chelsea

not literally, but to you he is. 

or maybe it’s the other way around. and your existence had strangely disappeared from his train of thought. 

it seems likely considering the fact that he had hardly even looked at you since that night. 

he avoids your runs, sits at the opposite end of the dining room, hell, he takes the long way around the town just to avoid your house. 

he used you. 

got what he wanted and ran. 

it’s no surprise that even during the end of the world, men are still adamant on being the worst. 

nothing had kept him from your mind, no amount of distance could make you forget the tender way he touched you, the feel of his lips against your skin, the mind numbing orgasm that followed. 

it didn’t help that robin was busy too, preoccupied with her girlfriend to offer much advice for your predicament. you’re not bitter as such, in fact you’re happier than ever for her, but you just wished she could let you cry on her shoulder for an hour or two. 

instead of moping, wishing things were different, you get on with your new life here. runs with nancy, dinners with steve and jonathan, joyce and even started showing you how to sew. 

you’re still not completely convinced about this place yet, so much so your knife sleeps by your head every night, but you’re getting close. 

something was just missing. you think maybe it’s the fact that everybody just seemed so comfortable, so comfortable that they weren’t truly prepared for if something bad were to happen. 

you push it down, knowing that eddie wouldn’t even look you in the eye, let alone hear your complaints about his town. 

you do that a lot lately, shrugging things off, pretending you’re fine. it’d become part and parcel of being a hawkins resident. 

-

dinner is the same old, some unidentified casserole and some misshapen vegetables that joyce was very proud of growing. 

eddie isn’t here again, you’d watched chrissy inconspicuously take a tray in the direction of his little office. 

pussy. 

your eyes instinctively roll back when she scurries back in, empty tray in hand. like he was some sort of king, demanding to be served. 

were you that bad? 

could he really not face you?

something clicks tonight, watching chrissy dote pathetically after him, knowing that your sheer presence is the reason behind his cowardice. 

you have to confront him, even if you never have sex with him again, even if this ends with you eloping from hawkins in the middle of the night. 

you had to do it. 

-

you sort of haunt the halls, towing back and forth between marching right up to his door to demand an apology and just slinking off to bed, acting like he didn’t exist again. 

once everyone had gone back to their own homes and you had paced around and around until you’d gathered up enough courage to actually knock on his door, you do it. 

or get close to doing it. 

lingering pathetically outside instead. 

you wanted answers with no clear questions for getting them. 

why? 

why did he do any of that?

the candlelight flickering underneath the door gives his position away. 

pfft amateur. 

it’s not like he’d moved all night, most likely waiting until there was a negative chance of bumping into you. 

you can’t even bring yourself to knock, maybe the not knowing would be better anyway. you could pretend it had been some extenuating circumstance that had forced you apart. 

but your knuckles rise anyway, knocking on their own volition, startling even yourself, let alone the man inside. 

he grumbles a muted come in before you hear his chair creak. he doesn’t know it’s you. 

you could bolt, pretend nothing had happened and go right back to ignoring one another again. 

edging yourself inside, forcing your feet forwards, making yourself unable to back out of this. 

eddie doesn’t look up at first, your silence forcing him to slide his eyes from the book in front to your dimly lit face. 

it’s the first time in weeks that you’d seen him properly, his soft chocolate eyes that often tried too hard to look mean, the scar that had grazed your lips, and infested your nightly thoughts for too long. 

“can we talk?” barely a squeak, picking at a hangnail instead of facing his heavy stare. 

his chair creaks again, dropping his pen onto the desk, “i- there’s nothing to talk about.” 

unbelievable. 

does he even believe that? 

“what’s wrong with me?”

his head turns quickly, appalled that you’d even ask such a thing, “what?”

“i said, what’s wrong with me? what about me disgusted you so much that you can’t even look at me?” refusing to let your lip quiver, your vulnerability must be protected. 

eddie, ever stoic, ever an asshole, shakes his head, “nothing—,” he stands, rescinding his previous tone, “we shouldn’t have done that.. it was.. irresponsible— a mistake.”

he regrets his words the second they leave his lips, watching your chin wobble and your eyes gloss over has him wishing he’d just swallowed his tongue instead. 

you hadn’t seen him ruminating. arguing with himself about how he could never let you go. how he can’t possibly say goodbye now. 

he has to stay away, for your own good. for his sanity. 

it’s betrayal of the highest order, but you’re not sure who from. eddie was never particularly fond of you before, he didn’t owe you shit then and he didn’t owe you shit now. 

that’s what you’ve convinced yourself of anyway. 

“it’s late. you should get home before..” trailing off into heavy silence. he probably wants to mention robin, but even he had noticed how little you’d been around each other. 

“can you just tell me?” you’re whispering now, ashamed to grovel but you had to know. you had to. “why? why was it a mistake?” 

his tongue clicks against the back of his teeth, chewing the air as a replacement for words. “because it was— it just was.”

he’s so close now, close enough for you to rightfully slap his cheek— which you do. the sharp sound echoes around the tiny room, watching with glee as he flinches, caressing the stinging skin. 

as your hand grasps the door handle, ready to leave and never come back, eddie bravely, or maybe stupidly, opens his mouth again. muted words that mean nothing. “i stayed away for you. for your own good.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

somewhere, deep in his fucked up brain, he’d conjured up this excuse. a reason to flip everything back onto you. because at the end of the day, under his hardened exterior, he was still a clueless man. 

he sighs, a pathetic expulsion of air that makes you want to slap him again, “everything is different with you.” 

it’s getting harder to hide your utter confusion, his ramblings of nonsense were beginning to frustrate you. 

you turn, regrettably giving him the benefit of the doubt, “i don’t understand what you’re saying.. you’re not— you’re not making any sense.” 

he looks truly woeful, so much so that you might start pitying him. every word comes across as some internal struggle, fighting to make their way out. 

“i can’t have sex with you again,” shaking his head, “i can’t talk to you anymore— i can’t even look at you.”

this is what he so badly wanted to say? another harsh rejection, trying to twist the knife even further into your stomach. 

eddie starts again, before you can get a word in, before you can slap him again. “i can’t stop myself from–,” cutting himself off with a hitch in his throat, “i can’t get too close to you, it’s not.. it’s not a good idea.”

“why?” the underlying question of it all. the only thing you’re interested in knowing is why? why any of this? 

his feet drag across the floor, stepping closer like he wasn’t the one who had just said he doesn’t even want to look at you anymore. 

“what if something happens to you?” stopping his fingers from meeting your sodden cheek, “what happens when i have to watch you die? because it’s not if— it’s when,” allowing himself the contact, knuckles wiping your tears away. 

your head shakes, overwhelmed with emotion, drained and yet electrified by his touch all at once. “n-nothing’s going to happen to me, eddie. it’s safe here— i feel safe here, because of you,” raising your hand to meet his, fingers entangling loosely. 

eddie blinks, his own teary eyes hidden behind his spindly eyelashes, “i’m doing this for you.. so you can live without having to worry about me,” calloused fingertips clasp yours feebly. 

“i don’t want to,” adamant with your choice, albeit having to swallow your pride to get yourself to continue, “nothing will happen to me.. nothing.” 

“but i can’t promise you that,” he swallows. 

