Rudehero

Relationship: Soldier Boy x Reader, Homelander in love with Reader. 

Note: I’m all plot, plot, plot, sometimes angst, and lots of religion, so my smut is not very… up there. But I tried? Let me know if you liked it, and maybe I’ll try more of it. 

-----------------------

Chapter 1- The Father of God

The alley smelled of blood baking in hundred-degree heat.

Copper-thick and sun-cooked into the concrete where three men had died a few hours ago in a “robbery gone wrong.” 

You stood under the fire escape, your tablet in hand, sweat gathering at the base of your spine. Homelander stood across from you, smiling perfectly for the cameras. The corpses behind him were almost decorative. 

“This is why, now more than ever, we need Supes in national defense,” he said. “Imagine how much safer America’s children would be from these immigrants polluting our good nation…” 

You sighed. The talking points were getting old and tired, but his fans never stopped eating it up. 

“Sir, don’t you think a nation run by Supes would make us no different from a fascist state?” one reporter asked. 

Homelander’s canines flashed. “Jessica from Metro News, right?” he asked, which made her visibly cower. 

“Uh… yes, sir.” 

“Jessica, why do you hate America?” he asked. 

You looked at your tablet… not that you needed to consult your screen to tell how Homelander was feeling. 

Vought hired you seven months ago. Your job, on paper, was to monitor The Seven for emotional triggers and thought patterns so they could be better managed for press and public events. Sometimes, the goal was to optimize user experience as well—the more loved the public felt by their heroes, the more they spent money on tickets, comic books, merchandise, and parks. 

But to the disillusioned, your job was obvious. 

You were running a fucking daycare. 

“I guess we no longer give a fuck about the liberal vote?” you asked Ashley. 

“I didn’t make Vice President because of the liberals,” she replied. 

“You didn’t make Vice President for any reason other than Sage,” you reminded her. 

She looked at you, barely containing her scowl. “Why did Sage hire you?” she asked. 

You knew exactly why, but you weren’t about to reveal that. Sage was a brilliant woman—but she constantly failed at one thing. 

Love. 

Love made things hard to predict. And being as pitifully human as you were, she hoped you’d be more in touch with your messy feelings, enough to be better at predicting what people might do driven by love. 

“Guess she needed a break from putting out your fires,” you told Ashley. 

“Listen here, you little shit—” she began before Homelander appeared out of thin air. 

“Heyyy! How’s my favorite analyst?” he asked you, grinning ear to ear. “Did you hear me out there?”

You smiled. “It was excellent. You covered all the talking points and you stayed so calm through the whole thing.” 

He preened, obviously thrilled by the praise. 

You turned your tablet to show him the data you had just manipulated. “Look at that steady line. Even when Jessica asked you that stupid question. That’s what I like to see.” 

His smile could have lit up New York City. It was more important to let him think he was doing a good job than to show him the truth. 

Next to him, Ashley rolled her eyes and walked away. 

“Sometimes it feels like these people don’t even want America safe,” he complained to you. 

“Good thing they have you, right?” you asked, and he nodded. “They don’t deserve you, but you still protect them. You know what that makes you?” 

He waited for the answer, knowing it would be a moment he’d replay endlessly in his head. 

“It makes you kind,” you said gently. “It makes you benevolent.” 

“Damn right,” he grinned. 

You knew to choose your words wisely. Homelander had just announced to the Seven that he was, without a shadow of doubt, God. That Vought was supposed to prepare America for it. It had been a fun couple of weeks at the Tower trying to make that happen, but as usual, you were the quickest to make that switch, so Homelander’s attention would remain on you while everyone else got their shit together. 

He looked around the alley. 

“Alright, let’s get out of this disgusting shithole,” he said, grabbing you by the waist without warning. 

You’d gotten used to it. 

He flew you right out of the bloody alley and back to Vought. 

***

“You were supposed to see this coming,” Sage yelled at you. 

You sighed. “I didn’t even know he had Soldier Boy’s chamber in his fucking penthouse. I can’t account for factors—” 

“What the fuck did I hire you for then?” she asked you. 

You looked at her. “I told you I work from information. It was obvious he would release Soldier Boy if he had him, but I didn’t know he had him.” 

Sage glared at you. 

“We don’t have time to fuck around,” she told you. “It’s hard enough trying to get a hold of Butcher for that virus, Soldier Boy is an uncontrollable variable—” 

“I have it handled,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the same drivel again for the third time. 

She looked at you. “You better,” she said. “You get only one more chance. After that, either I take care of you or I let Homelander do it.” 

She walked out, leaving you in your office. 

You tossed your tablet onto the couch. 

Seven months of this shit. 

Seven months of Homelander being very obviously in love with you, to the point where it was starting to piss off Firecracker. It also didn’t help that The Deep wanted, badly, to get the approval from you that Homelander was getting. 

And, of course, Sage being on your ass. 

The only person not being a problem was Noir. 

Knowing this place, though, it was only a matter of time before he joined them. 

“Alright then,” you said to yourself. “What fresh hell is Soldier Boy going to bring?” 

***

The Seven conference room was cold enough to preserve bodies.

Which, you supposed, was fitting.

The place looked less like a superhero headquarters these days and more like a mausoleum with mood lighting. The massive table gleamed black beneath the city skyline. Deep was nervously sipping something green. Firecracker sat with her boots on the chair beside her, scrolling through social media with visible delight every time she found a death threat directed at a journalist. Noir stood silently in the corner like a sleep paralysis demon in tactical gear.

Sage leaned against the glass wall, arms folded.

And Homelander—

Homelander paced.

Which was never a good sign.

“You are agitating yourself,” you told him from your seat.

“I’m excited,” he corrected.

Your tablet flickered with elevated dopamine markers and adrenaline spikes. It was wiser to stay quiet. 

“All of you, just fucking… behave,” he addressed The Seven. “As we prepare America for my ascension, having a full team is—” 

The doors opened.

Soldier Boy walked into the room like the building belonged to him.

He walked in without theater, without performance. Just heavy boots, the green suit, and the shield. 

Sage’s eyes sharpened with immediate calculation.

Homelander spread his arms. “Everyone,” he announced proudly, “welcome back the greatest American hero who ever lived.”

Soldier Boy glanced around once.

Disinterested.

Bored.

Then his eyes landed on you.

It was almost imperceptible. A tiny hitch. But after seven months in this building, you’d become frighteningly good at noticing microexpressions in unstable superhumans.

His gaze moved slowly over you—not in the polished, media-trained way Homelander looked at women.

No.

Soldier Boy looked at you like he’d walked into a warzone and a pocket of… peace. 

Silence. 

Homelander, of course, did not take kindly to his welcome going unacknowledged. 

“I am also proud to say,” he continued, trying to get Soldier Boy’s attention. “That he is the newest member of The Seven.” 

“What the fuck is that?” Soldier Boy asked, his voice gruff.

Homelander’s smile twitched ever so slightly. 

“The heroes of America,” he clarified. “We protect the greatest nation on earth.” 

Soldier Boy finally took his eyes off of you and looked at the room. 

“Even fish boy?” he asked, clearly referring to The Deep, which visibly offended him. 

“Uh—hi, sir, my name is The Deep—” 

Soldier Boy laughed. “The Deep?” 

He flinched, and Homelander glared at him to back off. 

“The name could use work,” Homelander said quickly. “The point is… you’re part of the most elite group of supe—” 

“Who is that?” he asked, pointing at you. 

That went about as well as a lead balloon. You stayed quiet as Sage’s eyes fell on you. 

“That?” Homelander laughed. “That’s, uh… that’s the analyst.” 

“The what?” 

“She analyzes our behavior to determine—” 

“She’s a shrink?” Soldier Boy asked with all the tact of a bomb. 

“She’s more than that,” Homelander said, immediately getting defensive. “She keeps us at the top of our game; she handles our image.” 

“Back in my day, you handled your own image,” Soldier Boy declared, looking directly at you. 

“It’s gotten harder to do that,” you said quietly. 

“What, being a person?” he asked you. 

“Pretending to be a person when you’re really a god,” you said. 

Oh, you were good. 

Just like Homelander knew his talking points, you knew yours.

“Is that right? Gods?” Soldier Boy asked you. “You believe in that bullshit?” 

You maintained a small, neutral smile on your face and kept your eyes locked on his. 

Soldier Boy looked at you for another second.

Then he held his hand out to shake yours. 

You put your hand in his. 

And Jesus Christ.

You’d shaken hands with Supes before. Homelander liked grabbing people too hard as a dominance thing. D-listers had twitchy restless energy. Deep always held on a second too long.

Soldier Boy’s hand felt different.

His thumb brushed once against your knuckles before he let go.

“You’re human?” he asked.

“I am,” you said. 

“Huh.”

That was it.

Just huh.

But something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten. It felt like, for once, a man wanted to be the solution, not the problem. 

Homelander stepped beside you immediately, hand landing on your lower back. Not aggressive enough to call out, but territorial enough to be noticed by Soldier Boy. 

“She’s human, but she’s brilliant,” he said. “You’ll see in time.” 

Soldier Boy’s eyes dropped to the hand on your back, then slowly lifted to Homelander’s face.

And for the first time since entering the room—

He smiled.

“I’m sure she is,” he said. 

He moved around the table to take a seat, clearly having decided something by himself. Homelander did not move his hand from your back until Soldier Boy had settled into his chair. 

Well. 

Fuck, you thought to yourself. 

***

The knock on your door came at 11:14 PM. Three slow hits against the wood.

You stared at it from your couch for a long second. Nobody visited you… not even Homelander, who was afraid enough of jeopardizing your relationship to keep a respectful distance. 

You got up carefully, setting your book aside.

The second you opened the door, Soldier Boy leaned one shoulder against the frame and looked down at you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“You took forever,” he said.

“Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting anyone because I didn’t invite anyone,” you said flatly.

He grinned but stayed silent. 

Your eyes moved over him without meaning to. No visible injuries, civilian clothes instead of the suit. Dark green jacket. Henley. Boots.

“How did you get my address?”

“I’m Soldier Boy.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“Used to answer enough.”

You sighed.

