move could incite slaughter this night, you step in, subtly placing your body between both men. You press a firm hand against Gwayne’s chest and beneath the fine fabric of his doublet, you can feel his heart hammering wildly, violently, like a trapped beast.

“That is enough,” you announce, your voice ringing with an authority that commands the quieted room. You fix Lucon with a look of pure disdain. “If you dare to ever raise a hand to me or my husband again, that will be the last time you'll have hands. Leave us now.”

Lucon swallows hard, looking from Gwayne’s iron grip upon his wrist to the fierce fire in your eyes. Offering a stiff, forced bow, he retreats into the crowd, quickly losing himself in the shadows of the pillars.

Gwayne does not break his stare from the corridor where Lucon vanished, his chest heaving with heavy, erratic breaths. He is trembling slightly—not from any tremor of fear, but from the massive, physical restraint it takes not to draw his steel and kill the lord.

You take his hand, sliding your fingers into his and the touch seems to pull him back from the brink of madness; his sky blue eyes find yours, wide and filled with a raw, vulnerable mix of wrath and desperation.

“Are you well, my love?” still, he needs to ensure your well-being, his other hand rising close to your face, grazing your cheekbone just a tickle. "Forgive me. I... I lost my composure. If I have embarrassed you—"

“I am well,” you assure him. “Let us return to our chambers, p–please, Gwayne.”

Your wish is his command.

The heavy oak doors of your chambers have scarce clicked shut behind you before the silence within the room becomes unbearable.

Gwayne immediately begins unbuckling his ceremonial clothing and trappings, his movements uncharacteristically rough, frantic, and impatient. He hurls his heavy leather gauntlets onto the table with a resounding thud.

“You were jealous,” you accuse, cutting through the quiet, tense silence.

Gwayne freezes. He keeps his back turned to you for a long, agonizing moment, his shoulders rigid beneath his fine linen shirt.

When he slowly turns around, you can see how weak and vulnerable his composure truly is. His auburn hair is slightly disheveled, and his eyes lock onto yours with a desperate, burning intensity.

“I am a man, darling, not a statue of the Seven,” he says, his voice raw with emotion and despair. “I have spent months keeping my distance, respecting your sanctuaries, sleeping on the very edge of our bed because I wanted—I needed—you to feel safe in my presence. I have choked down my own desires every single day.”

You look up at him, your own breath catching in your throat. The dangerous, thrilling tension in the chamber is so thick it makes you hold your breath.

“Desires?” Your absurd remark is swallowed up by his deep voice, and with every step he takes closer to you, it feels as if your chest is collapsing.

“—watching him look upon you in that manner? Watching his hands defile your waist, whispering filth into your ear, smell your scent?” Gwayne’s breath catches, his jaw tight as iron. “Yes. I was jealous. I desired nothing more than to tear him apart on the rushes.”

“And what of now, Gwayne?” you challenge softly, stepping even closer, until your chest almost brushes his. “Are you still angry?”

“Not angry,” Gwayne denies, his gaze dropping instantly to your lips, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as he fights the desperate urge to seize you, to touch you, to hold you close to him and never let you go. “Tormented. Because you stand so close, and I am still striving to be the gentleman you deserve. B–but I... I was a fool. I allowed my temper to master me and—and I embarrassed you before the court and before your mother and your family—”

“You truly are a fool, Hightower.”

His face falls. For one terrible heartbeat, he believes you have confirmed his deepest terror—that he has frightened you, that every careful step forward over the past moons has just crumbled beneath his own beastly nature, his most profound instinct, his own feelings.

“I am terribly sorry, please forg—”

“You stopped.”

The words are quiet, but they silence him instantly.

You look upon him for a long moment before continuing, trying to properly piece together the thoughts you're trying to express, making sense out of the overwhelming turmoil of emotions that's raging in your chest.

“You could have struck him down. You could have just―thrown your gauntlet. Seven hells, most husbands in this wretched court would have drawn steel before the man even finished insulting their honor. Because that's all that matters to them―their own honor, their own property, their own m–masculine pride.” Your eyes search the depths of his. “Instead... you stopped.”

Gwayne swallows, his throat dry. “B–barely.”

“But you did. I expected to spend my days bound to a stranger who would demand everything from me, to whom I would be nothing more than a prize with the right family name, something of his own property, another boost to his own pride.”

Your fingers hesitate before lightly smoothing a wrinkle in the front of his linen shirt, your fingers trembling with emotion against his body, overwhelmed by that flood of mixed feelings rushing through your heart and body.

You can feel his heart pounding up against the palm of your hand, so powerful and fast that it makes your flesh crawl. “I never...I never imagined I would wed a man who offers apologies for being jealous when another touches his lady wife.”

His cheeks flush. “I fear I was not particularly knightly, then.”

“No,” a faint smile tugges at your lips, and at that, his tense shoulders slump slightly. “You were terribly possessive.”

“Yes.”

“And rather intimidating,” you add.