“you don’t have to, i’m not asking you to,” the orange hue of the candle lights his face perfectly, evoking a burning blaze in your core. 

his eyes flicker shut, relinquishing his stubborn stature to soften into your touch. 

“i want this,” forcing his gaze back to you, “i want you to want this,” more than anything. 

“you.. you know i do.” 

you’re itching to crash your lips into his, but you wait for him to move first. to show you that he really wants this. 

“so try, for me,” bringing your entwined hands to his face, grazing his jaw with your cut knuckles. 

eddie forces them back, flying into the wall with brute force, your back knocking against the wood next. “i’ll try,” closing the distance with a kiss, soft and tender for just a second, until his tongue slips out and into your mouth. 

you moan in appreciation, free hand finding his curly locks to tug softly.  

the midnight hour thankfully gives you cover, no one would be out at this time except for whoever was on the wall. even then, they were too far away to hear you in here. 

you hum into his mouth, walking him back towards the chair, you were in charge tonight. making it clear exactly how everything between you was going to go, handling his expectations if you will. 

he sits, pulling you down with him in an awkward dance. your legs straddle his thighs rather uncomfortably, holding onto his lean shoulders for stability. 

“need you.. need’a feel you again sweetheart,” eddie’s fingers rush to the waistband of your jeans, fiddling with the button until he gives up and yanks them down your thighs. 

you shuffle again, aiding him with getting you undressed, an amalgamation of legs and denim where you’re not sure when eddie ends and you start. 

the chair damn near breaks when he slides his own jeans down, coming to rest on his thighs, just below his growing cock. your fingers graze his boxers, watching open-mouthed as his cock jumps. 

“hm.. s’all yours princess,” grunting out his words, concentrating on not busting a nut all over his pants. 

your eyes travel slowly back to his face, “y’promise?” 

“mhmm,” a drawn out, barely coherent noise from the base of his chest, his palms a sweaty mess as they run along your hips, twirling the band of your underwear with his fingers. 

your bodies moving at eddie’s pace, a tepid affair that has your cunt soaked, begging for more. 

you whine incessantly into the limited space between your faces, “you’re bein’ mean,” the thin fabric of your underwear now certainly dripping with arousal, leaving your mark upon the outline of his member. 

eddie offers a rebuttal, forcing your hips to clash against his once more, “you’re not in control here,” smirking deliriously at your eager expression. 

it’s enough to have you wrestling with the tight space in between you, ferociously pulling his boxers down, his leaking cock springing up against his stomach. 

would it be too much to lick your lips? 

your body twitches with anticipation either way, wrapping your hand around the thick base, pumping slowly, thrilled to have him groan in frustration. 

“a-alright sweetheart, you win,” placing his hand over the top of yours, guiding his pink tip to your cunt, one hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. 

you lower yourself slowly onto his length, taking a firm grip of his shoulder to hold yourself steady. it had only been a few weeks but eddie was, regrettably, rather well-endowed. 

his breath is warm as it hits your neck, his face burrowed against your skin. you don’t want to move, this felt good enough to genuinely get you off anyway. 

“c’mon sweetheart..” he slurs, “need you to move or somethin’,” muffled by his position, lips leaving wet pecks along your jaw. 

you nod softly, using your hands to move yourself up, and back down.  

the speed of your movements is pathetic, feeble even. slow, long strokes that force him to take over and do something. 

grabbing a handful of your plush ass to begin helping your hips move, filling your chest with his cock, forcing high-pitched whimpers from your throat. 

“fuck eddie,” wailing into the thick air, “missed you s’much,” clutching frantically at his skin— his hair, anything you can get ahold of. you need him closer yet, so pathetically desperate not to lose him again that you’d climb inside of his skin. 

eddie grunts into your ear, kissing the skin as he goes, “yeah princess? tell me how bad,” thrusting upwards to meet your cunt half-way. 

“so bad,” holding his hair in your fist, tugging his head back to find his dopey eyes, “thought about you everyday.. mhmm.”

anyone still in this building could no doubt hear your filthy mewls and your soaked cunt, sounding out in perfect harmony. nobody had ever managed to get you this wet before, leaving trails of your release on his pubes. 

he’s louder this time around, practically howling into your ear. his pace is tireless, jerking up fiercely as his hands palm and grope at every inch of available skin.  

there’s something about the scar on his lip that you can’t get enough of, only praying that you’ll get to have his lips all over your skin forever and ever. 

“fuck me,” you mewl, relinquishing full control over to him, too tired, too weary to keep up the facade of command any longer. 

his hands grab and grapple your ass, palming the doughy flesh, bringing your hips up and right back down onto his dick. you don’t have to even think, not that you’re able to. 

eddie is downright relentless, cock reaching indescribable heights inside, while his lips stay pressed to your jaw, leaving lazy, wet kisses to the skin. 

“feel so fuckin’ good,” he howls, animalistic in his yelping. if you looked down, you’re sure you’d see his toes curl. 

not that you possibly could, you can hardly muster the strength to look him in the eye. 

your stomach twists and turns, nearing your orgasm as his own hips stutter. balls slapping against your warm thighs, making you tremble and shudder. 

you force out some vague mumblings of his name, chanting like it were the gospel. the chair squeaks, masking your shaky voice and causing your grip to tighten on his hair. 

with his nose pressed flat against your cheek, eddie whimpers, “i’d give anything to cum inside you right now,” voice strained, pleading with himself to just let go. 

“please— mhm please,” digging your nails into his flexed shoulders, your better judgment clouded by his twitching cock and the sweet feel of his nails digging into your flesh. 

he quickens his hips in return, balls slapping carelessly against your thighs, “hmm? let me fill you up,” fingernails digging deep into your fleshy hips, “please?” 

one word is all it takes for your orgasm to topple over and your soul to seemingly intwine with his forever. 

“yes..yes..yes,” too cock-drunk to weigh the consequences fully. it’d be worth it to feel him like that, have him relinquish all his common sense just to cum inside you. 

eddie does as you beg, rushing over, spurts of his release paint your walls, filling you to the hilt over and over again until he can’t take any more and he has to pull out. 

he heaves, rushed and gasping for air against your neck, “fuck sweetheart,” gasp, “i wasn’t s’posed to.. shit-,” turning to mush between your arms. 

the room feels smaller than it had before— or perhaps it was due to your bodies melding together, a mixture of both your releases, sweat and spit alike. 

eddie’s fingers, despite groping your entire body, startle you as they settle on your back, tracing tiny stars into the curve at the bottom. “i told myself that i was never gonna do that again,” a certain sadness to his voice. 

“oops.”

his chuckle rumbles through your chest, pulling you back from his neck to catch his gaze, “yeah. oops,” lacking the energy to stifle his smile. 

eddie starts again, shifting your weight from his lap, “we should get back.. you’re comin’ with me tomorrow,” tapping your skin, a signal to get off. 

your brows furrow, remembering the blank space next to your name on the rota, “oh am i?”

“you are now,” he beams, smacking your ass for good measure before standing from his chair. 

eddie helps you reclothe yourself, mostly just by tossing discarding items of clothing in your direction but he helps nonetheless. 

you watch quietly as he locks his office door, walking in-step with one another through the halls and out onto the chilly streets. eddie’s quiet, as he usually is, hands stuffed into his pockets as he steers the both of you towards your house. 

who were you if not inquisitive? opening your mouth to no doubt annoy him with more of your questions. 