Nobody in your building knew you worked at Vought, and you wanted to keep it that way… so you moved aside quickly to let him in before any prying eyes saw. 

And the moment he walked in—

You watched it happen.

The tiny shift.

Soldier Boy looked around your apartment in complete silence.

Your home was quiet in a way Vought Tower never was. Warm lamp lighting instead of sterile LEDs. Soft music low in the background. Bookshelves overflowing. Blankets thrown over the couch. Plants by the windows. 

Actual color. Actual life.

The whole place smelled faintly like sandalwood and coffee.

Human.

After the endless glass and chrome and ego of Vought, it hit him strangely hard. You could tell.

Soldier Boy wandered farther inside, slow and deliberate.

“Huh,” he muttered.

“What?”

He looked around once more.

“This place feels…” He frowned like he hated needing the words at all. “Good.”

You blinked at him.

Then laughed softly despite yourself.

“That sounded physically painful for you to admit.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one here at 11 o’clock in the night, uninvited. I’m making it weird?”

“Yeah, well.” He looked toward your bookshelf. “The tower feels like a dentist office designed by Nazis.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. That seemed to genuinely delight him.

“There she is,” he said. “Thought maybe you were a robot for a second.”

You crossed your arms. “What do you want, Soldier Boy?”

“Ben.”

“What?”

“My name,” he said. “You can call me Ben.”

That surprised you more than it should have. But, as always, you covered it well.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He looked at you for a second. Then he shrugged and sat down on your couch like he belonged there.

“I got bored.”

“You got bored.”

“Yeah.”

“New York is supposedly the greatest city on earth. Loads to do here. You can go anywhere.” 

“I did,” he said. “Didn’t like it.”

You stared at him.

Soldier Boy leaned back against your couch cushions with a low grunt, eyes scanning the room again. Then they landed on you.

“So,” he said. “You seriously enjoy babysitting those airheads?”

You walked toward your kitchen. “I’m good at it.

“I didn’t ask if you were good at it.”

You opened your fridge. “Want a beer?”

“Hell yeah.”

You tossed him one. He caught it easily without looking.

“You know,” he continued, watching you carefully now, “the fish guy spent twenty minutes trying to explain NFTs to me.”

“My condolences.”

“And Homelander—” he laughed once to himself. “Jesus Christ.”

Your shoulders stiffened instinctively. Of course, he noticed. Soldier Boy noticed everything. That was becoming rapidly apparent.

“You scared of him?” he asked bluntly.

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

You cracked open your drink. “Fear isn’t useful in my position.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

You looked at him carefully.

Then took a sip instead of answering.

Soldier Boy watched you over the rim of his beer bottle.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“I can’t wait to know,” you said dryly. 

He ignored the tone. 

“I think you spend all day managing everybody else so they don’t fucking explode.” He gestured vaguely toward you. “But nobody’s taking care of you.”

You almost laughed.

“I don’t need taking care of.”

“Oh, I beg to fucking differ.”

His voice dropped lower then.

Rougher.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you haven’t had anyone fuck you well in years, and you’re wound so tight you could crack diamonds between your teeth.”

The vulgarity, you had expected. The soldier out of time, the crude misogynist with no filter. You… did not seem to mind it. 

“Do you say things like that to shock people,” you asked, “or because you actually believe it?”

Soldier Boy grinned. God, that grin was dangerous.

It wasn’t polished or media-trained like Homelander’s. There was no vapid hollowness, no hunger behind it. It was genuine, pure delight. His grin looked earned through bar fights and bad decisions and cigarettes smoked in motel parking lots.

“I think,” you continued carefully, “you like getting a reaction out of people.”

“I like getting a reaction out of Homelander,” he admitted immediately. “But you?” He shook his head once. “Nah.”

“No?”

“I think people test you enough.”

Something in your expression shifted before you could stop it.

“We just met,” you said quietly. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know Homelander wants you like he wants a mommy.”

You hid your disgust well… years of practice. And yet, you could tell, his eyes sharpened slightly like he caught it anyway.

“But me?” he said, standing now.

He walked toward you without hurry.

“I want you like a man wants a woman.”

Your breath caught despite yourself.

And God… that was embarrassing. Because part of you immediately relaxed.

Soldier Boy stopped in front of you.

Close enough now that you could smell smoke and leather and something warm beneath it.

“Doesn’t that relieve a tiny part of you?” he asked softly.

You hated how much it did.

Homelander’s obsession felt consuming. Childish. Needy in a way that made your skin crawl some days. Everything with him felt like an emotional hostage negotiation.

But this?

A man looking at you and wanting you without needing you to save him first?

Soldier Boy watched the realization happen across your face.

“You’re absurdly confident,” you said quietly. 

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m observant.”

He lifted his hand slowly and brushed his knuckles lightly against your jaw. Gentle enough that it almost hurt more. He leaned in, his breath hot against your face. 

“Wanna know what I thought the second I saw you?” he asked, his voice low. 

You almost closed your eyes and leaned it when—

BZZZZZ. BZZZZZZZZ. 

The sound shattered the moment.

Soldier Boy’s hand was still against your jaw, warm and impossibly careful for a man built like artillery.

The screen lit up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

It was obvious who was calling. 

Soldier Boy followed your gaze toward the phone, then looked back at you. Something in his eyes changed, and it didn’t escape you. 

“Don’t pick it up,” he said.

Your eyes stayed on the phone as it buzzed again.

“I have a job to do,” you replied quietly.

You moved to reach for it, and Soldier Boy caught your wrist.

It wasn’t rough or possessive… it was almost gentle, like coaxing a baby away from an electric socket. 

The contrast of it nearly killed you. Homelander had a habit of grabbing things—objects, people, it didn’t matter. He was possessive and jealous and far too quick to claim things he believed were his. 

But this… this felt like someone asking you to reconsider.

Your pulse stumbled traitorously beneath his fingers.

“It’s almost midnight,” Soldier Boy said. “You off the clock yet or does he keep you on a leash twenty-four seven?”

“He doesn’t like it if I ignore him too long.”

“That supposed to make me sympathetic?”

“No,” you admitted. “Just informed.”

The phone buzzed again.

Again.

Again.

Rapid now.

Homelander was spiraling. Probably pacing, wearing a hole in the marble floors of his glossy penthouse. 

You could practically hear him already.

Where are you?

Why didn’t you answer?

Did I do something wrong?

Need wrapped in threat. Threat wrapped in need.

Soldier Boy watched your face carefully.

“Let go of me, fucking war relic,” you said firmly. 

His eyes widened at that, and obvious delight crossed his face. He let go of your wrist. 

You grabbed it off the counter.

The second the call connected, Homelander spoke.

“Hey!”

Too bright. Way too bright. You closed your eyes briefly to muster the strength you needed. 

“Hi.”

“Where are you?” he asked immediately. “I thought we were going to go over tomorrow’s event. Managing triggers and all that. I got us dinner, too, I thought—” 

“Homelander, my job is to analyze you AFTER an event; there’s really nothing to talk about before an event,” you reminded him. 

“Don’t we want to preempt and prevent?” he asked in the voice used to give pep talks to policemen.

Your eyes flicked toward Soldier Boy. He was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite survive.

“I know you’ll do well,” you said. “You’ve been consistent the last few events, you listen to my notes and always apply them so well—” you cooed. “Hell, if you stay on this track, Vought might not even need me anymore.” 

“I should probably laser a few people then, just so there is a reason to keep you around,” he laughed. 

You laughed back because it was the right thing to do. There was a pause on the line, heavy enough to crush. 

“Hey…” he said softly. “Can I… ask you something?” 

Your eyes flicked to Soldier Boy again. 

“Anything,” you replied. 

“Is Sage having you… integrate… Soldier Boy?” 

“Integrate?” 

“Assimilate. I don’t know. Prepare him for a life in front of the cameras. Be part of The Seven.” 

Sage had, indeed, asked you to do that. You knew her motive without her even telling you, of course. But what she hadn’t accounted for and wouldn’t be happy about was the fact that you were losing your mind in his presence. 

“She did,” you said honestly. “They chipped him this afternoon, I think, and I have to start monitoring tomorrow.” 

Another pause followed. You knew Homelander, every last bit of his damaged, childish self. 

“I don’t want you to,” he said finally. 

Soldier Boy’s mouth twitched instantly beside you. You shot him a warning look, but that only delighted him. 

“Homelander…” you said carefully. “It’s my job.”

“I’ll have someone else do it.”

“Why?”

He exhaled sharply.

“I just don’t want you to.” His voice tightened. “I always do what you tell me to. Can’t you listen for once?”

God, that awful childlike sincerity.

Across from you, Soldier Boy leaned against the counter with folded arms, watching the entire thing unfold like he’d just discovered reality television.

You turned away from him slightly.

“Homelander,” you said gently, “you know I’m good at difficult personalities.”

“That’s exactly the fucking problem.”

Your stomach tightened.

On the other side of the kitchen, Soldier Boy’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You think I don’t see the way he looks at you?” Homelander continued quietly. “I’m not stupid.”

You closed your eyes briefly.

No… unfortunately, he wasn’t.

“He’s newly out of containment,” you said. “He’s looking at everyone strangely.”

“Not like that.”

Your silence answered too much. Soldier Boy noticed immediately. His smugness faded into something far more dangerous. 

“He’s old,” Homelander said suddenly, grasping now. “He’s unstable. He’s an asshole. He’s—”

“He’s your father,” you interrupted softly.

The line went dead silent. So did the room. Soldier Boy slowly lifted his eyebrows.

Homelander spoke again after a moment, quieter this time.

“It’s complicated,” he said. 

“I know,” you said. 

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

You leaned against the counter. Suddenly, you felt very, very tired.

“He’s curious,” you said softly. “That’s all.”

“Curious men are dangerous.”

You knew that all too well. You felt it, and you hated how much you liked it. 

“I can handle myself,” you told Homelander.

“I know you can,” he replied instantly. “That’s not the point.”

There was genuine emotion in his voice now. Open and raw in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. And despite everything, part of you still pitied him. Homelander loved like a starving thing. Sage knew what you would mean to someone like that. That was, to her credit, one of the few things she truly understood about love. 

“I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t like the idea of him near you.”