“...Unfortunately. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“And,” you continue, unable to suppress the amusement warming your voice, “I believe Ser Lucon may never dare speak to me or even look at me again.”

“Well,” Gwayne says softly, a faint, lopsided smirk finally tugging at the corner of his finely shaped lips as his earlier shame gives way to quiet amusement, “in my defense, darling... you did threaten to cut his hands off.”

You blink, a sudden, breathy laugh bubbling up from your chest before you can stop it. “I was protecting my husband and myself.”

“And you did so with terrifying grace,” he murmurs, stepping the final fraction of an inch closer.

When you remain right where you are, leaning into his touch, his breath hitches in his throat. His thumb gently brushes against the fabric at your hip, his beautiful eyes sparkling with deep devotion.

But to your astonishment, Gwayne looks utterly horrified now.

“Oh.”

You blink. “...Oh?”

“I may have squeezed his wrist with too much force.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. A genuine one, bright and warm, echoing softly through the high timber rafters of the chamber, a sudden, sweet sound that cuts through the lingering tension of the evening like a blade through silk.

And for a heartbeat, Gwayne simply forgets how to draw breath.

He stands utterly still, his chest freezing mid-rise as though a spell has been cast over his very bones. His gentle eyes, wide, fix upon your lips and the soft crinkling at the corners of your eyes, committing the sight to memory.

“Gods,” he whispers, the word slipping past his lips on a breathless prayer.

You look up at him, the residual warmth of the smile still lingering upon your face, softening the pretty lines of your features. “What?”

“I have been trying for months,” he confesses softly.

“Trying what, Ser?”

“To make you laugh,” Gwayne responds. The solemnity of his voice breaks as a sheepish, self-deprecating smile tugs at his lips. “Though I fear my efforts have been entirely lacking. I have only managed to embarrass myself at every turn.”

You pull a little mocking grimace, a playful tilt of your chin that you haven't granted to another soul in the world. “You do possess a remarkable talent for that.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his laugh a low, rich vibration.

Without announcing your intent, you close the final span of floor between you and reach for his hands.

Gwayne’s eyes snap back to yours, a sudden, sharp hitch in his breathing betraying his astonishment and his smile fades. Yet, he does not hesitate. He closes his hands around your own with that same impossible, agonizing gentleness he always reserves for you, a man accustomed to the weight of a broadsword holding your fingers as though you are fashioned from the most fragile, priceless Valyrian glass.

You look down at your joined hands, his sun-kissed, calloused skin grazing against yours.

“Your palms are cold,” he notices, his thumbs immediately beginning a slow, sweeping motion across the backs of your hands, seeking to share the immense heat of his own body.

“They usually are,” you reply, a slight shrug shifting the fine fabric of your gown.

A crease appears between his brows, a look of genuine, heavy concern clouding his handsome face as he looks up. “You never spoke of this, my love.”

You shrug again, though a sudden, treacherous blush warms your cheeks beneath the intensity of his gaze and the way he pronounce the term of endearment. “I did not think it mattered.”

“It matters to me,” Gwayne counters instantly, his voice leaving no room for argument, heavy with a quiet, fierce conviction. “Every minor discomfort you bear matters to me, princess.”

He does not force the movement; his grip remains loose enough that you could pull away with the slightest tug. His beautiful eyes lock onto yours, silently, reverently begging for your permission.

You look into that azure gaze, finding no malice at all, but love and a patience that has finally broken through your defenses.

Finally, you give the smallest, faintest nod of your head.

Only then does he turn your hands over within his palms. Gwayne lowers his head, his auburn hair catching the gold of the firelight of your shared chambers, and presses the softest, most breathless kisses imaginable against your knuckles.

His lips are warm and parted slightly, the touch lasting barely a second—so brief, so achingly tender it could have been a passing whim of the autumn wind. Yet, the heat of it ripples up your arms and straight into your heart.

When Gwayne lowers your hands close against his heart, he looks almost startled by his own boldness, a deep blush creeping along his high cheekbones and down the column of his neck.

“I hope...” he says quietly, his voice catching in his throat as he searches your face for any sign of regret, “...that was not unwelcome.”

You look at him for what feels like an eternity and then, lifting one of your hands, you slowly reach up towards his face. Your fingertips hesitate for a fraction of a second before you gently brush a stray lock of fiery red hair away from his freckled forehead.

“No, my sweet husband,” you promise him, your hand lingering there, the palm of your hand cupping the warm, sharp line of his jaw as you look into the eyes of the man who has won your heart. “It was not. Nothing from you shall be unwelcome.”

They told him you’d break his heart. You’d do to him what you had done to every guy before him.

But then Eddie met you.

It was at an awards ceremony afterparty, one of those industry events where everyone was pretending not to care who was in the room and the drugs were flowing. Eddie had expected exactly what everyone described, some untouchable Hollywood star who knew exactly how beautiful she was.

Instead, he found you sitting on the floor in the corner, laughing with someone about something stupid, shoes kicked off because they were hurting your feet.

You were just… you.