“before this.. would you have even looked at me?” the age gap between you wasn’t really something to raise your brows over, but you had pondered about his life before all this, how it’d be if you met then and not now. 

even in the dark of the night you can see how badly he wants to sigh, not privy to your overwhelmingly curious questions. “i don’t know.. you might’a slapped me if i had.” 

he’s not entirely wrong, but even years ago, before the dead rose from the ground, you probably certainly would’ve indulged in your fantasies of an older, rougher man. 

“maybe,” replying intoned, “but you would’ve liked it.”

eddie laughs, hanging back as you near the house. it sat dark and empty. robin wasn’t there, she hadn’t really been there for weeks. 

which was fine. and totally not terrifying at all. 

you wait by the door, half-expecting him to come up to the perch anyway, but he doesn’t. leaning against the fencing as he watches you nonchalantly fiddle with the door. 

“y’know.. robin’s not home..” shrugging softly, the nights finally getting a little warmer, “you could always come in,” acting as nonchalant as your nerves allowed. 

eddie stands at the bottom of your porch, nodding softly, “was that supposed to be an invitation?” narrowing his big soft eyes. 

“yes it’s an invitation,” replying curtly, his hard-to-get act wasn’t cute. 

his lips purse, eyes flickering from your face to your frustrated stance, “well.. it’d be rude to say no to you,” shuffling towards the door, like he was always going to do. 

your eyes struggle not to roll to the back of your head, stepping into the cold, lonely house. ignoring the mess you’d left for later to pull him straight into your bedroom and into the warm bed. 

eddie felt like furnace, even in just his boxers, pulling you into his arms to share in his intense heat. 

you talk, eddie mostly listens. 

answering your mundane questions with a grunt or a laugh, mostly slipping into sleep until you clasp his hand, holding up the ringed finger to your face, “you were married before?” you didn’t take him for someone that’d marry but then this world changed people. 

“nope,” shaking his head, wrapping his fingers back around yours, “it was my uncle’s,” avoiding your eye, “he gave me the ring whe-,” cutting himself off, his fingers gently squeeze yours, looking for the strength to continue, “when the world went to shit.” 

you hum, appreciating his candour, for once he wasn’t closed off, keeping his every thought to himself rather than just letting you in. changing the tone, you speak up, “why’d nobody wanna marry you back then?” 

this works, forcing a chuckle from the back of his throat, “because i was an asshole.”

“you’re still an asshole,” which really couldn’t be refuted. 

“fuck you, no one wanted to marry you either,” squeezing your hand gently, withholding his sigh. 

you chortle, rolling your eyes even though you can barely see a thing, “because i was in college, eddie.”

he produces a gruff sounding whine in response, “now you’re really makin’ me sound old,” as if his greys weren’t streaking through his shoddily thrown up bun. 

“maybe because you are,” squeezing his hand right back, just as he’d done to you. 

eddie scoffs, nestling into the pillow, “just for that, i’m wakin’ you up extra early tomorrow,” his eyelids fluttering closed as his smile stays planted on his lips. 

-

he’s there in the morning. 

there to kiss you awake and make you a terrible cup of coffee. forcing you out of bed for a shift you never signed up for. 

“today’s supposed to be my day off, y’know,” you grumble, trailing behind him to the armoury, still half asleep and certainly no happier to be dragged along behind him. 

“quit your complainin’, we’re going out there whether you like it or not,” walking backwards now, just to really rub it in.  

his eyes twinkle in the light, a spark reignited that can solely be attributed to you. he’s a different man, younger even. 

maybe not that far. 

but he did seem a much brighter man this morning, his fingers hadn’t left your skin since he’d crawled into bed, finding any way to keep ahold of you. 

he stays close now, even as you clean dirt off your bow, waiting for the all clear to head out from dustin who sits rather worriedly atop the gate. he’s speaking hastily into his walkie, watching as jonathan comes steaming down from the back wall to you guys. 

“nancy and chrissy!” he shrieks, struggling to catch his breath, “they’re still out there,” jonathan frantically pants, “y-you’ve gotta go find them!”

with that, eddie takes off towards the gate, only looking back for you when the gates don’t open immediately. 

“open the fucking gate dustin!” he yells upwards, attempting to push the sturdy wood to make his own way. 

“no! think about this!” dustin screeches, “we’ll get a team! you can’t go out there on your own, what if they’re in trouble?” hollering down at eddie’s fretting state. 

the noise draws the early risers, steve who had heard the commotion over his walkie jogs over, robin and vickie who were otherwise on their way to breakfast, join too. 

“what’s going on?” steve interjects, looking to eddie to find absolutely nothing. 

you have to take the lead, eddie can’t think further than getting out of here and everyone else seemed utterly dumbfounded by the situation. 

“chrissy and nancy never came back from their patrol. i need you two to gear up and come with us,” pointing at the two of them, “grab your guns, we’ll search to the edge of the forest and then split off and circle back,” nodding firmly at the pair before attempting to get through to a pacing eddie. 

he doesn’t want to do anything but find them, made clear by the way he slumps against the wall, waiting to be allowed out of it. 

“robin and steve are just getting their guns and then we can go, okay?” struggling to meet his gaze, “you can’t do it alone.” 

eddie looks up, his features calming at the sight of your stoic face, only able to nod softly. 

he cared about chrissy more than he cared about anyone, that was clear. their history mostly unknown to you but even in the little that eddie had let slip, you could infer her importance. 

robin and steve walk back, guns holstered and raring to go, you could walk through the plan on the way, not that there was much of one. just a vague idea to cover the forest and hope for the best. 

eddie stalks ahead in silence, scanning the tree line carefully, to no avail. 

his shoulders are tense and no one dares to speak aloud, too fearful of his reaction to try and offer any words of relief. 

he stumbles upon a trampled bush, rushing through without doing his due diligence which forces you to sprint along after him. 

but he’s stopped, standing in silence staring at the groaning crowd, all thumping their fists on the rotting building. 

a house, covered in mold and so nearly hidden by the overgrown ivy. they’re in there, the gaggle of dead banging against the door solidified that fact. 

no one moves, but you can tell eddie’s trying to find chrissy’s green scrunchie on any of the bodies scratching at the wood. 

his gun comes up, pointed at the crowd before you snatch it down immediately. what the fuck was he thinking? everyone in hawkins seemed so shrouded, becoming too comfortable with their lives to understand how dangerous it really was out here. 

“don’t,” whispering harshly, “we can draw them away, shoot that gun and every walker within five miles’ll be on top of us,” furrowing your brows as the plan comes together bit by bit. 

admittedly, you needed more people than you had. robin and steve could fire off from one direction, splitting the horde in two, but then you weren’t sure of what exactly was in the house and whether eddie could handle seeing it. 

there’s one thing you can conjure up, eddie wouldn’t like it and robin would protest but needs must and you weren’t even going to give them the opportunity. 

“stay here,” you hiss, crouching through the tree line until you near the fence. now was your chance, glancing back at eddie to find his perturbed glare, his lips mouthing a harsh no. 

fuck it. 

you spring up, shooting two stray bullets into the trees opposite, watching the geeks turn their heads towards you and not the house. 

“HEY,” hollering as loud as your voice would allow, “over here!” side stepping until you were free from the brush, guiding them hurriedly away from your friends while you pray the rest of them break them out and not follow you. 