Soldier Boy looked like he was having the time of his fucking life. You rubbed your temple slowly.

“Alright,” you said at last.

Soldier Boy’s eyes snapped to yours.

You ignored him.

“I’ll come in tomorrow morning,” you continued into the phone. “We’ll talk before the event. And…” You hesitated.

Soldier Boy went still.

“I won’t meet with Soldier Boy until I meet with you first.”

The effect was immediate. Relief flooded Homelander’s voice so fast it almost made your chest ache.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

Soldier Boy actually scoffed under his breath. You shot him another look.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I promise.”

A long exhale came through the speaker, like a storm settling.

“Okay,” Homelander murmured. “Okay. Good.”

You could practically picture him now, decompressing. Re-centering himself around your reassurance like a plant turning toward sunlight.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” he said softly.

Of course you knew. It was your fucking job. 

“Not at all,” you said. “I think we just understand each other, you know? It’s rare to find that in this hellhole.” 

He made a sound like he agreed. 

“Get some sleep,” you told him gently.

“You too.” A pause. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ended.

Silence filled your apartment again.

Soldier Boy was looking at you like he’d just won an argument you never realized you were having.

“You done proving my point?” he asked.

You hated the heat that climbed your neck.

“You sound like a fuckin’ exhausted wife talking down a drunk husband at two in the morning.”

You tossed your phone aside. “I think it’s time you left,” you said. 

He laughed softly, the knowing in his tone infuriating you by the second. Somehow, his smugness felt less suffocating than Homelander’s need. Your careful words were now second nature, and somewhere… you had lost your real self. 

The realization made you feel sick.

“Well, do you?” he asked suddenly. 

“Do I what?” you asked. 

“Know what I thought when I first saw you?” 

Your pulse stumbled.

“What?”

He looked at you.

“I thought…” He smiled faintly. “She’s quiet. Not in a shy way but just… very controlled.” 

You had no idea why he was telling you this or what it was supposed to mean, until he added—

“Made me want to be the one to make you scream.” 

“Jesus Christ, Soldier Boy!” you exclaimed. 

“Exactly like that, just more breathy and with less clothes…” 

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you demanded, unable to hold your shocked laughter back, which delighted him. 

“Night, sweetheart,” he called as he left your apartment. 

***

You stepped out of the elevator with your tablet pressed to your chest, your face arranged into the calm, unreadable expression that had kept you alive for seven months. The morning staff moved around you in nervous little currents. Everyone felt the shift in the building. Soldier Boy’s presence had disturbed something fundamental in Vought Tower, like a dead king waking up beneath a palace.

But Homelander was the immediate problem in front of you.

And he was waiting in the Seven meeting room.

He stood by the windows, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at the city. The room was otherwise empty. 

That alone put your senses on edge.

When the door slid shut behind you, he turned.

He smiled.

“You came,” he said.

“I said I would.”

His eyes flicked over you, absorbing the blouse, the skirt, the hair, the lipstick, the tiny human details you suddenly hated him noticing. You had dressed carefully this morning. Professional enough to create distance. Soft enough not to provoke rejection. Neutral colors. Low heels. No sharp edges.

Everything about you was a strategy.

And yet, after last night, you felt like your whole body had become a confession.

Homelander walked toward the table but did not sit. “Coffee?” he asked.

You glanced down.

There were two cups on the table. One black. One exactly the way you took yours. Homelander didn’t drink coffee, but he had made a habit of feigning humanity around humans. 

Your stomach twisted.

“That’s very thoughtful, Homelander.”

His face warmed immediately at the praise. The leash you held in your hand was made of compliments, and every day it felt thinner.

You sat down slowly, placing your tablet on the table. “We should go over the event brief.”

He did not sit across from you… He sat beside you. Not touching, but close enough that his presence crowded the air.

“Already read it,” he said.

“You did?”

He smiled, pleased by your surprise. “Twice.”

“That’s good,” you said carefully. “Really good.”

His smile broadened, then faltered almost immediately, like even praise couldn’t hold him steady today.

“You still going to meet with him?”

There it was. No warm-up.

You unlocked your tablet with deliberate calm. “I told you last night. I’m meeting with you first.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You looked up at him.

His eyes were fixed on you, impossibly blue and terribly empty in that way they became when he was waiting for someone to fill him up.

“I have to meet with him eventually,” you said. “That was Sage’s instruction.”

“Sage isn’t in charge of you.”

That was factually untrue in almost every way that mattered, but you did not correct him.

“Maybe,” you said instead. “But I do have responsibilities.”

His jaw worked once.

“Responsibilities.” He said the word like it disgusted him.

You waited. Sometimes silence worked on him. Sometimes it made him worse.

Today, you could honestly not tell which. You would normally look at your screen to monitor his levels, but you can’t really do that with him right next to you. 

He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with a kind of wounded focus. “Are you blind or just wilfully ignorant?” he asked. 

“Excuse me?” you asked. 

“Your screen can’t tell you what’s going on here?” he asked. 

You weren’t sure what it was supposed to tell you… But no, you hadn’t been blind. A dead person could tell, by this point, what you meant to Homelander. 

“Are you really so blind that you can’t see how much I love you?” he finally confessed. 

The room seemed to contract around you.

Hearing him say it—hearing him finally drag the thing into the room and lay it between you—felt like watching a match fall into gasoline. You had, of course, prepared for many variations of this conversation. You had contingencies. Detours. Delays. Soft refusals. Strategic praise. Gentle ambiguity.

None of them felt safe right now. 

So you did the only thing that came naturally.

You told the truth, but not all of it.

“I know you do,” you said.

Homelander froze. 

The change in him was immediate and almost frightening. His shoulders went still. His face emptied. His mouth parted slightly, not in shock exactly, but in disbelief so raw it looked childlike. For a moment, all the terrible arrogance went out of him, and what remained was the boy beneath the cape, staring at a door he had expected to be locked forever.

“What?” he asked.

You held his gaze.

“I know you love me.”

He stared at you.

Nothing moved in his face except his eyes. They searched yours desperately, greedily, like the sentence had split open some starving part of him and he was trying to crawl inside it before it disappeared.

“And?” he asked.

The expectation dripped from the word, thick and hopeful. You felt your heartbeat in your throat.

“And…” You swallowed. “I love you too.”

It punched him in the gut.

His lips parted further. His eyes flashed with something bright and helpless. His breath caught so violently, his chest rose beneath the suit. The muscles in his face lost their practiced arrangement one by one: the smile, the superiority, the polished confidence, all of it broke apart into naked astonishment.

For a second, he looked almost beautiful. Not good or safe, that was wishful thinking, but beautiful in the catastrophic way a fire looked beautiful from far away.

“You do?” he asked.

His voice was smaller now, almost reverent. You forced yourself not to look away.

“Not in the way you do, maybe,” you said softly.

And there it was… the falter. The light dimmed.

“But,” you continued quickly, carefully, before the hurt could sharpen into anger, “I believe in you. I have faith.”

His brows drew together.

“Faith?” he scoffed, but the sound was weak. Defensive.

“Faith,” you repeated. “Faith in your goodness. Faith in your desire to protect this country. Faith that you are everything you say you are.” 

His eyes stayed on your face.

You could tell it was not enough. Not remotely. You had given him a church when he wanted a bed, and the safest thing for you to do was to keep talking until that altar started looking homely. 

The silence stretched. 

So you turned the blade.

“Why do you love me?” you asked.

He blinked. The question threw him.

“What?”

“Why do you love me?”

His throat moved. For a moment, he looked offended by the question, as if love should explain itself by existing. Then his expression shifted again, softer and more uncertain.

“You see me,” he said.

The words came out rougher than he intended. You stayed completely still.

“You’re not scared of me,” he continued. “You don’t treat me like a fucking bomb about to explode.”

A deep, sick ache opened in your chest… because he was wrong. He was wrong, and he had never been more wrong, and every single thing you did around him was built around the knowledge that he was exactly that.

A bomb.

You looked at him and let your face soften into something almost tender.

“It is because I have faith,” you said quietly.

His eyes searched yours.

“Your desire to protect far, far outweighs whatever you think makes you a monster.”

It didn’t. God, you knew it didn’t. But he needed to hear this.

Homelander nearly broke at that.

His face changed again, crumpling in tiny, controlled increments he could not fully stop. His lower lip tightened first. Then his nostrils flared as he drew in a breath through his nose. His eyes grew glassy in a way that made your entire body tense, because emotion made him unpredictable.

“You really believe that?” he asked.

“I do.”

His hand shifted on the table, inching toward yours.

You let him cover your fingers. You noticed, for the first time, that he had taken off his gloves for this conversation, like he was ready to be vulnerable with you. Like he had fully planned to lay himself bare to prevent you from spending any time with Soldier Boy. 

His skin was warm.

For a terrible second, you remembered Soldier Boy’s hand around your wrist the night before. The difference was so sharp it almost made you dizzy.

“Then why don’t you love me?” Homelander asked.

Your blood went cold.

You looked at him.

His voice had cracked on the question.

He heard it too. You could tell by the flash of humiliation in his eyes, the quick anger that followed, then the way he swallowed both down because he wanted the answer more than he wanted pride.

“You know what I mean,” he said, forcing the words out. “Why… why isn’t it enough?”

For the first time all morning, you were genuinely thrown. Your mind ran through options with brutal speed, but none of those answers would leave your head attached to your body.

And you had already disappointed Sage enough times.

This was supposed to be your forte, wasn’t it?

Love.

The one thing Sage could not reliably predict. The thing she had hired you to understand. And here you were, standing in the middle of it like a fool with a tablet.

“I’m scared,” you said.

The words left you before you fully approved them. Homelander went still… You could see it hurt him more than if you had slapped him. The hope in his face collapsed first. Then came the wound. Then disbelief. Then something small and devastating that made your stomach twist despite everything he was.

“You’re scared?” he asked.

His voice was barely above a whisper. You could feel the temperature of the room change.

“Of… me?”

There it was. You had stepped onto glass and heard the first crack.

You thought, absurdly, childishly, of the door opening. Sage walking in. Deep doing something stupid. Firecracker causing a scene. Anything to interrupt this moment. 