Eddie couldn’t understand how everyone had gotten it so wrong. You were kind. You were funny. Warm in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

You weren’t the woman the magazines had painted you out to be. You were just a girl who happened to be famous.

Eddie liked that. He liked it a lot.

It didn’t take long for him to ask you out. You looked at him like you couldn’t believe he was asking, then smiled softly and said yes. Eddie swore, in the best way possible, that that smile was going to kill him.

For your first date, he took you somewhere small. A little family-owned theatre tucked away from the busy streets of Los Angeles. Somewhere he’d gone before he was famous, before people knew his name, to watch old films and forget about the outside world.

The date was perfect, ending with your hand in his, no flashy lights or annoying paparazzi. It was no surprise when there was a second date, then a third, and a fourth, and suddenly Eddie was picking you up after filming, and you were sitting in his trailer stealing his snacks, and he was learning exactly how you liked your coffee.

It didn’t take long for him to make things official.

Eventually, people, and the internet, noticed.

They noticed you showing up to his premieres, sitting proudly beside him. Eddie started appearing at your events, standing in the background with a smile on his face whenever you walked the red carpet.

They sa the way he looked at you, and the press did what the press always did. They tried to ruin something good.

They dug through your past, talked to family that you had cut off for good reason, twisted conversations and moments that were private into top news stories. The public began to wonder, to speculate how the relationship had even begun. Online, people took bets that he would leave you by Christmas.

They were cruel, and eventually, you started wondering when Eddie would get tired. The idea that he could stop loving you the way he had been for nearly a year made you a little sick. It wasn’t founded though, Eddie never wavered.

He didn’t hesitate or start looking at you differently. If anything, he held on tighter. He stood beside you through every headline, every rumor, every cruel comment. It was as if loving you was the easiest decision he’d ever made.

“Eddie…” Your voice is quiet as you sit beside him in the car.

The beach trip had been a disaster.

You had barely made it onto the sand before photographers spotted you. The two of you had been surrounded, forced to leave as people shouted questions and cameras flashed. Now the beach sits behind you, abandoned and quiet as Eddie drives you back to his place. You stare out the window.

“You don’t deserve this, Ed’s.”

He glances at you before looking back at the road. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “Baby.”

“I mean it. I don’t know if…Everyone keeps saying I’m the problem and maybe they’re right.” You swallow. “And you don’t deserve that. Your career has taken off and I don’t wanna drag you down.”

“You breaking up with me?” Eddie frowns.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’m just…”

“Stop,” he interrupts, and you press your lips together. “Just- baby, whatcha doing?” He reaches over, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “You’re my girl. Fuck those assholes that wanna say shit.”

He raises your hand, and presses a kiss against your knuckles. Your eyes sting as you watch.

“You’re amazing.”

“All you, baby.”

Eddie pulls the car into the hotel parking lot at his reserved spot, and you raise your hood in case there’s a straggler photographer. When he doesn’t move, your brows knit. “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah I- give me a minute?”

“Alright,” you don’t second guess him, cracking open the car door. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

He grins at you as you get out and watches you walk inside. It’s only when the electric sliding doors of the hotel close behind you that he reaches for his phone. He adjusts his hair, propping up the device on his dash as he moves to Instagram. Taking a deep breath, he starts a live stream.

“Hey guys!” Eddie beams, making his smile wide. “Ed’s here. Just thought I’d touch base while on vacation. You guys should’ve seen today’s waves.”

It only takes a few minutes for several hundred viewers to become several thousand, and Eddie yaps for a bit, letting them all join. Everyone needs to hear this.

“Anyways, before I go, I just wanted to make an announcement of sorts,” he chuckles before his expression loses its friendly demeanor. “My girl, is my girl. A lot of you seem to have a problem with that, harassing her online and even in person. Not cool, man. If you have an issue with her, and you want to still call a fan? You better keep that shit to yourself,” Eddie takes a deep breath. “Or I will go so off grid the upcoming press tour won’t even have my face.”

He waits, letting the depth of his words sink in. The comments underneath the video are blowing up, plead after plead for him to not cancel appearing in his newest movies press tour. He can’t help the slightly wicked grin this pulls from him.

“Alright,” Eddie hums. “Seems like you all get the picture. Ed’s out!”

He turns off the video without preamble, slipping the phone into his pocket. Shutting the rental door, Eddie practically skips inside, swiping his key card to your shared room. You’re on him in an instant.

“What did you do?” You nearly hiss. “Eddie, you can’t do stuff like that. They’ll hate you.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on your hips. “You think I care?”

“I- well you should,” you retort. “Those fans are what keep you in business. Relevant!”

“That’s all fluff, babe,” Eddie soothes, his hands coming up to your arms. “You’re what’s important. The internet can literally go suck one.”

You can’t help it, your face splits into a little grin. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re my girl.” He hums, dipping his chin to kiss you. You melt into it, into him, and even though his live might have some negative repercussions, you’re sure the both of you can handle it.

x

Eddie Munson Blurbs