-

eddie wants to throw up. 

he’s going to lose you. not even twenty four hours after he’d un-fucked himself enough to even have you in the first place. 

you’re gone before he can do anything about it, with a clear line to the house, he knows what has to be done. 

okay. 

okay. 

you’d survived out here longer than any of them had, if anyone could do this, it’d be you. 

robin grits through her tears, she was your friend first. how selfish of him to freeze right now. while robin watched the group surround you and chrissy and nancy sat terrified in the destitute house. 

you are fine. 

if you could survive years out here, another hour was nothing. 

“get to the door,” he orders, “get them out and back to town quickly,” prepared to set off without another word. 

“what’re you doing?” robin frets, grabbing onto his arm. 

he finds her apprehensive eyes, coming into himself once more, “she needs help. i’m gonna follow the tracks and get her back, i need you to get those two and then go back and tell everyone that everything’s fine, okay?” 

“i-i’ll come!” she declares, volunteering herself for death duty.

eddie refutes, a firm, hard “no,” before sprinting off down the same winding path you’d disappeared down. 

you can’t be far, a five minute head start couldn’t separate you that far, could it? 

he just can’t figure out which way you’ve gone, right was back to town but he knows you and he knows that you wouldn’t want to draw them back that way. 

you were smart like that, more astute than he could ever hope to be. 

this is a cruel twist of fate, he’d had you for one fucking day. and now he’s forced to do what terrified him most and let you go again. 

it’s getting dark now, he’d combed the woods twice over and still hadn’t found a trace of you. 

he can’t give up, not after you’d sacrificed yourself for him— for his friend. it’s all his fault really, he shouldn’t have let you go and he should’ve got enough of a grip of himself to handle the situation. 

just when his self-pitying had become too much, a voice, barely audible, speaks from the shadows. 

eddie

his head whips around, trying to find the voice, the voice he was so sure was yours. 

“where are you?” eddie calls, “please,” begging the empty sky for it to be you. 

his heart thumps in his ears, louder than the voice had even been. 

there’s a beat of silence and eddie’s petrified that it was just this mind playing cruel tricks on him until—

“..down here,” you echo out, meek and tired. 

it’s you. 

it’s really you. 

stuck cowering behind the overgrown trees, scuffs of dirt and blood spatter your cheeks, exhaustion evident on your weary face. 

eddie rips through the branches, dropping to his knees before you, his hands frantically finding your cheeks just to make sure that it’s really you and not an illusion. 

“jesus fucking— how long have you been here?” he frets, brushing matted hair from your eyes, still not quite certain that you were real. 

your lips curve upwards, despite everything, you’re still smiling, “a few hours.. i was starting to think you’d forgotten ‘bout me,” clasping your hand over his. 

“i don’t think i could ever forget you,” cradling your jaw, relishing the look in your eyes, the one he was so petrified to forget. 

you smile weakly, nodding your head. last night had been so special, so tender— there was nothing that could ever take that memory from either of you. 

“you’re not bitten?” asking warily, eddie can’t guarantee that if the answer was yes, that he’d be able to do what needed to be done. 

your head shakes and his shoulders relax, “not bit, i lost ‘em hours ago.. i just got tired.” 

eddie frowns, “you can’t do it alone, that’s what you said to me this morning,” scolding in his tone, “but i can’t do it without you,” refusing to let his bottom lip wobble. 

you were alive, he could feel your skin beneath his fingers— there was no reason to cry. 

“shut up,” brushing him off, “are you gonna save me or just lecture me?”

he huffs, rocking you gently in his arms, “no— i’m gonna carry you back,” nodding to ensure you really understand, “home isn’t that far, you ready to move?” he can see the scratches on your face and arms, but he’s not sure what else is lurking beneath your clothes. 

you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands shuffle underneath your legs, hoisting you from the cold ground. “ow,” you shudder, nestling your face into his neck, “i think.. i think i hurt my ankle,” shuddering at the pain of his movements. 

“okay.. alright sweetheart,” he soothes, keep a strong hold of your body, “s’not long, i promise,” starting the hike back to hawkins, heart shattering with your every whimper and wail. 

robin hollers from the wall before he can even spot her, calamity starting from behind as news of your survival hits the crowd. 

the gates creak open, weepy-eyed friends gawp and leer when your head turns and your smile appears. 

“ohmygod,” robin yelps, rushing over with extended arms— as if she had the strength to hold you up herself. “i thought— jesus, i thought you were gone,” caressing your dirtied face, her tears leaking in spite of the good news. 

you chuckle, quickly wincing as the movement aches your tired bones, “you can’t get rid of me that quickly, rob,” taking ahold of her trembling hand. 

there’s so much he doesn’t know about your time together outside of these walls, but he can’t help but feel envious of your friendship— how much robin knows and cares about you. 

one day he could only hope to mean so much to you. 

“can we get some ice for my ankle now? it really fuckin’ hurts,” you look up at him, feeble and weak, somewhat resembling poor bambi. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind—before the three pints and the two shots—he recalls your hushed voice in his ear, outside the bar. It was low and sultry. Scratchy and strained, but not like how it gets after a long day of talking. No—

It was the type of strain that happens when you’ve spent too many hours screaming his name. When too many breaths have torn from your chest, ragged and pressed out by the strength of his hips.

That type of strain is his favorite…. But you had said something then—

You leaned close. The music from the bar was leaking out into the muggy, open air of the parking lot. There was noise from the road nearby. Fast cars, rubber peeling off of wet asphalt—

Wet asphalt emanating heat and earthy scents—

And there was you. He could smell you, too. His favorite scent. The perfume you always leave traces of, like love notes he finds well after you’re gone. Proof of your existence in his bed, near his clothes, on him. 

You leaned close. Yes, because of the noise—the music, the cars. 

And your mouth brushed the shell of his ear and he shuddered. You laughed. Sweet and teasing. You laughed. 

He shuddered again, or maybe he was just vibrating with excitement—he could never tell around you. Then he felt what you were saying before you even said it. Your kiss-bitten lips curved so delicately around every syllable. 

You called his name. 

His favorite shape your mouth makes…

Well, that, and the stretch of—

No. No, you said something. His name. That’s what you said.

That and something else.

What was it?

He closes his eyes, trying to relive the moment— Your mouth against his ear, your hot breath on his skin, his name on your lips…

Fuck, he can’t remember. And damn it, you won’t let him touch you.

You just took yet another shuffle-step to the right. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into you until you did that 

Come to think of it, what you said before probably had to do with why you’re not letting him touch you now. 

Usually you love it. You welcome his zealous exploration. He knows that, you tell him through the prettiest sighs—

And what you said—well, it felt important at the time. You dropped his hand to say it, so it must’ve been. 

But as the golden glow of the hanging light fixture shines down on you, your hair glinting with every movement, his patchy memory no longer seems all that significant.

The sound of dense resin knocking together draws his attention to the table, the green surface missing one less solid colored ball. 

“Yes!” Robin calls out, pumping her fist victoriously.

“Shit!” Steve curses at the same time, stamping the butt of his wooden cue on the floor. 

 “Oof, rough go, Steve.” You smirk, pretty as a picture.

Eddie wishes you’d look at him like that. 

Subtly, he brushes his arm against yours—the one that’s holding your beer. His eyes practically roll at the heat rippling across your soft skin.