No one came.

You had to think fast.

“No,” you said softly. “Not you.” 

You leaned closer, just enough to make the correction feel intimate rather than strategic.

“I’m scared of what this means.”

He watched you, uncertain now.

You continued carefully. “I’m human.”

His expression flickered at that.

“I don’t mean weak,” you added. “I mean temporary. Limited. Small in ways you are not. And you…” You let yourself look at him with the kind of awe he craved. “You are the most powerful person on the planet.”

His breathing slowed slightly.

“I know what people want from you,” you said. “I know what they take. I know how they pray to you when they need something and hate you when you don’t deliver. That’s the curse of being God. And I am scared that if I let this become more, I’ll just become another person asking more of you.”

He frowned.

That was not the answer he had expected.

“I don’t want to take from you,” you said. “I don’t want to become one more need. One more demand. Your ascension is around the corner, you cannot have… distractions.”

His fingers tightened around yours.

“You wouldn’t distract me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” you said gently. “Because love does that to people. It makes them selfish. It makes them hungry. It makes them want reassurance every hour, every minute. It makes them forget that the person they love has a duty larger than them.”

He stared at you.

You could see him trying to follow the path you had built for him. He wanted to reject it, but there were enough words in it he liked: “duty,” “larger,” “love.” 

“You think you loving me would… distract me?” he asked.

“I think being loved by you would make me forget what I’m meant to do for you.”

His face changed. The wound remained, but pride began to creep around its edges. You had given him something noble to suffer for.

It was horrible how well it worked.

His eyes flicked between yours, hungry for more. So you gave him more.

“You need someone who sees America with you. Someone who believes in the mission.” Your voice softened. “Love… will make me want more. More time, more attention, more softness. Parts of you nobody else gets to see.”

His lips parted.

You saw the desire move through him, not just sexual, not even primarily romantic, but emotional. The unbearable seduction of being hidden and precious and known.

“If I love you,” you said, “then I have to deal with sharing you. And you’re too fucking important to hide away.”

His eyes glistened again.

“You really think that?”

“I do.”

Again, the lie. Again, the survival.

He looked down at your joined hands. For a second, he seemed almost young.

“You love me,” he said quietly, like he was testing the words in his mouth.

“I do.”

You sat there long enough for the moment to feel meaningful. 

Then you slowly withdrew. 

“We should focus on today’s event,” you said gently. “You have a strong messaging window if you stay calm through the defense questions. Don’t engage if someone mentions Soldier Boy. Smile, redirect to unity, say America honors its heroes while building toward the future.”

He watched you for another second, visibly reluctant to leave the emotional territory he had just forced open.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Unity,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“America honors its heroes while building toward the future.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled then, small but real. 

Pleased with himself.

He walked you to the door, which was unnecessary and therefore terrifying. Before you stepped out, he caught your hand again.

“You’ll come see me after?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded, satisfied.

You left the meeting room without rushing.

You walked past the assistants, past the glass corridor, past the security desk, past two Vought employees whispering too softly to be anything but terrified.

You did not breathe properly until you turned the corner.

Even then, you waited.

Homelander could hear too much.

So you kept walking.

Only when you reached the elevator bank and the doors slid shut behind you did you let your shoulders drop. The sigh that left you was nearly silent and still too heavy.

You pressed the button for your floor with a hand that did not quite shake.

By the time you reached your office, you had reconstructed yourself.

Mostly.

You opened the door, and Soldier Boy was sitting behind your desk.

Feet up, grinning ear-to-fucking-ear. 

Your entire body went cold.

“What the fuck are you doing in my office?”

He held up one finger. Then pointed lazily at your computer.

On the screen was a live feed of the Seven meeting room… the place you had just come back from. The place where, currently, Homelander was also sporting a shit-eating grin as he sat at the head of the table. 

Your blood turned cold. 

You always had a direct line to the security cameras and microphones in the Seven conference room, but you didn’t think anybody, least of all Soldier Boy, knew how to get to it. 

“Were you listening in on a private conversation?” you asked. 

His grin widened.

“Wasn’t private if it was broadcastin’, sweetheart.”

You slammed the laptop shut. The sound cracked through the office. Soldier Boy did not flinch.

“You are unbelievable,” you snapped.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You had no right.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “But I did have a really boring morning.” 

You stared at him, fury rising fast because fury was easier than humiliation. He had heard everything.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like I caught you naked.”

You hated the heat that climbed your neck.

“In a way, you did.”

That wiped some of the amusement from his face. He lowered his boots from your desk and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. For once, he did not throw a vulgar joke into the space between you. For once, he seemed to understand that there were some wounds even he should not prod with dirty fingers.

“You’re good,” he said quietly.

You laughed once, humorless.

“Congratulations. You’ve discovered why I’m employed.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re really good.”

Something about the emphasis made you look at him.

His expression was frustratingly unreadable now. Rough, yes. Amused, still. But beneath that, there was something like respect.

“He was ready to crack,” Soldier Boy said. “You gave him a whole church to kneel in instead.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Don’t make it sound beautiful.”

His gaze held yours.

“Even I almost bought it,” he said. “The god shit.” 

You looked away.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you said. 

“Didn’t say it should.”

Silence settled between you, thick and unpleasantly intimate. Your office suddenly felt too small.

“What did you want?” you asked him. “Why are you here?” 

“Thought we’d pick up where we left off last night,” he said. 

Your pulse betrayed you first.

Not your face. You still had control over that, mostly. Your expression stayed annoyed, cold, and professional in all the right places. But your pulse? Your stupid, human, treacherous pulse kicked hard beneath your skin, and from the slight sharpening of his grin, he knew it.

Of course he knew it.

Soldier Boy rose from your chair like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t move like Homelander. Homelander floated, appeared, vanished, invaded space with the eerie smoothness of something unnatural. Soldier Boy moved like a man. Heavy. Certain. Boots on carpet. Leather creaking faintly. Body taking up space without apology.

It was worse. So much worse.

“Last night ended with you leaving my apartment,” you said.

“After you told me to get the fuck out.”

“I stand by the sentiment.”

“Sure you do.”

Every step he took toward you felt like a countdown. You held your ground.

“That was not an invitation to try harder.”

“No?” His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “Because you keep lookin’ at me like you’re mad I’m still dressed.”

A hot, humiliating rush moved through you.

You hated him.

You hated the bluntness. The absolute lack of poetry. The crude confidence of it. There was no careful circling, no psychological chess, no elaborate dance of subtext dressed up as morality. He said things plainly, brutally, almost offensively, and some buried part of you—some exhausted, overmanaged part of you—rose toward it like oxygen.

Because with him, you did not have to predict the next emotional collapse. You did not have to calculate the safest sentence. You did not have to polish every word.

You could look him right in the face and say things like, “Arrogant bastard.”

So you did exactly that, and it earned you a grin. 

“There she is.”

And God help you, that did something to you. Funnily, it wasn’t his voice or the grin or even his body and the dangerous warmth of it. It was actually you. The version of you that came out around him. Sharp-tongued and angry, for once not managing emotions and egos.  

With Soldier Boy, your irritation had somewhere to go.

With Soldier Boy, your desire did too.

“Look at me,” he said.

Your eyes snapped to his.

Not because he commanded it… You weren’t so obedient. But right now, it felt confusing… looking at him felt like defiance, even if it was technically what he wanted. 

His mouth curved.

“You like being told what to do?” he asked. 

“You are not in charge of me.”

“Never said I was.”

“Good.”

“But you like thinking I might try.”

The words hit low in your stomach. You went still.

Soldier Boy saw it. His eyes darkened, and this time, he did come closer. One step. Then another. Still slow. Still giving you every chance to move.

You didn’t.

Your back touched the edge of your desk.

His gaze dropped to the contact point, then lifted again.

“Funny thing,” he murmured. “Woman like you, sittin’ in this tower all day, telling gods and freaks and psychos how to behave…”

“Careful,” you repeated, but your voice had lost some of its edge.

He heard that, too.

“…and all it takes is a guy saying one honest thing, and suddenly you don’t know where to put your hands.”

Your fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

“Like that,” he said, like he’d caught you doing something obscene.

You hated the heat in your face.

He smiled again, but there was no mockery in it now. Not really. He looked pleased, yes. Insufferably pleased. But underneath it was hunger. Plain and unvarnished, adult in a way that made your entire body feel too aware of itself.

Homelander wanted you like he was starving and thought you were the thing that had denied him food. Soldier Boy wanted you like appetite was a normal fact of being alive.

You wished you could stop comparing it. Strangely, it just made things better. 

“Stop enjoying this,” you said.

“No way.”

“At least pretend to be ashamed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in my office.”

“So?”

“Anyone could walk in.”

His eyes flicked to the door. “I locked it when you entered. Safety button under your desk, right?” 

Your breath caught. His grin returned.

“Since when are you so tech savvy?” you asked. 

“Didn’t want anybody interrupting while you yelled at me.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“No,” he said, eyes dropping once more to your mouth. “But I’d like it if you would.” 

Your office was not large. You had always liked that. It was one of the few rooms in Vought where the scale almost felt human. Small couch, a reasonably sized desk, and books stacked near the window because you had run out of shelf space. A lamp you brought from home because the overhead lights gave you headaches. There was even a small throw blanket folded over the armchair for late nights when the building AC turned vicious.

You’d made it livable.

That, probably, was one of the reasons the place felt quiet to Soldier Boy. 

“Are you gonna yell at me?” he asked, inching closer. 

“You shouldn’t have been listening,” you said, a weak attempt at admonishing him. 

“That the best you got, little lady?” he murmured against your lips. 

“You’re a presumptuous, arrogant bastard.”

“Been told.”

“Crude.”

“Obviously,” he laughed. 

“Old-fashioned.”

His grin flashed. “Careful. You sound turned on.”

You should have slapped him. You really should have. Instead, you stared at him for one suspended second, all your good sense burning down around you, and then you grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.

It was a catastrophic decision.

You knew that instantly.

You knew it in the way his entire body went still for half a heartbeat, shocked despite all his swagger, as if some part of him had not expected you to be the one to close the distance. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck, firm and hot, and he kissed you back.