But you move away at the first contact. That’s really starting to get on his nerves. Because what, is he radioactive or something? What’s so bad about him wanting to hold you?

You lean forward. “Maybe if you—” 

“No speak from the opposition!” Steve shouts stiltedly, sending an accusatory finger your way. His eyes flit from you to the table as he strategizes his next shot. “I will not let your womanly wiles corrupt me—”

“Mm, I would,” Eddie purrs lowly, floating into your orbit. His leisurely efforts are abruptly halted, though, when you jab a knuckle into his side.

Steve paces, wearing a chasm into the chipped, creaky floorboards of the old dive bar. “If you had bet on me like you should’ve, then maybe I’d hear you out. But since you’ve left me scorned, I’d like to keep my dignity intact, thank you.”

“For now,” Robin simpers, sending you a side-long glance. “Or wait, do we think he had any to begin with?” 

“Mmm, jury’s still out—” you shrug, lips curled like you’re trying not to laugh at the frazzled man’s brewing tantrum.

Eddie giggles, “Dignity…Steve.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, like he’s dragging each syllable out a second too long. 

Steve grumbles—something about trading. Or maybe ‘trait-or’? Eddie doesn’t know, he’s too busy weathering the turn of the earth now that you’re looking at him again. It’s been forever since he’s held your attention, and he was nearly at the point of begging. 

It’s not just your eyes on him, though. You’re smiling, too. It’s that knowing smirk he loves. The kind that makes his knees weak and his pants feel tight. 

But then your lips twitch, smile faltering as you peer down at his finger hooked in the waistline of your skirt. And suddenly, you turn to him, shifting your hip out of reach. He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue when you force a half-drank bottle of beer into his outstretched hand with a terse, “Hold this.”

Straightening up, he gathers himself, prepared to shoulder any task for you—no matter how trivial. His responding, “Okay, baby,” is drowned out by Steve’s loud cheer after finally pocketing a ball. 

You turn back to Robin and Steve, leaving Eddie chasing after your gaze. “I’ll get the next round.” And just like that, you’re gone. 

He jogs after you, the floor feeling uneven as he stumbles through groups of people. You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for the drinks when he arrives, looming over you with heaving breaths. 

“Oh, baby, y’look so pretty tonight,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing his lips up your neck. 

You whip around, hand shoving against his chest until he stumbles back a few paces. His eyes widen, stinging from the pain of rejection, and he feels minuscule under your cold glare. 

When you swallow, glancing somewhere behind him, he has to stop himself from moving into your eyeline. Because damn it, if you’d just look at him longer than a second—

“You need to stop,” you hiss. 

His head jerks back, the burn of nausea twisting low in his gut. “Wha—”

“You said you’d be good, Eddie.”

He is being good! He’s being so good! All he’s done tonight is stare at you and touch you—you love when he does that!

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he gets the chance to start. 

“You said you’d behave! So you better start now, or we’ll have to leave,” you grit out, stepping back from him once more. 

Following your movement, his overheating body crowds you against the bar. “No, please, don’t make us leave, baby,” he hurries, grabbing at your hips. “‘M havin’ so much fun, don’t wanna go—”

Your shoulders drop, you lean into him, and he almost closes his eyes, certain your lips will find his.

“Okay, then be-have,” you admonish, then turn to collect the drinks left behind by the busy bartender. 

Eddie decides he’d much rather have gotten a kiss than a warning.

Sliding out of his embrace, you march back to your party, a grumbled, “Just friends, Eddie. You promised they wouldn’t know—” fading the further you flee. 

And he feels like he just stepped into the Twilight Zone because what the hell? Why would he say that? That doesn’t sound like him at all—

“Thank God, gimme that,” Steve swipes a bottle from your arms, chugging it. He jabs a finger in Robin’s direction. “This woman wants me dead.” 

She snorts, then looks at you with an unimpressed glint in her eyes.

“Missed another shot?” you ask, brow quirked. 

“Multiple,” Robin confirms. 

“It is just not your night, is it, Steve?”

Before the beleaguered man can answer, Robin cuts in, elbowing him. “It’s never his night. That’s basically his whole thing. He’s, like, the personification of a Monday.”

Steve snaps, “Okay, that’s enough outta you. Just take the damn shot.”  

A loud clack, then a muffled thump into leather, and Robin laughs manically. 

Eddie watches you lean over the table, passing the girl her drink. Inch by inch, your skirt rises the more you reach, and his head drops to the side, weighed down by curiosity. 

He thinks of the black panties you shimmied on before coming here. He watched you then, just like he watches you now. Watched the way you wiggled the flimsy fabric over your ass, how the material covered your freshly fucked cunt so delicately. 

The same black fabric peeks out from beneath the hem of your skirt, only now, there’s a wet splotch between your folds, and he knows exactly what soaked through.

You straighten up—too soon for his liking—but Eddie’s still staring. Still leering at that cursed skirt. It’s never done him any good—always hiding you away. Then again, maybe it’s done him a world of good. It’s been the catalyst to many a sweaty tryst, that’s for sure. But right now, it’s useless fabric obstructing his favorite view. 

In the back of his mind, he vaguely registers the bickering going on around him, the music blaring. But his focus is divided between the sight of your upper thighs and the stirring in his pants. 

He reaches down to adjust himself, then quickly remembers the beer in his hand. The condensation beading down the glass has seeped into his skin, pruning his fingers. He doesn’t remember why he’s even holding the thing to begin with. 

Setting the bottle on a nearby table, he shuffles closer to you. You’re talking to Steve, and he’s not quite sure what you’re saying, but he hears you choke on your words the moment he presses against you. There’s a hiss of breath that sounds like his name, but his mind goes blank as tingling pleasure prickles up his spine, almost a relief of pressure. Or the temptation of relief. 

The feeling is small, but it’s intoxicating. Even more than the alcohol in his bloodstream. Because now he’s drunk on you. On what could be if he just bent you over and—

You cough, clearing your throat as you take a step forward—right up to the Pool table. Eddie grunts, grabbing your hips and dragging you back against him, this time with a stronger, steadying grip. 

“No, that doesn’t count as a mulligan— Hey! Ed, what the hell are you doing?”

Steve’s question falls on deaf ears, and your elbow digging into his ribs does nothing to deter his mission. Because the heat is building. In his flushed cheeks, in his muscles. Even lower. Incendiary friction sparks something dizzying and all-consuming. 

“Dude, at least let her breathe. No need to hover—”

He’s laughing, but Eddie doesn’t think it’s funny. Not when you slip from his hold, yet again, now an arms-length away. Too far. 

Your palms are planted on the glossy, oak edge of the table as you huff out something that sounds like it would’ve been a chuckle if it hadn’t collapsed halfway up your throat. “Think he just gets weirdly clingy when he’s drunk. Don’t know why I’m the victim, though—”

There’s a sharpness to your tone. It’s dulled by his inebriated ears. Undeterred, he closes in on you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

The words slip out easily. Your shocked reaction only makes Steve laugh harder. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re really three sheets to the wind, dude—” 

Eddie ignores him, but then watches as he turns to you.

 “Does he think you’re someone else?” 

The question makes Eddie’s chest rumble. As if you could be anyone else. As if he could want anyone else this badly—

Wrapping his arms around your rigid frame, he can feel your ribs expand on the breath you draw in. Before a response tumbles past your lips, he squeezes you. Quick and firm. It’s the only warning he can manage without ripping fabric or leaving teeth marks on your delicate skin.

Because he knows what you’d say. He’s starting to catch onto the lies. And he’s not in the mood to play pretend anymore.

“How many has he had?”

Robin’s voice sounds distant as Eddie finds himself beside you again—not far, this time, but shucked off all the same—monitored under your eagle eyed gaze. When she calls your name, stealing your attention for…something about going home or taking a home, he can’t find it in him to care. Not about Robin’s itch for theft or Steve’s quiet, regarding stare.

He can smell your perfume. It calls to him, whispers of heat and closeness. Of the subtle change in the chemical makeup when you begin to warm beneath him, when his sweat mixes with yours. The evil scent pulls him in until his nose is running along your neck. You don’t jump nearly as much as you have been. He’s breaking you down. All he has to do is persist.

You reach across your body, finding his chest and he almost giggles at the half-hearted shove you give. Like it’s just for show. Like you don’t really want him gone. Then your fingers curl around the flimsy material of his shirt and he’s certain you don’t want him gone. How could you push him away if you’ve got a hold on him? 

With a groan, he presses his straining length against the underside of your other wrist, your palm still planted firmly on the edge of the table. It’s a slow, focused grind; his knees nearly buckle. Pushing harder as his own hands slide down your arm, he keeps you in place.

“Fuck, Eddie, st—”

“Holy shit, he’s like a cat in heat,” Steve mutters, cutting you off in what Eddie deems a particularly grating tone. It does nothing to aid the coiling need he’s trying to sate. 

Tension bleeds from your muscles in a slow-burning drip as your form sways just the slightest bit in his direction. He can feel you fighting the urge to melt into him. He’s waiting. Patiently. As patiently as he can without compromising his own desires.

Then, your chin tips and you whisper a lackluster, “Eds, seriously, not here—” over your shoulder. 

“Okay, what the fuck, man.” 

A large hand lands on his bicep, pulling him away from you. His heartrate spikes. 

A calamitous anger rages inside, catching like a wildfire through his veins. It feels like integrity but tastes like possession.

Whipping around, he smacks the arm away, blindly knocking the culprit back. 

“Dude! Actually get the fuck off her—”

“Steve, it’s fine!”

Your sharp tone slices through the fog in his mind; it settles the devastation inside, canning it for another time. He stares at your back as you move between him and a very angry-looking Steve. Chest all puffed out, the ex-jock is the picture of chivalrous defense, and he can’t help but grin. 

If the good knight only knew the things you’ve let Eddie do to you…

“Yeah, Steve,” he drawls, his heavy-lidded gaze sliding from the incensed man to you, the one-woman garrison emboldened by altruism and bolstered by sweetness. He inches closer; a shadow encroaching on the light, a predator going in for the kill. “She said it’s fine.”

His palms hover over your skin, consuming and reveling in the heat. Up your arms, around your shoulders, and back, he maps out your body, admiring the winding curves he’s traversed many times before. The simmering rage of the man in front of you only encourages his quiet appreciation. 

Slowly, delicately, he leaves a chaste kiss where your neck meets your shoulder. 

You tremble, blinking like you mean to steel yourself. 

And his grin widens. “See? She likes it—”

Steve snaps into action, but Robin is quicker, throwing her arm out in front of him. At the same time, you grab Eddie’s wrist, yanking him after you. 

“That’s it, I’m taking you home.”

He lets you drag him away, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. Steve tries to ask if you’re sure and you only let out a clipped, “See you guys later,” in response.

Eddie can’t help but congratulate himself on yet another successful victory. You’re his. You’re choosing him, again. A room full of people and you’re taking him home. 

He somehow feels both stone-cold sober and wasted beyond belief, all from your fingers digging into his pulse. And the alcohol. There’s that, too. 

Weaving through meandering patrons, the exit sign comes into view. You’re talking, but he can’t hear you. The words float ahead, jostled and spliced by the whining guitar riff peeling from the surrounding speakers. He hears the anger, though. It doesn’t bother him.

Once the door closes behind him, the stuffy bar now in his rearview and the night air filling his lungs, he drops his weight back, no longer moving so willingly.

You grunt, but otherwise seem unfazed. Only tightening your grip and continuing your lecture—

“—at fault. I mean, seriously, we fucking agreed! It was mutual! We said we didn’t want the dynamic to change, then you down a few too many, and now all of a sudden, you’re measuring dicks with Steve. I mean, you might as well’ve just pissed on me—it was too fucking obv—”

Pebbles kick up beneath his skidding shoes as he finds his balance. 

“Oh, sure, make this harder than it has to be. You’re great at that—”

The last word catches in your throat as he pulls you the opposite way, back to the bar. You stumble, trying your best to resist, but he’s moving you easily.

“Eddie, what the fuck did I say? If you can’t behave, we’re leaving. We’re not going back— Agh—”

Pressed against the brick wall of the building, hidden in the alley beside it, your complaints fall to unintelligible nonsense as Eddie attacks your neck, lips ravaging any sliver of skin he can find. His body envelops yours, keeping you still with a force he can’t find it in him to tame, especially for the sake of propriety. Not now. Not after waiting so dreadfully long. 

“E-Eddie, slow d-down, Jesus—”

“Can’t,” he grunts, finding his way to your mouth, mumbling like a wanton man. “I need you, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad—” His hips jut forward, searching for reprieve from the miserable strain of his jeans. 

When your back arches, he sinks his talons in, blunt nails biting and fingers digging as he clings onto you. Because in this moment, you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth; he feels it racing beneath his feet. Your eyes on his, the taste of your lips—it slows everything down. 

“Shit, you’re so pretty. So, so pretty—” 

Every word is mindless, slurred, but true. Inhibition has long-since died a silent, restful death inside him, buried somewhere low, near the hearth that never stops burning for you. 

His hands grope and grab at anything they can reach—your ass, your thighs, your arms, your breasts. Anything. All of it keeps him here for one second more. Grounded in your softness. Steady on your terrain. 

“Eds, we—we have to go,” you gasp, pliant beneath his roving touch. He closes the gap, tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, searing kiss that makes his mind whir and his ears fill with a fizzing sound.

“Nuh-unh, wanna stay,” he pants, nipping at your pulse point, feeling your blood rush. “Wanna stay with you.”

His hands slip beneath your skirt as you hold onto his shoulders. You give a weak push when his fingers pull at the gusset of your panties, but it’s not nearly enough to deter him. 

“We can’t st—ay, fuck— You’re drunk, Eddie. I don’t even know how you’re hard right now.”

He hums, straightening to his full height and pressing you harder against the wall. His breath comes fast; he can’t seem to catch it as he watches you. 

How is it not obvious?

“‘S you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your temple. “‘S all you. Makin’ me burn…. Makin’ me want you so damn bad it hurts.” 

You swallow, lashes fluttering as you lean into his gentle touch. “I’m sorry I hurt you…but we can’t do this. Not he—”

“You don’t want me?” His voice is brittle. Breaking. 

A night full of small rejections comes to a head as the weight of your words—sincerity and conviction threaded through every syllable—crashes into him, a frenzied tidal wave leaving wreckage in its wake. 

He only manages to retreat half a step before you’re pulling him back, arms wrapping around his neck. 