Your desk dug into the backs of your thighs. You didn’t care. His mouth was warm, demanding, rough without being careless, and the sound he made when you tugged him closer went through you like a match struck in the dark.

There was nothing elegant about it.

Thank God.

No polished seduction, no careful choreography. Just heat, breath, fingers curling, your body remembering it was a body and not a crisis management department.

He pulled back first, barely, to look at you. His eyes were dark, his breathing heavier than before.

“Well,” he said roughly. “That was impolite.”

A laugh broke out of you, helpless and shocked.

Your back arched as he stepped closer, his body crowding yours, not trapping but surrounding. You felt the desk behind you, him in front of you, the absurd danger of the locked door, the tower humming beyond the walls, Homelander somewhere above or below or too close with ears that could hear too much if either of you forgot yourselves.

That should have cooled you.

It didn’t.

It made the whole thing feel better.

Your hands slid into his hair, and the texture of it beneath your fingers sent another rush of heat through you. He groaned when you tugged, and that sound—God, that sound—did something irreversible to your brain.

“You like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He pulled back enough to look at you, shocked by the question. 

“Listen to you, darlin’!” 

Your face heated, but you didn’t retreat.

Soldier Boy lifted you onto the edge of the desk like you weighed nothing.

The motion stole the air from your lungs.

You pulled him between your knees, and his hands landed on the desk on either side of you, caging you in. His eyes darkened, and the air between you changed instantly, heat folding in on itself until the entire office felt too small.

Then his hand came up, caught the back of your neck, and his mouth was on yours.

His kiss was hard enough to make you forget the conversation in the Seven conference room. He kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and had finally been told he could take it. You grabbed at his jacket, dragging him closer, and the low sound that tore from his throat made every thought in your head scatter.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “Knew you’d be like this.”

“Like what?” you breathed, because apparently you had become suicidal.

His hand slid to your waist, firm and hot through your blouse. “Hungry.”

The word should have embarrassed you.

It did. But it also made your fingers tighten in his jacket hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.

He laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

“Shut up,” you said, but there was no force in it.

“Make me.”

You kissed him again.

It became thoughtless quickly after that.

Papers slid. Something fell. A pen cup tipped over and scattered across the carpet. Soldier Boy did not look away from your mouth.

“Your office is a mess,” he said.

“You did that.”

“Yeah.” His grin flashed. “Gonna do worse.”

The crude promise sent a shock of heat through you so sharp your knees nearly gave.

He caught it, of course.

“You like it when I talk dirty,” he said.

You swallowed.

He leaned closer, mouth brushing your ear. “Don’t bother lying. You’re bad at it when I’m this close.”

“I’m excellent at lying.”

He laughed into your mouth. “Not to me.”

The sound dissolved into something rougher when your teeth grazed his lower lip. His mouth moved down your jaw to your throat.

You made a sound.

“Told you,” he murmured, mouth at your neck, “wanted to be the one to make you scream.”

The heat that went through you was obscene. You tugged his hair hard enough to make his head lift.

“Careful,” you whispered. “Homelander can hear too much.”

His eyes locked on yours.

“You worried about him hearing me?” he asked. 

“I’m worried about him hearing me.”

That did something to him. The flare in his eyes, the way his breathing changed. 

“Then you better bite down on something.”

Your face went hot.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Like that.”

His mouth was back on your neck before you could answer, and this time his hands were less careful. He tugged you off the desk and separated your thighs with his knee gently, then, rudely, thrillingly, shoved his thigh between your legs. 

“Grind,” he commanded. 

Your body hesitated. Your mind wanted to fight it, to protect some imagined pride.

“Grind down on me,” he said again, slower this time. “Stop using that brilliant brain and just do as you’re told.” 

You shuddered. Then moved. The first roll of your hips was cautious, almost questioning. He rewarded it with a soft growl.

“Good girl.”

The second one was more confident. And the third—hungry.

You could feel the rough press of his thigh through your soaked underwear, the friction catching just right. Your breath hitched as pleasure bloomed—fast, hot, like wildfire catching.

“Eyes open.”

You hadn’t even realized you had squeezed them shut.

“Look at me,” he said. 

The intensity in his gaze nearly undid you. The satisfaction, the hunger, the patience, the promise. 

It was all there.

His hand slid up your back.

“Arch.”

You obeyed again, breathless, and the angle shifted—everything deeper, tighter, more exposed. The noise you made was half-sob, half-moan.

“See?” he murmured against your mouth. “No thinking. Just follow orders. Let your body feel.”

You did.

Every grind brought you closer to madness, to the edge of something blinding and unbearable. Your hands clawed at his suit, your mouth gasping against his.

“Faster,” he murmured, voice molten. “You’re so close, I can feel it.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your forehead dropped against his. Your moans were caught behind bitten lips, but he could hear them anyway. Feel them, in the tremble of your thighs, the way your rhythm faltered and then picked up again.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, anchoring you. The sound of your heat dragging against him, the small, filthy friction of cloth-on-cloth, filled the room.

“You hear that?” he whispered. “That’s how wet you are. That’s how much your body’s begging to come.”

You were gasping, whining low in your throat.

He tilted your head, forced you to look at him again. “You were going to walk away from this,” he murmured. “You kicked me out yesterday. Look at you now, getting off on my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Soldier Boy—” you panted.

“Say you want to come.”

Your eyes fluttered. Your hips jerked.

“Say it.”

“I— I want to— I want to come,” you whispered, nearly sobbing with it.

He dragged you harder against his thigh. 

“Please,” you breathed, collapsing into him. “Please let me come. Please—”

His mouth crashed into yours, and he let you. 

Your body broke apart in silence, shaking against him, your moan buried in his kiss. Your thighs clenched, your back arched, and you shattered on his thigh like a woman possessed.

He held you through all of it. 

When it was over, when your hips had stilled, and your breath was nothing but small, broken gasps, he pulled his mouth from yours and dragged his lips to your ear.

“That,” he whispered, rough and reverent, “was just from grinding.”

His fingers found the waistline of your trousers and tugged at them. “Let’s do the real thing, shall we?”

___________________________________

Okay, so I DO have more of this written, but idk if you guys will like it enough? It does get a bit deranged from here, closely following Homelander’s god arc on the actual show. It was fun to write tbh, so if enough people like this, I might post it.

Eddie opens his locker, tossing his books in the cramped space haphazardly. His mind drifts to thoughts of you, his throat tight and his heart fluttering. You were so far gone from his reach, someone so above him in the Hawkins mythical hierarchy. You walked with a sense of confidence and beauty that was only found in magazines. You curated an image of a beautiful girl who was sweet despite the razor-sharp claws that constantly came out. Your sharp words could cut down someone in seconds.

Eddie nearly melts into his locker at the thought of you. He remembers that fateful night he saw you at Jason's party. You wore something pink and short, showing off your legs. Eddie attended purely to sell. He feels his breath catch in his chest as a lingering memory of your words to him in the dark room flashes through his mind, your growling tone igniting a fire under his skin.

"You tell anyone about this little adventure, Munson, your dick is getting stuffed and hung on my wall."

Eddie has to stop the sigh from escaping his throat and ignore the tightness in his jeans, his want immeasurable. He swallows, grabs his backpack, and throws it over his shoulder as he slams his locker, grateful for the school day ending. He walks, lost in his thoughts, heading for the parking lot, his shoulder bumping against someone. He turns to look down and apologize, but freezes, chest tight.

"Watch where you're going, please?," The voice is saccharine sweet but dripping venom.

You stand there, a sugary sweet smile on your face as your nose is scrunched slightly, showcasing only a hint of the sneer you want so badly to show. Eddie swallows, nodding, muttering apologies as he races off, his cheeks ablaze.

Eddie sits at the bench, leg bouncing as he looks repeatedly at his watch. He tries to stop his shoulders from deflating, swallowing his disappointment. He begins to grab for his things, frozen the moment he hears the whispered, snarky voice near his ear. A shiver runs through him, his back to you.

"Did I say you could leave, Munson?"

Eddie swallows, looking at you slightly over his shoulder, his brown eyes swirling with guilt. "N-no."

A smirk falls across your face. Eddie can only guess your thoughts…'The loudmouth freak with tattoos and a habit for annoying everyone only becomes soft-spoken and nervous around you.' You stand over him as he turns on the bench slowly, looking up at you with smitten eyes, his cheeks pink. Arms crossed, you cock a hip, fixing him with a demeaning look, your lips twitching with amusement.

"Well? Be a good dog and get down from the table."

Eddie flushes red as he scrambles down to the leaf-strewn floor, his jeans marred with dirt now. Jeans are impossibly tight as he ignores the rough dirt and rocks biting into his palms and knees. He sits back on his heels, gaze focused on the ground. Eddie feels one of your high heels lightly press into his thigh. He bites back a whimper, his stomach tightening. A spark ignites when you curl a manicured finger around his pick necklace, allowing him a moment before you tug him up onto his knees violently. Eddie whines, gasping as he meets your challenging gaze. You look bored at first glance, but the joy over his humiliation is clear in your eyes.

You lean in, kissing Eddie. He keeps his hands obediently by his side, his black chipped polish-covered nails biting into his palms. He melts into your touch, relishing in the taste of the cherry lip gloss you often wear. You pull away, nose scrunched in disgust as you stare down at him. Eddie's stomach flips, his mind pathetically focused on you despite your clear displeasure.

"Ew. Did you smoke recently? You taste more like tobacco than usual."

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, clearing his throat as he tries to be nonchalant, the grip on his necklace still there. "I, Uh…yeah. Sorry."

You roll your eyes, sitting back and letting go of his necklace. Eddie looks up at you as you seem to take a glance at your flip phone. Panic settles in as he crawls forward a bit, knowing if he doesn't keep your interest, you're gone. He comes up, leaning his head against your thigh, nearly groaning as he sees the flash of pink lace. His chocolate brown eyes look up at you, pleading as a whine escapes his throat.

"Please…We don't have to kiss. I'll be good."

You smirk, opening your legs slightly as your voice takes on that authoritative tone that makes his mind go blank.

"Mmmm. You're so desperate. It's pathetic, really. You want this pussy?"