“I do want you,” you rush, pressing imploring kisses onto his rosy cheeks, tiny promises sealed with sticky lipgloss. “I always want you.”

His vision blurs as he peers down, frizzy curls hanging low in his eyeline. Confusion is a bitter thing as he finds the hem of your skirt. There’s mercy in the feeling of the grooved stitch beneath the rough pads of his fingers. 

“Even now?” he asks, low and timid for the first time tonight. 

Your arms release him, trailing down the sinewy plane of his chest. You lift his shirt only an inch—just enough for your nails to find his flushed skin, enough to feel him twitch as you explore so freely. 

“Always.”

He pauses, searching for something in your gaze. Or, maybe something in the silence. And it’s the silence that answers. 

With a hurried breath, he tears at your panties. It’s a quick, controlled rip, and he stuffs the fabric into his back pocket. 

You gasp, but he drops before you get the chance to scold him. His jeans do little to mitigate the sting of gravel as his knees hit the ground. He hikes your thigh over his shoulder, disappearing under your skirt. 

“Ed— Oh, God!”

His face drags through your folds, nose catching on your clit as his tongue sinks into you, plunging as deep as it’ll go. But the thundering ecstasy of finally tasting you—and himself—is cut short when you tug at his hair with a force far too sharp to be pleasurable. He groans, missing your heat as you haul him up to his feet. 

“Eddie! We can’t do that here,” you bite out, glancing behind him. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

The worry in your brow catches on something inside him, and if he had the right words, he’d make it go away. But there are no right words, only burrowing panic and gnawing desire so deep, it’s almost torture.

“Please, baby, I’ll be good,” he pants, pawing restlessly at your body. “I swear to God, I’ll be good. Just— Just let me— Ah, Jesus!” His forehead falls to your shoulder and he hangs onto you, a firm grip on your ass as he pulls you into him. The movement is meant to alleviate, to save his sanity, but all it does is remind him of your denial, of the space he can’t close, and the release he can’t reach.

Your fingers begin to soothe his scalp. He matches his breathing to yours; in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Curious and tender, you mutter, “It’s really that bad?” 

He shakes his head, lifting it to meet your concerned gaze. 

You don’t understand. You can’t possibly know what it feels like. This dull ache. Persistent, like a gnat in his ear, it’s been with him all night, made worse by you. Your perfume, your soft touch, the glimmer in your eyes. The distance, the act, the canyon between words and truth. 

It’s all a great pain. An infection that’s been festering for hours. You have the medicine and you won’t give it to him.

His voice cracks, “So bad. I’m achin’ for you, can’t you feel it?” His hips jerk forward as he waits for your response, but the silence is too loud. He can’t stand it. 

“You’re just so pretty…” Dazed, his eyes rove over your wrinkled top, fabric askew and showing more skin than you started the night showing. “‘N so soft.” Ducking closer, he rumbles out a drawling, “Mm, you smell so good.”

Again, you look behind him, somewhere just over his right shoulder and he sways, chasing your gaze. 

“And you can’t wait ten minutes to get to your apartment?” you ask, eyes narrowed. 

He sags against you, a whine crawling up from deep within his throat. “No…. No more. I’ve been waiting all night. I can’t— I—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I hear you. Just— Hey, Eds, look at me—”

Your palms cradle his head and he can smell the lavender hand soap he put in his apartment just for you.

“Be quick,” you whisper, tipping your chin to hold his attention.

He perks up, swallowing harshly as he stares at you, trying to decode the two simple words. But you might as well have spoken another language because his mind is running circles around the meaning, never through. 

“Hey—” Your eyes dart downward, stall there, then you close the distance. 

It’s messy and wet and he can still taste you on his tongue—smell you smeared on his skin—but you don’t seem to mind as you deepen the kiss, your mouth parting around a moan. It’s over too soon, though. 

A delicate string of spit connects him to you as you pull back.  “Take what you need, ba—”

He’s moving before you even finish the endearment, hands racing across your body, tugging at fabric, kneading skin—anything he can touch. His jacket is around your shoulders in no time, protecting you from the rough brick. The cuffs on his belt clang as he unfastens the homemade contraption, the button of his jeans next.

“Oh, thank you, baby,” he breathes into your mouth, using his full weight to trap you against the wall. “Thank you, thank you—shit! You’re so good to me,” he whimpers, bucking his hips as he frees his length, wrapping a hand around the base until it throbs beneath his unyielding grip. “So fuckin’ good to me. Wanna be good to you, too.”

He fumbles a bit, struggling to move while still trying to maintain every point of contact he can. Once he manages to pick up your thigh, hitching it onto his hip, he guides the blunt tip of his cock through your slick folds. A soft mewl escapes you and the sound only makes him twitch, a stream of sticky precum dribbling from his slit. 

“Wanna be inside you. God, I always wanna be inside you—”

Your voice cuts him off, strained with a familiar need as your forehead falls to his. “Please, Eddie— Please just fuck me already, I can’t—”

His body responds before his mind even registers the plea, jerking forward until he’s buried deep inside you. A resounding groan echoes through the empty alleyway, drowning out your shrill cry. Though, you have enough sense to slam a hand over your open mouth, muffling the lewd noise

He, however, is too drunk to care. Drunk on the alcohol humming in his bloodstream. Drunk on the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight, he could count your heart rate just from the pulse of your pussy alone. 

“Ohh, my—fuck! Jesus, fuck—you’re tryin’ to kill me, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he babbles incessantly, squirming from the pressure. 

Your hand drops to his shoulder, holding onto him so tightly, your fingers pinch. “E—ddie, shh—ah!” 

Torturously slow, he pulls out. Your cunt clings to him, contracting—almost a proper plea to stay—and yet, you seem to revel in the drag of his length. He knows you feel it. The thrum of his veins, the curve that stretches you, the thick ridge that catches on your entrance. 

With just the tip inside, he shudders, his head hanging as he stares downward. The bright neon sign on the corner of the building beams, making his cock shine with your arousal.

He pauses. 

Then, his hips snap forward, marking the start of a suffocating rhythm as he forces the breath from your body with every thrust. He moves wildly, a frenzied pace with one intention, and one intention only. 

“Oh, God, oh, shit, baby! You feel s’good.… Takin’ such good care o’ me—thank you! Thank you— S’sweet to me—” he pants, slipping a large, heavy hand behind your neck until your gaze drops, joining him as he watches himself disappear inside of you. “Ah, look at that— Mmm, so pretty when you’re full o’ me.” 

The wiry hair at the base of his shaft begins to stick to his skin, weighed down by the mess he’s making out of you. Glimmering slick forming a milky ring, droplets splashing from the strength of his thrusts. A giddy chuckle rumbles through his chest, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he admires just how wet you are. How wet he makes you.

The sound of his leather jacket scratching against the brick fills his ears as he falls against you, muscles straining. Your eyelids droop low, but your gaze hasn’t moved from where he’s fucking into you. His mouth finds yours, lips gliding as he hungrily swallows your every moan. 

Sweat beads at his hairline, and his nails sink into your thigh, drawing you impossibly closer. Because he needs more. He needs all of you. Your walls are pried apart by his thick length and it’s still not enough. 