Eddie nods, his mouth going dry as his jeans seem to shrink, a hiss coming out between his teeth as his nails dig into the denim. "Please…"

You lean back slightly against the table, your skirt inching up on your thighs. Eddie nearly groans as he can see the slight wetness marring the frilly lace and smell the arousal. Your voice is bored, eyes dancing with something akin to power-hungry lust. "Go ahead. But only over the fabric…I'm not going bare ass on this germ-infested bench."

Eddie comes forward, a tentative lick to your core. The taste of you dances on his tongue, and he has to stop the whining that nearly tumbles from his throat. He continues to lick at your steadily swelling clit, his own cock throbbing in his pants. His mind is lost in a lusty haze, his mouth only focusing on what would please you. He begins sucking your clit through the lace, his own hips twitching, thrusting into nothing.

Manicured fingers scratch at his scalp, causing him to moan against your core, the sensation rippling pleasure across his skin. You moan softly, chuckling at his desperation. Your voice is coyingly sweet as he continues to focus his effort, his cock rubbing painfully against his jeans as his hands decide to grip the ground, dirt building up under his nails. "God, you're so desperate. No wonder you're a pathetic virgin. Bet you jerk off thinking of me."

Eddie whimpers at the words, grateful his face is partially hidden under your skirt as he swirls his tongue around your clit. The tip of his cock is weeping with precum, hopelessly seeking friction against his restraining clothing. He sucks desperately as you moan softly, your hips rolling up slightly to meet his mouth. Eddie's hips fervently grind against nothing, the edge of his pleasure so visible. Whimpers vibrate against your core, causing you tug at his hair, finally pushing him over the edge. He sees stars as he falls apart beneath you, painting the inside of his boxers. You sigh as he moans loudly during his orgasm, head lolling back as you reach your own peak.

Eddie shivers, heaving breaths to try to regain his composure. You spend about two seconds breathing in and out before you stand, straightening out your clothing and pulling out a compact mirror before fixing your makeup. You snap the compact shut, grabbing your purse before you pat Eddie's head condescendingly, your voice indifferent despite the heated flush across both your bodies.

"For a freak…you're getting pretty good with your mouth. Keep that up, and I may actually let you fuck me."

Eddie freezes, shock running through him as his head snaps up to see you walking away, fingers waving as you don't even spare him another glance.

"See you next Thursday, Munson."

In the dreams you had of him, you weren't scared either even when he came into the light and bared his two rows of needle-sharp teeth, even when his horns made him appear taller and the wings stretching from his bare back made him look broader. 

Each night he visited you was another wonderful exploration of your wants and desires. You couldn't get enough of him and when you woke only to find that the pleasure and the pain had all been a dream, you sulked to yourself as you missed the feel of those long, clawed fingers scratching at your skin.

You had come home way later than you usually would on a weeknight. Only coming through your front door at around three in the morning. A long-time friend of yours had gotten married and the reception had gone on longer than you would have liked. The bride and groom had left at around twelve but the party raged on without them. You called it quits when the ache in your feet could no longer be ignored and instead of conversation, all you could do was yawn. 

Trudging through your front door you kick your shoes off and throw your bag onto the table in the entryway. You’re exhausted and all you want is to go to bed.

As you walk through your house, everything seems normal, until you flip the lights on in your bedroom. You freeze when you see it. A dark mass by the head of your bed bent over and pulling at the clumped-up sheets. 

The creature whips around, its hair falling into its face as it growled. Its wings spread out to make itself look bigger and it bared its rows of sharp teeth.  You take a step back, fear gripping onto you. But then, as you look at the strange form, you are met with a familiar feeling. This wasn’t a strange creature, no it was what visited you in your dreams. 

Confusion fell over you then. He was just a dream. He wasn’t real so why were you seeing him in your room? You don’t remember falling asleep anywhere. Shaking your head, you pinch your arm, thinking it might wake you up like it does in the movies but all you feel is the sharp pain it brings to your forearm. 

Cautiously, you take a step forward, hands out, showing the creature you didn’t intend to do anything rash. “Hello,” you speak softly. His eyes slit as he stares at you. “Uh.. what are you doing here?” You ask. He had never really talked to you in your dreams before but it didn't hurt to try. 

“You aren’t supposed to be awake.” He answers, voice deep. 

 You take a deep breath. "What do you mean?" you ask.

He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again. "You know what I mean."

When he steps toward you, you step back, only to run into the door. Where there should have been a sense of dread, there was only a spark. A tingling sensation coiling up inside of you the closer he came.  

He reaches out his hand, claw-like nails giving him a more sinister look, and brushes back the strands of your hair that had fallen out of the updo you had been wearing for the wedding. You shiver when you feel his nails tickle your skin.  

You can feel your heart beating faster as he shuffles closer to you, his larch body towering over yours. A gasp leaves you when he unexpectedly grabs you and hoists you over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” Your voice wavers as he walks you over to the bed and throws you down. Your body bounces at the force and once you settle, you try to back away from him. 

He huffs, frustrated. “You aren’t this much of a hassle when you’re sleeping.” He takes hold of your ankle and drags you back down the bed. You try to wriggle free, but he is too strong. He grabs the other ankle and pulls you towards him, trapping you between his body and the mattress. He presses his body against yours, his hands roaming over you. 

You can’t help the flood of arousal that washes over you as you struggle against him. He’s smirking like this is a game to him and it’s only making you more flustered. 

Leaning down, his lips press into yours and his tongue slips inside your mouth. It’s forked, just like in your dreams, but now, with what little he’s said, you wonder if they were really dreams at all. 

The kiss is fierce, full of strong emotions and wandering hands. He tugs on your dress and you can hear the fabric beginning to tear. You try to pull away and to stop him but he’s so much stronger than you. 

You feel the needle-sharp tips of his teeth nip you, drawing blood from your bottom lip. He laps it up, humming at the metallic taste. Your fingers drag lines over his back and sides as you fall deeper into the feral, primal instincts now controlling you. 

His hardened length can be felt pressing into your thigh as he ruts into you. His kisses are rough and desperate, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pulls you closer. He whispers in your ear, "Let me take what I need and I will let you sleep.” 

You’re nodding before you can stop yourself. The growing need for him is too much to resist now. 

The creature hums, satisfied at your submission. Soon, your dress is finally ripped off of you, along with your undergarments. You are left completely bare to him, nipples pebbling in the cool air of your room and thighs snapping shut at being so exposed. 

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and he’s quick to open your legs up. Long, deft fingers trail down your exposed skin, goosebumps coming up in their wake. He takes his time, coaxing you into a more relaxed state with gentle caresses and warm lips sucking marks into your skin.

“Ah.” A moan leaves you when you feel him bite at your collarbone. Tiny pinpricks that draw the smallest amount of blood. His tongue laved over the wound and he let out a groan. 

His hand finally reaches between your legs and you let out a cry of relief when his thumb rubs over your clit. His other hand moves up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. His mouth moves over your neck and he whispers in your ear, “You are so sensitive.” His fingers slid through the wetness faster over your clit. 

Your hips move in tandem with his hand, bucking and writhing. He lets you take what you need.  His fingers move faster still as you begin to moan and gasp. His other hand moves down to your hip and grips as your body jerks with each wave of pleasure. “Fuck-” you breathe. You can feel the all-too-familiar sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it. Give it to me.” He whispers into your ear as your back arches and your toes curl.  

Your breath hitches as your body tenses. Your voice breaks and you cry out in pleasure as you reach your peak. His grip tightens as you collapse onto the bed. 

The creature moans into your neck and he keeps rubbing his fingers into you, slowly moving them down from your clit to circle around your soaking-wet entrance. You whimper in his strong grip. 

“Please,” you gasp. He doesn’t stop, he pushes two of his fingers into you, pulling a wail from your lungs. You are clamping down around him, cunt practically sucking his fingers. 

There are squelching sounds coming from the fluid motion of his fingers roughly bounding into you. Your pleas and moans accompany the sounds and it’s like music to the creature's ears.   

He fingers you with abandon, pushing and pulling with force and speed. Your orgasm builds with each thrust of his fingers, your pleasure becoming more intense with each passing second. Your body goes rigid in his hold and as you cum for a second time. 

“No more,” you mumble, spent and exhausted. 

You hear him chuckle, “I’m not done with you, pet.” 

When his fingers leave your used cunt, a whine leaves you at the loss and you feel yourself clamping down around nothing. He is turning you onto your stomach before you know it. Your head is buried in the sheets and your body lies like a board. 

With closed eyes, you can only assume what he is doing behind you as you feel his body atop your own. Thick fingers push apart the fat of your ass to expose you. The tickle of his hair as he leans down to lick a thick stripe from your pussy to the tight ring of your ass makes you twitch, a small bit of exhausted laughter pushing through you. 

He pulls back and you can feel his thumb toying with your ass, circling and pushing in just slightly. He has moved to his legs are on either side of your closed thighs. You can feel the hardness of his cock resting along the seam of where your legs meet. He’s hot and leaking pre-cum. 

Wiggling your hips, you encourage him to keep going. He then guides his cock closer, pressing the tip through the sticky wetness and into your waiting pussy. 

You moan into the bed at the stretch, hands gripping the sheets. He’s so big that he makes you feel so full without being completely inside you. 

He keeps pushing into you, grunting and hissing at the feel of your cunt spasming around him. Once he is fully sheathed inside you he begins to piston his hips. In and out in and out. He’s fucking you at a brutal pace. Giving you pleasure but also taking what he wants from you. 

His thumb is still circling your ass but as he keeps going, he finally pushes past your tight rim. You cry out into the open air of your bedroom. His thumb is thick and stretches you open where you have never been stretched before. 

“Fuck, yes.” You mumble into the sheets below. 

He grins. “You like that pet? Like when I use this pretty ass?”

You nod, hair tangling under your face as you do. “Yes, yes, yes.” It's the only word you can get out of your mouth. 

Listening to your words he begins to thrust his thumb in and out of you at the same unwaveringly fast pace that his hips have set. 

You can’t help the guttural groan you let out. It’s all becoming too much. So many sensations are filling your body, some familiar and others new. The strings of your orgasm have been pulled taut and are slowly breaking one by one. Your fists clench and your legs spasm. The creature reaches to your head and pulls on your hair at the base of your neck. Your head is forced up and with a half cry half moan, you cum around him as he releases thick stream after thick stream into you. 

As he keeps himself buried within you, he leans down and bites at your ear before speaking. “I may have to visit you when you are awake again, pet. You take me so well.” 

He pulls out and moves away, fast and unexpectedly, leaving you to drop, spent, and used on the bed. You turn slowly to look for him but your eyes find him nowhere in your room. It was empty, he had vanished into thin air. 

Eddie watches you fiddle with your fingers, then the hem of your skirt. You’re so worried Jason will somehow find out, but you’d rather risk that than get yelled at for failing to pick up the goods.

“No, of course not, angel,” he assures, tilting his head to catch your concerned gaze—god, he’s so hard. 

“A–And it’s not…um…I’ll still be a virgin if we do it…”

A wicked grin spreads across his face—you can’t even say the words; he’s going to have so much fun with you. Jason should’ve never trusted The Freak with his girl. 

“In the ass?” he finishes, relishing the little flinch you give at his lewd words. “Yeah, baby. You know…I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it before.” 

His light tone eases your worries—this is no big deal, just a…well, a deal.

“All the girls do it ‘cause they wanna stay virtuous for their future husbands,” he waves his hands in the air, mocking the meaningless word. Yeah, the girls of Hawkins are pretty virtuous. Taking it up the ass six ways to Sunday—that’ll get God to notice them, alright. “Just like you. You’ll still be all proper and…intact.” 

His cock jumps in his pants at the idea that you’ll be any sort of ‘intact’ once he’s done with you. He feels like a predator luring prey into a trap—he’s never been harder. 

“O–Okay. As long as…I just wanna give it to…someone I love,” you say shyly, almost embarrassed by the sentiment of saving yourself. You’re not quite sure if Jason is that someone, but he’s enough company for now.

It takes everything in Eddie not to growl at the way you’re like a little lamb, or an unblemished fruit, ripe for the taking. Closing the space between you, he peels off his jacket, smirking as your wide eyes follow his every move.

Once he lays the material down on the wooden bench of the old picnic table behind you, he gently guides you to kneel on the cushioned spot. Your heart flutters at the realization that he wants you to be comfortable. He’s so nice—you really don’t understand why Jason’s always so mean to him.

With a large, warm hand between your shoulder blades, he guides you down to lean onto the table. “Have you ever done anything before, angel?” 

Your face heats up at the intrusive question. Despite your current position, the answer feels more revealing. “Um…one time I let Jason touch me, b–but that’s–that’s about it.”

With your attention on the naked trees in front of you and the faintest glimpse of the school in the distance, he reacts freely—rolling his eyes back, looking to the sky, and thanking every obscure force and deity for the plentiful bounty they've so delicately placed in his grasp. Once he’s collected himself, Eddie probes for more information while he gently lifts your pleated skirt to rest on your lower back.

“Touch you where?” he asks, before shoving a strained, white knuckle into his mouth, biting as hard as he can when he sees your pretty pink panties. And there, between your plush thighs, like a sneak peek of heaven, a delicious wet spot taunts him, perfectly accentuating your folds and calling his name. 

Torn from his reverie, Eddie doesn’t expect the haphazard motion you make to your breasts pressed against the wood. He really thought Jason ‘The Creep’ Carver would’ve done more than just grope you—like make you suck him off or at least finger bang you underneath the bleachers, as is custom amongst your kind. 

“Just there?” 

You nod, “Yeah, I didn’t really wanna go any further. He was upset at me for a week after that…” 

Your voice, soft and soaked in shame, makes Eddie grit his teeth. Par for the course with Carver, but what really makes his jaw clench with barely restrained need is the idea that you didn’t let your boyfriend of two years go any further than second base. And yet….here you are, about to let the town freak blow through all the bases and fuck your ass. This is, without a doubt, the best day of his whole fucking life. 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be very happy with you when you bring ‘im his fix. You ready, sweetheart?” His fingers wrap around the elastic waistband of your panties, slowly pulling the flimsy material down. As your soaked folds desperately cling to the fabric, he struggles to remain quiet, to fight back the groan crawling up his throat. 

You nod, wiggling a bit to readjust on your knees; Eddie bites his lip at the sight, it’s like you’re taunting him.

Entranced, he can’t help but wish he could pull your panties all the way off, not just haphazardly shove them down your thighs. But maybe it’s better this way. After all, he’s not sure how stealthily he could pocket the pair, and he’s not looking to push his luck with you. Not yet at least.

Though, even if he couldn’t swipe your panties for his own personal collection, with you facing away, it would allow him the perfect opportunity to bring the thin material to his nose and take a deep whiff. He’s pretty sure your scent would fix him…or make him worse—he honestly doesn’t care which. 

But for now, with you already in position, he’ll just have to settle for being inside you. Pity.

The only sounds in the forest are the crunch of rustling leaves, the clinking of his belt as he undoes his pants, your bated breaths, and the distant chatter of teens meandering to their cars and buses, carried on the wind from the school. If any one of them tries to take a shortcut through the woods on their walk home, they’ll find Jason Carver’s girlfriend with her ass open for Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson—that thought has his stomach jerking with need.

Huffing out a breath, Eddie places both of his ringed hands onto your smooth skin, spreading your cheeks to get a good look at what he’s sure will become his favorite place on earth. “Angel?”

You hum in response, ignoring the pitter-patter your heart makes at the nickname—Jason doesn’t really have any endearments for you, so you’re not used to such easy affection. 

“I wanna make sure you feel okay, right?” You nod, urging him to continue. “Well, I need a little…lubricant…and I don’t think my spit is gonna cut it.” He could certainly make it work, but he’s playing the long game here. 

Eager to help, you softly suggest, “You can use my spit.” 

Sighing, he realizes he should’ve known you’d offer that. Right. Changing strategy. “Um, that’s very sweet o’you, honey. But…I think I’m gonna need a little more.”

Confused at what else there could be, you try to brainstorm. “Um…I don’t know…”

Eddie glances down at your soaked cunt, frail, thin strands of arousal connecting your flowering folds, hanging on for dear life. He shudders at the way your core glistens in the late afternoon sun, smeared wetness practically winking at him.

At this point, he’s almost vibrating with need—he’s so damn close to a place no man has ever explored before and Jesus H. Christ, does he want to be the first. 

Trying to restrain himself from shouting the answer or just taking what he needs, he sucks in a calming breath. “What if, um, we use some of the…” he has no clue how to go about this without sounding like this was his plan all along, “wetness, uh, between your…” 

Peeking over your shoulder, you let out a noise of surprise. “Oh, uh…if that’s what would work. Um, I t–think that’d be fine. You won’t…go in, will you?” 

At your hesitant words, he gives his cock a teasing squeeze, letting out a strained, “No, no, baby. Of course not. I’d never…Only if you wanted me to.” He adds on the last bit knowing it’s a shot in the dark.

“Eddie, you know I can’t. I’m with Jason,” you chide, looking back down to the weathered wood, restless fingers playing with a divot on the surface beneath you. 

Worth a shot.

He shakes his head in disbelief, biting his lip; the cognitive dissonance you’re displaying at present is making his cock leak. He knew as soon as he first saw you—you’d be the perfect girl to play with. 

“Right! I know, I know,” he hurries, conceding to your virtue. “So silly of me…”

He practically blows his load all over your ass when you quietly mutter your next words. 

“Maybe if I saw you first…” 

Fuck.

God, if you saw him first…

The shit he would’ve done to you by now, two years in…

It’d make a whore blush.

Though, he doesn’t feel like he missed out on much. You’re currently in a relationship with Jason, but you’re still bent over a table, your tight ass hole on display for him. 

Maybe in every timeline you become his. Maybe not fully, but maybe where it counts.

Refocusing on the task at hand, he cautions you, “Now, I won’t go inside, but I’m gonna need to go around. S’that okay?”

With another nod, you let out the sweetest string of words he’s ever heard. “I trust you, Eddie.”

Oh, you really shouldn’t, he thinks.

“Perfect, it’ll be just a second,” he mumbles, gripping his stiff cock and guiding it to your slit. He’s not strong enough to stop the beginning of a groan as he feels your wet arousal coat him in warmth. Luckily, he bites back the rest of the noise, not wanting to scare you off. 

He’s thankful you can’t see his length because he’s certain that would really scare you off. He can tell how tight your cunt is just by the look of it—you’ve truly never had anything in there before. The fact that you’re letting him rub his bare, leaking cock on your pussy tells him you don’t know a thing about sex, either. All of his precum is mixing with your slick to make a glorious milky substance and you’re going to go back to your boyfriend pretending to be untouched. 

You’re already so wet and getting wetter by the second as he continues to drag his thick length through your fluttering folds. A high-pitched moan escapes your throat when the ridge of his head catches on your clit just right. A pearly-white rope nearly shoots out of his pulsing slit when you quietly apologize for your noise—god, you’re so fucking sweet. 

It’s probably overkill at this point—he’s certainly wet enough to fuck your ass, but he’s never been this close to a virgin’s pussy before. If he could just…

Eddie pushes his luck as he glances down, gripping his cock, and guiding the fat head to notch into your hole. 

He almost cums inside of you when your entrance squeezes around his tip, trying to suck him in further. Despite your shallow opening pulsing and luring him in, your voice snaps him out of it. 

“Eddie!” 

Your worried, shrill tone makes his hips buck unconsciously, sinking another centimeter into you, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within your chest. It takes everything in him to pull away, especially with the pretty sound you just made.

Before he does, though, he wraps his index finger and thumb just below the ridge of his cockhead, giving himself a firm squeeze, hoping to leave your sweet cunt with a few drops of his seed.

“Sorry, sorry–it got caught,” he lies, “My bad.” His chest is heaving with red-hot desire—he’s 100% going to think about this moment while he fucks his fist later.

“S’okay,” you mutter breathily, trying not to give in to the tingling goosebumps his touch leaves behind.

“Gonna do it, now, okay?” His words are almost clinical because he doesn’t have to put on an air of romance for you—you’ve got a boyfriend to do all the fluffing for him. 