He lets go of your neck, pushing two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”

His breath turns ragged and you finally look at him, your eyes dark and glossy as your lips reach his knuckles, your cheeks hollowing out in that way that always makes his knees buckle. His hips jerk, rhythm shifting at the memory.

He can feel the flames spreading, overtaking the hearth, but he’s not ready yet. He’s not done with you. 

His fingers fall from between your lips as he reaches below, pressing tight circles into your clit. You choke on your breath and the sharp sound makes him grin.

“Yeah, there you go, sweetheart. Fuck—you’re so tight! Squeezin’ the life outta me— God, I know you wan’ it—cum for me. Soak my fucking cock,” he grits out, watching your eyes roll with rapt attention. “Mark me, baby, drown me—”

“F-Fu— Eddie!” 

Your back arches and you go rigid; he knows you’re on the very edge. He knows you. He knows the exact high your voice reaches before you come undone, and even though you’re trying not to, he knows you’re losing yourself.

“Give it to me,” he drawls, practically purring at you. “Give in, baby. Please, I know you need it—”

“Shh, shh, we have to—b—e quiet! You have t—o keep it d— Oh, God!”

Your cunt clenches around him, tighter than he can handle after suffering from your denial for so long. You're moving against him now, convulsing and chasing after the pleasure like an ebbing wave. His body starts to curl inward, but he tries his best to keep a good enough pace. Your moans ring in his ear as he drives into you, shivering at the obscenely wet sounds.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! F-Feels so— God, ‘m g-gonna fill you up, baby. Hm? You wan’ it? Wanna feel full o’ me? Wanna hold it for me? You’re always so good at it—”

His breathless words seem to have no effect on you as you settle limply, held up by his frame and the wall at your back. You give no indication that you heard him, there’s only the flutter of your lashes and the lull of your head against the brick. His palm presses against your neck, just enough to keep you still, to hold your far-out gaze. 

“You listenin’? Hm?” he pants, landing a firm kiss on your slackened mouth. “Y’gonna empty my balls for me, baby? Know you love to feel me drippin’ outta you.”

Your cunt responds with a weak pulse. He chuckles, only to be cut off by his own sputtering groan as a particularly deep stroke shoots right through him. You whimper, and he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from buckling to the ground as your arms struggle to wrap around him.

“E-Eddie…”

Static buzzes in his mind as you mewl, soft gasps hiccuping in time with his pounding thrusts. His hand drops low, splaying just beneath your navel. Then, he presses, relishing the catch in your breath. 

“Ah, there I am,” he mutters, going dizzy at the feeling of his cock-head nudging his palm. “Here, right? Y’gonna keep me here, baby?”

You nod, letting out a frail, broken sound that tells him all he needs to hear. You want it. Need it, even.

His eyes roll, balls pulling taut as his rhythm falters. “Oh, f-fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re made f’me—you are,” he grunts, nosing against your neck. “Fit together so nicely. Hmm, made f’me, made to be full o’ me—”

Your face crumbles as you clench around him once more, another orgasm rolling in, quiet as a tide, and this time it’s softer. He can still feel you shake, but there’s a dragging sense of freedom. Of letting go.

And you drag him with you. Under the tide. Under the surface where everything sounds fuzzy and he feels weightless. 

“Jesus—fuck! Ah, shit!”

He gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself inside your heat as he spills into you. Waves of pleasure crash through him, so overwhelming, his hips stall. He shivers, almost violently, and his words tumble out, barely loud enough to be a whisper. “God, baby, thank you. T-Thank you. Shit—you’re so good to me.” 

He stays like that—arms wrapped around you, your fingers in his hair—for a while. It’s only when you shift, repositioning yourself against the wall, that he picks his head up. Indulging himself in your gentle kiss. His languid lips speak a sweetness far greater than his words could manage at the moment.

“I feel better now,” he mumbles, letting himself explore along your jaw, lazy and sated, but needing to taste you all the same. 

“Yeah, I bet,” you snort, tucking his hair behind his ear, then twisting a damp curl around your finger. 

With much reluctance, he finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the loss. He fixes himself quietly, buttoning his pants again and hiding his smile as he notices you squirm. You adjust his jacket over your shoulders and smooth your skirt. His eyes follow the movement and all he can think about is how much he wishes he could just sit on the ground beneath you and watch himself leak out of your pretty pussy. 

But then you clear your throat, motioning to the end of the alley and he offers his arm. You smirk, shaking your head as you accept his offer. As he passes under the neon sign that says, “Bar,” he stares at the entrance to the building.

“Mm, I wan’ a beer,” he hums wistfully, starting to veer off course.

“Unh-unh!” Both of your hands circle his bicep, yanking him back. “No, we’re leaving. I’m taking you home.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’s.” You continue to drag him further away from the bar, heading toward his van. “You’re going home, then you’re going to sleep. And tomorrow, you’re gonna call up Steve and apologize for trying to fight him.”

Eddie’s face twists up, a sharp scoff falling from his lips. “‘M not apologizing. He was trying to touch you—”

“No,” you utter pointedly, digging into his back pocket—ignoring his quiet, “Hey, buy me dinner first”—and pulling out his keys. “He was not, that was you. He was trying to stop you because he thought you were being a perv.”

“I was being a perv,” he grins, watching you unlock the van. You shove him into the passenger side and he gracefully complies, settling in a haphazard huff. His eyes follow you through the windshield as you speedwalk around to the driver side door, which he reaches across the console to open for you. 

“An unwelcome perv,” you amend, climbing into the seat. You check the mirrors first, then turn the key in the ignition. Eddie sighs contentedly as the van rumbles to life, the tape he mixed for you already filtering through the stereo. 

He leans close, looming over you. With exaggerated slowness—a test, a toeing of boundaries—he drags two fingers up your thigh, beneath your skirt, until he feels the sticky combination of his cum and your slick smeared against your skin. “Knew you liked it,” he purrs lowly, sucking the digits clean. 

Your breath comes quicker and shakier as you give him a sidelong glance. “You’re disgusting.”

His grin stretches into something wolfish, something predatory and ostensibly clear-headed, despite the glossy look in his eyes and the sway in his body. Quickly, he makes another swipe between your legs, this time relishing the hitch in your throat as he grazes your warm, puffy folds. He shrugs, admiring the milky gleam on his fingers before taking them into his mouth once more. “Chef’s gotta taste his own food.”

With that, your trembling hand lands on the gear shift and the van jolts into reverse. 

A/ N: Guys, is this anything? Let me know🧎‍♂️It’s been in the drafts since October🥀  Also, it's the one year anniversary of me writing fics :) One year ago (almost to the day), I posted this rambling drabble. Since then, my work has improved so much, and I’ve gotten to talk to so many of you about your Eddie thoughts which is all I ever wanted from this.  Thank you for reading my silly, not-so-little ramblings. Thank you for making this an enjoyable space to create in. Thank you for always showing up to my ‘Is anyone interested in…’ posts with 110% enthusiasm. And thank you for talking to me about my writing. I think that’s what I appreciate the most—how much I get to connect with y’all over what I’ve worked so hard on. I love reading your reactions to my fics, I cherish them so deeply. I’m also glad you feel comfortable with me and enjoy my writing enough to want to hear my thoughts on your Eddie ideas. I love this space and I’m glad you guys are always down for a little chitty-chat.  Thank you for sticking around and taking an interest in my work and especially me as a person <3 Love you guys <3

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