With your quiet ‘mhm’, he starts to breach the tight ring of your ass. The second his soft tip presses into you, you’re moaning brokenly. You’re so tight, Eddie feels like his cock is being choked.

“Oh, god!” Your strained mewl echoes around the empty air, bouncing from tree-to-tree until it comes right back to Eddie’s ears—like pretty music he could listen to forever. 

His tongue falls out of his mouth in focus as he spreads your cheeks wider, trying to help you take him. “Shh, shh, sweetheart. Don’t wan’ anybody finding out, do we,” he grits, forcing himself to give it to you slow. 

You whine, shaking your head at his words, dropping it against the wooden table as you struggle to breathe through the pain. His tip is so big, you’re wincing as he mutters praises. 

“There you go, angel. Takin’ me so well, I know it’s hard. S’gonna be a tight fit.” Punctuating his sentence with a groan, he throws his head back as you yelp, feeling the exact moment his fat cockhead pops into your virgin hole. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you draw out his name in a whine, eliciting a small thrust from his brazen hips. 

When he’s met with even more resistance than his initial breach, he tries to calm you down. “Angel, you’re doin’ so well for me, but you gotta relax, baby, you gotta relax.”

“I c–can’t, Eddie, s’too much!” The burn and stretch of his thick cock inside you is making your brain go fuzzy, eyes fluttering as you heave out a dry sob into the splintering grains. 

“We can stop whenever you want–” 

“No! I wan–I need to have the–the weed, he told me to get it, I need it!” 

Spitting onto his length, he rubs the bubbly liquid in before pushing an inch deeper, swooning at the strangled moan you let out, your panting lips brushing against the old wood. “Okay, okay. We’ll keep going, but only if you want to…”

His cock—less than half-way inside—flexes as you nod messily, forehead scraping against the rough surface of the table. But that pain is the least of your concerns, what with the searing burn of your ass hole. You make the mistake of adjusting yourself on the table, accidentally sending your hips back onto him, taking another inch of his cock. 

A pained mewl leaves your lips, “Eddie, it–it hurts!” 

In his own little world—relishing his throbbing cock snug in your tight ass—he jerks his hips forward, forcing you to take the rest of him in one go, using the ‘rip the bandaid off’ approach. The broken half-scream that peels from your scratchy throat startles a few birds from the treetops, sending them fluttering away in fright.

“Yeah, baby. It’s supposed to, you’re not used to it yet–fuck–but you will be,” he promises, pulling back half-way and sinking in again. 

Soon your pained moans turn into pleasured mewls as your body adjusts to his girth, stretching your unused hole to its limit. “Shit, angel, you feel s’fuckin’ good.” 

Eddie’s groans of appreciation make you whine, unconsciously grinding your ass back against his pistoning hips. “Ed–Eddie, oh, god!” 

His eyes roll in ecstasy, just picturing the way your dripping hole is clenching around nothing right now, needing to be stuffed. Maintaining a bruising grip on the junction of your hips, he fucks into you, hard.

The strong force shoves you up the wooden table in time with his thrusts—your face dragging against the rough surface. He doesn’t let you go far, though, repeatedly yanking your ass back to meet his upper thighs causing a lewd slapping sound that surely gives you away—that, and your barely restrained moans. 

“Fuck, you gotta be quiet. Gotta be quiet, baby, somebody’ll hear,” he grunts, as if he truly gives a shit whether he’s found out. He’d fuck you in front of the whole school if you’d let him. 

Another mewling whine from you has his hips faltering in their rhythm. A few particularly hard thrusts cause you to stutter over your strained pleas, the words clawing their way out of your mouth in tune with the barreling of his cock. “B-But it feels, unh, s–s–s–so g–good.” 

Your pitiful admission makes Eddie’s balls pull taut to his body, a sure sign that he’s not going to last another second. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, baby! Fuck, I’m cumming, oh, god–m’cumming!”

Relishing the flex of his cock as it twitches inside you, you whimper at his words—you’ve never heard a boy sound so anguished. For some reason, the sound makes your pussy ache, you wish you could clench your thighs. 

Once Eddie finds his breath, he starts pulling out of you, eliciting a pathetic sounding whine from your panting lips. Before he fully leaves your sweet little hole, he makes sure to give himself another firm squeeze and a small tug—just to leave you with every last drop of his cum.

He watches his milky seed ooze from your gaping ass, heaving out a content sigh before shoving himself back into his jeans. “Oh, fuck, angel.…You really earned that weed for your boy, honey.”

The praise makes you keen, letting out the cutest whimper Eddie’s ever heard. He starts shimmying your panties up your thighs, hesitating, he takes a mental picture of the way your hole pushes out some of his spend as you clear your throat. Securing the thin material over your modesty, he slides a ringed hand between your cheeks, pressing the fabric into his cum, wedging it up your ass. 

You jolt at his touch, taking the unsanctioned touch as a simple tease from your new friend. “Eddie,” you giggle, straightening up, and messily climbing off the table. 

Your knees are still sore, despite his earnest attempt to bring you comfort by laying his jacket out for you. Once you stand up straight, skirt falling back down, you also realize how stiff your legs are—but another sensation takes precedence. 

Shock takes over your face as you fling your hands behind you, pressing them both into your ass, a useless attempt to stop his cum from pouring out of you. “Oh my god!” 

A grin stretches across Eddie’s features, his eyes alight as he takes in your little dance—you’re squirming, trying to squeeze your thighs together in an effort to mitigate the mess. “Yeah, sorry about that, sweetheart. Shoulda warned you. Your ass isn’t as…malleable as your pussy,” his grin broadens as your eyes widen at his salacious lesson.

“S’gonna take a second to…shrink, for lack of a better word. Until then, you might feel a little…leaky,” he chuckles, reveling in the way your virgin ass hole took his massive cock—now you have to suffer the…gaping consequences.

Simply nodding your head, you continue to press both your panties and skirt into your ass, hoping they’ll soak up some of the wetness. Unsure why you want to know, you ask Eddie your burning question. “Did…w–was I good?” 

His mouth parts in surprise at your question, but then a wave of giddy heat thrums through his whole body, relaxing his features into a pleased smile. Closing the short distance between you, he rubs his fingers across your cheeks, working his way up to the small scrape on your forehead. His eyes are full of awe, and you're going to have to come up with an excuse to your boyfriend about the random scrape on your otherwise unblemished skin—the thought causes his soft cock to twitch. 

“You were so good, angel. I hate to say it, but Carver’s a lucky guy. He’s got such a devoted, loyal girlfriend.” 

Too busy swooning at his soft touch and compliments, you completely miss the wicked glint in his eyes. The moment your body begins to sway, leaning into the heat of his chest with bated breath and heavy lids over wanting, wandering eyes, he pulls away—shattering the trance he had you under, leaving you nearly stumbling after him.

The clinking of metal draws your attention to a black lunchbox sitting on the wooden bench. From inside it, Eddie pulls a small baggie of a dry, dusty green looking pile of…herbs? You’re pretty sure it’s the weed, but Jason never lets you partake, so you’re not 100% sure what the substance looks like. 

“Here you are, sweetheart. And go ahead and tell your little boyfriend he can send you back anytime he wants,” he shoots you a flirtatious grin.

Taking the baggie from him, you try to fight the smile off your face, feeling bashful at his unending flirtation, despite your numerous warnings.

“Eddie,” you chide, only half-serious, now catching onto how playful your new friend tends to be.

Throwing his hands up in surrender, he tips his chin to catch your shy gaze, “I know, I know. I just happen to think you’re a much prettier face to strike a deal with.” He pushes his luck once more—he just can’t help himself. “How ‘bout this, I’ll cut the price in half if he sends you next time.” 

Smiling, you shake your head at his audacity. “We’ll see. Thanks for…” 

Fucking you? 

Cumming in your ass?

Making your virgin hole his?

Letting you pay with your body?

“...Everything,” you finish, leaning up onto your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. It’s too bad you rubbed all your lipgloss onto the picnic table when you couldn’t stop panting and moaning into the old wood. But your soft lips still smell of cherries, so he’ll take it. 

Pulling back, you meet his wide eyes. He's thankful his big brown irises generally give off a sad, puppy-dog look; otherwise, you'd probably catch onto the felonious hunger in his gaze.

“For being sweet,” you add on. The way your blackened lashes flutter at him—if he didn’t know how truly innocent you are, he’d think you’re giving him ‘fuck me again’ eyes. The sight has his cock stirring, already half-hard from just your chaste kiss. 

“‘Course, angel.”

You seem to have an almost physical reaction when he uses the endearment on you outside of being in your ass. Your smile widens, body bristling with restlessness as he catches a glimpse of your thighs squeezing. It’s not lost on him that you didn’t get to cum. You’re probably so needy, you’re barely containing it in front of him. He knows how wet you are, he saw the aftermath. 

Leaving you so worked up, on the edge of completion as your orgasm recedes like waves before a tsunami—he’s certain this won’t be his last time with you. He’s pretty sure you’re not about to go fuck your boyfriend, so maybe you’ll remember how welcoming and kind Eddie was and turn to him in your time of desperation. 

You’ll be back. He’s almost certain of it.

A/N: That'll make your puthy throb. Reblog, like, and comment to support me and lmk your thoughts!!!!!!!!!!

Tag List: @defututus @ratsematary @american-idiot-jpg @glassbxttless @justalotoffanfiction @savybabyyy @thepinkpanther83 @sorayasworld @slaytheusurper @dangerousnbeautiful @hellmastereddie @ali-r3n @lilithera0 @tlclick73 @joonbread @jesterghuleh @bellalillyrose @bigboymoozz @am0iur @pastelpoppies @lionkingshiddenmessage @girlwedontcare @cheesesandwichsanto @avenjames-anderson @munsonzgf @iheartgrayson @cowboylikemunson @skyfullofsong123 @thepurplelovewitch @munsondjarin @jayden-killer @fairylights-throughthemist @hippiegoth97 @whoschantel @wolfqueenxxx @kelsiegrin @ashly1576 @seedlingghost @alexxavicry @forrest-of-hearts @wheel-of-hyperfixation